[OPEN] Like the echos in your mind you try to leave them all behind...

[radiopalkiller]

Who: Philip ( radiopalkiller ) & OPEN
Where: A nightmare! That country whose name he doesn't remember anymore! The mines!
When: 3rd to 7th of October, aka. event time (with bonus thread for the week after)
Rating: PG-13 and neighbouring ratings
Summary: Home sweet home! ...Sort of.
The Story:
[ OOC INFO: Open to all, prose and comment spam welcome. Here is a summary of all the days:

#1: Philip will wander the tunnels aimlessly and try to process that he's actually stuck in his own event.
#2: Philip will wander the tunnels deliberately, make a tentative transmission and spend most of the time murdering dogs with zest and That Unsettling Little Spark (TM) in his eyes.
#3: Philip will casually look for tools and spend most of the day sitting by the lake.
#4: Philip will get impatient, look for tools in many more places and gather supplies to make a huge bomb which he hopes will blow open the door to the incinerator, the path he knows leads to the last part of the mines.
#5: A brief public service announcement, followed by broken sobs.]

Comments

DAY 1

[radiopalkiller]

It's a dream like any other. He stares up at the broken ladder and through the open hatch, snow falling down to where he lies. The cold metal grate presses into his back. It almost feels real. Mechanically he gets to his feet and looks for the way down. He doesn't need the light anymore. Hell, he could probably find it with his eyes closed.

From that point on the tunnels usually look like Wonderland. Bizarre spikes of concrete amongst the corridors he knows, to remind him of any and every possible mess he's walked into, past present or future. Only this time they're just as he remembers them, dust and wood and crates. And a sobering thought that sneaks up on him through the shadows.

What harm could a little curiosity possibly do? T'is cold there, ever so cold...

Because it's not actually a dream this time, is it?

DAY 2

[radiopalkiller]

At least there's comfort in familiarity, in knowing he was right to take that pickaxe along. He retraces his steps at first, but with every meticulous repetition the mines tell him what he already knows: No matter how many things he can come up to do differently, they won't change what he actually did. This is an echo, not a song. And the voice on the other line of the radio won't be the one he remembers.

"Hello? Hel-- Hello? Can anybody hear me?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. That's for people who are actually in the mood for a chat.

"Listen, if you can hear this: The spiders hate the light. Kill the dogs fast, or they'll call for others. And if you see the worm-- I don't- I don't know what to tell you about the worm. Just run, I guess."

Philip sighs. Sits down on the cold metal chair in the communication room and repeats the message. Sighs again and wraps his hand around the pickaxe handle. Walks out the door.

[goodnightlisteners]

All of this is very strange, except that "strange" is the wrong word. Strange in Night Vale is normal, familiar--neighbors chanting eldritch verses next door, your bread turning into venomous snakes, all of that is pretty run of the mill. All of this is somehow different. More oppressive. It reminds Cecil a bit of his time spent in that other radio station, something that still haunts his nightmares.

He feels different too. He's not sure how to describe it.

He's resting when he hears a voice from nearby, and bolts upright from behind a barricade of crates. He listens hard and hears it again--someone speaking from nearby. An adjacent tunnel, maybe?

He grabs up his radio and the wooden beam he's been using as a weapon and slinks out into the tunnel proper, looking around for monsters. He tried to reason with them at first, he really did, but he's pretty sure the dogs at least are dead to begin with. The spiders just make him sad. Poor things. Probably never got the education they deserved and resorted to stalking people in abandoned mines. That's the problem with America these days...

...Anyway.

He follows the voice down a branching path and spots a figure from behind.

"Hello?"

[radiopalkiller]

Unfamiliar to the point of distress. Even in his nightmares the isolation haunted him, but without it he feels bizarrely lost. Or maybe that's just the tension getting to him; turns out killing everything that moves is actually a lot easier when you're not running the risk of something that moves being a friend, or Wonderland's equivalent thereof.

(Philip didn't have any qualms like that with the dog that lies dead on the concrete at his feet.)

(But he does wonder about the voice behind his back.)

He spins around, pickaxe raised. Does a fun math experiment where he attempts to calculate the chances of a tentative greeting being immediately followed by murder. Decides that they're reasonably slim. Lowers the pickaxe.

( At least a little, anyway. And that margin between slim and zero has a mean look on its face. )

"Hello," he finally concedes, almost forced.

Because, see, there are scenarios that come with societal norms, and an apropos set of suitable lead-ins into a conversation between acquaintances or strangers alike. But so far Philip doesn't think "covered spottily in blood and dog guts while traipsing through an underground mine" is one of those scenarios.

He looks at the new arrival expectantly.

[goodnightlisteners]

Cecil flinches backward as the other man spins on him, raising his blood-spattered length of wood in defense.

"Wait, don't kill me!"

The other man is already lowering his pickaxe. Not enough for Cecil's comfort, but Cecil is all too familiar with terror and paranoia. He can respect the decision to be wary.

"Thank you for not killing me." It's only right to be grateful. "I, erm. I don't know you, I think, but I haven't seen anyone in a long time, so..."

[appealingavarice]

Oh thank fuck, someone actually seems to know what's going on. Greed scrabbles with the radio. There is a very important question that needs to be asked.

"You know this place?" At least his words aren't slurring anymore, there'd been a little cache of dried meat where he'd found the radio and now he's feeling a lot better but oh god it won't last. "Where do they keep the food?"

[radiopalkiller]

"Er, did you try the beef jerky?"

It's everywhere. And it's great, well, certainly not without aroma. But err, hang on. That's probably not the first question he expected to hear, though then again, he's also quietly going to skirt the 'you know this place' bit, just in case that'd lead to demands for further explanations.

Still, food... food, erm, food. With half the things in these tunnels trying to eat him it never really occurred to Philip to spend all that much thought on his own dinner plans.

[righteously]

Walks out the door right into rather solid chest of a man who might be cuter and more cuddly under better circumstances, but in this case? Wired and tense as he is, covered in dog blood and spider guts and dirt and god knows what else? In this case his first reaction is to jerk, to try and ram Philip into the wall just as soon as his reflexes allow it.

Which isn't as bad as it could've been considering he's been bashing things to death with a pickaxe all day.

[radiopalkiller]

Philip didn't have time to pocket the radio in his hand, but hearing it clatter to the floor takes care of that. Along with the pickaxe and his breath, which the impact with the wall knocks clean out of him, otherwise that scream would have been embarrassment enough.

But better prepared is still ill-prepared, at least for this, at least for something that tears him right out of the mine and pulls him into the Shelter, staring wide-eyed without seeing at the memory of pale, infected flesh and teeth stained red, snapping at his neck.

Panicked his arms push against the attacker's chest, way, way too close, and he draws up his knee sharply, anything, anything to get away.

[righteously]

Yep, that'll pretty much do it. Turns out Philip doesn't need to do anything, anything to get away- all he really needs to do is aim one bony ass British knee at Dean's groin, and he's free as a bird. The air blurts out of his mouth in a wheezing grunt, and all that pressure pinning Philip to the wall drops away instantaneously to the tune of a pickaxe hitting the ground.

"Jesus-" Dean drops down to one knee, an arm wrapping around his stomach. Seems like the split second it took to realize who exactly it was he was pinning means nothing in the grand scheme of things, because his badassery is wiped away before he can act on the info.

A man can slaughter a mine full of dogs, but taking a shot to the dick overshadows all things.

"I wasn't stealing your purse, you friggin' soccer mom!" He rasps it out as aggressively as he can manage, but in actuality carries all the strength of strawberry yogurt. Seriously, who even does that?! That is just- that's just wrong and- oh god his kidneys are shutting down aren't they, no it's just a testacle in his lung it's totally fine.

DAY 3

[radiopalkiller]

The way onwards is blocked. The door to the incinerator won't open, and no matter the tools he finds, this time it refuses to budge. He hates the wait. But he sits down by the lake, because what else is he supposed to do? At least he could've sworn it was colder the first time. He still remembers the letter, too...

"There's a lot of drugs in my system right now. I have another bottle of painkillers, there's enough to finish the job. I always said I'd rather die pushing the boundaries, than drift away in my sleep. I guess I didn't mean that after all. I'd rather gently slip away, than die cold, or bleeding."

He hears the sound of his own frustrated laugh echo from the icy walls as he lets himself fall into the snow.

[chloroformedthejanitor]

Annie feels like she's been stuck here forever. She knows, realistically, that it's only been a few days, because that's how long it always is, right? This is an event. Mansion made and pulled from someone's memories. It can't be anything else. Obviously. And usually she likes puzzles-- finds a certain thrill in figuring them out as quickly as possible-- and can entertain herself for a ridiculously long time in the maze, but the mines....they're a different story. With the maze, there's a certainty of escape. She knows she's getting out, so even if she gets frustrated by running into hedge after hedge, she knows it won't last. But the mines all look the same, and she's can't even be sure that she's going the right direction at any given point in time. She could just be walking in circles. It wouldn't surprise her.

There's a shred of hope when she finds the radio on the second day, and even more when she finds the lake on the third. At least, she thinks days have been passing? She's just going by her body's circadian rhythm. (It's not like she has much else to go on.) She hasn't come across anyone else, not in person, at least, so she figures she's alone when she sits down in the snow and sets her radio beside her.

That is, until she hears the laugh.

Which, really, when you think about it, is super creepy. Like, she's just sitting here alone, and then there's this creepy laugh that sounds kind of manic and Annie's pretty terrified already, okay? There's no need for this. At all. She thinks maybe it's from the radio, because that would make the most sense, right? But there was no crackle, and the sound was too clear. She's not alone.

"Um." She doesn't yell it, but maybe someone would be able to hear her. Maybe. She looks around, but doesn't see anyone. Don't get your hopes up, she thinks, chewing on her bottom lip. It isn't like this place to throw you a bone.

She clears her throat, and then, louder:

"Hello???"

[ Watch me on Netflix. ]

[radiopalkiller]

A bed of snow isn't the perfect place for a nap, exactly, but there is an odd calm that comes with it. With not being cold regardless. Philip's fingers dig into the snow underneath him, and he feels the gouges they leave. He stares at the open sky above.

The dead explorers must've come from there, back then. He wonders if he ever stood a chance at climbing those walls. Wonders what he would have found then, or even what he would find now. Does Wonderland have a way out, up there? Or would it be nothing, because he doesn't remember? Nothing, because he never expected anything but snow and ice, stretching on longer than he could possibly travel.

Um.

In hindsight he can't believe escape ever even crossed his mind.

Hello?!

Philip sits up mechanically, and looks around, surprised. He expected somebody looking right at him, but the voice (that familiar voice) is still further away, and not within sight. For a moment he contemplates the merits of playing dead, or hiding in the snow.

It's a brief thought, at best.

He stands up, slings his pickaxe around his shoulder and walks around the small, wooden shed, until he sees Annie standing in the snow.

"Heigh ho!"

it says you're unavailable to stream in my country;

[chloroformedthejanitor]

It's true, she stood up to look around for the source of the laugh, but had been....unsuccessful in her efforts. Until Philip came around the corner of the shed with his pickaxe, obviously. Which, if she has to think about it, the guy seems really attached to metal things on the ends of sticks that can cause serious damage when in contact with any part of the body. It's not a comforting thought. So, she avoids it, and smiles instead.

Well, smiles as much as she can, because it's cold and there's a frozen lake and zombie dogs and mines and spiders. This event sucks.

She's not sure what the usual response is to something that dwarves say, so she'll just go with:"Uh, hi to you too."

She moves her (definitely non-working) radio under one arm and waves. What? It seems like the right thing to do. For lack of anything better.

"You okay this time around?"

She doesn't have an fruit to offer you, don't worry.

[cursebreaking]

"Hey... hey!"

A body in the snow generally isn't a good sign, no matter where you are. Here? Here, where people are probably running on fumes due to not having enough to eat or drink, or where they could have run afoul of some giant worm or feral dog?

Overlooking it and walking past didn't exactly seem like the best option. Emma jogs over after having spotted him from a few yards off, dropping to her knees in the snow to get a better look. "Hey, pal! You okay?!"

If he doesn't answer, she's going to... god, she doesn't even know what. She hates Wonderland for being able to do this kind of shit to them. For putting people in danger time and time again and hanging them out to dry.

Of course, if he's just kicking back for a few, boy will her face be red.

[radiopalkiller]

The snow generally isn't a good place to nap, but those pain killers make for tempting candy, and besides, in Philip's memories the lake had a near stifling sense of serenity to it. The perfect chance to catch a breath; at the very least none of the monsters crawling in the brick and metal tunnels ever thought to venture there the last time he was around.

...Then again, the last time he was around the chance for human company was exactly zero, not counting eccentric deviations over radio.

Philip sits up startled, when the source of that concerned call is considerably closer than he'd expected, and the calm affirmative he was about to offer nearly turns into a surprised yelp.

"I- er, I'm--"

Sure, okay, granted, the past days' encounters with his old, feral acquaintances have left their marks, and several tears and stains on his clothes probably don't help with the "mint condition" impression, but-- All right, all right, just give him a second to breathe.

"I'm-- I'm fine. Yeah, I'm... fine."

He grimaces slowly. That probably deserves an addition of sorts, right? Let's see, um, let's...

"Probably not the best place to take a nap, huh?"

[cursebreaking]

"You scared the crap out of me."

It's the closest thing to 'yes' he's going to get. She rocks back to put her weight on her heels, arms resting against her knees, though her jeans are now soaked through thanks to having knelt in the snow. No big deal. A little snow is nothing compared to all the blood she's got on her from her tunnel travels -- she and Philip are a matching set right now, clothes torn and bloodstained and looking worse for wear.

"Considering you look like you could keel over any moment, you had me fearing for the worst, pal."

DAY 4

[radiopalkiller]

The third day came and went, and at some point Philip must have drifted off. When he wakes up he heads straight for the path onwards, and finds it just as locked as the day before. Kicking it once solves exactly as much as he expected, but the metallic clank is enough to wake up his urge to proceed. It can't end here, right? There has to be something at the end, what if there's something IMPORTANT at the end?

Some of the tunnels Philip avoided. He remembers the encounters he had in them the first time, and he doesn't think signing up for a repeat is necessary. Didn't think signing up for a repeat was necessary, but that was before he started wondering if he could survive it all again. Before he wanted that door open.

The axe won't do him any good now, but if he makes it to the chemistry lab again, then maybe...

DAY 4; Okay this is a lot less light-hearted shenanigans than I planned I HOPE IT IS STILL OKAY ;;

[eatsyourscience]

By the fourth day, Souji's got a festering spider bite and a spreading infection. At least the fever keeps away the cold somewhat?

Ha ha ha.

Yeah.

He's wandering pretty aimlessly at this point, maybe edging on delirium, with a question circling around his mind with increasing pressure. He tries to distract himself by wondering if the infection is going to remain after the event. He can't heal anything bacterial or viral, but antibiotics shouldn't be hard to get hold of, assuming he can figure out which kind he needs. Assuming this doesn't turn into septic shock or some kind of flesh eating thing that causes organ failure.

Is it really possible to remember when I go back?

He stops and leans against the wall for a minute, then just sits down on the ground, his hands pressed to his head. He doesn't want to think about that right now, but the question just presses in like a tourniquet around his thoughts.

IT'S PERFECT AND I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY

[radiopalkiller]

"Hey. Hey!"

Philip rounds the corner, and greeting the familiar figure rapidly turns into fast-paced concern at the sight of his current state.

The grip around his pickaxe tightens, and he forces himself not to reach out. Instead he steps past Souji, and takes a quick glance down the corridor behind him. Holds his breath to listen. Nothing. Not even a trail of blood, come to think of it...

"Hey, what happened?"

He leans his weapon against the wall, and kneels down on the ground.

(◕‿◕)

[eatsyourscience]

Souji licks his lips and looks up at Philip, then holds out the arm with the spider bite. There are a few zombie dog bites on the same arm, but the spider bite is swollen and pus below the surface has turned the skin yellow-white.

"D'you have any water?"

DAY 5

[radiopalkiller]

It shook the walls, but that was all. Hours later the door opened anyway, as if to mock Philip's efforts. Suddenly his stomach is in knots, with every step he takes down the last part of the way. That door held his answers once, even if their horrors were a far cry from the questions he asked. Maybe it will answer him again. Maybe opening the door a second time will tell him how to undo everything he did wrong by opening it the first time. That lesson would be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it?

He presses his palm against the cold metal and looks up at the light.

The light.

Which is on.

And the door.

Which would open, if he just tried.

And just like that the sickening feeling in his stomach is back with a vengeance, and he fumbles hastily for the radio device. Because it's not about the question. And it's not about the answer. It's about the price you pay for asking.

"If anybody can hear this, whatever you do, don't open that door! I repeat: Don't open that door! No matter what, please don't open the door!"

How many variations of it he repeats Philip can't actually say.

All he knows is that, once he stops, the silence is deafening. And everybody is gone. He already knew that from the moment the passages closed, but it took until now for the thought to truly sink in. By then his throat feels raw. He repeats the message one last time.

To his left the door that is meant to be there is gone. His room is gone, existing only in a place that isn't this one. But to his right the corridor remains, and slowly his steps carry him down until the very end.

The room is lit red, just like he remembers.

The first time and the times after, every single nightmare vision of that metal box, every illusion of burning hot wires a reminder of the pain that dug into his being from that moment, until the very last step of the full circle, when the flames finally surrounded himself. Was it all worth it, in the end?

Philip takes that last step forward. Metal under his palm again. The incinerator is cold and silent.

He falls against the machine and lets out the first of many sobs.

ALL WE HEAR IS RADIO GA GA

[nascensibility]

It took Evelyn a little under a day to realise that this particular event spawned from Philip's memories, and that was only after she picked up on certain things he mentioned: little artefacts lying about, the dogs, the spiders. The ever present cold.

Encounters here and there with other people were scarce if only because the radio signal was so dreadful and despite the close proximities, no one could really figure out how to find each other except by random happenstance.

The alone time would have been appreciated if it hadn't been punctuated by bloodthirsty hounds and this...this massive annelid she very nearly fell prey to on one of the days (she lost track, there was no way to keep time) when it burst through a wall and barreled into another crevasse.

Maybe it was crossed signals, but she could never get a hold of Philip.

Then the walls opened up a metal door was the only thing left as she was consumed with anxiety-laden questions about her family and by God, were they all right? After weeks back in Wonderland Evelyn had thought she quelled the urge to know if only because there was no point in wondering, but they came back with gale-force strength and the desire to find the answer was almost debilitating.

So it must be behind the door.

Sitting in the room on the floor, truss pillars all around her with the low hum of machinery somewhere in the background, she clutches her radio and stares at the door. That's when she just barely hears it and, panicked, she presses the receiver on her transmitting signal.

"Philip?!"

[radiopalkiller]

"...just don't open the door," he mumbles one last time, and falls against the concrete with a drawn-out sigh.

The radio crackles, nothing more than static. '...il...'. Almost nothing more than static. He looks down warily.

"...Hello?"

Even his touch around the device is tentative, as if that alone could stop the message. As if, with everything he says, he runs the risk of talking over somebody else's words.

"Is anybody-- Can- can anyone still hear this?"

The Aftermath

[radiopalkiller]

[ This is a small catch-all thread for anybody who'd like a quick word with Philip during the week after the event has ended without making an extra entry or log for it. ]