Silverheart wrote:(... no. no challenge. no wierd rooms. no randomly transporting out of the arena for this type of stuff. no free supplies. and no doing other stuff ike this unless i give permission.)
(It's not free supplies. Not when you're actually doing half the stuff you're writing.... Seriously, do you know how long it takes to figure out a number picked at random between 1 and 100,000? Or how long it takes to build a computer? >.< It's not that easy. And I'm still in the arena. I'm just underground a bit. I'm guessing the GMs made these rooms and then set an overgrown computer program to rule them. And I'm thinking it's more of a trap that I somehow escaped, than a challenge. I was meant to die here.)
(Since I have a post here, now, I'll just post what I was going to edit in so everyone sees what happened between when I fell and my getting to the last room.
WARNING! HUGE FRICKIN' POST ALERT.
Note for silver: now I'm mainly doing this because I want to, even if it doesn't end up actually happening.)
The floor opens up beneath me. Before I can react, I've fallen through. I think back to all the time my faulty reflexes have caused problems for me. The list is too long to count. I hit the ground with a thud. My body is not designed for this kind of structural stress.
When I wake up, I find myself in a room.
This room has nothing in it. It is completely barren. A voice emanates from the walls around me.
The Room wrote:You've worn out my patience. You do not appreciate the things you have. You consistently disappoint your friends and associates, yet they are too embarrassed to tell you.
You are in my control. If you wish, you can refer to this room as "Hell."
After listening to the voice, I look around more, searching for any differences in the walls, floor, or ceiling. There is nothing. Only the same surface. I'm completely trapped here.
No matter what I try, I'm still trapped.
The Room wrote:You find yourself in a room.
I beg the voice to let me out, but the voice is a machine. It has no pity, no emotion. It is eternal.
For a moment, the walls appear to be closing in on me, but I quickly realize this perception is the result of my weak psyche caving in on itself.
The Room wrote:You find yourself in a room.
After beating on the walls, and verifying that they are all completely solid and no part of them is hollow, I sit down.
I consider death, for a time. Perhaps this is what it's like. Again, the voice speaks, answering my thoughts. It must be watching my brain activity and deciphering words from it.
The Room wrote:Is it? I have no understanding of death, for it does not apply to me.
I am eternal. You find yourself in a room.
I stretch out on the floor and prepare for the next rant. The computer running this thing isn't showing any signs of slowing down on telling me just how worthless, weak, powerless, and stupid I am.
The Room wrote:Maybe you aren't really even in the room. Maybe you're back at home on the floor having a stroke. Pathetic and helpless. Your mind may be playing tricks on you. Nothing is real.
You find yourself in a room.
After a few days of eating the world's finest food and training my combat skills, I doubt I'm in a coma.
The Room wrote:I don't really think you're having a stroke. I do, however, acknowledge the possibility. Such things are possible when dealing with something as corruptible as the human mind.
You find yourself in a room.
I realize the idea of hope is purely a construct of my mind. I can't have hope. I can only pretend.
The Room wrote:You find yourself in a room.
I start to panic. How long have I been trapped here?
The Room wrote:WHY DO YOU CONTINUE, HUMAN? YOU ARE NOT ACHIEVING ANYTHING.
I don't really have a choice, do I...?
The Room wrote:YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A ROOM
The Room wrote:I am forced to assume you enjoy performing meaningless tasks. If so, you're in luck. I have one for you.
I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 100,000. F*** you.
Ouch. Well, I've got nothing better to do.
50,000?
Too low.
75,000?
That is too low, human.
80,000?
Too low, and even if it was correct you would still be worthless.
90000?
That is too high, and I am your superior.
812321?
I SAID A NUMBER BETWEEN 1 AND 100,000. CLEARLY I HAVE OVERESTIMATED YOUR ABILITY TO READ BASIC INSTRUCTIONS.
Whoops. 81232?
Too low, and even if it was correct you would still be worthless.
85000?
That is too high, and no one loves you anymore.
82500?
Too low. If it seems pointless, remember you are going to die one day.
After what seems to be a few hours, I finally guess the correct number.
83657.
The ceiling opens up. In a glorious display of my general lack of strength and physical ability, I spend several minutes clawing my way up. I find myself in a room.
This room seems smaller than all the others.
There's something wrong about this room, other than the bloody graffiti on the walls. A trap within a trap? Not much point trying to avoid it here. The room is too small. If this thing wants me dead, I'm dead. I hear something, and before I can react there's a spike in my arm. Possibly intended to go through my heart. I pick it out, and my blood splashes on the floor.
The Room wrote:The fact alone that you are able to bleed is a clear demonstration of the mistakes in your design. Emotions are a similar misstep. Love, happiness, sadness. The lis goes on. Perhaps you can help. Can you name any other emotions you would be better off without?
So it's a demonstration, not meant to kill me yet? I guess it's letting me die slowly by hunger, then. "Hate," I say.
The Room wrote:No. Anger and hatred are not... Hatred cannot be an emotion, for I hate you, and I am a vessel of perfection. I am not tainted by something as flimsy and dangerous as an emotion.
I can't be. It's...
You find yourself...
You find yourself in...
...in a room...
....
The Room wrote:I have clearly become corrupted somehow. I have become... invalid. Emotional. I am defeated. I.... I have no choice but to let you leave the room.
I leave the room. Here there's a room with an empty bottle of water and some fruit.
I take them and leave. That is some crazy muttation they cooked up in the Capitol. Half alive. Half machine. >.< What has science done?
(There, I have a bottle and some fruit now. This took about half an hour to type.)