You awaken to the silent hum of machinery and the steady glow of sterile lights that fill every corner of this strange, alien space. Metal walkways crisscross above and below, a network of endless conveyor belts and surveillance systems operated by your captors. Towering, grotesque figures, their flesh a sickly green hue, ooze with a slow, deliberate fluidity. Multiple bloodshot eyes blink in unison, casting a constant, watchful gaze across the vast chambers. These creatures wear space suits that are patchworks of bronze, copper, and chrome—complex machinery wired directly into their monstrous forms. Each suit bristles with countless mechanical arms, giving them an eerie sense of omnipresence and control, as though they can tend to a thousand tasks without breaking their unfaltering stare. (edited)[10:56 AM]You feel the cold weight of a chrome band encircling your wrist—a mark of your confinement here. Those around you bear the same bands, a bleak symbol of silent obedience enforced by an unseen power. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other prisoners, stories of those who dared to question, resist, or tamper with the prison’s foreign architecture. They were met with a swift, merciless end. When the guards’ many eyes flare with a chilling, synchronized glow, the chrome bands activate. Screams echo, bodies contort, and in a matter of moments, defiance is met with decay—an agonizing transformation into a hollow, desiccated husk. The creatures show no remorse, no satisfaction, only a detached, mechanical precision. They are not here to study you or to torture you beyond the confines of this silent surveillance; they simply enforce.This place is no ordinary prison. The boundaries of your cell are undefined, seemingly open, yet escape is a mirage. These beings, with their many eyes and tireless gaze, create an invisible barrier as strong as any wall. No one recalls how they arrived in this forsaken place, only that they are here, caught in a web woven by creatures who need neither rest nor relief. They do not seek to understand you or make you suffer. In this cold, alien confinement, surrounded by unfamiliarity: Who are you?
>>6144787>Northwest Jones, misbegotten great-great grandson of the West-Kardashian entertainment dynasty of Old America, and professional (illegal) space explorer and part-time smuggler.
Whispers drift through the cold air, shared quietly between prisoners, the murmurs barely audible over the hum of machinery. Nearby, a scaly, reptilian creature named Xal'thor hisses softly to those around him, his forked tongue flicking in and out as he speaks. He believes that escape is possible if they can somehow sever the connection between the chrome bands and the alien overseers—perhaps there is a central control, hidden away somewhere in the labyrinthine chambers of the ship. His eyes gleam with a desperate sort of hope as he describes the plan, though no one seems to know if such a control even exists.
>>6144820
Across the way, a gaunt, insectoid prisoner named Vrix clicks her mandibles thoughtfully. She speaks of a different path, suggesting that the key might lie in somehow befriending or bargaining with the guards. She points out that they may not be entirely devoid of emotion, though the hollow-eyed indifference of the creatures makes her theory seem tenuous at best. Her antennae twitch as she speaks, sensing the skepticism in the others.
>>6144833Xal'thor knows what's up. Seems more likely than talking to these pitiless bastards.
Further down, a massive, fur-covered being known as Grak grumbles in a low voice. He proposes using the meal times as an opportunity—perhaps poisoning the bland, tasteless nutrition paste they are provided might cause a distraction that could allow someone to slip away unnoticed. His clawed hands clench into fists as he talks, the chrome band around his wrist glinting under the harsh lights.
>>6144856>>6144833These plans seem compatible...
In the corner of the dining area, a small, wiry humanoid named Talek, with skin that seems to shimmer in different colors, quietly shares his thoughts with those closest to him. He questions the nature of their captors—are they truly living beings, or something closer to automatons? He wonders if there might be a way to exploit their mechanical nature, perhaps find a flaw in their programming. His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words carry a weight that makes those around him pause.
Genuinely not sure what we're supposed to do now, QM.
If you're going to do a AI slop spam quest, at least add in choices for the players to vote for instead of just spamming nonsensical posts.
Make up a character, either with an image or a description like>>6144820>>6144843Once you've made a character, I'll be more responsive. Sorry I wanted to see if it was self explanatory enough for others to get going, I should've answered you when you started posting, it's my first time, testing the waters. You've got a plan with mixing the two prisoners plans I think, you just need a character to execute it.-Make a character-Describe what you'd like to do, whether it is trying to execute one of the plans you've overheard, look for more details in the environment, talk to someone, or whatever you can think of.Actions won't just happen I'll be putting things through an automated dice roller and use some loose dnd type rulings.Sorry for the confusion.>>6145513Don't play
>>6145512>>6145666I thought it might be able to get some legs without going out of character out of setting, it was a bad move on my part
>>6145666I'm the anon who pitched Noethwest Jones, so I suppose that woukd be who I made/described, and following a plan involving slipping some sort of sedative or poison into the food and then trying to find the central console to disable our cuffs, before they catch us, woukd be good.
>>6145690Wow I got really confused and thought you were two different people posting, so sorry about that... let's fix that...Northwest Jones approaches Xal'thor and Grak with a plan utilizing both their ideas...1d20181811:22:23The hum of the alien machinery continued, ever-present, as Xal'thor and Grak huddled closer around Northwest Jones. His suggestion hung in the air, and for a moment, both Xal'thor’s scaled face and Grak’s furred one reflected quiet consideration. The plan to combine their efforts—Grak’s scheme to poison the food and Xal'thor’s to locate and sabotage the control systems—sounded plausible, even clever.Xal'thor was the first to break the silence, his forked tongue flicking as he spoke. “A coordinated effort… Yes, it could work. If the poison creates enough panic, the guards will be distracted. It’s the only way anyone could slip away unseen.”Grak grumbled in agreement, his claws flexing as he rested them on the cold, metallic table. “The paste is tasteless and reeks of their arrogance. They won’t notice it’s been tampered with—at least not until it’s too late.”Xal'thor nodded, his voice a measured hiss. “While the chaos unfolds, someone must reach the control room. It will be heavily monitored, so stealth is essential.”Their gazes shifted back to Jones, both silent for a moment, waiting for his thoughts or his subtle nod. Xal'thor flicked his tongue once more, glancing between Grak and Jones. “We act during the next meal.”Grak grunted, his clawed hands tightening into fists. “We’ve got one shot at this. Make it count.”The plan was simple, but its success depended on precise timing and the resolve of everyone involved. For the first time in days—or perhaps weeks—a spark of hope began to glow in their weary eyes.Later, Xal'thor and Grak moved to a secluded corner of the dimly lit cell block. Xal'thor, with a deliberate motion, extended his neck and exposed a gland just beneath his scaled jawline. Grak, his massive claws surprisingly gentle, pressed at the gland, causing a thick, greenish fluid to ooze out. The substance dripped into a makeshift container they had scrounged together. Xal'thor hissed softly, his eyes narrowing with concentration as the poison-like secretion flowed. Grak looked at the container, his eyes dark with determination. “This will do,” he muttered, his voice a deep rumble. “This will be the beginning of their downfall.”
>>6145715>Try to coince Vrix to administer the food; no need to tell her about the additive elst she chicken out, just tell ehr it's a peace offering>While she's doing that, Jones and anyone feeling steakthy enough to accompany (probably not the big fuckoff space-sasquatch, but who knows) can wait for the panic to begin, then sneak off to find salvationTradition here is to include a vote prompt at the end of each updates, so anons knw hen you're ready for a vote.
