Adventure Gamers - Forums

>ask about explanation
“Fused?” I repeat.

“Sometimes a synthetic person gets broken,” Atlantida says. “Forced into a choice she would never have made on her own. Impossible to separate because you aren’t two whole people any more.”

There’s a brief pause.

Atlantida smiles with half a mouth. “You’ve arrived on a difficult day. In the ordinary course of things, I keep things quiet: the spirit of democracy, but none of the sordid wrangling and bribes and corruption and compromise. It’s only when the spirit of the island itself is threatened, that we have to resort to such extreme measures.”

I want to ask whether the protesters feel the same way.

>ask about protesters
“What about the protesters?” I ask. “They don’t like your policy. Are you sure you’re really representing the spirit of Atlantis, or have you gone some other way of your own?”

Atlantida shrugs off our question. “A vocal minority. Most people are content to keep what they have. Imagine the chaos if everyone had free access to the Bureau’s complete range of letter tools, and if there were no laws about how to use them.”

There’s a brief pause. “Do you think the protesters would feel happier if there had been a citizen referendum where their position had been voted down? The outcome would have been just the same, but they would feel much more responsible for it; surely an unpleasant position for them to be in, considering their moral objections.”

>get rifle
I don’t dare invade the personal space of Atlantida.

“And now it’s time for you to go,” Atlantida says.

She presses a button on something in her hand. Far away, a high-pitched bell rings.

“Did you have anything else you wanted to ask me? I so rarely get to talk with ordinary citizens. Only ones with clearance, and those about to go into Cold Storage. A last interview with Saint Peter.”

>ask about brock
That doesn’t seem to be a topic of conversation at the moment.

>topics
I could say that the outside world matters.

>e
I would have to get through her first.

>put gel on atlantida
(the restoration gel on Atlantida)
We dab a bit on our finger and approach, but she is far too large, far too spry. She catches our wrist and forces us aside, until the gel is harmlessly absorbed into our own skin.

“Oh, no, my dear,” Atlantida says. “They could remake me, but it wouldn’t be the same me, would it? It would be some new construct. The Atlantida of today. And that’s not the way to a consistent policy, is it?”

There are noises in the next room, and a moment later a couple of All-Purpose Officers burst into the room, gel rifles and real rifles drawn.

“You’re slow,” Atlantida says, seating herself on the ridiculous bed. “I thought we had trained for this eventuality.”

The officer nearest the door turns red. “This has been a busy day, madam,” he says. As though she were a queen.

That is, that’s what would have happened if I had done something so foolish. Shall we suppose I didn’t? >> yes

[Restarted scene.]

“Don’t move, Alexandra, or I’ll split you in two.”

A very tall woman with Bureau-blue eyes steps into the room from the east, carrying a restoration gel rifle. Her face is ageless, her mouth full-lipped but proud. We’ve never met, but I recognize her at once. The monocle sees her as a fake, a fossilized shellfish.

Atlantida moves the rifle a fraction and fires through the portcullis at the counterweight. With an audible SPLORT, the counterweight becomes a weight and a counter.

The weight falls to the ground.

The portcullis crashes shut.

I think I got it.

>shoot rifle with gun
She sees us moving the gun into position, and our reflexes are slower than hers.

She fires again. The pellet hits us, cold and hard, in the shoulder. It stings like hell and for a moment I think our clavicle is broken. I put our hand over the wounded spot.

Our hand.

Atlantida lowers the rifle, surprised. “Fused,” she says. “Isn’t that interesting. And so recently, too. If the gel rifle won’t separate you, nothing will.” She smiles, not warmly. “Pity. You would have been easier to deal with separately. Cold Storage for Andra, house arrest for Alex.”

Fused? We should be two pieces by now. Maybe she has an explanation? But you seem to be focused on her gun hand. How can you be so calm?

>g
The gun fires ruggedly into the restoration gel rifle, which shatters and then reforms as an infertile astrologer. She’s a woman with long grey hair, well past menopause.

The infertile astrologer falls awkwardly to earth and looks around in confusion.

The astrologer looks at me. “Gemini, am I right?”

“Oh, bravo,” says Atlantida. “Could you possibly have made a less useful ally?”

Amazing anagram.

>put gel on atlantida
We dab a bit on our finger and approach, but she is far too large, far too spry. She catches our wrist and forces us aside, until the gel is harmlessly absorbed into our own skin.

“Oh, no, my dear,” Atlantida says. “They could remake me, but it wouldn’t be the same me, would it? It would be some new construct. The Atlantida of today. And that’s not the way to a consistent policy, is it?”

So I guess WE fused and turned into I when one of us decided to betray Brock and the other one had to give in. That’s the moment we felt “dizzy”. That should not be any different in my own playthrough because the same thing happened.

>shoot astrologer with gun
The gun fires ruggedly into the infertile astrologer, which shatters and then reforms as the restoration gel rifle.

Atlantida smiles with half a mouth. “You’ve arrived on a difficult day. In the ordinary course of things, I keep things quiet: the spirit of democracy, but none of the sordid wrangling and bribes and corruption and compromise. It’s only when the spirit of the island itself is threatened, that we have to resort to such extreme measures.”

I’m inclined to ask whether the protesters feel the same way.

>get rifle
We sidle over and casually pick up the restoration gel rifle as though we were just curious. Or maybe had an insatiable urge to tidy up.

“Do you think the protesters would feel happier if there had been a citizen referendum where their position had been voted down? The outcome would have been just the same, but they would feel much more responsible for it; surely an unpleasant position for them to be in, considering their moral objections.”

>shoot atlantida with rifle
Her eyes follow the gesture. “Don’t you dare, you little traitor,” she says. “I have been your mother, your father, your waking up and your going to sleep, your teachers and your lovers and your friends. I am the integrity of this island. Change me and you change Atlantis forever.”

“Maybe it’s time,” I say. “Maybe part of the business of democracy is having the arguments—”

You don’t let me finish. I shoot the restoration gel rifle at Atlantida. With an audible SPLORT, Atlantida becomes an atlantida. It’s a sort of shellfish, vaguely like a clam or scallop but bigger and with different ridges.

This fusing thing does something to me, it gives me the creeps. Being forced to spend the rest of your life with someone you don’t really like, never to be yourself again. Terrible fate. And I don’t mean gender stuff. (Maybe Emily did, although the game is probably too old for that.)

Karlok - 30 March 2021 06:25 AM

The gun fires ruggedly into the restoration gel rifle, which shatters and then reforms as an infertile astrologer. She’s a woman with long grey hair, well past menopause.

The infertile astrologer falls awkwardly to earth and looks around in confusion.

The astrologer looks at me. “Gemini, am I right?”

“Oh, bravo,” says Atlantida. “Could you possibly have made a less useful ally?”

I’m ROFL’ing here…

Karlok - 30 March 2021 06:35 AM

So I guess WE fused and turned into I when one of us decided to betray Brock and the other one had to give in. That’s the moment we felt “dizzy”. That should not be any different in my own playthrough because the same thing happened.

Apparently so.

But does that mean that Alex is more dominant? Or that there’s less difference between Alex and Andra to tell?
Maybe I’m just too used to “I” referring to Alex…

Karlok - 30 March 2021 06:56 AM

This fusing thing does something to me, it gives me the creeps. Being forced to spend the rest of your life with someone you don’t really like, never to be yourself again. Terrible fate. And I don’t mean gender stuff. (Maybe Emily did, although the game is probably too old for that.)

I’m not convinced this is irreversible. Although that would make a nice twist…

>e

Private Solarium
A window in the north wall, cut out through the cliff face, gives a view of tranquil sea under a darkening sky.

Left on a coffee table (as though waiting for maid service) is a silver tray. On the silver tray are some jacks, a cloth napkin, some crumbs, and a dirty coffee cup.

There is an ebook reader on the chaise longue.

>x window
The window is closed.

Through the window, there’s a beautiful view of the sea; but further inspection also reveals a narrow strip of grassy ledge, really only just wide enough to stand on, before a steep descent over stones.

>x silver tray
Just matte enough to give no reflections, and stamped with a classical Atlantean pattern of overlapping olive branches and chard leaves.

On the silver tray are some jacks, a cloth napkin, some crumbs, and a dirty coffee cup (empty).

The monocle pings happily as I sight the silver tray with the crosshairs.

>x jacks
A set of children’s playing jacks. They are lined up, with curious precision, into the letter A.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the jacks with the crosshairs.

>x cloth
Good linen in eau-de-nil, monogrammed with a large A, and smeared with a few smudges of honey.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the cloth napkin with the crosshairs.

>x crumbs
At a guess, they come from some sort of breakfast roll or pastry.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the crumbs with the crosshairs.

>x coffee cup
The residual liquid in the bottom reveals that the person whose breakfast this was takes a small amount of milk and no sugar.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the dirty coffee cup with the crosshairs.

>get all
jacks: I take the jacks.
cloth napkin: I get the cloth napkin.
crumbs: I know they’ll only make a mess.
dirty coffee cup: I pick up the dirty coffee cup.
ebook reader: I take the ebook reader.

>x ebook
An expensive recent model, silver-backed, with a glossy touch screen.

The ebook reader is currently switched off.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the ebook reader with the crosshairs.

>turn it on
The ebook reader chimes cheerfully.

I can type search terms to look for data records.

And to answer your question, Timovieman:

>x me
I can feel you in my head, but you’ve… stilled, sort of. Like an animal that’s given up. Like a dog hiding in the corner of a cage. I feel more like me than I have all day, though I miss my real body.

Huuu! Chilling.

More anagrams…

>shoot gun at cloth
The gun fires ruggedly into the cloth napkin, which shatters and then reforms as a hot pink clan. A huddle of nearly-identical anime girls with hot pink hair. They are watching us with large eyes.

The hot pink clan looks rather awkward, and clambers out of our ineffective hold onto solid ground.

>shoot gun at coffee cup
The gun fires ruggedly into the dirty coffee cup, which shatters and then reforms as a tidy puce coffer. It’s a heavy, old-fashioned box with a peaked lid, lacquered all over in a shade somewhere between dark pink and dusty purple. It is very clean and precisely crafted.

>shoot gun at tray
The gun fires ruggedly into the silver tray, which shatters and then reforms as a starry veil. A veil of fine black gauze, long enough to fall at least to the knee on a woman of average height. It is studded all over with gleaming silvery stars; not mere rhinestones, but ornaments that cast their own faint unmistakeable light. Some are pure white, some pale blue, some small and red-hued. But they are safe and cool and do not burn to touch.

>shoot gun at stack of files
The gun fires ruggedly into the stack of files, which shatters and then reforms as the sickest offal. There’s a pile of semi-recognizable animal bits, of which I think I might recognize a dried sheep’s head. Back in my grandparents’ day Atlantis was quite a lot poorer and these kinds of foods were considered acceptable — even a delicacy — but you won’t catch them in the markets these days.