#bizarrebadlands

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.