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    Mzzkc's Mind Games

    Hiya! Welcome to my inner sanctum. You'll find snacks and cookies on the left; the bathroom is on your right. Upstairs is where the scary things live. Don't go up there; I already called dibs.

    1. Mzzkc's Mind Games

      by , 09-02-2015 at 05:32 AM (Mzzkc's Mind Games)
      Catching up on a few days worth of notes.

      Still gonna try to keep this under the ~30 minute limit writing constraint.


      Staying in a bed and breakfast, an alien podship smashes into the window, docking similarly to Halo 2's first mission. A severed head speaks the intentions of the immature xenomorphs that spill from the small ship, into the room. They seek only our love, adoration, and worship. Only if necessary will they subsume control of our brains and bodies. Euphoria awaits those who submit.

      I make up some excuse and nope the fuck out the front door.

      Running down the town's main road at super-speeds, I'm stuck behind a bicyclist. I'm pretty sure he's a coworker. I don't want to be rude and pass him, so I make the first available turn between a row of houses, and continue on my path by taking a turn on a road parallel to the main one. I slow as I approach the market. It's really more of a bazaar with open-air shops and colorful awnings lit solely by starlight, all set atop grey cobblestone.

      Samael's there, attending to one of the shops. I head into Samael's shop and pull out a copy of Agricola for inspection, since the shop specializes in fixing issues with board games or something. I don't quite remember. As I'm lifting the cover, Samael hastily warns me, but it's too late. A bunch of cardboard meeples scatter across the floor as other patrons crowd around. Graciously, Samael helps me pick them up and place them back in the box, the contents of which look more like Five Tribes than Agricola.

      After leaving the mall, K and I walk into a golden and brown hued cafe alongside the street. A bunch of people from high school and college are there. They're glaring, murder in their eyes. K is unsurprisingly oblivious to the mood in the room. He takes a seat, and I follow suit.

      Someone's dead, and I think I might be involved. At the very least, the CEO suspects me. I'm sure that's why I passed hotel security on my way to the stairs. And it's definitely why I jumped down the little square hole between the spiraling stairwell, letting gravity pull me down the hundred or so stories to the ground floor. That should buy me some time.

      Walking through the hotel's grand hall, I take in the extravagance. Around me austere columns stand amidst dark oak tables. Whilst underfoot, a lush carpet with elegant gold inlays cushions my every step. It's not as vivid as it could be. In fact, I notice the dream wavering a bit and muse to myself about the false notion that all lucid dreams are vividly realistically. Vividness is a choice, I remind myself with a smirk, stabilizing the dream around me to life-like realism and stepping out onto the deck, where many of the guests have already gathered. The view is breathtaking. A number of curved, ancient buildings hug the glittering lake below. Towering high above, all perfectly illuminated by varying gradients of blue, pink, purple, and red. To my left, a waterfall spills lazily from the window of one of the stone marvels. I fly to it, cresting over the falling water and landing on the grassy overlook above.

      Some punks are acting up in the parking lot. I can tell they've targeted me, so I untarget myself and pass through without incident.

      Updated 09-02-2015 at 05:35 AM by 25167

    2. Mzzkc's Mind Games

      by , 10-17-2010 at 09:35 AM (Mzzkc's Mind Games)
      Tales From a Survivor (DILD)

      The undead are everywhere in this hell-forsaken, urban town. Myself, and three other survivors have managed to snag ourselves an old red Cadillac and are on our way to wherever we can find refuge. Of course, there's only one problem: the car is a stick, and none of us know how to work the damn thing. I volunteer to drive, since I understand the basic concept, and manage to get us moving after some work with the clutch. Unfortunately, I have no feel for shifting gears so every mistimed swerve around the frequent masses of rotting, staggering, corpses dotting our path slows us down considerably. And when you're surrounded by these monsters, the last thing you want to do is slow down.


      The four of us are in a dank sewer system, with another group of survivors, but the green, waist-deep, muk surrounding us is the least of our problems. Cornered, without a clearly defined means of escape, there's a school of zombie piranhas hot on our tail. It's like something out of a dream.

      “This is your dream, after all. . .”

      Says the small girl at my side as I become wholly aware of my situation. This is a dream all right, but I still want to get the hell out of here. Running out from under the large, boat-sized pipe above us, I jump up and pull down on the huge, mildew-covered cart that looks like it belongs on an ancient, over-sized amusement park ride. Motioning for everyone to climb their way out, I begin the journey myself. Halfway up, the cart buckles under our weight, sending me crashing down to the lower seats.

      Great. Now I'm going to be savagely ripped apart and devoured by a bunch of undead fish!

      It isn't pleasant.


      “What are you doing?”

      “Making macaroni pictures for the dead.”

      “Right,” I state, ignoring the clearly-oblivious, craft-obsessed people in the room. The whole scene is quite absurd really. Sure, this might be the last haven on Earth, but is this really the best my mind can up with after that whole tunnel fiasco? The computers in the corner of this modern, windowed atrium-turned-art-room catch my eye. Once there, I find a worn, yellowed note tucked under one of the keyboards.

      “Arts and Crafts
      1600 hours
      We'll be there.”

      Clearly, this is an extraction notice, meaning this area isn't going to be safe for much longer. I guess this explains the whole arts and crafts thing, then. I toss the note aside, and approach the tall double doors at the front of the room.

      That's when the nightmare begins.

      A demented, ethereal voice hisses through the room as the florescent lights around me dim and flicker menacingly. The voice continues its bone chilling speech, piercing not only my ears, but my mind. They're here.

      Stepping away from the door, I locate my group, who're already moving back into the building, away from this madness. As I run to catch up, the tall glass window to my right shatters suddenly, and the stuff of nightmares, the source of the voice, falls through, blocking my path. It's all skin and sinew, with matted black hair on its misplaced, feminine head. Its arms and legs, if you can even call them that, are unnaturally long and bent at disturbing angles. To my relief, it doesn't seem to notice me, and moves sickeningly away, towards the screaming, as more glass shatters around the room, spilling forth the beast's tentacle-mouthed minions. I walk past it, but make the mistake of giving it one last glance.

      Before I know it, it's on top of me, trying to splay my body into bits. Sighing internally, I grab the snarling head, and twist its neck, hard, fast. I'm met with resistance, but it's not enough to save the wretch.


      Turns out the escort was real, and here we are now, riding a Scorpion Tank through a literal sea of undead. I'm designated driver, once again, and sure enough: Tank. Beats. Everything. For fun, I blast holes in the ocean of bodies, sending bits of flesh flying into the cold, red, night air. The zombies fill out their ranks faster than I can take them out, but it doesn't matter to me. I'm driving a fucking tank during the zombie apocalypse for crying out loud. It doesn't get much better than that.

      Updated 10-22-2010 at 08:57 AM by 25167