Adventure Gamers - Forums

I’m as in the dark as you are. I guess reinserting the rod resets all the buttons?

I mean I can go back there if you like and argue with the console: “How dare you let us out!”

>set dial to d
As the dial is set, the pedestal begins to hum and the sound of turning gears can be heard. The tape beneath the panel’s glass display suddenly advances from right to left, erasing the display. Then, with a *clunk* it advances one further step ... revealing ‘D’ imprinted on its surface.

>set dial to b
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘DB’.

>set dial to 9
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘DB9’.

>set dial to e
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘DB9E’.

>set dial to 7
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘DB9E7’.

>set dial to 5
The humming of the pedestal suddenly increases in both volume and pitch. The tape spins forward, blanking the display. Then…

“SEARCHING…”

Another advance. Then…

“FILE…FOUND…FILE DB9E75…RETRIEVAL…”

The humming ceases, to be replaced with a quick-paced ticking, something like a watch.

With an easy grace, six thin rods emerge from the sides of the pyramid. Growing quickly, they reveal a series of articulations along their length as they bend downwards. Within moments, they have revealed an impressive span - making a shape not unlike a spider.

The lower set of ... legs?  arms?  ... pushes lightly against the base, freeing it. It turns with blinding speed and…leaps and…

It is gone, running along the walls on four legs, its arms gripping at protrusions and flinging it further ... up ... up…

It stops somewhere far above, bracing itself on two legs. Two others reach forward and grip, then pull, opening a distant drawer. Its two arms reach inward, flicking through files with blinding speed.

Then, finding what it seeks, it grabs hold and pulls a folder close to its body. It then gently wraps its arms around to hold it tight. Closing the drawer, it quickly makes its way back and…

With a final tick, the pyramid settles itself back into the pedestal, holding out the retrieved folder on two articulated rods of brass. The tape advances. It now reads “...RETRIEVAL COMPLETE…”

>get folder
Taken.

>open folder
That’s not something that opens.

>read folder
The file is extensive—covering the ten years Daniel McNaughton was in residence at Bethlehem before his death two years ago. Apparently he was kept in upper-6-E for the first year, then moved to Corridor 22 for the remainder.

McNaughton was arrested for the attempted assassination of Prime Minister Peel and the death of Drummond (Peel’s private secretary). McNaughton’s defense stated that he was under the delusion of being persecuted by the Tories in his native Glasgow who, he claimed, “compelled him” to act.

The case, of course, became the first famous legal test for acquittal by reason of insanity. Victoria’s response was to order the court to develop a stricter test for insanity - which lead to the now-standing “McNaughton Rule.”

Most of the later notes are by Superintendent Simon Brand - soliloquies on the McNaughton Rule and its effects on both the legal system and the psychological profession.

>set dial to 4
As the dial is set, the pedestal begins to hum and the sound of turning gears can be heard. The tape beneath the panel’s glass display suddenly advances from right to left, erasing the display. Then, with a *clunk* it advances one further step ... revealing ‘4’ imprinted on its surface.

>set dial to 3
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘43’.

>set dial to 6
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘436’.

>set dial to 1
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘4361’.

>set dial to a
The tape advances a step further. It now reads ‘4361A’.

>set dial to 2
Once again, the pyramidal thing leaps into action, retrieving a file from a drawer far in the distance. The tape advances. It now reads “...RETRIEVAL COMPLETE…”

>get file
(File 4361A2: Emanuel Barthelemy)
Taken.

>read file
Which do you mean, File 4361A2: Emanuel Barthelemy or File DB9E75: Daniel McNaughton?

>4361a2
The file is fairly brief—it only covers the single night that Emanuel Barthelemy spent at the Hospital. The papers are written up by Dr. Simon Brand, and apparently there’s been a mix-up in the system, as Barthelemy is listed as being kept in the *lower* rather than the upper Corridor 6—room C specifically.

Barthelemy was being held under suspicion of the murder of two men—Collard and Moore—which occurred in Warren Street, Fitzroy-Square. The case is listed as ‘customary’ - Barthelemy being held under observation for 24 hours to prove or disprove his insanity.

Brand’s final conclusion is that Emanuel is fit to stand trial.

>

The remaining file opens up a new page which conveniently deleted all the previous text so that I couldn’t copy/paste it. So I’ve posted the contents below.

                      File F6A142: Cleve Anderson                        
                                                                 
N = Next                                                   Q = Quit Menu
P = Previous                                               ENTER = Select
The file is broken into several sections:

> Personal Information
  Patient History
  Initial Diagnosis

  Personal Notes
  -[March 3rd]
  -[March 4th]
  -[March 5th]
  -[March 6th]
  -[March 7th]
  -[March 7th, addendum]
  -[March 8th]
  -[March 8th, addendum]
  -[March 9th]

Personal Information

Patient Name: Cleve Anderson
Age: 23
Physical Description: 5’10” 12 stone, grey eyes, brown hair
Distinguishing Marks: small burns on palms and inner forearms, these should heal within a few weeks (possible scarring?).
Residence: 1428 Fleet Street, second floor loft
Possessions: money (a few pound notes), a key, and identification papers



Please press SPACE to continue.

Patient History

Arrival Date/Time: 2 - 3 - 55 23:00
Processing: James Houlihan
Attending Alienist: Dr. Thomas Xavier
Depositing/Transporting: unlisted

Patient arrested for disturbance of the peace, neighbors described screaming and raving at all hours. Found comatose in his flat (see personal information). Awoke in transit - mostly compliant though some resistance—*completely silent*, refused to answer questions.

Diagnosis: (for specifics see attached) Disassociative disorder, acute schizophrenia with paranoid tendencies. Does not, however, seem dangerous to himself or others.

Prognosis: To be kept under observation until such time as attending alienist decides on further treatment [uncertain of necessary duration].

Departure Date/Time: 10 - 3 - 55 5:50
Status: Deceased



Please press SPACE to continue.

Initial Diagnosis

[23:00] Patient initially in comatose state. Initial brief physical examination reveals bruising along the upper arms and temple, and burns on the palms and inner forearms.

[23:30] Patient awoken via the use of smelling salts. Immediately catatonic, unresponsive to physical/auditory stimuli.

[23:50] Patient *physically* responsive to stimuli, though eyes are unnaturally dilated. Seems to be uncertain where he is.

[23:55] Patient allows a more thorough physical examination. Seems to be suffering from symptoms in line with shock, exposure, and exhaustion. Constantly shivering as if from cold.

[24:00] Patient still refuses to speak. Examination of tongue/throat reveals that he is physically *capable* of speech. Violently shakes head when asked to do so. Otherwise compliant and nonviolent.

Refuses to make *any* noise whatsoever - even to say ‘ah’ during examination. Possible phobia towards noise? Seems fine with *others* making sound. Bite marks along inside of cheeks and along tongue—possibly epileptic?

Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 3rd]

Placed patient in 6D and have made sure to retain the only key to Corridor 6. D seemed the best choice, all in all, at least it’s structurally sound—several of the rooms have completely collapsed.

Patient completely compliant - no struggling whatsoever. He even seemed to calm considerably once led through the Panopticon to his room. Went to sleep almost immediately.

Checked on patient early via prism - still sleeping. Went in with breakfast and a sheaf of papers. Asked him if he knew how to read as he ate. He laughed - a short bark.

His response to this was immediate—a look of horror and both hands clamped over his mouth. Brief panic attack - heavy breathing. Calmed down soon after, nodded and gestured for the papers.

Communicated via writing for about an hour. Very basic answers to questions—who are you (name), where do you live (address), what do you do (occupation - a mechanist’s assistant). Refused to answer any deeper questions—simply stared.

Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 4th]

[afternoon]
Some progress made, as the patient is at least answering questions. From a “conversation” this morning:

“Do you know why you’re here?”
[PENANCE]
“What do you mean, penance?  Have you done something wrong?”
[HUBRIS]
“Pride?  You think you’re here because of your pride, Cleve?  What were you proud of?”
(Patient stared for a long moment, before writing…)
[DOING SOMETHING NO ONE WAS MEANT TO DO]
“What is it, Cleve?  What was no one meant to do?”
(No response.)

[night]
Made the mistake of leaving a pen in the patient’s cell, returned to find a series of words engraved into the wall - it must have taken hours. Confiscated what barely remained of the writing instrument. Patient refuses to talk about what he wrote.


Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 5th]                             
[afternoon]
Wheels within wheels within wheels. The patient has built a complex inner world for his delusions to play out within - complex and self-referential. At least part of these delusions revolve around an unseen ‘they’ - a shadowy group that is paradoxically powerful and weak: powerful enough to control the world, but so weak that Cleve was able to steal their ‘secrets’ like some modern Prometheus…

[THEY HAD ME BROUGHT HERE]
“Who did, Cleve?”
[THEY CONTROL EVERYTHING]
“Who are ‘they’?  Where are ‘they’?”
[EVEN HERE. THEY CONTROLLED THE ONE THAT CAME BEFORE YOU UNTIL…]
(Patient stopped at this, looked unsure.)
“The one that came before me?  Who do you mean?  They controlled who until what?”
(Patient seemed to come to a decision.)
[THEY KILLED HIM, YOU KNOW.]
(Tried to speak at this but he kept writing, furiously…)
[HAD HIM KILLED. I LISTENED. I SPIED. THEY NEVER KNEW I KNEW.]
“I don’t understand.”
[THEY’LL CONTROL YOU, TOO, SOON.]
“No, they won’t, Cleve. You can trust me.”
(Patient almost smiled at this…then seemed struck with fear, melancholy)
[NO THEY WON’T]
“Right, Cleve.”
(Patient shook his head, furiously.)
[MY HUBRIS MAY KILL US ALL LONG BEFORE THEN.]

Someone who came before me. Someone who is dead. Could he possibly be referring to Dr. *Brand*?



Please press SPACE to continue.
-[March 6th]                             
[evening]
Yesterday’s push seems to have been too much. Patient upset most of the day, crying (though still silent). The only event of notice happened when I brought dinner. I placed the tray down and attempted to get his attention, repeating his name several times. This apparently made him angry, and he seemed for a moment about to yell when he caught himself and grabbed a sheet of paper…

[NOT CLEVE]
“You’re not Cleve?  Who are you, then?”
[NOT WHO]
“Not…who?  You’re not… not *who* are you…?  All right. What, then. What are you?”
Patient seemed taken aback by this question, thought a long moment, then wrote…
[SOMETHING NEW]
“And how did this happen?  How did you become ‘something new’?”
A look of utter disgust crossed his face.
[INFECTION]

The patient refused to answer any more questions.



Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 7th]                             
[morning]
Complete change in mood, again—possible mood swings?  Entered patient’s cell to find him awake, alert and rather happy to see me. Immediately signaled for pen and paper.

Patient proceeded to write a long rambling message - thanking me for my understanding and referring to conversations we never had, but that were eerily probable. Tried explaining to the patient after reading it which portions had happened and which hadn’t.

Effect of comment was almost immediate—confusion, sorrow, then understanding. Patient began nodding and almost laughing with a sardonic smile on his face.

Asked the patient to explain what had happened—did he now understand the difference between things that had happened in real life and those scenarios he played out in his mind?

The patient stared for a long moment, before writing, almost angrily…

[IS YOUR MAGNETOPHONE STILL BROKEN?]
“*My* magnetophone?  How did you know I was an aetherist, Cleve?  I never mentioned it.”
[A DIFFERENT YOU DID, THEN. TO A DIFFERENT ME.]
“A different me, Cleve?  Well, then he was wrong - it’s not broken, its signal is just not strong enough.”
(A look of confusion and fear from the patient, then…)
[YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT LAST TIME.]
“Last time?”
(Patient’s hand was shaking as he wrote:)
[SOMETHING HAS CHANGED.]

This exchange broke something in the patient - in a rush, he began writing - trying to explain at least part of his delusions to me in detail. I’ve tried to summarize my understanding of it as best I can:

The patient has - in his mind - somehow come unstuck in time. He speaks of it as if it were a malleable thing. He mentioned several times in his notes to me that he could ‘save’ moments, as if in a delaying glass. He kept several of them with him, and ‘restored’ them as he wished, reliving the past/present/future.

When asked about the ‘different’ me he replied that he’d tried restoring several times, changing them—seeing different paths that resulted. This, he said, was the best he could find.

I asked him if he had saved a moment from before this all happened, before his ‘infection’. Back when he was simply Cleve.

He said he’d ‘restarted’ from time to time, but that it only took him as far back as his ‘new creation’.

The patient refused to speak any further of this infection.



Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 7th, addendum]                           
Couldn’t sleep - patient’s remarks kept bounding around inside my head. His internal fantasies have a nature not unlike the new engine-science of fractals - the further I dig into them the more there is to find. Of particular distress is the source of some of his information - I’m certain I never mention my hobbies to him and Dr. Brand’s ... unfortunate end has been kept out of the public eye.

Ended up in the Panopticon in the early morning hours, with Corridor 6’s key in my hand.

Wasn’t certain at first what I was hearing when I brought up 6D - the system is far from perfect and chamber’s acoustics hardly help cut down on the echoes. Looking through the prism revealed patient jerking spastically - almost rhythmically - in his sleep.

Patient was definitely speaking, and while some of the words (some English, some Greek, some Latin?) seemed understandable, I believe what I was listening to was, in fact, glossolalia - random phonemes and syllables which my mind tried forming into some meaning.

Conclusion: uncertain. Patient is, again, clearly *capable* of speech. Perhaps some form of stroke or mental trauma has caused his speech to become unintelligible and the patient’s schizophrenic delusions were built to explain this?



Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 8th]                             
[afternoon]
Further investigation and discussion with the patient has resulted in what I believe is a complete structure and definition of his internal world:

- Patient has ‘changed’ and is no longer himself. Patient claims change has resulted from an ‘infection.’

- Patient is a glossolalic though this is only revealed when he sleeps and cannot keep conscious control. I conclude that that ‘change’ was the onset of glossolalia, though the source is still unknown.

- Patient claims the infection resulted from the ‘secrets’ he stole from a shadowy group he refers only to as ‘them.’  I am still uncertain if this group is real and the patient has simply incorporated them into his delusions or if they were created out of whole cloth.

- The infection was never intended—it resulted from his hubris - even ‘they’ would never use it in such a way. Again, I am uncertain what this represents. Possibility - the patient has associated some action/event that took place in his life concurrent with the onset of glossolalia.

- Patient claims the change has caused time to become distorted for him - it is not a linear thing. This may be an metaphor for the internal mental confusion of which the patient’s inability to communicate is a symptom.

- Patient refuses to discuss or even think on the infection - what it is, where it came from, if it may be catching. When confronted, patient cuts off all communication entering a semi-comatose state, often shaking the head spastically.

Possible conclusion:
The patient believes that his glossolalia is infectious and will spread if he speaks. This may be the key to his eventual recovery. Perhaps by confronting him with a cognitive dissonance - specifically showing him that my listening to him has not ‘infected’ me - he can begin to tear down the walls he has built about himself.



Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 8th, addendum]                           
[night]
Witnessed patient’s babbling and spastic movements again—possibility they may be connected. Patient’s speech definitely has a pattern about it which encourages listener’s attention and conscious attempt to find meaning. I have decided to attempt a direct intervention/confrontation with the patient tomorrow.

On a personal note: I must start taking James’ advice and cut down my hours - while observing the patient I noticed that my vision blurred and I experienced a distinct dizziness. When I shook it off I found that I must have fallen asleep at some point - I checked the time, found that several hours had passed.



Please press SPACE to continue.

-[March 9th]                             
This will be this case’s final note.

One would have thought I would have learned. Everything has told me one thing and I have thought another - my hubris is such as to put whatever Cleve thought he ever did to shame.

Cleve is dead.

Too far, too soon. My initial confrontation accomplished nothing - he refused again to speak of the infection and my interpretation of it. He almost laughed when I told him my theory of glossolalia - writing back that he was quite aware of what it was and that no - that was not his problem.

I think that what I did next was out of anger.

When I told him about my nightly observations, he was clearly confused - said that he knew that no one had entered the chamber while he slept - that he had checked over several of his ‘saved’ times. Which is when I explained the Panopticon to him, and pointed out the listening tube hidden in the corner of his cell.

All of the blood drained from his face and he once again entered his catatonic state, though this time with much more vehemence. He spasmed and shook.

It took a long moment before I realized what was different.

He was *speaking* - a single word, yes - but speaking nonetheless. All he said was ‘no,’ again and again in a constant stream.

He looked up as he realized what he was doing and yet he didn’t stop for a moment. He clawed at his mouth, bit until it bled, but the word kept coming.

And then it contorted in his throat into a snarl as he leapt at me.

I am a fool. I had thought him nonviolent, and more - he was still weak, tired. Of course, I’d never had an orderly there with me, for fear of discovery, but I’d never bothered with any restraint whatsoever.

Though weak, he was far stronger than he looked. We struggled as I attempted to force myself towards the door and help. I slipped from his grasp and was almost away when he leapt upon me again. I pushed back, kicked with all my might…

I didn’t understand the sound I heard until I turned around.

He didn’t stand a chance - his head had hit the side of the metal door with such force that half his brains must have spilled out in a moment. The flicker of life in his eyes continued only for a moment as I dropped to my knees beside him.

He only managed to say one thing—‘too late’—before it went out forever, leaving a look of horror—and oddly pity—on his face.

I write this now, and will seal up the file in the archives in some half-hearted penance, such as Cleve sought here. If sometime in the future my sins find me out, then I shall pay for them then. For now, I simply wish to forget all of it…



Please press SPACE to continue.

...aaaand we’re back. Phew!

Archives
This room is mostly empty space. The farthest wall is lined with gleaming, brass pull-file drawers and seems to go on infinitely in every direction. The entrance to the west opens onto a solid, dusty platform, which allows visitors to stand suspended above the unseen floor.

Triage rests obediently nearby.

At the end of the platform lies a pedestal topped with a small, inverted onyx pyramid.

You can also see a large iron key here.

>

Archives
This room is mostly empty space. The farthest wall is lined with gleaming, brass pull-file drawers and seems to go on infinitely in every direction. The entrance to the west opens onto a solid, dusty platform, which allows visitors to stand suspended above the unseen floor.

Triage rests obediently nearby.

At the end of the platform lies a pedestal topped with a small, inverted onyx pyramid.

You can also see a large iron key here.

>get key
(the large iron key)
Taken.

>x iron key
An old-fashion rusted iron key.

>w

Lobby
The walls and floor are a clinical white tile and marble. However, the dim lights set above this echoing space hiss and pop fitfully, giving the small maze of desks and workspaces within a tarnished, decaying look.

A set of solid gates lie opened and unlocked to the east and west. A small corridor runs northward and from the south, the bright light of day is visible through a set of glass doors.

James sits behind his desk, nervously working.

Triage trundles patiently along beside.

James stands and stretches his legs for a moment before resuming his seat.

>s

Courtyard
This walled off area sits at the bottom of a massive staircase which leads into the building to the north. At its base is a sign reading “Bethlehem Hospital - Administration.” The outer walls meet here - meeting at the distant gates which sit to the southeast.

A hansom cab sits here with a tired old horse hitched to the front and its driver waiting patiently.

Flanking the top of the staircase on either side are two colossal statues.

Triage obediently appears.

>get in cab
Entered.

Faced with the task of climbing into the cab, Triage is more than up to the challenge. Raising and extending first two wheels and then the others, it clambers inside beside.

>take me to fleet street
The trip feels none too comfortable, but at least the cab’s interior gives some insulation against the tumult of London. Before long, the cab slows and the driver announces the reached destination…

Smithfield Market (in the hansom cab)
While this is merely the outskirts of the Market, its presence still threatens to overwhelm the senses—the smell of an abattoir, the din of a thousand voices shouting, the sight of masses of humanity talking, shopping, selling.

The only quiet in the din lies southward, towards Fleet Street.

Triage rests obediently nearby.

>out
Exited.

Triage gracefully climbs out of the cab beside.

>s

1428 Fleet Street
Set off to one side of the Market, this area is reserved for a myriad variety specialist shops - uniform clothiers, engine-programmers, fortune-tellers. The largest, set on the south side of the street, is decorated with a gaudy sign which reads “Du Monde’s - Mechanist of Repute Since 1803.”  Along the same building - to the southeast - lies a small door which reads, simply, “1428.”

>se

Side Corridor
This narrow, dusty corridor runs parallel to the shop beside it and contains nothing more than a rickety staircase leading up and down and a small door leading west.

Triage silently rolls to a stop.

>open door with iron key
That doesn’t seem to fit the lock.

>d
Cunningly extending and contracting its wheels, Triage easily follows down the stairs…

Bottom of Stairs
The stairs end here at a solid metal door labeled “Basement - Private” leading northward.

Triage obediently appears.

>open door with iron key
That doesn’t seem to fit the lock.

>u
Cunningly extending and contracting its wheels, Triage easily follows up the stairs…

Side Corridor
This narrow, dusty corridor runs parallel to the shop beside it and contains nothing more than a rickety staircase leading up and down and a small door leading west.

Triage silently rolls to a stop.

>u
Cunningly extending and contracting its wheels, Triage easily follows up the stairs…

Top of Stairs
The stairs end here at a rickety door labeled “1428 - Attic Loft” leading eastward.

Triage obediently appears.

>open door with iron key
You unlock the attic door.

>open door
You open the attic door.

>e

Attic Flat
A tiny flat with barely enough room for a small sink and tub to one side, a living area in the center, and a bed to one side.

Triage trundles patiently along beside.

Random point of interest: Remember when we tried to push this door earlier? Well I was playing around at the time, and it can be kicked in. So we didn’t actually need the key to get in.

>x sink
Steam tubes snake through the living area to the tub and basin and from there into the wall. The ceramic is cracked and worn to a dull gray color.

>x tub
Steam tubes snake through the living area to the tub and basin and from there into the wall. The ceramic is cracked and worn to a dull gray color.

>x bed
An old, sour-smelling thing with twisted sheets. Beneath it, the planks seem misplaced.

>x planks
You can’t see any such thing.

>x living area
Steam tubes snake through the living area to the tub and basin and from there into the wall. The ceramic is cracked and worn to a dull gray color.

>

>look under bed
Beneath the bed a misplaced plank can be seen, revealing a space beneath.

>look under plank
Beneath the planks is a puzzle box, about the size of a book.

>get box
(the puzzle box)
The box slides easily out of the hole.

>x box
Which do you mean, the puzzle box or the sandalwood box?

>puzzle box
It is approximately the size of a large bound book. It is a puzzle box of some kind for while it seems to have a seam along its side, there is no way to open or unlock it. Its top is inscribed with a beautiful engraving of a tree.

>x engraving
The tree is huge, covering the whole of the box. Its roots trail downwards, into a dull red glow while its upper branches are bathed in a white light.

A series of raised buttons overlays the tree, each with a word inscribed on it. Generally, from top to bottom they read:

Kether, Binah, Chokmah, Gevurah, Chesed, Hod, Tipareth, Netzach, Yesod, Malkuth

>x sheets
An old, sour-smelling thing with twisted sheets. Beneath it, the planks seem misplaced.