The recording ends, and a few moments later you hear something beeping. You follow it to the stage in the Gala Hall to find a large metal box, with a stack of papers on top, and a slot in the lid. The beeping stops as you get close. On the side of the box, in stenciled, spray-painted letters, are the words Deposit Box.
A placard screwed to one side of the box has instructions.
Mark names on the papers provided
Insert into box before midnight
Results to be announced at noon tomorrow
The papers are long, narrow sheets with a table printed on one side. There are sixteen of them, each with a name printed at the top; after a moment of shuffling and arguing you find yours. The top of one column is marked Civilian Identity, and the other Hero Identity.
It seems this is the guessing game the voice in the recording had mentioned. What were the prizes? Escape from the tower but have your identity exposed, or stay and be granted murder immunity.
Tempting prizes... You eye up the papers and the box. Will you guess? Have you figured everyone out yet?
Submit guesses to the main blog; any winners will be announced shortly. If submitting from a blog other than your character blog, let us know who you are, or else your guesses will not be counted.
The silence of the relative peace of your early morning is broken by harsh, frantic barks; Dash, or at least you sure hope those sounds are coming from the dog. It rings throughout the entire building, echoing off of walls that have definitely seem better days. Some of you are already up; some are roused by Dash’s barking. And some are quite literally dragged out of bed by the retriever, teeth gentle on your wrist as he leads you to the Gala Hall, where all of this had began.
Perhaps this is the beginning of something new as well, for better or for worse.
The tube in his mouth, picked up from the floor as soon as the last person enters, hints heavily at the latter, however.
Once everyone has arrived, Dash immediately makes a beeline for NONARY, who takes the cylindrical casing with a decidedly amused expression on his face. He, like everyone else, had already been through this once and though Carlos had been the one gifted with the recorder last time, he knows what to do, taking it out of its case and immediately pressing play.
“Good morning, heroes. It--’s--ful--earl--f--ou--” The scientist has a huge shiteating grin on his face as he rapidly pushes the play/pause button over and over again, causing whoever’s behind this to stutter and stammer their words, rendering the beginning of the message nearly unintelligible, until after a few more stops and starts, the glares he gets cause him to sigh and hit play one more time, letting their apparent captor speak.
“--afraid things must change around here. None of you are dead. Yet. You see, it’s very easy to be heroic when people are watching. All of you, heroes, your eyes set on each other. You have to uphold yourselves, correct? Oh, it’s so easy to be gallant when nothing’s on the line.
This changes now.
Every person, every hero has their fears. Fear of being forgotten, of being ordinary, of your archnemesis gaining the upper hand, of your loved ones being put in danger by your actions...
...But every superhero’s worst fear is, perhaps, having their identity exposed. Maybe not for all of you. I believe that enough, however, feel that fear strike true. What will having your mask torn off lead to? ... I will leave that to your own imaginations. I think you already know.
I will be succinct: kill someone, or one by one your identities will be revealed. To whom? I can assure you there is someone, many someones, still out there who would be interested in gaining this information. Villains, for instance.
As a matter of goodwill, I will hold off on revealing an identity immediately. This is your grace period. Do not waste it. At this time tomorrow, if no one has died, I will send you another recording, exposing one of you. Much is at stake. You have twenty-four hours.”
The recording cuts off sharply at the end, the command laid out before you starkly. Murder someone, or have your identity ripped away for the world to see. It’s that simple.
Motivation For Murder
And the motive drops! The tension rises as you wonder who, if anyone, you can trust. You have powers, or maybe gadgets; so do all 15 people around you. The question is, who will be the first one to use them...?
But, you know, if you do want to be that person... there’s planning to be done, isn’t there? All those potential victims...
[[If you would like to be either killer or victim for this chapter, please contact one of the mods!!]]
... only to reappear downstairs in the gala hall a minute later. It pushes open the door with no problems, and now it has something in its mouth, something similar to one of the cylindrical containers in a bank drive-through.
It walks up to Carlos, who takes the container gently from its mouth; it then sits in front of him, panting happily, a job well done.
Wordlessly, confusion written on his face, he opens the cylinder and empties it into the palm of his hand. It looks like a small machine, almost akin to an old school mp3 player. The only buttons are PLAY/PAUSE and RECORD; judging by the blinking red light to the side of them, something’s already been recorded and is waiting to be played. There’s a moment where he considers not pressing play, but as sketchy as it is, it’s the only lead they have. He presses play and holds it out in front of him, letting everyone gather around him to listen.
The voice that comes out is deep, slightly tinny but decidedly mechanical, almost like something you’d get out of a text-to-speech service. It cuts right to the chase:
"Hello. I see you’ve all woken up. You’ve even had a chance to meet the others and introduce yourself. I would like to make an introduction, as well.
This is Dashing Dog. D-Dog or Dash for short. You can think of him as my assistant.
You’ve no doubt started to wonder what brought you all here and why, correct? And have you figured it out, yet? The answer is simple. You are heroes.
Yes, that's right: heroes. Did you really think you were the only one? All sixteen of you are superheroes. Every single one. You were not brought here at all. You came here of your own accord, to Paragon Tower, for the Heroes' Gala. You simply never left.
What happened here? Why, that’s for me to know. You’d think you’d remember something like this.You’re here because I want you to be. Superheroes are an interesting breed, aren’t they? No matter the reasons, always doing ‘good.’ But that should be obvious. You’re superheroes, after all. You’re the good guys.
‘Good.’ What does that mean to you? I suppose you all will be finding that out soon enough.”
There’s a pause in the recording, as if to let the words sink in. So you’re not the only hero... you’re not sure if that’s comforting or if it puts you on edge even more. You don’t have long to ruminate on it, because the voice has more to say.
“As some of you have attempted, and many of you no doubt suspect, leaving this building is difficult. Impossible, even. And to anyone who thought the latter: congratulations! You would be correct.
You cannot leave Paragon Tower through conventional means. And to those of you already thinking of unconventional means – superpowers, of course – you’ll find that they will be of no use to you, either. Think of it as a force field. Your powers will still work on the inside, but the boundary is absolute.
The technology to accomplish this exists, of course. How else would society keep defeated supervillains in check? Ah, but you’re not supervillains, are you? It would be unfair to keep you all trapped forever.
There are two ways to leave. Two ‘keys,’ if you will, though neither of them are physical keys. The first should be relatively easy, for someone with your abilities. You’re all quite capable, after all. To be granted permission to leave the tower, all I ask is that you get away with murder.
That’s right. And because the sixteen of you are the only ones present, this means that to take this route you would have to set your sights on another hero. If you succeed, you may leave the building. You will be able to go back to your normal life, whatever that may be.
I realize that this option may not seem desirable for some of you. You may prefer inaction, to wait out a rescue that will never come. The idea of killing another hero is too immoral or dangerous for you to stomach.
There is a second option. It will not be easy. And it can only be claimed by a single person.
If you are the first one that is able to correctly match the civilian and heroic identities of your fifteen companions, you will be able to claim one of two prizes. The first is the same as the one already mentioned: freedom from the tower. The second, immunity. Should you be the first to complete the list and choose not to leave, you will not be able to be targeted by your fellow heroes.
You may have already guessed this, but it is likely in your best interest to continue to keep your heroic persona to yourself. Or not. You are free to reveal as much or as little as you like. Just keep in mind that what you say can and will be used against you.”
The recording stops again momentarily, and you can almost feel your head spinning. There’s... so much information to take in. Kill each other? Some sort of... matching game?
“Ah, you might ask,” the recording continues, “but there are so many heroes in Arcadia City! How could you possibly pick out the correct sixteen from that pool, let alone match them to the correct civilian identities? The probability is so low that it might as well be impossible.
New rooms will be made available to you soon. In one of these rooms, you will find the profiles of sixteen heroes. One of them will be yours. The remaining fifteen belong to the others.
In addition, you will find a more detailed list of rules in the same room. I recommend that you go over these rules carefully. Ignorance is no excuse for breaking them, and you’ll find that the consequences for doing so are severe.
I assume all of you are capable of reading, so I don’t intend to go over the rules in depth with you, save one:
Dash is a good dog. You can pet him, play fetch with him, whatever you’d like. But if you so much as attempt to hurt this dog, you will be killed on the spot. You’d do well to keep that in mind.”
This time, after waiting nearly half a minute, you figure the recording ends for good, leaving all sixteen of you in stunned silence. There’s a lot to take in. But according to that message, why, you’ll have all the time in the world to process it.
The door that Dash came in through swings open fully, inviting you to explore the rest of the Tower. It’s not like you have anything else better to do.
Welcome to Paragon Tower... again.
Chapter one begins, leaving our heroes stranded in the decidedly beaten-up Paragon Tower. The first two floors of the tower are open for exploration; you find that when you try to ascend to three or descend to whatever lies beneath, you’re unable to, stopped by what you figure is the same technology keeping you from escaping.
Murder...? That’s the kind of thing you’ve sworn to prevent, via whatever your own personal modus operandi happens to be. Surely none of your fellow supers would do such a thing... right?
And that guessing game... you get one chance per chapter. Better not waste it.
You don’t know how much time has passed, but you do know that while you have a bit more information, you still don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on. The fact that you can’t even leave the gala hall hasn’t helped matters. The people you’ve talked with have been pleasant and all (or perhaps not; it’s entirely fair that someone waking up into this scenario might not have the rosiest of outlooks right now), but they have no more information than you yourself have, and it’s frustrating.
The fact that Paragon Tower is in this shape doesn’t bode well, and all you’d like to do is get out of here, check on family and friends, or at least get some more information.
At times, as you’ve talked with your apparent peers or searched for whatever clues you could find, you’d heard... something, some kind of footsteps, skittering, clicking around, but even when you’d searched you’d found nothing. Not in the gala hall, at least.
You hear curtains rustle, and someone points up to the balcony, where in fact the tattered curtains appear to be moving. You all gather around, staring up at the balcony, able to have a better view because the railing had at some point fallen.
You can see... something, but the shadows it’s hidden by don’t give you any more than a vague shape. And then the shape steps forward...
It’s a dog.
A golden retriever, an old one by the looks of it. It’s wearing a cape attached to a collar, the tag of which is a capital D. It sits there, wagging its tail happily, before disappearing behind the curtain...
...and awaken with a start, body painful and head empty. There’s nothing but static, at least at first. When your vision comes into focus and some of the fog starts to clear, you realize where the aches come from, at least. Sleeping on the floor isn’t going to do anyone’s body any favors. But... were you sleeping? Why were you sleeping?
... Where are you?
The floor is dusty, and until you sit up, you’re not sure you’re going to get much more information than that. So you do, but it’s slow going, rubbing your head on the side where you’d been laying as you take a look around. It looks... vaguely familiar? You’ve definitely seen it before, but... probably not like this. That’s why it takes you a minute to realize exactly where you are.
Paragon Tower.
Everything comes rushing back to you, then. Superheroes (you’re one), the gala (you were invited), the party itself (you were there), everything. But that doesn’t explain the state that the tower is in. Surely the Paragons were prepared for anything the villains of Arcadia could throw at them, but this is...
You appear to be in the gala hall of the tower, and what was formerly brilliant and dazzling is now broken-down and decrepit. The whole thing has the aura of a long-abandoned house, still there despite the odds. But what odds exactly...? The wallpaper is torn in strips and hanging off the walls, the formerly immaculate tile on the floor now shattered and dirty, windows up high busted out. Tables upended and scattered like a tornado had torn through, silver platters on the floor shining through the dust and grime. Up on the balcony, which you can see but not get to at the moment, the red curtains are tattered and hanging in strips. On the stage, the banner once-cheerfully announcing the Supers’ Gala has been torn in half and droops to the floor over a shattered glass award. You find that knowing where you are doesn’t explain anything that’s apparently happened here.
Nor does it explain the bodies strewn about the floor around you. Your breath hitches for just a moment, before realizing that unlike everything else in the room, they aren’t covered in a layer of dust. That, and the fact that you yourself were in their position moments ago, leads to the conclusion that no, they’re not dead. And then they begin to stir, just as you had, waking up to find themselves in the same scenario as yourself.
You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re going to find out.
Welcome to Paragon Tower
The prologue has begun. You find yourself in what looks like the main hall of Paragon Tower, but it’s looking rather worse for wear. At the head of the room is a small stage; at the back is an empty bar, and two locked doors. Up above, you can see an inaccessible balcony.
You’ve probably never met most of the other fifteen people in the room. They certainly have no idea you’re a superhero, and maybe it’s best to keep it that way for now.
While you figure out what the hell just happened, feel free to talk to the other characters and see if anyone knows anything. After all, you can’t just going to stand around here forever, right?
The gala is one for the ages, easily the biggest the city’s ever thrown and outclassing every other gala before it. You arrive to plaudits and camera flashes, attention immediately heaped upon you. There’s food, there’s drink, there’s company good and bad. There exists any and everything you could ask for at a party of this caliber.
The Paragon Tower is every bit as resplendent up close as you thought it would be as you’d approached and even entered it, and on some level you can’t help but be impressed, even if just a little. You’re among superhero royalty here, more or less, and even if you’re not starstruck you keep finding yourself rattling off names in your head as you pass by heroes that you recognize.
You circulate the floor, speaking with heroes and celebrities alike; why, is that Valerius McCain himself over there? Maybe you should go over and introduce yourself! Perhaps a bit of liquid courage would help on that front... You laugh at the thought of it, snatching up a flute of champagne as your costume ripples almost heroically. Or... maybe you don’t. Maybe parties aren’t your thing. You could just be toward the edge of the gala hall, maybe even a corner, nursing your drink, alcoholic or otherwise, and hoping that no one acknowledges your existence. But, inevitably, someone does; this party is for you, after all. You don’t like parties, hell, maybe you don’t like human interaction. But to some degree, the attention is nice, you have to admit.
You just can’t believe that you’re in the same proximity as the Paragons. The cream of the crop, the leaders of the pack, protectors of the second largest city in America and the top city for superhero activity in the world. That’s a lot to live up to, and they do it with aplomb. Maybe you aspire to those heights, maybe you want to surpass them, maybe you couldn’t care less. But the Paragons set the bar for superheroics and by some means or another you have cleared that bar and earned your spot here.
At one point, you hear a crash and laugh it off, or ignore it, maybe taking a quick glance around you for the source of the noise. But hell, what does it matter? Some clumsy person knocked something over, maybe a server dropped something, the poor fellow. You put it out of your mind, because you have much more important things to concern yourself with. You turn back to what you were doing...
