Night 43: Intercom, Middle of Night
The continued moaning of the voices on the intercom was slowly broken by the crackling of static. I.R.I.S.' voice began speaking once again, just as distorted as before, though this time without a melody.
ConTINuED apOOLoGIes tO oUr guESSSsssts... eRRoRR... fATal... ErrROR...
MaINfrAME... aCCesS...
ExPeRiMentaL prOGRaM R.E.V. 20... pRoTOcoL 12-15... WaRNiNG... pROgRAM in bETa... CoNTINuE...?
CuRrENtly... prOCEssING... mANuAL ovErRIdE...
LoADiNG...
NoW aT 18% cOmPLEtiON...
LoaDIng...
LOAdiNG...
As I.R.I.S.' voice faded out, the cacophany of voices seemed to become slightly louder, more audible, though no less coherent. For some, that was the only difference that the new announcement made; for some, the night's strange glitches would bring nothing more than flashes of invisible walls and some perturbing - but wholly manageable - announcements.
Some others, however, might not be so lucky. Some others whose lives hadn't been so happy, whose memories were stained with pain and loss, who had seen the death of someone dear with their own two eyes, might feel a subtle chill in the air as they walked the halls, might feel their hair stand on end as if someone was watching them from behind. They might turn around to find no one there. They might continue on their way and freeze in their steps when they saw something more familiar than rusted pipes in the corner of their vision: their long-gone loved one, face pale or bloodied, eyes empty, or pleading, or somewhere in between.
But then the figure would be gone, like a faraway figment conjured from nothing more than a guilty conscience. Maybe that's all they'd been in the first place.
And yet, the chill lingered.
ConTINuED apOOLoGIes tO oUr guESSSsssts... eRRoRR... fATal... ErrROR...
MaINfrAME... aCCesS...
ExPeRiMentaL prOGRaM R.E.V. 20... pRoTOcoL 12-15... WaRNiNG... pROgRAM in bETa... CoNTINuE...?
CuRrENtly... prOCEssING... mANuAL ovErRIdE...
LoADiNG...
NoW aT 18% cOmPLEtiON...
LoaDIng...
LOAdiNG...
As I.R.I.S.' voice faded out, the cacophany of voices seemed to become slightly louder, more audible, though no less coherent. For some, that was the only difference that the new announcement made; for some, the night's strange glitches would bring nothing more than flashes of invisible walls and some perturbing - but wholly manageable - announcements.
Some others, however, might not be so lucky. Some others whose lives hadn't been so happy, whose memories were stained with pain and loss, who had seen the death of someone dear with their own two eyes, might feel a subtle chill in the air as they walked the halls, might feel their hair stand on end as if someone was watching them from behind. They might turn around to find no one there. They might continue on their way and freeze in their steps when they saw something more familiar than rusted pipes in the corner of their vision: their long-gone loved one, face pale or bloodied, eyes empty, or pleading, or somewhere in between.
But then the figure would be gone, like a faraway figment conjured from nothing more than a guilty conscience. Maybe that's all they'd been in the first place.
And yet, the chill lingered.