LiliS

[ You spill out of the elevator into the Solarium— the elevator is gone when you look back.

The solarium should be bright and airy in a room like this, but the atmosphere is oppressively humid, and some of the plants have overgrown across the windows, creating a sort of canopy. There's an odd, sickly-sweet odor wafting from somewhere, and some of the ground-level plants are more on the order of things like venus flytraps and pitcher plants. A container with a small hole dug invites you to plant something yourself.

The fear of decay lingers in the back of your mind as the smell of rot consumes your nostrils. You can’t exactly tell where that stench is coming from when the light has been blocked out, but you don’t really mind. After all, the image appearing in your mind of light coming through the windows only brings an unpleasant numbness around your eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest when you think about it . . . well, that IS your heart, isn’t it? If you focus on the beats vibrating in your ears, fury swells up inside of you. You can almost remember that promise that was broken, but you feel that if you remember it, you won’t ever be able to go back. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.

A bag of seeds sits in the small hole.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (epipen some fucking seeds into some hearts) as well as the item that you've been given (bag of seeds). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: East. ]

sensitIV

[ You spill out of the elevator into the Bloody Room— the elevator is gone when you look back.

How . . . how appropriately named. It looks like it used to be someone's bedroom - a child's, perhaps, from how the walls have bright colors and animal print, although the colors have long since faded and the animal print is peeling. Now it looks creepy with all of the blood - and there is a lot. Did a murder happen here? Did two? Three? No matter the number, it seems like it's not enough to explain the numerous bloody handprints that claw up all four walls, reaching even the ceiling, and after a certain point below it seems like the whole room was flooded with blood, matching mid-waist on average. That's really concerning!

Aside from . . . all the blood, there is a twin sized bed - the mystery, really, is how this bed ended up not being so bloody; although there are stains against the wood that indicate handprints, the sheets themselves are mostly clean and white except for one adult-sized handprint on the corner. Across it, there is a bureau with an array of what look like happy family photos—except they become less and less happy as time goes on.

You can't help looking at the photos, and feel a tightening in your chest and a flood of emotions overwhelms you briefly-- ugly pathos, a sorrow so deep it lances you straight to your core and despair drains out. The unfairness of the world, the world that heaps yet more trauma upon trauma, that ladles it out to everyone: no matter how undeserving, how young. You would take them away, before it can do any worse. If it's in your hands, it won't even hurt— none of these feelings are yours. They exist like reading a letter, a record of someone else's thoughts, someone else's life tucked away inside an envelope. You could open it again, read it until you could imagine it real, but why would you want to? But if you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, that envelope will open and it will be read again, loud enough to drown you out.

There is an empty frame on the bureau, no photograph yet inside.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (make someone view a prior trauma in your cursed photo frame) as well as the item that you've been given (a golden frame). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: South. ]

pep!pep!

[ You spill out of the elevator into the nursery— the elevator is gone when you look back.

A nursery doesn't seem like something that should belong in this house. Though it hardly seems to be a nursery, on first sight. The walls are plain, unadorned wood. The desk has an inkwell and a blotter with the handle shaped as a coiled serpent. Inside the desk are ancient papers, rough-cut from a time before mass-production and each perfumed differently: red wine, black musk, myrrh, and attar of rose, with sigils unfamiliar and largely unreadable from stains and blots written out in shaky hand. The room is piled with atlases, scrolls in dead languages that detail nations long fallen, records of people met far in the past, never to be met again. They look well read. The only real sign this is a nursery is the bed— it's too small for an adult.

Time feels so agonizingly slow. Does the cramped space of the nursery tweak your perceptions? Or perhaps the shallow breathing that is starting to overtake you. After all, you don’t have much time left. This is your only chance to prove that their hard work was not lost in vain. You want to prove that you were worth it, didn’t you?

You look upon the works in the room and feel a great sense of despair. Resentment. Disappointment. But if you begin to pick up that job once more, you won’t be able to cross back. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.

A bloodstone sits on the desk.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (to get a smile or a laugh from your victim before killing them) as well as the item that you've been given (bloodstone). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: South. ]

Taisho Roman Revolution

[ You spill out of the elevator into a Pentagram Chamber— the elevator is gone when you look back.

It's a Pentagram Chamber. As in, it is a chamber with the markings of a pentagram - or several pentagrams, rather. One takes up the whole wall, unrecognizable runes drawn upon it in what looks like blood, with an accompanying circle. The second, matching circle sits on the ground, where a rock slab sits in the middle. Put two and two together: clearly, the ground's circle is where you put the sacrifice in, and the wall circle's where whatever you summoned comes. . . out. Probably.

There's a shovel in this room, sitting in the corner; dirt tracks from the chamber to the singular entrance and exit.

This room is hot. It’s disgustingly hot. The taste of iron lingers in your mouth even though it has become completely dry. You try to catch your breath in that thick, sticky air that permeates the room, but every gasp only brings a gurgling sensation in your throat. You desire to reach out, but you feel as if you cannot move. .

You feel lonely. As you look around, you swear you catch glimpses of others around you. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.

A crystal ball sits on the rock slab.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (drink the blood of your victim, before or after killing them) as well as the item that you've been given (crystal ball). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: East. ]

BAD END = DEAD END

[ You spill out of the elevator into a graveyard— the elevator is gone when you look back.

It is, predictably, spooky as fuck: cobwebs culminate to huge masses of spindly white on the iron bars that line the plot of land, as well as on the various headstones. They're unreadable by this point, text worn away by time and wind, but while many of these graves have only been exposed to forces of nature, some of them have been tampered by what could only be human hands. Several grave plots have been completely upturned, caskets open and skeletons exposed, bodies completely broken and arranged messily as if someone had manhandled them in order to look for something. The caskets give a clear idea of what that might be: there are parts missing to them, the lining and the decorative emblems and even the hinges, on some caskets. Grave robbing seems to be popular, here.

There are also just a few graves with an open coffin and no body. How . . . mysterious. . .

But this isn’t where you’ll end, is it? No, someone else belongs there. This time, it’s your chance to shine, and it’s your chance to run this show.

Your head suddenly hurts. A loud ringing pierces through your eardrums as you try to remember why you haven’t given up yet. You’ve brought this suffering upon yourself, but you keep going. You should have stopped while you were ahead, but you didn’t because the thrill was just that good. You were having fun.

Why didn’t they stop? It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You want to win this time. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.

A medallion sits on an intact monument.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (to goad someone into starting the fight first, and then killing them, or killing after you've been attacked first) as well as the item that you've been given (medallion). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: East. ]

future is now

[ You spill out of the elevator into the library—the elevator is gone when you look back.

In the library shelves form labyrinth corridors of books, between which are heaped precarious piles of paperbacks. Leather wing-back chairs provide privacy around the crackling fireplace at the back—if someone was sitting in one, you'd never be able to tell until you circled the full way around to the front to see. Expensive looking paintings line the walls, and you'd expect the shelves to be laden with rare editions. However, there's hardly any hardbacks at all, most everything is cheap spy novels and erotica. No accounting for taste, really.

The library has been disturbed though—something is missing from it. Through the books, through the stacks, notes have been removed, pages torn out. Aching wells up in your throat, the raw urge to scream, to exclaim some truth about the knowledge missing but it's just not there. Your mind has been scrubbed clean just like these shelves have, of whatever truth you can't recall—though, that's for the better, isn't it? Better not to know, than to meet that fate again comes the thought twinned with another one: how dare they bury your knowledge from you. You feel this distantly, in some distant and uncertain corner of your mind—but you probably don't want to linger too long on the thought that you have more materials around than they did. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, though, it will overwhelm you.

A book sits open on the counter, not all the pages torn out: some are empty, and a scant few are filled out with deductions.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (accuse your victim of their crimes with recorded evidence before killing them) as well as the item that you've been given (book). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: South. ]

WILD CITY

[ You spill out of the elevator into a tower room with stale air— the elevator is gone when you look back.

You are in the tower. A spiral stair encases the shaft of it, leading to a singular room at the top. Search lights atop the roof beam up into the dark above the Tokyo skyline, demanding attention. Anyone not attending the game must see that something is happening at the Game Tower. Ascend to the top, picking your way through the splintered wood of where something destroyed the still-locked door, and you enter the tower. Even with the wind at this altitude, the air is stale, and the room is littered with wrappers of cheap snacks that wouldn't last anyone long, more a taunt than a lifeline.

The sight of the splintered door sets your eyes looking around the room, expecting someone and then setting your heart racing when you don't find them. Did they get out? You don't know if that's hope or dread welling up in your chest, because there's an icy core at the center of what might have been elation: someone, certainly, didn't make it out of this room. You feel this knowledge vaguely; like something you crammed for on a test and aren't positive of it, it's tentative— you need to reach for it. You probably don't want to. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, though, it will overwhelm you.


A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill with an accomplice) as well as the item that you've been given (skull). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: South. ]

☆ZRAEL

[ You spill out of the elevator into the dining room— the elevator is gone when you look back.

A wall of incandescent lights burn against one wall, the other three nothing but mirrors set into steel frames like windows— all of them opening to reveal booze behind them. There's no banquet table, but smaller tables and champagne cube, each with leather chairs with leather cuffs and chains at the feet and wrists clustered around in groups of three to five. Red curtains drop down from the ceiling, ready to be pulled around to create a small intimate private setting. None of the tables are laid with food— at least, not much of it. This one has a spread that's more than half rocks and jewelry, a few pieces of chocolate scattered throughout, this one has a chunk of raw meat, three slices carefully carved, then the main mass stabbed through with nine knives and two forks.

This is another chance, isn’t it? Yes, a second chance. A third chance. A fourth? A fifth? You want to speak words of love, but something bubbles in your throat.

A holy symbol hangs from a hook near the exit.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (ROMANCE MURDER) as well as the item that you've been given (holy item). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: North. ]

Heart Soldier Senshi

[ You spill out of the elevator into a Dungeon— the elevator is gone when you look back.

It's dark down here, in the dungeon, and the wall sconces are unlit; the only light source is from the hallway. In the dim light, though, you can see a handful of barred cells against one stone wall with fixtures for manacles. There's a drain set into the floor, in the middle, around which the floor is stained a darker color and is… sticky? The air is cold, and stale.

Against the wall next to the door is a set of shelves and some hanging hooks, as well as two simple wooden chairs, one of which looks like it's seen better days. Someone's left a jacket on one of the hooks. The shelves contain mostly ordinary household tools—a pair of scissors, a hammer, some pliers, a coil of rope.

Despite everything, it's the jacket that sets you off. Hung from the hooks, it looks like something that belongs on the back of a classroom chair, when seen from below, your face at ground level from being tripped again. Or held down, or scrubbing your desk clean, again and again. Nothing like the tortures that rest of the dungeon promises, it's mundane suffering that you feel you can't escape, will never be able to escape, unless you take one of those tools in your hand and turn it against them as soon as the time is right. When? You feel you'll instinctively know, but that's a feeling you know isn't yours and not one you want to be. But if you break, fear and pain will overwhelm you, and you'll submit: the rest of the memory will tell you true when to strike.

A spirit board is placed amongst the household tools.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill without witnesses) as well as the item that you've been given (spirit board). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: South. ]

AlcheME!

[ You spill out of the elevator into an abandoned room — the elevator is gone when you look back. Before you spreads a room empty of everything save dust. Your steps and the hems of your robes leave footprints and trails through the floor, tracking where you're the first person to be in a long time. There is only one place in the room without dust before you move through— before the wall, where broken glass litters the floor.

The broken glass comes from a full-length mirror, removed from a dressing room. You, in your clothes from AlcheME's style look like you're meant to go on stage any second. You can almost hear the backstage murmuring, reapplying your makeup in the quick break between acts, feeling the burning in your throat as you try to power through the last act all the while aware that this is your very last act. Someone punched the mirror then, cracking it through— they had no more use for it. But they did have something else in mind, for the grand finale, and had someone perfect in mind for their costar. You know the role was not one that came with a happy ending. You feel this knowledge vaguely; like something you crammed for on a test and aren't positive of it, it's tentative— you need to reach for it. You probably don't want to. If you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, though, it will overwhelm you.

A mask sits in the middle of the glass shard pile.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill without letting your face be seen) as well as the item that you've been given (crystal ball). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: East. ]

avante en garde

[ You spill out of the elevator onto a balcony—the elevator is gone when you look back.

The balcony is expansive. A pool drained dry suffocates in the night air; an engine that's meant to be circulating the water instead heaves and sputters but refuses to die. Dim lights meant for an ambient glow outline the crags of an artificial waterfall, now just jagged rocks. Lounge chairs and patio furniture circle the pool, cushioned to extend an invitation—stay.

The stone morphs to rougher terrain, cragged with moss and splattered with old blood, and then wavers back to normal when you look again. Dread builds in your gut—what was that? A premonition? A memory? Your hand is curled loosely as if holding something thin, narrow, and you are vaguely surprised to notice you are outside, not looking through a window, not seated at a desk, not writing your own fate and sealing your betrayal with your own hand. Your hand convulses momentarily, clenching like it might around a sword—a challenge on grounds you know you can win, and take your blade to their throat and slash it so the blood this time won't be yours— But no, the night air clears your head. Now it's a dull feeling, vague; like something you crammed for on a test and aren't positive of it, it's tentative—you need to reach for it. In other words, easy to ignore while you have your wits about you, but an almost-uncomfortable presence that threatens to overwhelm you if you lose your sanity, or if you acquire enough damage.

Besides the empty pool sits a spear, pulsing with power.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (kill those who fail a test of your own devising) as well as the item that you've been given (spear). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: North. ]

BARiTONES

[ You spill out of the elevator into the rookery— the elevator is gone when you look back.

From the rookery, the house is reached via the long, winding stairway leading up and out to it; the floorboards of the stairs are discolored from exposure to the weather, stained a dull greyish-brown. The rookery itself juts out from the house, a circular outcropping, and the cacophonous cawing of crows can be heard from the upper rows of rafters, built to house the birds.

But for a moment, that's not the only noise you hear. There's a ringing in your ears that forms a melody, a song unearthly and uncomfortable. The cawing of crows sounds like uncanny, sounding in rhythm, singing lyrics like and unlike human speech, something from beyond the stars and beyond human limits, but now pounding in your skull. It crawls up your brainstem and down your throat and you're almost humming— but no, now the sound escapes you as a particularly loud bird takes flight and throws off the rhythm, and now you can't hear it so clearly anymore. So long as you don't think about it, you almost can't hear it at all. Though— if you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, the sensation will overwhelm you.

A crow in the rafters flies down and lowers its head to you, in a gesture oddly like a bow. Held in its beak is a ring, with a strangely shining inscription. If you open your hand to it, it will deposit the ring within your palm, as if entrusting it to your safe keeping.

A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (murder someone via mental damage) as well as the item that you've been given (a ring). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.

There is one exit: North. ]