#found documents

[tranquilvenommonolith]

so, I found this fucking shit, somewhere in Italy. Look what they did to this guy!

No idea who wrote the other shit on it, but victim is right!

What the hell are we becoming?

[lettersfrombeachhead]

yeah being an adult is hard because you have to pay bills or whatever. but consider: yesterday i found this promotional frozen Yoplait themed flash game from 2009 that i used to play as a kid (aged like 7 or 8)—

and i, as an adult, can now go to the store and get yogurt and freeze it, and play this game while eating frozen yogurt. i can just decide to do that. if you're 8 and you want frozen yogurt, your mom has other priorities 9 times out of 10. but when you're an adult, your priority is you. maybe adult life doesn't have to suck. maybe it's about getting to do whatever the fuck you want.

[lendubsofficial]

finally started uploading an ARG project i’ve been slowly building for a while and i’m honestly really excited about it

it follows a university archivist who discovers a hidden office and an old external hard drive labeled PROJECT_Y, then decides to document the contents before telling anyone else it exist

the story unfolds through:

screen recordings

transcribed files

archive restorations

community posts

and audience participation puzzles!

it’s very slow burn and heavily inspired by old internet mysteries, archival research, obsolete software, and weird academic documents

also i got way too invested in designing fake research papers and archive metadata for this thing

first log is up now :)

[kinocomix]

the criminal mastermind's pocket diary has updated.

the entirety of part 3 is now available to read.

read the whole thing from the beginning:

here

Read The criminal mastermind's pocket diary | Tapas Web Community

Read The criminal mastermind's pocket diary and more premium Slice of life Community series now on Tapas!

or here

The kidnapping of Hala Dabdoub

if you like scary mystery stories, this might be just the thing for you!

here are some snippets:

[pastlastlight]

2. Welcome to Doucet

The email body was blank but there were photo attachments: Photos 1-5: Scanned copies of an aged journal. It is written in a messy, frantic script. Photo 6: polaroid of sunset on unlabeled southern interstate. Photo 7: polaroid of sugarcane field against a cloudy blue sky. Photo 8: polaroid of a cemetery, the graves in above ground crypts and mausoleums, lined up like little houses for the dead. Photo 9: older, aged polaroid of a dark-skinned woman in scrubs reading a book with a grin. Photo 10: Worn down sign with faded paint that reads "Welcome to Doucet"

I transcribed the journal so it is easier to read. I apologize for any mistakes. At this point, I've been piecing together Alice's story day and night for a few weeks. I hope someone out there is as interested in her story as I am. The Archivist. ************ 3/13/06  20:15.

I'm writing this down because I'm not sure what is happening or what is real. There is a likely chance that this is a drug-fueled psychosis. Or that I hit my head really hard. Or that I'm dead. I'm still not sure which.

So, I will try to compile the facts as I see them and maybe that will help jog my memory and figure this out.

What is the last thing I remember before waking up today? Tamika. She was in her pink scrubs, leaning down to kiss me goodbye and goodnight before leaving for a graveyard shift at the hospital.

That doesn't explain how I woke up. Or where I woke up. Or why I'm even here.

I could tell my head hurt before I opened my eyes. It felt like a hangover, but I've been sober for 8 years. I was bent over something, like I fell asleep at my writing desk again. There was an annoying sound, a clicking sound. Over and over and over. Not like a clock. Something familiar. I went to move and heard another sound and froze before I realized the sound was coming from me.

When my eyes finally opened, there was a blurry image in front of me. A bunch of lines and numbers. They swam in my vision before becoming one. A car dashboard. The hazards were blinking on and off. My hands were gripping the steering wheel as my head slowly raised from where I had struck it, seeing a drop of blood fall. I touched the top of my scalp and my fingers came away red.

What the fuck is happening?? The pain was grounding as I tried to get my bearings. I looked to the passenger seat, terrified I'd see Tamika looking worse than how I felt - but the seat was empty. My purse was on the floor board and I slowly reached for it, my body screaming with each movement. Hoping something would jog my memory of what I was doing, I opened it. My heart sank as I pulled out a bottle of Xanax with my name on it, weed and pipe, and mini bottles of alcohol. 8 years, down the fucking drain and for what? I felt myself start to tear up but tried to take deep breaths.

Okay. Driving under the influence. Crashing under the influence. That's not ideal, but it's some sort of explanation. But where was I?

Outside my window was dark, except for the orange of my hazards occasionally illuminating the surrounding area. I was on the shoulder of some road in the middle of nowhere. Trees surrounded me on either side. I fumbled the dash for the headlights and flipped them on to see what I hit.

No. It didn't make sense. I still don't understand it as I'm writing it down. I grabbed my polaroid camera and stumbled out of the car and took a picture. It spit out the print with a whirring sound and I sat back in the driver's seat and waited with baited breath as it developed. I don't know why I thought it would show me anything different. Illuminated by the cabin light was a photo of the dilapidated sign I crashed into- welcoming me to the small southern town of Doucet, Louisiana. 

Tamika and I had ran away from here, 12 years ago. We swore we would never come back. As if the universe heard our oath, it washed the town away in some explosion. I never cared to get all of the details.

I needed help, that much was certain. Rummaging through my bag, eventually my hand found a few more things: my emergency flashlight, my Nokia, and my journal. I checked my journal only to find every page that had writing on it had been torn out. The Nokia alerted me that it had no signal, not surprising given the area. Flashlight in hand, I decided to walk - the opposite direction of the town- until I found service, assistance, or civilization. Feeling a little stronger after having a plan, I set out.

I don't know how far I walked, but eventually I saw lights in the distance. Someone was pulled over on the side of the road. I breathed a sigh of relief and my pace increased to a jog. I hoped they'd be able to help. I wouldn't tell them about the drugs of course. I'd tell them I was going to see a family member who still lived there and almost hit a deer. That's pretty believable.

As I got closer I froze. It was my car, crashed against the welcome sign with the hazards still blinking. How did… I turned around again, facing the opposite direction, my breathing labored. It must be the drugs or the possible concussion. I obviously hadn't moved. I tried again, this time checking over my shoulder first, to make sure the car was starting to fade in the distance. As soon as it was out of sight, I sighed, feeling a little bit better. But the horror returned when I faced forward and saw I was walking towards the car again.  I tried again. And again. And again.

I don't know how many times I tried, but the next time I turned my head towards the car I screamed and dropped to my knees. What the fuck is happening? Why can't I leave or find help? Am I dead? I checked for a pulse and felt one - my heart working overtime with panic. My head bled so I'm real and feel pain. I just can't turn away from this town.

Was this town haunting me? Or am I haunting it?

My cellphone sprang to life in my hand, the sound cutting the silence. I saw the name and answered, my voice desperate.

"Tam?? Hello??"

There was crackling static. Her voice cut through. "Al…ice?...Where are…Doucet…hel…" The line went dead. My heart was a sledgehammer against my ribcage as I desperately tried her back with no luck --whatever signal she used to get that message out was gone.

My decision had been made for me. Doucet and her swamp of memories beckoned me. Who was I to make her wait?

[tyrannytale-official]

i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷It̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸c̴o̷l̴d̷c̸o̷l̷d̷c̴o̷l̴d̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷m̴o̷v̷e̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷t̸h̷i̷n̷k̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷c̴a̷an̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴c̴a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸mr̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸c̴o̷l̴d̷c̸o̷l̷d̷c̴o̷nl̴d̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷m̴o̷v̷e̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷t̸h̷i̷n̷k̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷b̴r̷e̸a̶ot̷h̸e̷c̴a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴c̴a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷tt̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸c̴ao̷l̴d̷c̸o̷l̷d̷c̴o̷l̴d̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷m̴o̷v̷e̷i̷c̸a̷n̶’̴t̷lt̸h̷i̷n̷k̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸i̷ot̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷nu̸r̴t̷i̷d̸0̴n̷’̵t̶w̸a̷n̴t̸b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷b̴r̷e̸a̶t̷h̸e̷c̴a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴c̴a̷n̶’̴t̷s̷t̴o̷p̴i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸er̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷i̷t̵’̴s̶h̷u̸r̴t̷

██████ MEMORY SECTOR UNSTABLE ██████

██ SIGNAL FRACTURE DETECTED ██

████ DATA LOST ████

Note from F.: I wonder what the meaning of all this is...

[qalles]

Leaflet distributed to the locals in the area around the base.

[pencil-inc]

#8

i hate technology.

i also hate how "Ford" formatted this garbage form.

But we needed something quick I guess. This isn't meant to replace a subject's file, it's an initial assessment so we can build out their file.

Subjects would also have intermittent checkup review after the end of a testing program, or a major event that stirs the dynamic of the facility, like a lockdown or breakout... or both, like in the case of FRANK13 (pronounced 'frankie').

Every time we got out from lockdown, you can imagine the bureaucratic nightmare that followed after.

There are also the exit review forms. If you want to be polite about it, it's for when the subjects are no longer servicing the facility. If you don't care about the subjects, it's for when they're dead. If you work in External Research, it's for when their next destination, alive or dead, needs context on what happened to them.

There's so many forms I can go through now I have the willpower to operate this cheap scanner from Cashies. god i hate this thing so much