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Betrayal 3: Taisho Roman Revolution
[ You spill out of the elevator into the Revitalization Treatment Center—the elevator is gone when you look back.
It has a clean, well-appointed lobby with comfortable plush couches and bright, natural lighting, and someone who greets you cheerfully when you come in, although apparently there’s a very long wait list for anyone who isn’t a VIP.
On the coffee tables scattered around are binders… each full of slipcovered profiles of young, beautiful people and their credentials and blood types. What kind of spa are they running here?
You can guess, at least… the scent of blood brings you back to that too-long moment, looking at your friend's face over the shaking barrel of your gun. Your parent at your shoulder steadying you, reminding you of the proper form… and that really, this is all your fault, but of course helping take care of each other is what family is for. And then you squeezed the trigger, and there was the smell of smoke and gunpowder and blood, and you felt ill—
It's in the script someone's written for you, in your hand. Now, you have your own history, your own words and you can give those to the audience instead. But enough pain, enough destabilization, and you don't know if you'll want to keep sharing. They've set the stage for someone else, given you a prop, and you feel that. Reality isn't wanted here—no, you need to be larger than life, in this place, to not be devoured by the narrative, reduced to an extra. The script whispers for you to lock that troublesome self away, and try on this new role for size, and you'll be a star.
...but there's no point in casting a top-tier idol like you if you can't put your own spin on it, of course. At the bottom of the script, there's a note someone's written with a smiley-face: "just ad-lib, you're gonna be great :)"
On the table in the waiting room sits a pack of cards—marked ones, although not for any game you're familiar with.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the basic goal (explore the rooms of the casino) as well as the item that you've been given (Stacked Deck). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after admitting vulnerability to them). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is an exit to the north. ]
It has a clean, well-appointed lobby with comfortable plush couches and bright, natural lighting, and someone who greets you cheerfully when you come in, although apparently there’s a very long wait list for anyone who isn’t a VIP.
On the coffee tables scattered around are binders… each full of slipcovered profiles of young, beautiful people and their credentials and blood types. What kind of spa are they running here?
You can guess, at least… the scent of blood brings you back to that too-long moment, looking at your friend's face over the shaking barrel of your gun. Your parent at your shoulder steadying you, reminding you of the proper form… and that really, this is all your fault, but of course helping take care of each other is what family is for. And then you squeezed the trigger, and there was the smell of smoke and gunpowder and blood, and you felt ill—
It's in the script someone's written for you, in your hand. Now, you have your own history, your own words and you can give those to the audience instead. But enough pain, enough destabilization, and you don't know if you'll want to keep sharing. They've set the stage for someone else, given you a prop, and you feel that. Reality isn't wanted here—no, you need to be larger than life, in this place, to not be devoured by the narrative, reduced to an extra. The script whispers for you to lock that troublesome self away, and try on this new role for size, and you'll be a star.
...but there's no point in casting a top-tier idol like you if you can't put your own spin on it, of course. At the bottom of the script, there's a note someone's written with a smiley-face: "just ad-lib, you're gonna be great :)"
On the table in the waiting room sits a pack of cards—marked ones, although not for any game you're familiar with.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the basic goal (explore the rooms of the casino) as well as the item that you've been given (Stacked Deck). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after admitting vulnerability to them). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is an exit to the north. ]

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... huh? Not really. [ there aren't any wounds, it's just unexplained blood. ] .... hey you look kind of different right now?
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Is it the missing arm, perhaps?
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A vermin with a chainsaw.
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That looks like it hurts..... you know if you want, you could just reset yourself.
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I didn't catch her name, but she was a golden-haired beauty.
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at this point he's probably getting harassed by vergil anyways ]
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[He just glares at Leo.]
Don't go anywhere near Five.
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You'd better be listening to me. I'll kill you as many times as it takes.
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Then do it. I'm a liability aren't I? You shouldn't make empty threats, it makes it harder for people to take you seriously.
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[And he does take a knife from his coat to be ready to do just that.]
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[He really just doesn't care, he's just angry, and protective, and he needs Leo to know he's serious. So he takes the knife, grabs Leo's hair, and tries to slit his throat.]
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good job he's super dead now. do you feel better? ]
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