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-- what?
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If John or Harold were here, her brain reminds itself, Samaritan would make you kill them. Just like it's probably going to make you kill this stupid, bullheaded girl. Maybe she should give up her gun. Maybe she should toss herself at a drone and get herself locked in a cell. What would the simulation do if she just plain refused to play?]
Not to me.
[She says tonelessly, ten minutes later, after she's started walking again.]
To them.
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Tell me again how much you care.
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[Your stupid choices are your own, she wants to say.
It would be nice if it were that simple.]
I thought about it. If VL1's right, and she probably is, you're owed an explanation. So you wanna talk? Let's talk.
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[ You shouldn't be proud of this victory, Steph. ]
Say you're right. What's the point, then? Of all this. What's the big plan?
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I don't know why we're still doing this in a simulation. Maybe shooting innocent people in front of me in real life is the step after this one.
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If the simulations are so different, why are you so convinced it's the same people?
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[Which, maybe, means that Root never actually died.]
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I'm not special. I'm just the one they have.
Why do you think there's more than one?
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But you're not the only one they have now. So what's so special about you that the rest of us don't have?
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So they have the technology to implant memories, but not extract them? No, before that, they have the ability to completely fabricate detailed, convincing memories of entire worlds, and they couldn't just fabricate a world in which you tell them what they want to know?
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[She cuts herself off, biting her tongue until her frustration ebbs.]
I don't think they stuck you with new memories in any easy-peasy kinda way. I think they tortured and brainwashed you until you didn't know what end was up. Maybe it got so bad that you retreated into a fantasy world where superheroes exist.
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If they were going to torture me anyway, why wouldn't they do it in front of you? Seriously, what's the point? Why make everything so difficult for themselves? If you're right, then these guys are incompetent morons.
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Guessing there's a bigger picture that I don't know about. They've had me for, uh-- probably at least a year, by this point. A lot can happen in the outside world in that time. I'm putting together a puzzle when I only have a quarter of the pieces.
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If it's taken them a year to reach this level of idiocy, I'm calling that incompetence.
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