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Betrayal 3: AlcheME!
[ You spill out of the elevator onto the Stage—the elevator is gone when you look back.
This is a luxurious affair with a blue velvet curtain backdrop, an orchestra pit, a standing area, and then a whole box seating area with flying buttresses and an honestly breathtaking ceiling mural of heaven upon the clouds. All the fixtures are polished to sparkling, and despite the traditional stylings, it's lit by a number of modern fixtures that make the room feel like it's sparkling.
It's easy to feel drawn to the very center of the stage. It's where you belong, isn't it? The focal point of all eyes, all attention, all love—the hero's spot. You'd just have to ignore the faded, reddish stain on the wood.
There was another theater—one where you solemnly watched the briefing reel, as they told you what had happened to your predecessor on this mission, whose body was never found apart from his right hand, severed messily at the wrist. Where they told you in gruesome detail what could happen to not just you, but to entire populations, should you fail—that if the weapons your enemies want to unleash on the world are completed, those victims that find themselves immediately vaporized would be the lucky ones. How high the stakes truly are—and how much blood must be spilled to save the world—
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 :)"
At the foot of the stage rests a portable footlight lamp, shining brightly into your eyes—illuminating perhaps too much.
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 (Footlight). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after they help you). 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 East. ]
This is a luxurious affair with a blue velvet curtain backdrop, an orchestra pit, a standing area, and then a whole box seating area with flying buttresses and an honestly breathtaking ceiling mural of heaven upon the clouds. All the fixtures are polished to sparkling, and despite the traditional stylings, it's lit by a number of modern fixtures that make the room feel like it's sparkling.
It's easy to feel drawn to the very center of the stage. It's where you belong, isn't it? The focal point of all eyes, all attention, all love—the hero's spot. You'd just have to ignore the faded, reddish stain on the wood.
There was another theater—one where you solemnly watched the briefing reel, as they told you what had happened to your predecessor on this mission, whose body was never found apart from his right hand, severed messily at the wrist. Where they told you in gruesome detail what could happen to not just you, but to entire populations, should you fail—that if the weapons your enemies want to unleash on the world are completed, those victims that find themselves immediately vaporized would be the lucky ones. How high the stakes truly are—and how much blood must be spilled to save the world—
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 :)"
At the foot of the stage rests a portable footlight lamp, shining brightly into your eyes—illuminating perhaps too much.
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 (Footlight). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after they help you). 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 East. ]
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