You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Your name is Treasure Cocaine Claude Rudy, and as far as you know, you are not a talking bear. Of course, you could be very, very wrong, as you don't seem to remember anything at all. As you observe your surroundings, you appear to be someplace in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing but a black, empty void in every direction, with the only things penetrating the blackness being a series of ones and zeroes, glowing with a strange, unnatural blue-green light.
You put your hands up to your head and feel around to make sure your face is there. Much to your relief, it is.
You currently possess one (1) BAG OF HOLDING, which allows you to put things in it without them weighing you down. You have absolutely no idea how it works or why you have it, but it is definitely on your person. The bag is currently empty.
You also have one (1) HEAD, two (2) EYES, one (1) NOSE, two (2) EARS, one (1) MOUTH, far too many (~) STRANDS OF HAIR to count.... Ok let's just say you have all the body parts expected of a normal human being.
You currently feel slightly confused and also angry at the emptiness that surrounds you. You let out a massive roar, but unfortunately you don't have the powerful, bear-like lungs to make it a very impressive one. Fortunately, nobody is around to make fun of you for it.
You feel around the emptiness with your bear bare hands... Wait, no, your hands aren't bare. You're wearing some sort of strange black gloves with blue-green lines running along the sides. The rest of your body parts are dressed similarly, except for your head and face of course.
Anyway you feel around but you don't feel anything, because there is, in fact, nothing there. Well, except for those floating numbers...
Do you even know binary? You take a look at your skill tree to make sure... Nope, binary coding is not one of them. Such a shame.
The particular order they formed before they started moving around like this definitely means something, though. You get the feeling you've seen it before, multiple times. Unfortunately, you've long forgotten what order they were in.
The numbers are now beginning to form some sort of landscape. Before your eyes, a small world sprouts from the blank emptiness, until before long you are standing in a meadow. The grass is dead, as are the flowers, and there are no signs of life anywhere you look.
You pick up one of the dead flowers and bring it to your nose. You take a deep, long sniff. Yup, it smells dead all right. You decide to lick it, just to make sure. Yes, it definitely tastes dead. Some of the petals also fell apart on your tongue and now they're driving you crazy trying to spit the pieces out.
Love the flower? Too little too late, it's dead.
You cup your hands around your mouth and yell "YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" at the top of you bear lungs. There is no reply.
A soft wind blows through the meadow, chilling you down to your bones. You try to look around for any landmarks. You see a cottage not far off. You think you also see a tower, very far off.
You consider the validity of necrophilia, as well as whatever the word is for being attracted to plants. Suddenly, you realize something.
THIS IS STUPID.
You walk over to the cottage. There is a small window next to the door. Looking in, you see an old-fashioned telephone on the windowsill, as well as a massive fireplace by the chimney. You also see a rickety old rocking chair above an absotively hideous carpet.
You attempt to take the door right off of its hinges. Unfortunately, you lack the powerful, bear-like upper arm strength to really pull it off. So instead you just push it open.
The door creaks as it swings wide open. The cottage is just as cold on the inside as it is on the outside. It is also just as devoid of life.
You are about to do that, when suddenly the chair breaks beneath you. You get up from the wreckage and observe the damage. The chair is night unrecognisable: You can hardly tell there used to be a chair there at all. Shrugging, you pick up the chair pieces and stuff them into your bag of holding.
You have obtained ten (10) STICKS OF FIREWOOD.
You're also pretty sure you have several splinters in your butt.
You search the room for anything worth stealing. Probably everything here is antique, now that you think about it. An antique in terrible condition.
You also find a sealed jar of some strange liquid stashed in one of the drawers. The liquid inside is a very deep, dark green. Other than that, the place is relatively empty. It also shows signs of having been burgled before - though how often or how recently you have no idea.
Oh, and there's a panty on the ceiling fan for some reason.
You check your skill tree. At the moment, it's just a tiny little skill seedling poking out of the ground. You need to feed it a healthy diet of WATER, SUNLIGHT, and EXPERIENCE POINTS if you want it to grow into a big, strong, skill tree.
Presumably, however, you have all the skills expected of a normal human being, such as eating, drinking, breathing, basic movement, and such.
You proceed to stuff everything you can fit into your bag of holding. You have obtained one (1) HIDEOUS CARPET, several (~) SMALL DRAWERS (you couldn't fit the whole cabinet in), three (3) DINING CHAIRS, one (1) COFFEE TABLE, a number of (#) ASSORTED BEDSHEETS, two (2) FLUFFY PILLOWS and the (1) STRANGE VIAL OF GREEN LIQUID.
You take the old, worn out panty off of the ceiling fan, and wear it over your pants. Leg Armor: SCENTFUL PANTY (Defense +0).
You remove the panty and place is on your head. Helmet: SCENTFUL PANTY (Defense +0)
You decide to test out your new telekinetic powers on the cabinet which wouldn't fit into your bag of holding. You focus all of your chakras into lifting the cabinet off the ground, but alas it doesn't budge. In a fit of anger, you roar, not unlike a bear, and throw the cabinet outside, shattering the large window by the door.
In the commotion, the old-fashioned telephone on the windowsill, which you forgot to steal before, falls outside as well. Immediately after, you hear it ring.
You pick up the phone's receiver and hold it up to your ear. "Hello?" you say.
The line is filled with static. You can distinctly hear someone talking on the other side. Something about adventure? And your name. They definitely said your name.
There's no need, you already know your name! It's Treasu- Oh wait, no, it's Claude Rudy. Whoever called said Treasure Cocaine though, so you guess they weren't referring to you.
"-ello?" says the caller, their voice still muffled by static. "Th----adve-----calli--------spea---Claude Rudy---"
Oh, they are referring to you! Now if only you could hear them more clearly. You consider sacrificing something to the god of phone service in exchange for better reception. The god of phone service must have heard your silent plea, as suddenly the fireplace lights up to receive your offering.
You shuffle through your bag of holding before finally deciding on the rug. The thing is absolutely hideous, and you deduce that burning it is the only way rid the world of its evil taint. You toss it into the fireplace and within seconds there is nothing left of it but a pile of tacky ash. The fireplace then shuts off.
Unfortunately, it seems the phone service god didn't appreciate the rug, as suddenly your service gets positively worse.
"Liste-" says the caller, "I h--------ea how--------tha---------ou nee-----t ou---------ow! --an't re------but--------help-----------------"
Yeah, you have no idea what this person is trying to say, so you just pretend you do. "I'LL TAKE THE CASE!" you yell, slamming the receiver onto the other part of the phone. You then stuff the phone into your bag of holding.
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead