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.

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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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You think I'm not serious, but I've fought on 3 days without food or water before and I'm not afraid to do it again. It won't even be hard. There's plenty to eat around here for a suicide mission.
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Not to you, though.
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Most people here seem smarter than that. What I'm saying is, we have to stop looking at this as a real-world situation and start thinking in terms of a world that's being tailored for us. That's how we figure out how to beat it.
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Oh yeah, and I'm worried that you're so convinced you're right that you can't see how dangerous it is to make that assumption.
What I'm saying is that all those worries outweigh my fear of your gun or a little discomfort or the idea of being trapped in a never-ending simulation designed to torture me.
In case it's still not clear, this is an ultimatum. I'm not backing down on this.
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[ Her tone started out pleading, but it quickly turns resigned. ]
You're making an assumption based on personal experience and treating it as gospel, and people are going to get hurt.
Starting with me, because I'm the only person crazy enough and stubborn enough to volunteer to be your babysitter.
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Calm down.
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[A beat.]
That wasn't a threat. I'm not threatening to kill you. I'm worried you're gonna do something stupid.
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And I'm not panicking. I'm pissed off.
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