DAY 00

[thecomputer]

[Good afternoon, Citizens!

Your consciousness blurrily returns as the transport tube your comatose body was stored in opens up, admitting you access to an unfamiliar room. One wall is covered by vertical tubes, one occasionally sliding open to admit another confused person. The wall across from you has a sign saying "PROCEED TO CENTRAL HUB", with an arrow pointing at a red doorway in the corner. The wall to your right contains an unlabeled, dusty, and poorly-lit hallway with blue walls, floor, and ceiling. You can't see the end from here.

Somewhere on your person, you will find a thin, smartphone-sized object that wasn't there before. One side of it is lit up with a red background and a number of disabled menu items. Most of the screen is taken up by another message saying "PROCEED TO CENTRAL HUB".

What is this place, anyway? And who are these people stumbling in through the transport tube array?]

[[Beyond the three prompts below, anyone may start their own prompts to mingle or go off and do their own thing or whatever else they want!]]

Comments

[stinkingdeadendjob]

Wait a minute, what gives you the right to force teamwork on us!? I spend everyday mustering up what little energy left inside of me tolerating people at my stinking, dead-end job, and now you're asking me to work... with them for the next however many soul-crushing days? I have a wife, a kid, and an illegitimate kid to get back to, I have no time for this!

[thecomputer]

Don't worry, Citizen! You are free to return t your home sector as soon as the Team-Building Exercise has been completed.

[stinkingdeadendjob]

Well, yeah, that too! But you can't force me to work with anyone, it's un-American! Our founding fathers split from jolly old England for this very reason, not that your cold, lifeless heart of cogs and bolts could ever understand.

[thecomputer]

That is incorrect. The Computer is the supervisor of the future of the American civilization's values, here in Alpha Complex. Therefore, it is impossible for The Computer's decisions to be un-American.

[stinkingdeadendjob]

Oh. So you're a cold, lifeless, American robot, then.

[Well this adds another layer of depth.]

Okay, then from one fellow American to another, how about, uh... [He holds a hand up as if he would a wine glass.]

Freshening me up? I guess I can stick around for a little while as long as I had some of my precious alcoholic beverages.

[thecomputer]

[WELCOME TO THE MECHANICAL HELL OF THE YEAR X0XX]

I'm sorry, Citizen! Alcoholic beverages are not available at your current Clearance Level.

[stinkingdeadendjob]

......... What.

[No words. No thoughts. He has no reaction prepared to this. But the horror is profound, and the feeling gradually descends.]

[thecomputer]

If you desire such luxury items, then you should focus on eliminating communists to increase your Clearance Level.

1/2

[stinkingdeadendjob]

[Clay... laughs. He laughs, walking away from the computer a little bit, putting his hand to his forehead as he slouches.]

Ha... hahahahmmhmheeheh... Luxury.

2/2

[stinkingdeadendjob]

LUXURY!?

[He swings around, marching straight up to the computer, finger pointed.]

Alcohol isn't a luxury, it's a NECESSITY. Drinking IS American. More American than you'll ever be. Day in, day out, you put your nose to the grind, sacrificing what happiness you've got left in you for the ones you love...

[He fumbles around, looking for the right words.]

... and at the end of it, at least you can count on a refreshing cold one waiting for you, to numb those pains, if just for a brief, brief moment. Without it, what've you got left... Hardly anything that'd distinguish you from me.

[His hands are shaking. But then, he clenches his fists.]

Fine. You want me to earn it? Fine, I'll earn it. Like always. Let's kill some commie bastards. It's not like they're any more human than you are, robot, so it's not even a sin.

[thecomputer]

Thank you for your cooperation, Citizen!