trusthell | Take Responsibility.

Take Responsibility.

And after all has been said and done and all clues have been found, those large steel doors at the end of the hallway open up.

The elevator both is and isn't a particularly nice one; it rides smoothly and quickly and it's obviously been kept-up, but there's nothing on the interior walls, lending a claustrophobic feeling to what's already a relatively small space, particularly with all of you in there. (Well. Almost all of you.) No distractions from what just happened, nothing to take your mind off of considering what might, just you and your fellow Survivors in an unadorned steel box. There's no visible panel for buttons, either; looks like it's pre-programmed; at least the ride is a relatively short one, though it's difficult to tell the distance traveled before the door opens again.

You would be forgiven for your initial thought being that it opens into a void.

It isn't complete darkness, but it's enough of a visual shift from the elevator that it probably takes your eyes some time to adjust; instead of the usual concrete and steel, the walls are a dark, heavy black, making the room look far smaller than it is. There aren't any corners to it, either; the room is tightly circular, complimenting the setup in the center of it.

In the center of the room is a circle of podiums, twenty-seven in total, arranged so that everyone standing at them can see each other. So everyone can look each other in the eyes, if they so choose. The podiums are interlocked - there's no cutting across the center of the circle, and for good reason, it looks like there's a lot of nothing down there where the floor should be, just a massive black pit in the center - and each is bearing the title of the person who's assigned to stand at it. No names, just adjectives, emblazoned across two brass panels on the very top and the front of each podium.

Affixed to the podium itself is a glass touchscreen panel; it's dark for now, but it'll probably be relevant later. At least the glass is shatterproof, in case things get heated.

In general, though, all of the podiums are identical, except for the one intended for Zagi. The podium that should bear Adaptable's title has had a black cloth draped over it, and a copy of Zagi's profile photo is sitting on top of it, framed and colorless, an image in greyscale.

It's hard to tell where the Kingmaker's voice comes from, when it does; it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, like it's being piped in from someplace you can't see. But he's very definitely audible when he does speak.

"Adaptable has been taken from you. Looks like the guilty among you is attempting to end the exercise by carrying out Rule Seven. It's up to you whether they're held responsible for their actions or not."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

As would I--my true strength is in my magic.

[ ... ]

What if whoever challenged him could heal quickly as some sort of ability? The Kingmaker told us it was biological.

That would explain the lack of wounds.

On the other hand, it would make this a lot harder.

The only way to see for certain is to actually wound everyone here.

[ ... but that's uncomfortable to think about. ]

I'm willing, but I don't have anything to do it with, and I don't know if everyone else will agree.

I'm willing, too, but it's difficult to go about that. Unless someone has some sort of sharp implement on them?

[He tilts his head in the direction of Yosuke.]

The kids got a small lot of throwing shivs.

I'll stab people if they can't do it themselves.

[Youske perks up and offers his knives easily enough]

I want those back, okay?

Thank you for your help.

[Cherryblod's ready to get sliced whenever.]

[That's right, pass them over to her or chuck them, that's good.]

Yeah, of course. Unless featherhead decides no weapons ever.

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