Title:           Book 1: Chapter One - Introductions
Author:          Thelonious
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/G5EmrpWN
First Edit:      Friday 18th of May 2012 02:25:46 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 18th of May 2012 02:25:46 PM CDT

>Get back to the apartment around 3:30 AM.
>Had to work 'til just a bit ago on that last college term paper.
>Thankfully, all classes are over for the Summer.
>You still have work, but no classes at the same time is still nice.
>And it's Friday.  
>Happy, Happy Friday.
>Gonna sleep 'til Sunday.  Fuck Saturday.
>You flop down face down in bed, don't bother getting undressed.
>You forgot to take your meds today.
>One day won't hurt.
>Besides, it is way too late to take them.
>My Bi-polar swings have been better lately, anyway.
>Doc says he's thinking about cutting the dosage.
>Why the hell am I thinking about this.
Brain, go to sleep.
>Oddly, you shut off like a light when you think that.
 
>Your dreams are horrifying visions of a war-torn world,
>filled with fire and hell-scape where beauty once was.
>As you look on, you see quadrupeds – horses? - being forced into hard labor at the whip cracks of men.  >Something about this sight brings tears to your eyes.  
>The men look up and see you, and you run.  
>Maniacal laughter fills your ears as you run, eventually coming to the edge a bottomless, empty void.  >You turn around only to have a blood-soaked figure grinning at you.
>He pushes you into the void.
 
>As you fall endlessly, a voice rings pure in your head, from all around you and nowhere at all.
 
>“You are needed.”
 
>You wake up with a start, in a cold sweat.
>Deep breathes, Anon.  Deep breathes. It was only a dream.
>Not gonna go to sleep after that, Anon.
>At least, not for a bit.
>You start sliding out of your Queen sized bed and
>Backthefuckup.jpg.
Brain?
>Yes, Anon?
I have a twin sized bed, correct?
>Checking... Yes.
This is not my bed, is it, brain?
>It would seem so, Anon.
Thanks, brain. Do you know where we are?
>Nope.
Well, fuck.
>Judging from the light in the room coming out of the large windows, the sun is just coming up.
>It's too early for this shit.
>You look around and see that you are in a large bedroom.
>The floor is all marble, by the looks of it.
>It looks like a plain, white room with tools lining the walls.
>The white floor is, oddly, completely clean.
>Life, someone took a toothbrush and cleaned it.  There's not a spot on it.
>The room is very well maintained and ordered... and very sparse.  
>Except for the tools, there is a dresser, a bed, and two tables lining the wall to your right.
>That's it.
>Despite the cleanliness of this plain room, everything seems a little... darker, than it should be.
>The walls are covered in tools.  Sickles, hammers, knives, scalpels...
>As the light starts hitting the walls, you notice that the tools on the wall are pristine.
>There are some rusty tools on the table, though.
>You get up, checking your clothes as you do.
>Same stuff you were wearing yesterday.
>How the hell did I black out and end up here?
>Where is here?
>You think about the situation for a second before remembering that most people don't have a strange
>array of tools in their bedroom.
>You go and inspect one of the sickles.
>Your heart rate quickens.  
>This is definitely not your room.
>Or any room that you'd care to be in for long.
>That's not rust.
>That's blood.
>Some of the tools have dried blood.
>Some have fresh crimson on them.
>The dirty ones are lying on the table near a tub of water.
>They were, apparently, being cleaned.
>The water is tinted red.
>You back up, covering your mouth instinctively.
>You look around as the room illuminates.
>There is a table with manacles attached to it, covered in dried blood.
>There is an apron hanging in the corner, blood stains riddling it's exterior.
>All of the tools on the wall, in their clean glory, start spinning around you in your mind.
Where the fuck am I, brain?!?!
>Cap'n, we're too busy fightin' the urge to puke to think straight.
>Your head starts spinning as you reel backwards, trying to take this all in.
“This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream...”
>You repeat those words as you curl up on the floor, vowing never to skip your meds again if this is the >side affect.
>You hit your head on the floor trying to wake up.
>Nothing happens.
>You're about to do it again when you hear what sounds like footsteps coming down the corridor outside the door.
>You stand up, frantically looking about for a place to hide.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
>It's just a big, square room.
>A voice, quiet yet familiar, sounds in the back of your head.
Take it like a man, Anon. Die standing tall.
>You go to the wall and grab a knife, ready to jump on the first person to walk through the door.
>The footsteps stop outside.
Knock knock knock.
>”Sir Anonymous, are you ready?  It's almost time to do your... duties.”
>You stand there, stunned.  How did that person know your name?
>Why did he sound disgusted at duties?
>You look around the room again.
>Your stomach turns at the thought of what “your” duties may very well be.
>”Sir Anonymous? Are you alright?”
>Did he just call you “Sir Anonymous?” What the fuck?
>What the fuck is going on?!
>”Sir, we're coming in!”
>The door opens, revealing two guards. They each have an AK-47 strapped around their shoulders.
>There is fear in there eyes when they look at you.
>”S-sir Anonymous?”
>You stare at them, knife in hand.
>Quickly you compose yourself, jovially tossing the knife in the air and catching it by the handle.
“Of course I'm fine.  I was just … getting ready.”
>You were a bit surprised that you caught the knife.
>One of the guards looks at you oddly, but a small glance from you makes him stand at attention.
>”Of course, Sir Anonymous. When you are ready, we will escort you to the room.”
“Let me just get my... necessities.”
>As you walk over to the apron and put it on, you fight the urge to retch at the smell of decay.
>You grab a small selection of tools and put them in your apron.
>You then take a deep breath, putting on the biggest poker face you ever have in your life before >turning around.
“Lead the way, gentlemen.”
>”Yes sir!”
>They lead you through a set of winding corridors, which you desperately try to commit to memory.
>Eventually, after a short and silent walk, you make it to a door at the end of a short side corridor.
>The guards open the door and file in.
>You follow.
>You wish you hadn't.