anything goes out here.

As you stand in the hall, listening to the thing on the other side of that door scream and thud against the door, the conscience-voice gives you a novel idea.

You take the wire out of your hoody pocket and, with a little bending here and there, it turns into a semi-competent lockpick!

TRANSFORMED: WIRE --> LOCKPICK

The screaming from that room sounds like an EXTREMELY disturbing mix between a human female and a hyena.  The door is absolutely covered in scratch marks and the “32″ plate is hanging loosely by 1 of its 2 screws.  As your footsteps ring out into the empty halls, you hear excited skittering from inside, and occasionally something bangs against the door, causing the wood to splinter and the door to bulge out.

…

Yep.  Everything checks out here.

The little conscience-voices from earlier are telling you to enter room 32.  You’re scared, but…morbidly curious.  If what Xiannla said about death in this place was true, then if this thing killed you, you’d just come back, right?

Even still.  You don’t really want to feel death.

But your drive to get a bead on your surroundings is more powerful than your desire to, well, not die, apparently.

You walk up to the door and get on your hands and knees, trying to see underneath it and into the room via the tiny crack.

…

The entire room is coated in meat.

Something is skittering inside, on 4 unevenly spaced “legs” and 1 HUGE “arm”, covered in spine-like “hair”, that’s constantly slamming and squelching against the flesh floor as it moves.  You can’t see much else of it.  It takes up virtually the entire room.

The arm suddenly swings and bangs against the door, and you recoil, before steeling yourself and trying to turn the doorknob.

Xiannla: Ah, sure thing!  What about the Inn, sweetie?

You: Like...

You: Uh, the other things here, maybe...?

Xiannla: Things?!  Well, I never!  

It started to get a little hotter.

You: O-oh, uh, I’m s-sorry--

Xiannla: It’s okay, dearie.  I shouldn’t have caught you off guard like that.  But things?  Every single entity in this inn is a marvelous representative of some far-off precinct.  They’re meant to be learned from, not just categorized under “things”!

You: I know that now...S-sorry, again, I’m uh, kinda new here.

Xiannla: You must be from one of the newer precincts.  I can’t blame you.  But I can educate you.

You: Newer precinct...?  What do you mean...?

Xiannla: That’s a question for the Mechanic, dear.

A short pause in the conversation, and the temperature of the sphere pressing against you decreases slightly.

Xiannla: Back to your question; there isn’t all that much to say.  I can’t say I’m acquainted with many of the inhabitants right now.  Grant was the only one I knew, and now it’s probably back in its own precinct.

Xiannla: Though, whoever’s in 32 has some explaining to do!  Always making gurgling flesh vocalizations when I’m just trying to recapacitate my kernel orbitals!  Does it even know how long it takes to get out of sub-orbital flux?!  How much effort I spend in keeping my quint-sig afload in the Gamma?!  How many times I’ve wreathed my own signature to pass through a Sentinel?!

The temperature’s increasing significantly...

You don’t think spending any more time with this entity is the best idea, now that it’s becoming so irate.

You: U-uh, I have to go, uh, now, actually!

You get up quickly before the heat becomes unbearable, the entity rolling off you and back onto the shimmering structure you were laying on.

Xiannla: Don’t be a stranger!

You: Y-you mentioned a mechanic?

Xiannla: Hmm?

It seems to pause for a moment, recalling information and rolling slightly on your stomach.

Xiannla: Oh!  Yes, dear, the Mechanic.  He’s a testy man, but he’s absolutely brilliant.  No doubt he’ll have Grant good as new in no time!

You: Do you think he knows m-more about this place...?

Xiannla: Yes, definitely!  He’s the fleshform everyone goes to for help and advice.  Though he’s been so busy lately, what with the new influx of jobs, that they’re often referred to his...less than helpful assistant.

You: Huh...?

The entity takes a second to collect its thoughts.  Even as a being of light, it seems elderly; its “mind” isn’t what it used to be.

Xiannla: Well, his assistant is...well...you’ll have to see it for yourself.  But it only follows orders from the Mechanic himself.  And, well...sorry dear, but I can’t remember all that much...

You: N-no, that’s okay!  I don’t mind.

Xiannla: Ah, when your essence starts to fade, which is what inevitably happens to old waveforms like me, your memory starts to go with it.  Sorry, dearie, but I’m not sure what much else I can tell you outside the Inn.

You: Oh...

You feel...really bad for Xiannla, actually.  It might not have all that much time left...

Might as well stay with it while it’s here.

You subconsciously feel encouraged to talk to this being.  Xiannla, it called itself.  Get a load off your chest, perhaps.

Xiannla: What has you stressed, sweetie?

You. W-well...

Xiannla: Don’t worry.  I won’t pass any judgment.

You take a deep breath.  Xiannla appears to lean in, ready to listen.

You: I...I just got here less than an hour ago, a-and I’ve already seen someone die...

You: T-they didn’t even do anything wrong!  They just t-told me to go hide, and then something came into the room...

A tendril of light wipes the tears starting to flow from your eyes.

Xiannla: Death is a very rudimentary concept, sweetie.  Whoever it was, they didn’t truly “die”.  They still have a signature in the precinct, and will likely come back in the future.  Perhaps the mechanic is working on them right now.

You: Mechanic?

Xiannla: We’ll get to him later.  Can you describe the entity that was, er, “killed”, as you say it?

You: I-It looked like it was made of granite, and--

Xiannla: Grant?  A sorry soul, that one.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice fellow.  But too much time spent in the Bar and Grill can turn anyone sour.

You: Huh?

Xiannla: It’s not well, honey.  Something happened to it over its trip, but it’s too thickheaded to admit it, and also too thickheaded to admit it has a problem.  No wonder it got the attention of the Maids.  It’s had more than one run in with them.

Xiannla: Every night was the same thing.  It came back to the inn, tried to hit up the Innkeeper, made a mess of the place, and retired to its room until it was time to do it all again.

You: Oh...

You have so many questions burning in your mind.  Questions that you didn’t get to ask Grant.  Clarifications that could help you analyze your surroundings.  Perhaps something that could help you get back home.

...But at the same time...

This entity is so warm and inviting...perhaps it’s some sort of psychic influence?  You don’t know, but the questions are being snuffed.  

???: Is something the matter, dearie?  Come.  You’re safe here.  There is no need to be stressed.

Safe, it says.

In this floating spatial void of a room, with no visible floor, walls, or ceiling.  You take a step forward and find solid ground below you, despite all visible evidence pointing to there being none.  It’s warm.

???: I mean you no harm.

...

You: O...Okay.

The entity invites you over to its bed, which contorts and whirls itself into a bed of your understanding.  You just witnessed someone die, and any weight taken off your shoulders is a godsend.  You lay down on your back and the entity, still in its containment sphere, lowers itself to rest on your stomach.  It’s hot to the touch, but a soothing heat, a kind of heat that permeates your body and makes you feel at ease.

???: My name is--

It proceeds to make a series of incredibly jarring metallic tonal noises.

???: --but in your native, er, “tong”, I believe it would be Xiannla!

You: Xiannla?  That’s a pretty name...

Xiannla: Oh, I bet yours is prettier.

You: R-really?  It’s just Gaby...

Aaaaaaand what’s behind door number 35?!

…

Well, you’re able to just stick your hand through the door, as if it’s just some kind of projection.  The inside of the room feels hot.  Like, REALLY hot.  90 degrees, easily.  And it’s humid.  You retract your hand and start to take your hoody off because, well, holy hell!  

A voice from inside the room, muffled by the semi-existent door, rings out.  It sounds feminine and almost ethereal.

???: Oh!  Hello!  You must be one of the maids, with all that flesh-matter!  Can you be a dear and come in here?  My recapacitator’s on the fritz again!

…It sounds friendly?

Two in a row, lucky you.

Might as well just step into the room now and oh GOOD LORD IT’S SO BRIGHT IN HERE CLOSE YOUR EYES BEFORE YOU GO BLIND.

???: Oh?  You aren’t a maid!  Oh, I’m so sorry!  I mistook you for someone else.  My eyesight isn’t what it used to be.

Hmm.  HMM.  Why may that be?

???: Does the light hurt your perception orbs?  I apologize, I’m used to things that have more complex sight.

You: S-sorry…

???: Oh, no, it’s not your fault.  Don’t worry about it, dear!

The light dims a bit, and you open your eyes.  The layout of room 35 seems to be as mirage-like as the door; you might as well just be free-floating along with everything else in the room.  The occupant is some sort of…spherical entity, composed of light and contained in a high-tech sphere, the gadgets of which look completely alien to you.  Multiple antennae and probes stick out of it.  It seems to have dimmed itself greatly.

Haha.  Sure.

You wipe the tears from your eyes and the snot dribbling from your nose and rise up from the creaky bed.  You’re not going to give up.  Not yet.  That granite elemental...it was helpful.  Surely it can’t be the ONLY thing here that’s like that.

There’s still nothing out in the hallway.  Did the floorboards get weaker in the several minutes you were in there?  They creak under each step you make now.  Not even getting on your tiptoes helps.  Though, this isn’t unusual; you’ve broken chairs just by sitting on them more times than you can remember.  It’s just EXTREMELY detrimental in this current situation.

The screaming pierces the silence, and you almost feel comforted.  Knowing you aren’t alone here with...whatever’s in room 40.  There are other things here.  Hopefully benevolent things.  But you aren’t about to get your hopes up.

Wielding your now trusty ice pick, you set out on a mission: Scout out the third floor.  Get a bearing on what’s going around here.  Your life could depend on it.

I-CY: Room 38 seems to have gotten a fresh new door.  You put your ear up to it and hear nothing.  You’re not gonna risk knocking.

I-CY: A faint sound, akin to a drill, can be heard from room 37.

I-CY: Room 36 appears unoccupied.  For now, at least.

I-CY: Room 35′s door doesn’t even have a doorknob.  In fact, the door itself shimmers in the light.

I-CY: Room 34 appears unoccupied.

I-CY: You slip on the liquid with a loud THUD as you approach room 33.  Apparently, it’s spread even further across the floor.  The source of the screaming is determined to be room 32, as you hear something bounding towards the door and scratching at it right after your fall.

I-CY: Both rooms 33 and 31 have audible squelching noises coming out of them.

Yeah.  That’s what you’re gonna do.  Try to control your breathing, calm yourself down, think of good things...like your girlfriend...

Why isn’t she here right now...?

Focus, you tell yourself.  Your breathing is still labored, and your hand is starting to sweat from the iron grip you have on the ice pick, but you have an idea in mind.  Provided, no-one from the “SUPLY CLOSET” comes and...er...

You’d rather not think about it right now.  That’d just make it worse.

But you can’t get it out of your mind.  

Oh God.

Oh God!

If it comes back out again and sees you, it’s gonna...

You rush back into your room, your glasses fogged up and your eyes watery.  You quickly close the door behind you with a rickety SLAM.  

This wasn’t supposed to happen.  You were supposed to have a nice road trip with your girlfriend and friends.  You all graduated college.  Congrats to you!  They’re probably all wondering where you are.  Avina probably noticed you’re missing.  She’s probably worried out of your mind.

And here you are, cowering on the dingy bedsheet, in a foreign and sick land, where someone was just murdered by something almost right in front of you.

The inn just expunged its room from existence.  Like it never even happened. 

Ah...

...

The screaming started again.

...

It’s not afraid.

Actually, under normal circumstances, that would be an actually stellar idea.  Find a way out, move on with your life, and pretend none of this happened.

But these are not normal circumstances.

The little chatter in your head tells you to book it, but you know you can’t just do that.  What if there’s more danger on the other floors?  At the stairwell?  Perhaps, even, in one of the rooms near you?  It’s too much to risk just booking it.

The hallway itself hasn’t changed all too much.  Same viscous fluid leaking under the doors of rooms 31 and 33.  Some of the lights were broken when the door was thrown down the hall, leaving certain parts of the hall bathed in darkness.  Might as well…go back to your room…and…

…?

You turn around and look back at room 38.  There’s a door there now.  A new door.  When the hell…?  You can practically hear your own heartbeat now.  You’ve barely been here for a half hour, and someone’s already died.  And now the entire inn seems to be reconfiguring around you.

You look back at where the door was in the hall.  It’s not there.  Just a few streaks of pus remain in the rug.

Your breathing becomes tense.  Even the whimpering has stopped now.

The silence is deafening.  And here you are, standing in the middle of the hall, ice pick in hand, constantly looking over your shoulder at the “SUPLY CLOSET”.  Lost and afraid.

…

Avina would tell you to stay strong, if she was here.

You wait until you hear the wooden door slam shut behind…whatever the hell just entered the room before you leave your hiding spot.  You creep along the tiled bathroom floor, dusting pieces of granite out of your way, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Maybe…

As you open the door, whatever hopes you had in your head were dashed.

The sparking purple granite that had just covered almost every surface a second ago was now largely gone, with a few flaky patches left.  On the bed lay large chunks of granite; the smashed remains of the stone elemental.  You feel…REALLY bad for it.

Like, overly so.  You start to tear up.  It was just coming back from a business trip…!  It probably had some semblance of family back where it lived!  Only to be straight up murdered by something in the inn…

Wiping your eyes, you notice the ice pick is still among the remains, laying in a severed, open hand.  You don’t want to take the guy’s stuff…

But it probably would’ve wanted you to take it.

Yeah.

But if it couldn’t do it, what chance do you have?

ACQUIRED: ICE PICK

DROPPED: STICK

No use for this anymore, really, since you have an actual weapon now.

Tentatively, you step back out into the hall, ice pick in hand.  The door to the stone elemental’s room is laying on the floor across the hall, half-covered in what appears to be pus and blood.  A trail of the same disgusting mixture leads out of the room and back towards the “SUPLY CLOSET”, as it’s labelled.  You REALLY don’t want to go in there.

You: S-so, uh, where did you come from, Grant?

Grant: Eh?  Precinct 9702-Gortholgas.  Pretty place.  I was there for a business trip, and now I’m on my way back home.

You: ...Ah!

You: What do you mean by, um, precinct...?

The granite creature would’ve looked physically surprised if it had a face.  But for now, it just seems like it’s staring into you.

Grant: Ya don’t know?!  Kid, life out here’s gonna be ROUGH for you.  Don’t even know what a precinct is...Where’d you come from, anyway?

You:  C-Conneticut.

Grant: Eh?

You:  It’s a, erm, place in my...precinct?

Grant:  You sound like you’re from one of the newer precincts.  The ol’ Jurisdiction’s been expanding lately, and to me it feels like they’re just rushing.  Creating precincts without even letting the inhabitants know what a precinct is?  Damn.  

Grant:  But hey, kid.  I’ll cut you some slack.  You don’t seem so bad.

One last question is burning in your mind.

You: Uh, Grant...

Grant:  Yeah?

You:  Have you noticed, er, w-what you’ve done to the room...?

Grant pauses, and takes a look around the room.  Slowly.  It seems to come to a realization, and slams a fist down on its granite-encrusted bed.

Grant:  Aw, POPPYCOCK!  Shit.  I’ve done it again.  Fucking dammit.  I did it again.  The Maids are gonna have my head next time they come around here.  Fuck.  Might as well smash my hands now.

It retrieves what appears to be a modified ice pick out from the end table drawer, but it doesn’t get far before it hears the noise of a wooden door slam open outside.

Grant:  SHIT.  Kid, duck into the bathroom!  Hide!  Trust me, this ain’t your business, and you don’t wanna get caught up in it.

This stone elemental has helped you so far, so you feel obliged to listen to it.  The bathroom door isn’t quite as contaminated as the surrounding area, so you’re able to open it without a hitch and close it behind you.  

The bathroom looks...MUCH different than you imagined.  Instead of a shower, it seems to have some sort of grindstone, possibly to allow Grant to polish off sharp edges every day.  Though, given its appearance, it didn’t get much use...

CRRRRRACK.

The sound of a door coming off its hinges.  You hide under the sink.

Grant:  Welp.  Tell Igny he’s fired.

The self-proclaimed stone elemental seems feisty, but not hostile.  You step further in the room, and see it sitting on what used to be a bed; it’s vaguely humanoid, made of sharp purple granite, and doesn’t appear to have a face aside from one large gemstone.

You: U-uh, sorry...To be fair, I did knock...

???: ...Alright.  You have a point.  C’mon, take a seat.

Something tells you not to sit on the granite-covered surfaces, so you pull the only uninfected chair out from the corner of the room.

???: So!  What’re you doing barging into my room?

You: You j-just said--

???: I don’t got all d&*4y.

You: O-okay...

You: I’m, uh, not from around here.  I just kinda...woke up in here.  Do you h-have any idea where this is...uh...?

???: Call me Grant.

You: Okay.  Grant, do you know where we are...?

Grant: We’re in the Badlands, kiddo!  If you just woke up here, be glad you woke up here and not some other ass-backwards precinct.  

You: Uh...?

Grant: Hmm?

You: Badlands...?  But I fell asleep in my bed...

Grant:  Don’t matter.  You’re here now and there ain’t much you can do about it.  So you gotta learn to make do.  But to be quite honest, it’s weird that you came here without your knowledge.  

You: You came here on your own?

Grant: Yep!  

You: How...?