Jul. 8th, 2017

airlockedmods: (P.A.L.)
[personal profile] airlockedmods
[After a while, the shaft in the middle of the elevator rises up again and glows a beckoning shade of blue. PAL the literal infant in the computer stopped responding somewhere when Queenie started throwing shit around, but the hum of the machinery goes quieter to match.

And when all 10 Champions get on the elevator and Junpei uses his robot hand to firmly grasp the shaft, the elevator rises back up into place. There are no new portraits, because nobody new has died. The only difference between now and the last time you were up here is the lack of stairs leading up to the Overseers' booth, and the complete lack of lighting aside from the blue glow on the shaft. As each Champion takes their place behind their podium, the rose on the front lights up red.

Sorry everybody, this trial is very #aesthetic, good luck reading your notes.]

Welcome, Champions, to the final trial aboard the Fantasy Sweet. At stake here is your freedom, and possibly your lives. Can you solve the mysteries of the Fantasy Sweet and earn your way out?

Compile your evidence. Discuss. And Vote.

This will all be over soon.

[Despite the lit-up roses, the voting panels remain dark and inactive.]
theoverseen: (pic#11358850)
[personal profile] theoverseen
[Once all the votes are in, there's a hissing sound, like fog escaping a fog machine. However, there's no fog to be seen. Until you look up to the Overseer's booth, with its glass walls that are slowly becoming more opaque as the room fills with white smoke.

A bright bluish-white light illuminates what it can, from lights on top of and below the platform like a rock star stage. There's a barely-visible shadow, and the menacing cackle of a voice that you're all quite familiar with, even though you haven't heard it in a while.

And then the cackling turns into coughing and yelling.]


[The glass around the platform shatters from the blunt force of two long, spindly metal arms, and white smoke pours down from the Overseer's platform and to the floor, spilling out the long distance to the floor like medical-cherry-scented clouds.

The alien man is...a lot smaller than Kip, actually, held aloft by four long spider-like arms sticking out from somewhere on his back. And as soon as he stops choking on his own mistakes, the cackling resumes again.]

Behold!! Humans, robots, AI, and... anything else you may identify as! Your "Kip Larimer" does not exist! I, KIP! AM YOUR OVERLORD!