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Type.27
Customized Title™️
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2018
- Location
- Outerville, PNW
You find yourself in a dark room, a single fluorescent bulb hangs ominously between you and the other side of the gray folding table, surreptitiously dangling from an unfinished ceiling, the black insulated electrical wire disappearing almost immediately into the darkness, the bulb's harsh illumination makes it difficult to focus on its source for too long. From the other end of the room, you hear the unmistakeable sound of a loud hinge in need of oil, the squeaking sound rang as the unkept hinges stuttered to move. From the other side of the table there is only darkness and sound. As the sounds grow quieter, the darkness seemed louder, interrupted as a dull thump is heard.
There aren't any other sounds in the room after this; though there was no light and sound you can feel something watching from afar; you wouldn't have to rely on feelings for longer. The sound of rubber-soled boots hitting the hard-surfaced unfinished plywood floor panels shook loudly as loosely-secured planks and the sound of heavy-soled heels greeting eachother, heralding their arrival. The footsteps grew closer and the room grew louder with the awkward cacophony before the silent individual moved into the light.
They wore a double-breasted leather jacket with the left arm trimmed short, a cobalt blue metallic arm with orange fingertips and white accents along the wrist replaced it. The arm didn't look like it was made for a specific purpose; the upper arm was a cylinder whose length ended with a fine bezel as it abruptly stopped. A smooth steel pipe, polished enough to reflect its surroundings, connected to a circular elbow. The elbow was wide, the size of a stout 8oz can, and had another small polished steel pipe connecting to the forearm. The forearm had a flanged design; its widest end faced the elbow, a flat length that ran five inches before slimming down to another, smaller straight length. The silver markings on the forearm started closely to the right where the elbow connection ran. It was a spiral of falling silver feathers that landed at the opposite side of the wrist, near the hand, appearing as a fallen feather on top of the spherical connection. The palm and back of the hand looked like a small, inflexible jewel case box, with no room to bend or fold, holding the spherical connections to the oddly ergonomic fingers. Each digit appeared to have the texture of a gloved finger, however underneath a cloth exterior was a silicon sleeve, its insides coated in a heat resistant oil that protected the intricate and small instruments that pulled each section of the finger to ape the appearance and functionality of a hand. Though the fingers and tips were multicolored, the touch and functionality of the two sections were identical in limitation.
Along the shoulders at the folded clips were small silver skulls with rubies in their eye sockets. The head of the guest was obscured by a large helmet that was reminiscent of a motorcycle helmet, except it was missing the discernible features that distinguished where visor ended and helmet began. The masked individual's iridescent hand reached for something in their back pant pocket, pulling out a small black cassette recorder.
Calmly the silent observer pulled out the chair from the other side of the table, a sharp grinding sound cracked along the feet of the chair as it scraped against the unfinished wood. Ending as quickly as it started, without shifting their head, the quiet guest slid into the extended chair, placing their artificial hand on the folding table, and clicking the play button before an index finger pushed on an adjacent switch upwards. The long finger extended and waited above the play button ominously. The sound of the cassette tape whirring as the wheels spun and the tape rapidly transferred from one side to another filled the room and broke the silence before being abruptly cut off by a clicking sound as the long finger pressed down on the play button. A sultry, husky-voiced woman spoke very matter-of-factly, with confidence and indifference only a robot could hope to mimic. It emanated from the large speaker on the front of the Sony device.
"Good evening, and thank you for joining me—" the audio was cut off by the sound of the cassette being spun again, this time in reverse. The figure's helmet illuminated dimly as the entirety was revealed to be a wrapped LCD screen, having just turned on. The face was replaced by the image of a far-away candle burning in darkness. Another click, a a young man spoke, his speech inflection as if he was in asking a serious question. "Why are you—" a quick whirr interrupted the audio before another click, the same voice spoke, their tone incongruent from the last as it took on a more neutral announcement in its inference, "here, tonight." The helmet changed, and an image of a beachfront complete with sunset occupied the helmet's exterior display. The sky was orange fading into purple, the sunset a bright orange ball waving over the purple water with brilliant red reflections. The sunset didn't last, and was fading to darkness.
The image and audio was cut off by a sharp click, the play button jumping back up as the ring finger clicked on the stop button. The stranger let the silence hang for three seconds before clicking play again, searching through the cassette. The tape whirred for two seconds before the play button clicked. A calm, soft voiced woman spoke, "Es ist dir egal wer ich bin—You don't care who I am." She spoke English with the faintest of accents, most noticeable as she said 'who' and 'am'. The tape stopped as it was rewound, stopping a moment later as another man spoke, heralded by a click. There was the sound of rain in the background as he spoke. He sounded gruff, tired; his voice was raspy as if he was shouting and was on the verge of losing his voice.
"But I know who you are, I've been watching you." The darkness of the helmet exploded into a bright white light before the screen darkened, revealing a nuclear explosion from a distance in a darkened sky, the unmistakable glow and shape of the iconic cloud taking up a majority of the facial area, the explosion billowed for five seconds before small white text was superimposed on top of the glowing mushroom 'we were never friends.' As the explosion faded, turning the helmet dark again, the cassette was being scanned, fast forwarding until stopped by the play button.
"I have what you want." A quiet, young, female voice spoke, she had a sense of calm in her voice, cut short by the tape fast forwarding. Clicking to a halt, an old man spoke, his voice trembling with an uncertainty and frailty.
"Just do what they say.”
The tape stopped with a harsh click, and the arm withdrew from on top of the table. The deft mechanical appendage stowed the recorder back in the rear pocket, settling it in the creases it formed over repeated occupation. Keeping eye contact, or at least keeping its head still to mimic the semblance of eye contact, the masked figure pulled the left hand to withdraw from their right coat pocket, keeping the jacket zipped up and reaching near the opening from the break. From inside there was a small envelope folded in half, pinched on top with a finger and thumb was a business card. The two were pressed against the table, sliding across with a grained rasp as they were pushed in front of you.
The card had only one sentence printed.'I lost the login to my F-list'
There aren't any other sounds in the room after this; though there was no light and sound you can feel something watching from afar; you wouldn't have to rely on feelings for longer. The sound of rubber-soled boots hitting the hard-surfaced unfinished plywood floor panels shook loudly as loosely-secured planks and the sound of heavy-soled heels greeting eachother, heralding their arrival. The footsteps grew closer and the room grew louder with the awkward cacophony before the silent individual moved into the light.
They wore a double-breasted leather jacket with the left arm trimmed short, a cobalt blue metallic arm with orange fingertips and white accents along the wrist replaced it. The arm didn't look like it was made for a specific purpose; the upper arm was a cylinder whose length ended with a fine bezel as it abruptly stopped. A smooth steel pipe, polished enough to reflect its surroundings, connected to a circular elbow. The elbow was wide, the size of a stout 8oz can, and had another small polished steel pipe connecting to the forearm. The forearm had a flanged design; its widest end faced the elbow, a flat length that ran five inches before slimming down to another, smaller straight length. The silver markings on the forearm started closely to the right where the elbow connection ran. It was a spiral of falling silver feathers that landed at the opposite side of the wrist, near the hand, appearing as a fallen feather on top of the spherical connection. The palm and back of the hand looked like a small, inflexible jewel case box, with no room to bend or fold, holding the spherical connections to the oddly ergonomic fingers. Each digit appeared to have the texture of a gloved finger, however underneath a cloth exterior was a silicon sleeve, its insides coated in a heat resistant oil that protected the intricate and small instruments that pulled each section of the finger to ape the appearance and functionality of a hand. Though the fingers and tips were multicolored, the touch and functionality of the two sections were identical in limitation.
Along the shoulders at the folded clips were small silver skulls with rubies in their eye sockets. The head of the guest was obscured by a large helmet that was reminiscent of a motorcycle helmet, except it was missing the discernible features that distinguished where visor ended and helmet began. The masked individual's iridescent hand reached for something in their back pant pocket, pulling out a small black cassette recorder.
Calmly the silent observer pulled out the chair from the other side of the table, a sharp grinding sound cracked along the feet of the chair as it scraped against the unfinished wood. Ending as quickly as it started, without shifting their head, the quiet guest slid into the extended chair, placing their artificial hand on the folding table, and clicking the play button before an index finger pushed on an adjacent switch upwards. The long finger extended and waited above the play button ominously. The sound of the cassette tape whirring as the wheels spun and the tape rapidly transferred from one side to another filled the room and broke the silence before being abruptly cut off by a clicking sound as the long finger pressed down on the play button. A sultry, husky-voiced woman spoke very matter-of-factly, with confidence and indifference only a robot could hope to mimic. It emanated from the large speaker on the front of the Sony device.
"Good evening, and thank you for joining me—" the audio was cut off by the sound of the cassette being spun again, this time in reverse. The figure's helmet illuminated dimly as the entirety was revealed to be a wrapped LCD screen, having just turned on. The face was replaced by the image of a far-away candle burning in darkness. Another click, a a young man spoke, his speech inflection as if he was in asking a serious question. "Why are you—" a quick whirr interrupted the audio before another click, the same voice spoke, their tone incongruent from the last as it took on a more neutral announcement in its inference, "here, tonight." The helmet changed, and an image of a beachfront complete with sunset occupied the helmet's exterior display. The sky was orange fading into purple, the sunset a bright orange ball waving over the purple water with brilliant red reflections. The sunset didn't last, and was fading to darkness.
The image and audio was cut off by a sharp click, the play button jumping back up as the ring finger clicked on the stop button. The stranger let the silence hang for three seconds before clicking play again, searching through the cassette. The tape whirred for two seconds before the play button clicked. A calm, soft voiced woman spoke, "Es ist dir egal wer ich bin—You don't care who I am." She spoke English with the faintest of accents, most noticeable as she said 'who' and 'am'. The tape stopped as it was rewound, stopping a moment later as another man spoke, heralded by a click. There was the sound of rain in the background as he spoke. He sounded gruff, tired; his voice was raspy as if he was shouting and was on the verge of losing his voice.
"But I know who you are, I've been watching you." The darkness of the helmet exploded into a bright white light before the screen darkened, revealing a nuclear explosion from a distance in a darkened sky, the unmistakable glow and shape of the iconic cloud taking up a majority of the facial area, the explosion billowed for five seconds before small white text was superimposed on top of the glowing mushroom 'we were never friends.' As the explosion faded, turning the helmet dark again, the cassette was being scanned, fast forwarding until stopped by the play button.
"I have what you want." A quiet, young, female voice spoke, she had a sense of calm in her voice, cut short by the tape fast forwarding. Clicking to a halt, an old man spoke, his voice trembling with an uncertainty and frailty.
"Just do what they say.”
The tape stopped with a harsh click, and the arm withdrew from on top of the table. The deft mechanical appendage stowed the recorder back in the rear pocket, settling it in the creases it formed over repeated occupation. Keeping eye contact, or at least keeping its head still to mimic the semblance of eye contact, the masked figure pulled the left hand to withdraw from their right coat pocket, keeping the jacket zipped up and reaching near the opening from the break. From inside there was a small envelope folded in half, pinched on top with a finger and thumb was a business card. The two were pressed against the table, sliding across with a grained rasp as they were pushed in front of you.
The card had only one sentence printed.'I lost the login to my F-list'
DMs only. No Discord unless you want to worldbuild.
Looking for dominant and submissive partners. Send me your ideas or send me your F-list and what you're looking for.
Looking for hyper fans and furry friends. No such thing as too big, just a lack of imagination.
Looking for dominant and submissive partners. Send me your ideas or send me your F-list and what you're looking for.
Looking for hyper fans and furry friends. No such thing as too big, just a lack of imagination.