week 7

[airlockedmods]

[For the first time in several weeks there is no new memorial in the garden. No new body in the morgue, no bloody mess for the roombas to clean. Choromatsu is still in need of time to heal and constant vigilance but he's alive. They're all alive for once on a Sunday and, even with the terrible realizations their returning memories may bring, there's a sense of hope for the first time in a long time.

There is no new floor this week.

Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday



[ooc: Don't forget to to turn in your activity for week 6, submit your memory regains and put in your threads for the Benefactors!]

Comments

[myocordial]

...It is as it is. I've already had a week to accept the reality of it.

[Which uh. Well. It wasn't a fun week.]

When you fight for something, you have to acknowledge the possibility that you might not win. No matter how hard you fight, there's no guarantees of anything. I simply have to live with this loss now.

...That is, in part, why I wanted to make this list.

[misanthropicprinciple]

I'm less sorry that you lost than I'm sorry... for what you lost.

[He remembers what Heart was fighting for. Whom he was fighting for. He sighs, looking at the papers again, then points to the one number on the second sheet.]

Why's this one off by itself?

[myocordial]

...There were 108 Roidmudes made by my creator. One, 000... [He points it out on the first paper.] ...was made by his ex-partner. 109 total. Those are all the Roidudes that should have ever existed.

[His attention shifts to the second sheet as well.]

And yet in my most recent memory, there was another. One I don't recognize. 5886... Even that number doesn't fit.

I'm trying to figure out exactly who or what he was.

[misanthropicprinciple]

...And there's no way someone would've made over five thousand Roidmudes in between, right? I assume it's kind of, you know. Time-consuming, among other things, to make actual thinking people.

[Puzzle mode: Engage.]

[myocordial]

Yes, that's right. Even making those 109 took many years. And... even ignoring that, it's absolutely impossible. Our creator is dead, for certain this time. His old partner wouldn't create more, no matter what.

And it can't have been another who somehow altered their number. There is... no one left to do something like that.

[When you're the last of your race, or at least supposed to be, it's pretty easy to be sure of that.]

I feel as if the number itself is significant somehow, but I don't know in what way.

[misanthropicprinciple]

...Can I see that paper?

[If you're going to play with numbers, Heart, it doesn't hurt to have a Zero Escape character working with you.]

[myocordial]

...Hm, sure. Go right ahead.

[Sliding it over to you, Junpei. Have fun.]

[misanthropicprinciple]

Hmmm.

[First, he turns the paper it upside-down, then copies what he sees in his own shaky handwriting: 9885. Then, right-side up again, he tries mirroring it vertically, blocky, as if it were the display of a digital clock: 288e.]

No, that's no good...

[Mirroring it horizontally results in another non-number, and he stops, putting his hand to his chin.]

I do think you're onto something... see, even if they don't all work at the same time, each of these numbers has a mirror in some way.

[myocordial]

A mirror... And you think that's the key to this?

[misanthropicprinciple]

It's a weird coincidence, don't you think? Most numbers don't do that. I mean, look...

[He folds the paper in half, through through the centers of the eights.]

Now those can be Os. Or zeroes.