TO994M | day 4 | morning | audio
[There's the sound of footsteps on sand; she's walking as she talks, heading away from the beach and up towards the scrubby jungle.]
So I got got by what I think was a crossbow bolt. Kinda hard to tell for sure; it all came at me pretty fast. Got an arrow to the leg not long before that, but the one that came for my head seemed bigger in the point-two seconds of reaction time I had before it hit. And it did hit. Should've been difficult-to-impossible to survive, but here I am. Which tells me some things.
[She relays the news of her almost-certain death matter-of-factly, in the same flat-ish tone as her previous radio contributions. If anything, she sounds a little more upbeat here: it's not by much, but having (what she thinks are) answers is a relief. At least now she (thinks she!!) knows what she's dealing with.]
Look, guys; this isn't real. Fifty-fifty odds whether you're a part of it or not - maybe you're all artificial constructs and I'm the only real sentient person here, or maybe we're all hooked up to machines in a lab and we've been tossed into this simulated... thing together. Gonna be nice and assume the latter, for now. Point is, signs have been pointing to this for a while, and this proves it. But this is good news, kind of. It means that whatever happens here doesn't really matter. We die, we screw up, we do something our monitor overlord doesn't like - we just reset. I fired off three bullets, and they're back now, because the gun and the bullets are just lines of computer code that can be rewritten in whatever way the people running this want.
Priority number one shouldn't be escaping the island or long-term survival or whatever. It should be figuring out how to get out of the simulation. Then the party can really get started.
So I got got by what I think was a crossbow bolt. Kinda hard to tell for sure; it all came at me pretty fast. Got an arrow to the leg not long before that, but the one that came for my head seemed bigger in the point-two seconds of reaction time I had before it hit. And it did hit. Should've been difficult-to-impossible to survive, but here I am. Which tells me some things.
[She relays the news of her almost-certain death matter-of-factly, in the same flat-ish tone as her previous radio contributions. If anything, she sounds a little more upbeat here: it's not by much, but having (what she thinks are) answers is a relief. At least now she (thinks she!!) knows what she's dealing with.]
Look, guys; this isn't real. Fifty-fifty odds whether you're a part of it or not - maybe you're all artificial constructs and I'm the only real sentient person here, or maybe we're all hooked up to machines in a lab and we've been tossed into this simulated... thing together. Gonna be nice and assume the latter, for now. Point is, signs have been pointing to this for a while, and this proves it. But this is good news, kind of. It means that whatever happens here doesn't really matter. We die, we screw up, we do something our monitor overlord doesn't like - we just reset. I fired off three bullets, and they're back now, because the gun and the bullets are just lines of computer code that can be rewritten in whatever way the people running this want.
Priority number one shouldn't be escaping the island or long-term survival or whatever. It should be figuring out how to get out of the simulation. Then the party can really get started.

BT612L; voice
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You remember what happened, right? That makes it real. That means it matters. It doesn't matter if it's just numbers on a screen somewhere. It happened, and you have that experience, and that's not nothing.
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[But.]
It did hurt; I won't lie to you. Can't blame you for not wanting to go through that yourself, no matter how fake. If I ever run into you in person, I'll protect you.
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And you aren't. There are a thousand different explanations.
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Maybe we're clones! That's seven thousand people that didn't have to die. Maybe there's a limit, and death eight thousand is permanent. Maybe it's magic. Last year a bunch of living superheroes turned into evil zombies. Stuff happens!
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I don't care if this is a simulation. I don't care if I'm not real. I don't care if you're not real. I don't care if they aren't real.
I don't like when people suffer.
Starving to death? That's suffering. So what I need from you right now is to not tell people to try killing themselves because you're having a mental breakdown.
If someone dies because you told them it didn't matter? I call that murder. I don't care if they wake up the next morning feeling better than ever. And I will hold you accountable. Okay?
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Which it isn't, of course, but still, she has to admire both the sentiment and the balls.]
You got a name?
[Congratulations on being the first person she's actually bothered to ask, Steph.]
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Stephanie. Stephanie Brown.
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So? No more reckless endangerment? Or do I have to cross this jungle and put you in a headlock.
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text | callsign: DI481O
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You get my point here right? That even if she's right that's a terrible plan?
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You know. Helping each other not die. Right?
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I respect you, and hey, I don't want to start an argument here. But you gotta admit, it's kinda hard not to have concerns about some of what you're saying. If you think I'm missing the point, don't you think somebody else could "miss the point" too and decide to harm themselves?
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How's that?
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I don't think fish know anything