Corpse Datareader

Items » Equipment » Offhand » Corpse Datareader

Item

Image
Description	Although it looks like any nice handheld device, down to the corporate asset sticker on the back, all that's loaded onto this datareader are a few scary stories. They all seem to be about the horrors lurking inside a huge office building, which is a bit of a strange topic for college students. Maybe they've all done internships.
Type	Offhand
Use	See notes
Effects	+2 Etheric Power +2 Fire Power with Eclipse

Notes

When using this item you get one of:

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

It's long abandoned, of course, except for the cleaner. In fact, if you go there, you'll probably see him, scrubbing away at a stain on the floor.

But no matter how much cleaner he spreads or mops he wears to nubs, the stain remains.

On his hands and knees, he scrubs at the floor, clawing at it until the stain is finally covered with the mess of his dissolved fingers. But even beneath that, the stain remains.

It won't be until he finishes his task that you'll be able to see the shadow of a human worn into the floor, spotted in welcoming colors by the mold left behind.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

The Department there runs like clockwork, each employee doing their part in the vast machine. There are no supervisors because there are no rulebreakers, no shirkers, and none who might complain.

Few workers were lucky enough to transfer to the Department, waiting for years or even decades before their transfers could take effect. When Sarah's name came up, she was elated, until they began running the knives under her skin, whispering promises to attach her brain to her new body each weekend and holiday.

As soon as she saw the body, a lumbering thing of metal and glass, she forced herself free. Running through the halls of the office, the right half of her body peeled and bloody, she shouted the truth: the Department were drones in human skin, thinking nothing and feeling nothing.

As she healed and received cybernetic grafts to replace the lost skin, she told everyone she could the truth behind the Department, until everyone knew her story. Few workers are lucky enough to transfer to the Department, waiting for years or even decades before their transfers can take effect.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

If you find yourself there, complete your task and leave. Do not look around and certainly don't read anything.

The words snake into minds and flesh. Memories, even instincts are overwritten, pushed aside to make room for the Words.

Once you've read them, understood them, there's no chance left for you at all. But you already knew that.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

The drone lab on that floor was state of the art: assembling new humanoids, spiders, and stranger things every year. The staff loved their children, except Terry.

But that was fine, Terry's job was to test the children with fire and blade, fist and gun. He battered the rest of the team's beloved children, returning charred husks and laudry lists of weaknesses.

His coworkers groaned or frowned every time he returned with results, but he thought he was providing a valuable service.

The must have agreed or they wouldn't have welded him into the chassis of a new humanoid drone. This chassis finally proved able to stand up to fire and blade, fist and gun. Instead, it was Terry, battered and charred, barely hanging to life, that failed examination and had to be dismantled for parts.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

There were hundreds of workers assigned there, decades ago. But layoffs led to restructurings and soon even the management had forgotten what the department was supposed to do.

The last worker on the floor was convinced he was bearing the company's weight on his shoulders: a one-man department. So he worked and worked, the beep of his badge being scanned more regular than his heartbeat.

Until one day, he stood up from his desk to realize his badge wasn't there. He searched the floor, the abandoned desks, each bathroom stall, and even the dusty vents. He pulled down ceiling ties, peeled carpet from the floor, and cracked open pipes.

They say he's still there, in that ruin of an office, waiting for the day someone notices he hasn't been working.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

The air there is hot and thick, like a greenhouse. Countless vines and flowers grow under garish lamps, tended by gloomy workers in containment suits.

It started simply enough, a single split in a glove. Its wearer finished her shift, growing more and more excited as the vines began snaking under her skin.

It continued day after day as she snuck seeds into her mouth and rubbed dirt into her wounds to make them more suitable to grow new plants.

But noone checked. No one even thought to check until she'd missed work, not bothering to answer her comm.

By the time her manager showed up at her apartment, vines snaked through the halls and beautiful flowers peeked through every window, sprouting from the withered corpses of her spouse, their children, and the countless other tenants.

She remained at the center of her garden, carefully tending her children's flowers, and gave a beautiful smile as she learned of her promotion.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

The workers' greetings are enthusiastic, so overflowing one could miss the subtle clink of chains woven into their flesh, attaching them to the desks and each other. One could even miss the smell of rot, hidden under the reek of cleaners.

Work goes well as the chains wrap around the newcomer, pressing so tight that they sink into the flesh. Even under their coworkers expectant stares, most try to slip away before lunch, before the chains can seal them in place.

These brave workers are the lucky ones, with a job guaranteed forever and a meal everytime a new worker tries to flee.

Hidden downtown, there's a floor with no button in any elevator. Only those who are called can reach there and only those released can return.

At the center of that floor is a glass-walled office for the boss to watch his employees. And he did, watching them as they toiled and piled money at the altar to his success.

Soon, though, he stopped watching them. If the money was enough he was happy, no matter where the profits came from. His employees turned on each other, stealing from each other and even taking their weaker coworkers to chopshops.

He stopped leaving the office entirely, curled among the profits and losses, chips and spreadsheets. Months passed as the workers slipped their payments through the cracks of his door.

Until one day, they finally decided to stop and he awakened. With claw and scale, wing and fire, he killed the profitable and the unprofitable alike.

Its said the serpent still lies waiting on his hoard, for any worker foolish enough to end up on the wrong floor.