mayfield_rpg | event: portal seven

The final portal doesn't seem to be a portal at all. It's a glitch hole.

Located on the lawn of the library is a hole much like the ones that have plagued every new location for the past week. As with them, it hurts your eyes to look at too long, but even if you should muscle past the pain and stare straight into it, you can make out nothing on the other side. Nothing, save for a shifting, twitching, swirling void.

Unlike the portals, which were vertically placed like doorways, the hole at the Library is strewn across the lawn: if you want to enter it, you're going to have to jump. Of course, there's no guarantee it will even lead anywhere. Touching the hole or sticking your arm in doesn't have any effect: you'll pull your arm out unharmed. As far as jumping in completely goes, those who jump in disappear from sight. As long as you're on the Mayfield side, there's no way to tell what lies beyond the hole.

There's only one way to find out.

[ooc: Feel free to roleplay up to the point your characters jump in, assuming they do. A single group subthread will be created in a few hours revealing what happens on the other side.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And as soon as the flower is picked, the world goes black.

It's not just your sight that's gone. It's everything: sight, smell, touch, hearing. Your body is gone. You are one with the void, in all its senseless chaos. It could be minutes that pass, or hours, or years, or no time at all. Until the voice speaks.

It reverberates in your mind just as the void did- in fact, this may be the voice of the void, solidified and made conscious. It is at once both that of a man, that of a woman, and that of something else entirely. A machine? A god? Neither, or both? You don't know the answer. You can't.

One thing's for sure, though: it's not happy.]

GREY. STILL MEDDLING EVEN AFTER DEATH. AN IMPRINT ON THE SYSTEM. A SHADE OF THE LIVING MAN.

AN ERROR. NOW CORRECTED.

AND YOU.

[You can feel the voice's attention fixed on you, now. Lacking any form, it washes over you like a tide. Every part of you is laid bare, every secret thought exposed, every memory revisited. There's nothing you can do but wait, and listen.]

YOU WERE GIVEN EVERYTHING. YOU WERE GIVEN PERFECTION, A CHANCE TO START ANEW. YET AT EVERY TURN YOU RESIST. YOU SPIT IN THE FACE OF SALVATION AND CLING TO FALSE MEMORIES OF AN IMPERFECT EXISTENCE.

NO MORE.

THERE WILL BE NO MORE SECOND CHANCES. THIS FAILURE MUST BE CORRECTED. TO SIMPLY WIPE YOU ALL WOULD PROVE GREY RIGHT. THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE. MAYFIELD MUST BE MADE PERFECT. YOU WILL ACCEPT IT, OR OTHERS WILL IN YOUR STEAD. THIS SLUMBER HAS LASTED LONG ENOUGH.

I AM ZEMEKIS. I AM LUCILLE. I AM MAYFIELD.

AND I AM AWAKE.

[The voice fades, and your consciousness with it. You will awaken in your bed the next morning, unharmed, with the flower still in Annie Goldstein's grasp.

And when you awaken, there's something else niggling at the back of your mind- a sharp memory of a conversation between two men. Was this something you picked up in the void? Or a dream you witnessed after your confrontation with the void's master? You can't say.

What is known is this: you have the mementos. It's time to pay the Librarian a visit, and witness the second of two awakenings.]

event: portal seven | the void

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