SBURB Zeta (Closed... for now)

[Sir Realism]

You awaken from slumber to find a new day ahead of you. You can't remember if this is your birthday nor can you remember if you ever celebrated one. At the moment, you are 16 however. Stepping down from the comforting bed you've rested on a decision is made to check in on "the others". Today is no ordinary day, today is the day you, Dick Dickson change the world.

What? that's not your name? But it says right here that you're... The boy stares into an invisible screen, unmoving, unflinching, waiting for whoever they are to stop harassing him. It seems to have worked... jeez! You've spent too much time on idle prat, you have a mission to complete.

>>Find the game...

Looking around the disturbing collection of outdated internet horror you call a room you find a drawing desk. In a box next to it lies you're aforementioned game.

>>Stalk the box into opening.

You oogle the box with such a disturbing intensity that slowly, it begins to open on its own. The power of fear is a great one indeed. Peering into the box you find a homemade drawing of whom you believe to be Penn Quinn, another youth you utterly despise. It is the first step in order to summon your god to punish that trending oaf. Next to the drawing lies your trusty telescopic baton and the game. Ah, yes, the telescopic baton, what great times you've had as a young boy pretending to be a policeman, beating down the innocent with your superior authority.

>>Retrieve both "the game" and your trusted baton.

You grab both things and put them into your Lotto, there are only two items so it won't be difficult to retrieve them. Now what?

>>Alert the others.

The desktop is turned on and a screen appears, you open up the browser to your least favorite, yet socially mandatory chatroom, Pesterchum. The group chat is still open from last night's discussion, you hope nobody has cold feet.

>>Announce yourself.

You crack your fingers and begin to reveal yourself.

Pesterlog:

[Thrillho]

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

==> Switch over a second.

With some elbow grease and patience, you switch over from the relatively depressing RICHARD to the much more appropriate figure-head for this heated adventure.

Sitting at his computer is a young boy. Unlike his friend who was introduced before, he had been SIXTEEN for a few months now, but it is--. Oh. He already has a name? Weird.

==> Zoom out.

Your name is PENN QUINN and boy do you fucking love your life.

This isn't a joke or anything, you genuinely feel like this existence you live is one of the best on the planet. You're living off the benefits of your rich relatives, your uncle is the COOLEST MOTHERFUCKER ALIVE, and everyone knows this. -So much so that every time you come in, you incite hatred with your very existence. No one else will be able to be exactly like you as your INTERESTS are something that your generation doesn't understand fully.

As insinuated before, you take joy in TROLLING anything that comes your way. It doesn't matter how you pull it off or how people try to shrug it off, as long as you're getting a passive aggressive comment or a piece of an argument, you win. Besides that, you use the wealth given to you to amass a large amount of RETRO-AMERICAN PARAPHERNALIA. It's the best country, damn it, and no ones going to tell you otherwise. From numerous posters with your favorite sports heroes and even a mix of presidential loot that consumes a fourth of your room.

-Let's not even get into the RETRO-GAMES you have. The ol' cabinets are downstairs, but...you're not too good at them. You could NEVER tell anyone that though.

None of these things come closer than your SUBTLE and NUANCE way of thinking when it comes to MYTHOLOGICAL GODS. ZEUS, HERA, HERMES, ARES, HADES, and the entire gang! -Hell, you feel like you are LOKI sometimes THEOLOGY is something you plan on going into college for as who is really going to be better than you of all people? -Anyways.

Your chumhandle is archaicAngel and you talk like any normal person, dumbass. lmao.

==> Wait for the swarm of anger from your favorite friend.

Ohoho. Of course! OO is known for easily falling into your words. Always pulling off the edgy kid routine, but...you respect him for that in some ways. You did take him under your wing after-all! If he doesn't take the beating now, he'll never be a functioning member of society...

[cealvan]

the third kid in the meantime is in the middle of hanging out with her IRL Friends, when she decides to check her messages, she has also been 16 for a while now, but only like two months, not even long enough to get her drivers licence, well, the official one, that lets you drive your friends, not this pseudo licence that just lets you drive anywhere, as long as you are all alone. but that's neither here nor there, as you were not hanging out with the friends you would be driving everywhere, instead, you are in the middle of your weekly Saturday jam session.

the song you guys are playing ends and you decide to introduce yourself.
Your name is Alie, Alie Elington.
all in all, you actually do have a pretty cool existence as well, although you have plenty of things you would change with it, for example, if you got yor way, you wouldn't have to spend so much time in school, but instead you would be able to be free, much like the early cavemen were, but alas, you have a strict overprotective parent, who while he is great at his job, and has just made a real AI Robot, like in the films, he treats you like you are one of his precious programs, and if you dont to what he wants you to, you are flawed in some way, and he has to fix it.

other than that, you have a great existence, you get to spend a ton of time hanging out with various friends, whether gossiping with the cheerleaders, or acting with the Drama kids, or what not, you always have plenty to do, but your favorite way to spend your time is with your one true love, who you met back your first year of middle school, you saw him, and you knew it was meant to be. everyone's OTP, you and Tom the "Tombone".

you also enjoy hanging with friends online, you have a half decent amount of them. you get to know them through a program called "Pesterchum". your chumHandle is "CanorousCalimest an you tend to talk very excitedly about a multitude of stuff in quite long-winded drawn out paragraphs, which, because of your lack of punctuation, and use of run-on's, not to mention how many conjunctions you tend to use, end up looking quite a bit more like paragraphs than single sentences.

well now that that's out of the way, you can get back to playing jazz with your friends, it sounds like they are going to be doing the solo section on Watermelon Man, and you don't want to miss that.

[furry garbage]

==> Be the other kid.

You are very rudely awakened by the sound of glass shattering in your room, groggily sitting up on your couch. Something had fallen off of your VERY CROWDED GLASS END-TABLE, perhaps you had hit it during your slumber? Who knows? You do, but obviously you are still too TIRED to accurately process what had just happened.

You personally do not care, taking a good few minutes to hit your GLASS WATER BONG once or twice before you decide to try and clean yourself up again like last time. You are FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, and can do whatever you so please.

==> Zoom out.

Your name is MONA BRADLEY, and you are the coolest STREET PHARMACIST on the block.

You like to think of yourself as a very CHILL and SOCIAL kid who has many, many friends, but in reality you only have about 3 you really talk to. Even then, you don't talk to them that much, but that doesn't matter because you love them anyways. You tend to be a real PUSHOVER when it comes to them, doing almost anything to keep them happy and on your side.

One of your many, many interests are the gems that are CLASSIC HORROR FILMS. You really wish MICHAEL MYERS was a real person, so you could MARRY and SMOOCH him. To be fair, you're extremely attracted to virtually every SLASHER in existence. On that note, you will fistfight anyone who tries to call you weird for liking them as much as you do. They are very handsome boys, and they must be protected.. But that's just your opinion. Besides that, you love ALIENS, ROCK MUSIC, and SNOOZING.

Your chumhandle is vaporwaveGloaming, and you like to talk in all lowercase, using a lot of internet slang n' other terms!!!

==>Examine laptop.

Oh! Your laptop seems to be flashing and beeping on your trusty desk! Perhaps it is a message from one of your good friends? Only one way to find out! You stand up.. Only to cut your foot on a shard of GLASS that had previously fallen off of your end table. You decide to just play a game of THE FLOOR IS LAVA and try and shimmy over furniture to your laptop.

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

[Sir Realism]

Pesterlog:

You look over at the book to your left side, the leather bound game bible lay there awaiting further use. Not now, trusty guide... your use will come at a later time. While waiting for the others to respond you figure now would be a good time to prepare.

==> Zoom out.

The grand entirety of your living is revealed. A variety of hand sculpted busts of internet horror memorabilia litters your room. Among them lie a variety of scrawled drawings that warn of the dangers of your watcher. You've collected these pages from various sources throughout the years.

==> Exit the room.

You leave your room and enter the hallway, your father will not disturb you now. He's far too absorbed with his bunker.

[Thrillho]

==>

ooc:

Spoiler:

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

You can't help but cringe at your 'friend' Dick trying to square up on you with his superiority complex. Who the fuck in their right mind would believe a word he says after bringing words like 'The Observer' and 'SBURB' into conversation. You hop out of your seat, moving over to your FALLOUT 4 COLLECTORS MINI-FRIDGE that you snagged during its release from some comic-shop. Fuckin' dunce was willing to sell that shit to you cheap.

==> Retrieve Beverage

A can of SPRITE will do the trick. The sick rhymes and badass basketball players they use to advertise these things was enough for you. The true mans sport in this world is one where a bunch of tall dudes like yourself toss a ball around 'n drink sicknasty gatorade. -Not that you play the sport, but you enjoy watching it with your UNCLE who can't get enough of the stuff.

You just can't bully that guy for some reason.

==>

You trot back to your seat, your mind going off on random topics...waiting for the next response. -Because what better do you really have to do?

[furry garbage]

As you read the replies, you continuously keep trying to blow your absolutely gorgeous hair out of your face, starting to get real frustrated. Especially with what your good buddy Penn called you at the end of his post! After you locate your trusty HEADBAND to help you with this unimaginable floof, you would write him a very strongly worded e-letter! .. E-mail? Fuck it.

==> Zoom out again.

Your room is a goddamn mess, though it technically isn't even your room. It's the attic. The floor is covered in clothing, empty chip bags, and the many wires to your LAPTOP. Behind you at the other end of the room sits your couch and two luxurious tables that you often overcrowd with useless junk and food. The only reason you can see all of this is due to the sheer amount of NEON SIGNS littering the walls, casting a dim light on the floor and the posters that they shared the walls with. You didn't exactly have a window for natural lighting, but your COUSIN CORY was kind enough to install the SIGNS for you. You should probably quit getting distracted by the pretty lights and find your headband, since you can't even see half the shit in your room.

==> Locate headband.

As you scan your room, your eye catches the bright green object on your coffee table behind a few empty cans. You scoot your chair across the shabby wooden floor, trying to reach over the cans for the object.. And as it turns out, one of them wasn't empty. You quickly snatch up the BAND OF HEADS, watching as the can of GRAPE SODA spills out onto the floor. You'd.. Probably clean that up later. Never.

==>

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

You suppose that WARNING from Dick to Penn was meant for you as well. You also suppose that maybe that response was a little too harsh.. Oh well. You knew your pal had thick skin! He could take on anything, but you didn't exactly want to challenge him yourself. Penn is.. Way, WAY beefier than you. You'd rather just stay on his good side for now.

ooc:

[cealvan]

Alie==> check your phone:

why would she do that, she is in the middle of a solo, jamming out like there's no tomorrow, not knowing that there may not actually be a tomorrow if SHE DOSNT CHECK HER PHONE!! ok sheesh, you finish up the solo, it is nearly time for you to go anyways, you excuse yourself, as you usually do at this time, and start heading home, as you do you see that pesterchum has exploded with people talking you read through the messages, and see that your friend has gotten his hands on the game he has been talking about for a while, that he seems to have gotten from a bunch of aliens. your guess is that this game is from a bunch of people who claim to be aliens, but you roll with it, because why not?

you decide to add your ten cents.

CanorousCalimest [CC] responded to the memo:

[Sir Realism]

Dick commands that he be the one in view again. It seems as if his phone has been vibrating for some time. By now the others have surely doubted his claims. No matter, "he" had warned you of this beforehand. It was time to commence step two of your plan. The empty hallway holds NO SIGNIFICANCE, all it holds is family photos that mean nothing to you.

=> Enter Living Room

You enter the living room, nothing is special about it. Your father has disguised it to be the perfect chameleon of a middle class living room. The only significance you can apply to it is that there is a stain father missed of "his" blood that's been burrowed into the fabric of the beige couch. You leave with slight haste.

==> Exit house, Enter back yard

You enter the back of your seemingly standard home, a rusted playground sits untouched in the lawn, not once have you ever touched it since when you were WEAK and IMMATURE. You search for the tools you need to complete the job. Aha! Immediately after taking a step you trip over the item you require, the SHOVEL, a common entrenching tool. But now what?

==> Dig in sandbox

You refuse to retrieve this item, it would be a hassle to do so. Instead you kick it over to where it needs to go... only you've underestimated your TALL SUPERIORITY and it goes flying into the side of the monkey bars. Close enough! Removing the lodged shovel with ease you easily dig the poorly covered grave of a friend you've yet to meet. The alien, a troll, father warned you of these beings... Yet they look nothing like the old poster he's put in your room. The body is too large to fit in your inventory.

==> DECAPITATE

You lop off the head of your dead companion and capture it in storage. It won't be necessary to rebury him. Father will be done with his work now.

==> Retreat to room

[Thrillho]

==>

You are again, the man with the plan, PENN. It took you a bit to realize, but...your defacto leader didn't immediately respond to your insults. That's...weird. Given that you'd rather not leave Mona hanging like Dick had done to you, a response is quickly typed up.

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

==>

A chuckle escapes your mouth as you realize how fucking easy street Mona is as a target. They probably know you're a force to be reckoned with, as anyone should know. In this moment of your pure hubris another yellow text consumes literally half of the fucking text box. It was the legend themselves pulling off the same bullshit as they always do due to their inability to make responses simple.

Perfect.

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

==> Penn: Initiate victory dance.

You refuse to do so. This battle has yet to be won without the responses he needs. Otherwise you'd do better by just talking to a fucking brick wall.

[furry garbage]

==> Stop being the victory-dancing idiot for a minute.

You are, once again, the pushover named MONA suffering from a barrage of insults from one of your good friends.. Albeit not very good ones. You were practically falling asleep infront of your computer as Penn was probably mashing his fingers on his keyboard, jumping a little when your laptop made the one noise as it usually did when someone made another post.

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

Your friend was right, you should really start getting your stuff together! This was supposed to be some sort of IMMERSIVE ADVENTURE GAME, after all!

==>Head downstairs.

Your cousin was at work in the backyard shed, probably building some kind of cool robot as he said he would be doing the past week! You.. Actually hadn't seen him come inside, but that didn't exactly matter. You were downstairs for your backpack full of school supplies, which was comfortably situated on the couch in the living room. That could wait just a minute though..

==>Open fridge.

Ah, yes. The fridge of emptiness.. And a door full of sauces. Ranch dressing, ketchup, mustard.. The whole shebang. You were lucky this time, because the fridge seemed to have granted you a full two slices of delicious NONDESCRIPT CHEESE TRIANGLES. This was what you really needed right now, before you supposedly end the world. Whatever Dick said.

==> Return to room.

You stand in your room, mouth full of pizza.. Your edgy pal said something about a sprite earlier in his post.. And something about starting the game. You decide to sit back down and ask him what all that noise was about.


Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

[cealvan]

PesterLog:

[Thrillho]

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

==> Ponder.

You are suddenly switched back to PENN, but only for a moment. You can't help but feel like there is some kernel of truth to your friends story. You try to rethink the idea from the perspective of Dick, which doesn't really end well. The gothic and edgy thoughts of that creepypasta shitposter prevents you from having any real coherent thought. Whatever.

With another swig of your trusty can of SPRITE, you feel a little more determined to start this game up.

[Sir Realism]

Pesterlog:

You send the message, slowly, you move to the disk and carefully remove it from it's case. Pristine.

=> Start the game.

You put the disk into the computers tray and wait. You clench your hands in front of your face as you lean against the desk, a loading screen appears. Despite being who you are, these are innocent lives at hand, you would never consider this is you hadn't have known of the alternate timelines he was able to tell you about before his sudden death.

=> Drop head.

You lotto for the head, luckily, it drops on the first spin. Unfortunately, the head goes flying straight into your collection of S.C.P. manuscripts, soiling nearly all of them with the rustic red blood. Strange, you don't remember father having ripped off the beings horns... he also looks nothing like the poster that father made to alert other humans. Sometime's you think him to be a loon.

Dialogue:

[furry garbage]

==> Start game.

You read over your friend's message, chinhands'd at your desk as you ate the greasy nondescript cheese triangles.. You were Penn's host, apparently? Sweet!.. Whatever that meant. You'd happily help your COOL BRO in any way you could, feeling like you should've repaid him somehow a long time ago. Hopefully your company was enough to satisfy him until you could.. Which it probably was. You actually felt the need to repay all of your friends for talking you into playing this with them.. So play it, you would.

You scroll up to the link, letting your mouse hover over it for a few minutes.. Pizza butterflies in your stomach. Judging by what Dick was saying, this was going to be a big change, but you were trying to be more optimistic about things anyways.

Change was supposed to be a good thing, wasn't it?

==>Click the link.

[Thrillho]

==>

The hum of his desktop consumes the dark room, the words of Dick piercing you through the screen. Your body can't help but ache just a bit from the idea. With the way he made it sound, the jokes were long gone. Mona would hopefully tell everyone if this was a fake! -Not that you believe that this could be real one bit, but....uh.

==>

You change the subject a bit and move over to take a gander at the guide given to you. The thread is relatively recent, as it should, but the writing inside isn't anywhere close to being similar to how Dick normally writes things. It's explanation about the games systems made it seem like it was a bit more than a computer game. You skim through, getting a bit deeper to the mid-game aspects. Not much seems to be written besides advancements to the Alchemy System.

Even that is vague. What the fuck even was this game? As you reach over to type up something snarky, you...decide not to.

Pesterlog:

Spoiler:

==> Prepare

You captchalogue your LIMITED EDITION DAISY RED RYDER BB GUN and place it into your STRIFE PORTFOLIO, as it is registered to RIFLEKIND. You never actually used this thing past shooting targets in the backyard forest. This being because your UNCLE never really...liked guns all too much for whatever reason, but he was too passive to stop you from buying it. With this thing in your hand, you venture out into your house to find the spare BB's.

==>

As your feet bring you up the steps to exit out of your basement abode, you have a feeling your UNCLE is going to want some family time with you. -Honestly, you can't risk it. Your hand gravitates toward the knob and with a tight grip, you turn it and swing the door open. The blinding light of the inside of your house goes through even your shades. The large building that was your house seemed devoid of life, the soft breeze of the A/C being the only real movement.

You have a feeling today is going to be a long day.

[cealvan]

==>Alie get home
you finally get home, and see what pops do not have a friendly face, you are not sure what you did this time, but then again, you are never sure. he informs you that you are an hour late home from school, you inform him that you had been in jazz band practice, at which point he initiates a verbal strife.

he starts out with a pointed question, you dodge the question, and hit him with solid facts, he responds with a sharp retort. you try using a well-timed justification, but he blocks it with a Cliche adage. and with that, you find you are out of ammo, and after a Fatherly lecture, he forces you to hand him your phone and sends you to your room. you do so begrudgingly.

==> examine room
your room is pretty tidy, you spend so little of your time in here that it has no chance to get messy, you have posters of some of the worlds best musicians hanging on the walls, such as Count Baisy, Miles Davis, JJ Johnston, and more. in one corner you do have a pile of stuffed animals that you occasionally play with, although not as much anymore than in the past. at this point, you almost more keep them around for sentimental reasons than anything else. not to mention that they are all your friends and you couldn't bear giving any of them away.

anyways, you have left your friends hanging, they are probably waiting for you to play the game, you should at least let them know that you cant play, any more talking with pops will bring disaster, so that isn't an option, if he catches you on the computer, he will up your punishment for sure. you start thinking about what to do.

[Sir Realism]

The game has finished loading...

==> Execute plan

You unfortunately cannot execute the master plan as Penn has left momentarily. However, you can assist others as a host.

Pesterlog:

==> Enter hosting position.

You crouch over your computer and open the game, only, you hear the creaking of the vault door below. Father has exited his bunker and is probably wondering why a decapitated alien he turned to swiss cheese is undug in his yard. You'll have to be quicker!



You have full access to Alie's room now, odd, you'd thought of her as a brunette. You use some BUILD GRIST to expand the area of her room, a long, ridiculous corridor forms out of the side of her house and you slam down all three starter items. You can't help but smile as all your doubts faded away. This was the real deal after all.

==> Host inception.

You turn on Alie's home computer with the cursor and open her host menu, an incredibly small picture of Mona's room appears as a poorly computerized jpeg. you use your cursor to move her cursor to move Mona's cursor to move Penn's to place the three things you need. The image is so small you practically plop them down ontop of yourself. Good enough! You don't have enough time to place down Mona and Penn's items and you hope they can handle it all themselves, you can hear fathers faint steps in the hallway. You're going to have to engage him.

==> Equip the baton.

You flick open the telescopic baton and wait.

[Thrillho]

==> What is Penn doing?

You are now PENN and are...currently running back inside your abode from the backyard. The spare BB's were in fact in the shed, which you had cleverly hid in deep within your UNCLES tools. Once he saw these however, he immediately attempted to snag them from you. Being the rebellious rapscallion that you are, you successfully absconded from the scene.

==> Ascend up the Echeladder!

You rise up to your first rung!

PERTINENT STICKY HANDS
Boondollars : 0
Gel Viscosity : +0
Cache Limit : 20

With this newfound determination, you can't help but notice that your computer is...different. You were sure that you didn't do anything with the game before you left, so what the hell was going on? You begin trotting up, confusion covering your face.

==> In the past, but not too far along.

An UNCLE takes charge, his love for life and his nephew being practically unbreakable. They open up the mysterious client and server files of the said game to play. Just as fast as he came, he leaves almost instantly without a trace to locate his nephew. After all, he needed to be down here playing the game.

==> Penn: Throw out your back.

You let out a hefty grunt as you realize that this is the very game that Dick went on about. An internal scream forms in your being as it hits you that this is actually the best looking game of all time. It looks so real that you feel like you could touch whatever is inside. You move your mouse around to interact with the area.

==>

It's a pretty dark looking room with an edgy figure. No doubt that this is the avatar of the lordling of edge himself. You decide to troll him a bit as usual and grab one of the weird machines inside. It's crushing nearly everything inside, so moving anything would be a little too difficult. You see a 'revise' button in the menu...

==>

You select it and immediately waste nearly all of the building material available to extend the room outward. Upon further inspection outside, the place looks like it has a concrete tumor attached to it. Comedy gold. You move around the machines with the newfound space and attempt to drop one of them on your friend.

==>

To your surprise, it doesn't allow you to bring the machine anywhere near him. It places itself back exactly where it was before. Whatever. You move around to snoop further into the building. -You should also probably talk to Mona to see If they've already connected to you.

Pesterlog

Spoiler:

[cealvan]

==>Alie: jump in surprise.
you were making plans on running away for an hour or two, maybe three depending on what went on, but then the room suddenly enlarges and a bunch of machines appear in that new nook, and they shake the house. you jump nearly five feet off of the bed. before you can even take a look at what those things are, pops bursts into the room asking what the banging sound was and sees them. he obviously blames you and asks what on earth they are. you tell him you had no idea. after a bit of conversing back and forth, he tells you to not touch anything and runs downstairs.

you are to shocked to even move for a bit, and by the time you have recovered from your shock, he comes back upstares, asking what you know about sburb, you tell him that its a game that you had been planning to play with your friends today, but you hadn't even seen the link to yet, let alone started playing it. he talks about the dangers of playing online games and how anyone could be a hacker and how someone had hacked into your system and had been playing a ~ATH game on it but he caught the intruder, and shut him out and shut the network down for a while, and other stuff that is computer geeky, but you don't care about. you pretend to listen to anyways because not doing so would get you in trouble.

he leaves the room mumbling about how now he would have to get people in to remove the things, and fix the house, but you are now all alone in a room with a bunch of curious stuff that has appeared out of nowhere. you know that your pops wouldn't want you to do so, but as you can't help but wonder what they are, you get up and start looking at them.

[furry garbage]

==> Where has Mona been?

While all of your friends were probably being productive, you were trying to pull all your stuff together. Your trusty phone, trusty knife.. Trusty.. Pack of zigzags.. Wow. You really didn't need much. As this was all happening, your laptop was loading up the game.. The screen eventually switching to a video feed of a rather swole young lad that you would assume to be your good buddy Penn!

==> Zip back to your laptop.

You launch yourself across the room and manage to land rather skillfully in your chair. Just as you do so, your laptop lights up with a pesterlog.. This was from Penn, of course. You happily answer almost as soon as it pops up.

Pesterlog

Spoiler:

==>

Stop.. Being gay. Stop. STOP. Your hands fling up to your face, covering it rather ineffectively. Is this what's been hiding behind a screen the entire time? The actual Chad meme? What the fuuuuuuck.

[Thrillho]

==> How swole we talkin'?



Woah. What a true beefcake and he isn't even doing any strenuous task. The muscles set on this guy would turn even the most pure of men into flaming homosexuals. -Quite frankly, the fact that it took anyone this long to notice is this is beyond mortal comprehension.

OOC:

Spoiler:

[Sir Realism]

==> Return to Dick

You return at the exact moment Dick's father attempts to open the door, only to find it to be locked. A few good seconds pass and the sound of a faint "click" could be heard. Dick knew what this meant and his hidden eyes suddenly widened. The young... self proclaimed proxy... ran towards the first object in his room, luckily Penn was being a competent host for once and extended your room without asking. You look at the timer on the large furnace looking item. 3:14, you've already wasted too much time...

==> Use HEIGHT SUPERIORITY to tear off the lid of furnace.

You slam your knuckles straight into the side of the device and watch as the cap goes flying off. A bizarre jumble of weird patterns emerge, a red kernelsprite. Before you could do anything else a massive blast shook the room... your father shot the hinges off the door with his DOUBLE BARREL SHOTGUN. The door falls to the floor and the infamous figure is revealed. A man of height that surpasses dicks own standards. He wears a black trench coat with a trusty fedora, how classy.

==> Make a run for the head.

You take a single step only to find the ground in front of you has been turned to a variety of smoking holes. You'd figured he'd react this way...

Suddenly, he holsters weapon inside the massive coat and seems to slowly pull something out. You watch anxiously.

[Thrillho]

==> Penn: Keep going.

Pesterlog

Spoiler:

After typing up a storm, you bring your hands to your face. What even could this game BE to do some shit like this. This was supposed to be some shitty building simulator that you could easily MASTER. Now you had to follow the advice of some weirdo you met accidentally in a memo. -Speaking of which.

==>

As you bring your head back up, you notice that your friend DICK is currently...what the fuck. There is a severed head, some hefty mist forming, and some weirdo in a unironic fedora consuming the view. Being that you don't entirely want to keep watching this, you search for a way to make this stop.

==>

A menu pops up, showcasing the grist currently available for the player. It's...five 'build grist'. You wasted a good chunk of your funds on building a tumor in his bedroom. If you could do that...what's stopping you from just...

==>

Your mouse picks up the bed! As anyone would, you wave it around menacingly and accidentally send it through the wall. The rubble serving more as a deterrence rather than a helpful move. It might keep whoever fedora creep is at bay. With this newfound knowledge your vision drifts to the side to examine the other tools.

[cealvan]

you start by looking at the biggest one there, it has an arm on the side and a pedestal for something, you are not totally sure what, but you will assume that it has something to do with one of these other machines. you try pressing a few of the buttons on this thing, but they don't seem to do anything. so you move on to the next machine.

you decide to follow your pattern and go to the next largest one, this one is square with a round thing on top, and a wheel to turn on the side, you try to turn the wheel and it comes a little bit, but it feels like it is jammed. you also notice that it has a lid type thing on top, which you try to take off, but it doesn't budge. so you move on to the last one.

this one is different from the rest, it is long and thin. and it has a slot to put something in, you take one of your catalog cards, and try putting it in the slot, and to your amazement, it fits perfectly. it still doesn't seem to do anything though, you try pushing obvious buttons and whatnot, but nothing seems to happen. you are stumped, for now, your only guess is to get the lid off of the second machine somehow, but you will have to think about how to do that for now.

you wish you could message your friends to see if this is even actually part of the game and if so what to do with it, but even if you could get your hands on a computer of some kind, you would assume that pops has the network on lockdown, so that no signals of any kind can penetrate the house, so you are on your own.

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