goneawayworld | DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL

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DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL - INVESTIGATION

DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call...The Twilight Zone.

LINKS
OOC FAMILY INFO/WORKSHIPPING
PLOT PART 1
NIGHT EVENT
NETWORK POST

MAP

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Darlington High School: The town's high school, home to various cliques of teenagers, and containing secrets that can only be discovered after dark.

Sheriff's Station: The sheriff seems like a typical sitcom sheriff, neighborly and helpful, but the sheriff's station has carefully guarded files that might be of interest to the New Hires.

Abandoned Factory: In such a sunshiney town, why is there an abandoned building?

Library: Information about the town can be found here, including a section with town records.

TV Studio: The possible source of strange broadcasts that can be found on TVs in Darlington.

???: A completely unassuming house.

Abandoned Mall: Another abandoned building, and one that's outside of time. This shopping mall is a decade or two early for the time period in the sitcom. Perhaps something useful can be found inside.

Murnjgod Appliances: The TV's in the window of Murnjgod Appliances sometimes display cryptic messages that might offer clues or puzzles to be deciphered.

DETAILS

The first night and day don't leave them much freedom. The sitcom scenarios keep them occupied periodically during the day and evening and then whatever brought them there dragged them "home" the first night around 10 pm and then battened down every door and window of the building they were each in.

The second day is much the same. Forced scenarios, some free time in between. It's only at night fall that something relaxes, like the world is letting out a sigh. There is a sense of pervasive fatigue like whatever was pushing them through this has just exhausted itself trying to control all of them at once.

That means the doors and windows stay unlocked that night, allowing some of them to move around.

The streets are empty - emptier than streets often are in reality. There's no one driving home from a late shift or walking their dog. There are no barking dogs for that matter, either, despite them sometimes being visible in yards around the neighborhood.

Sitcoms tend to move to interior settings at night. So the streets are eerily quiet and empty. At 10 pm on the second night, instead of dragging them home and trapping them, every light in town other than their own house lights and the street lamps turns off simultaneously.

Their doors lock once but almost as if it's for show, a bluff to make them think they're trapped again. They can be unlocked and opened this time. The houses all have flashlights, and sheds full of tools that can maybe be used to break into places.

It's time to get to the bottom of this.

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Cammie slumps with relief and lowers the screwdriver, pinching the bridge of her nose with a groan. “Ach, shoot. Yeah, I realised that the second I turned around. But, in my defense, this was already in my hand.”

She gives Stacia a once-over of her own; clearly a New Hire and she looks prepared, which are both good things. Pants, which Cammie is a normal amount of envious of, given the circumstances.

“I think I almost have the door open. Uh, I’m Car— shoot, Cammie. Don’t think we’ve met yet? Haven’t met most people, really. Didn’t even know one guy’s name until this place made him my ‘brother’.”

"It's not a bad weapon," Stacia agreed. "Especially if someone gets in too close for the bat to be effective. But that's also the range where everyone gets covered in blood, and I prefer to avoid that."

Now that the stand-off has ceased, she moves into sneaky-conversation range.

"Nice to meet you Cammie, I'm Stacia. This place will try to tell you 'Stacy', but it's a filthy liar. I'm glad you know your way around locks, I was considering the benefits of a brick to a window, and those are noisy."

“Ugh, tell me about it; it wants me to be ‘Carrie’, and it’s just close enough even I keep slipping up. Still not used to hearing the wrong accent, either,” she says, shaking her head. ”There’s open windows, too, but I think we’d struggle to get up there even with two of us. Already enough of a pain having to bust this door manually, what happened to good ol’ hackable electric locks?”

The 1950s happened, obviously. Why couldn’t it have been the 2050s? At least that’s only 20 years behind in tech, for her.

With a little more fumbling with the tools, she manages to get the lock open and she pushes the door open slowly, pointing her flashlight inside.

“You had to go to school earlier too, right? You get a lay of the land and all that?” She tried to make a mental map of the place herself, at least, just in case this chance came up.

Edited 2021-03-24 16:56 (UTC)

"Fortunately for me, I detest being called 'Stacy' to the point I got in trouble for fighting other kids when they tried to use it," Stacia says. "So if I answer to it without glaring, you can tell something's wrong. But I'll try not to get too attached to the way your voice sounds now."

Stacia follows Cammie through the door, scanning the hall for signs of a potential ambush. "I did," she agrees. "I don't think we're going to find much in the classrooms. The main office seems like a good place to start, unless you have a better idea?"

"I'll keep that in mind. Don't think I've had any of the weird character moments myself yet, but Robbie was all freaky when he woke up. Eugh. Sooner we get out of this place, the better."

She stuffs the screwdriver and other tools back in her purse, and holds the baseball bat in the hand she's not using to hold the flashlight.

"Nah, main office sounds good. Might find stuff there that'll point us elsewhere, too," she says, pointing the light in the vague direction they have to go and getting moving, keeping an eye out for movement and an ear out for sound. Oh how she misses her rabbit ear aids, at least she can turn those towards a noise without having to turn her head.

She opens the main office door with the same slow caution as the entrance, casting the flashlight over the room.

There is definitely something convenient about what they're trying to find. It doesn't take much digging to find something interesting in a filing cabinet. Several files are actually in color, manila envelopes and organizer sleeves in yellows, reds, greens, and blues.

The records here aren't permanent records, they seem to be older records just left to rot in a random cabinet, as some school records are. The files are covered in dust.

They're dated back to October 2009. They detail several reports submitted to the school counselor, who filed a report to state social services for possible child neglect potentially happening to a Freshman high school student.

A second report notes his never being given a packed lunch, lunch money for school, or being signed up to the free or low cost lunch program.

The end result is detailed on another report - the student being relocated to a foster home, fortunately also in Clarksdale so he can continue at the same high school, and then no further reported incidents.

There are a few pictures of the student from different activities, saved just to document the changes in physical condition. In the ones from 2009, his clothes are threadbare and torn in places and he looks a little haggard, too-skinny, and sullen. In the pics dated after the 2010 relocation to foster care, he looks well-fed, well-dressed, and much, much happier, a giant, genuine grin on his face in most of them. In one of them he's holding a video camera and standing around with a group labeled the "Clarksdale High School Video Production Club."

The address is listed as changed from what's on the form to: 150 Lexington Ave, Clarksdale, NJ 08005

Edited 2021-03-25 01:22 (UTC)

"So much for 'Darlington'," Stacia says, tapping the word 'Clarksdale'. "And the year on this thing also doesn't fit with the 1950s aesthetic they've got going on here." She wrinkles her nose at the dust. "Sadly, I have no idea how long it takes this much dust to accumulate. Any thoughts before we start breaking into other offices, Cammie?"

“Well, for one, the files being in colour means whatever’s causin’ this monochrome bullshoot isn’t something it’s done to how we see things, it’s the environment that’s been changed, but for some reason... not these files specifically. Like...”

She pulls a thinking face, flipping back through the files quickly.

“I think we better remember that name and address in particular. This kid’s files are a flash of colour in a freaky black and white world, no way he has nothing to do with this. One way or another. Other than that... I’d suggest we split up to cover more ground if that wasn’t the stupidest idea ever that gets people killed in all the movies, ‘cause if this kid—”

She jabs her finger against the photograph.

“—was part of the film club, and they still have a room in this place, then it bears looking at. But we should also definitely hit the other offices and records storage too, I doubt these are the only files with colour or something. So... I say we try clear the offices, then the records, quick as we can, then head to the film room.”

Splitting up would be quicker, but never split the party. Splitting the party sometimes leaves you having to share optical sensors with a teammate because your Holon’s head is half way down the street from your body. And she’s not in a Holon, here. Sure, she came out here alone, but Stacia’s here now; teamwork makes the dream work and all that.

Edited 2021-03-25 15:29 (UTC)

"On one hand, I'm always suspicious of things that obviously stand out," Stacia muses, stroking the colored folder. "On the other hand, the fact that everything else is in black-and-white -- including the people -- does beg the question of why this didn't. And it's dusty, so it's not like whatever is behind all of this was necessarily trying to make it obvious."

She laughs quietly. "Considering that we're both smallish girls armed only with our wits and what we can scrounge? Let's definitely not split up." She narrows her eyes. "I vote nurse's office first, then the principal, then records. And then we can try to find the film club."

“Yeah, I'm thinkin' these things still being in colour is an unintended side-effect of... something, rather than an attempt at misleading us. I mean, heck, last night we couldn't even get outside, and tonight it tried to bluff us out of tryin' again; don't think whatever's running this show thought we'd be digging around any time soon.”

At least, she hopes not. They might be relying on that, to a degree. If whatever's controlling this is leaving them false clues that'd be another problem entirely.

"Let's go with that. Maybe stuff those files in your bag if you don't think it'll catch somethin's attention later, otherwise I'll remember it well enough." She grabs the baseball bat from where she'd tucked it between her knees so she could read, then nods with both her head and the light towards the door.

Nurse's office next.

The nurse's office looks largely unused like no one is actually ever sick there. After all, isn't it just a place to fake a cold so you can skip school for a day for hijinks?

That means that the two of them staying in the room for too long, after hours, does something. The room isn't meant to be used at night - whatever is doing this to the town is therefore not focusing as much attention on the school right now. So the area around them starts to glitch back and forth between black and white and muted color, between the room's lights working and being broken so the nurse's office is only lit by the light of the hallway behind them.

There is a body slumped against the desk during the times the lamp doesn't work, when the room is in dim color, faded green linoleums visible on the floor covered by mold and dust. Finally it stops glitching and they get to see the nightmare underneath the black and white sitcom.

The room looks more modern in this iteration - a manual blood pressure cuff replaced by an electronic one, a digital thermometer on a counter instead of a glass one, the style of the cots and chairs a little updated. The big wooden desk is now a more compact one. The open medicine cabinet looks like it was completely ransacked of medicine and supplies, as do some of the other storage cabinets. The room has been water damaged over time, from the rain coming through a hole in the roof.

There is a huge part of the ceiling and center of the room that's missing, like a sphere scooped out. The body is a skeleton at this point, face down on the desk where they slumped over as they died. It's easy to see how this school nurse died, a section of their body carved out, like the null space passed through them. Their entire right shoulder, part of their rib cage, and part of their leg just carved away, with the same null space carved into the floor, ceiling, and a few of the cots.

Fake flowers were scavenged from somewhere and left on the desk. Scrawled on a wall in front of where the skeleton is slumped are the mostly faded words "RIP Nurse Bitterman." The "i" in "Bitterman" is dotted with a little heart, in the way most adults don't dot their eyes.

There is nothing else to be scavenged in the room. All the records an papers have long since rotted away from the water damage. The room flickers back to the sitcom setup when they eventually exit.

Stacia had obligingly stuffed the files in her bag before following Cammie to the nurse's office. She pulls the kitchen knife out of its makeshift sheath the moment the room starts glitching, grabbing for Cammie's arm with her other hand in preparation to pull her back. It takes her a moment to notice the skeleton, since she's too busy trying to look out for movement.

"...Oh," she says softly. "That must have happened during the war."

The glitching has Cammie jumping back a step a second after Stacia's hand finds her arm, baseball bat raised instinctively— and then it stops, and the room is full of colour and modern things, and her eyes slowly widen in horror.

"Mac na galla. It's like bits of everything just... disappeared." Sure, they all heard the explanation of the war, of what made the Stuff, but seeing it? "If this room is like this, then under the rest of the sitcom veneer it all must be... god."

She swallows. This hits closer to home than she'd like it to. Wars, and all that. Dangerous substances that can change form and hurt people, too.

"Don't think there's anything else in here." Her voice wavers a little, until she coughs. Keep it together. "All too damaged from the giant hole in the roof. We should move on. Principal's office next, yeah? Yeah."

"Yeah," Stacia agrees, replacing her knife in the oven mitt. She tugs a little on Cammie's arm before letting go. Note to self, grab Cammie's shirt next time so as not to muck up her swing.

"...At least she didn't suffer. Nurse Bitterman, I mean. It would have been fast. But next time things start glitching, we'll have to remember that we might be standing above a hole."

Maybe they should keep an eye out for a broom or something else with a long handle to test the floor with. Stacia backs out of the nurse's office and heads for the principal's instead, leaving Cammie to close the door behind them.

"Yeah. Least there's that," Cammie says, nodding in agreement with Stacia on both counts. "Better watch our step."

This place could have the structural integrity of swiss cheese if this one space is anything to go by and they definitely don't need to add falling into holes in the ground to their list of problems.

She closes the door as they leave and almost jumps at the return of the flickering, leaving the room back in its sitcom state. Gods, this is too freaky.

Until they find anything else, she'll keep the bat ready to tap at the ground, just in case, as they make their way to the Principal's office.

The principal's office is less glitchy.

Most of the files in the room are blank, like the TV show didn't even see fit to fill them in.

One file is in color.

It's a disciplinary file, talking about a prank Joshua Nichols pulled where he forced every TV in the school to broadcast classic sitcoms. All the teachers had to turn the TVs off and couldn't use them all day.

He only got a warning for it.

"Same kid from before," Stacia says, tapping the name on this colored file. "Sounds like he's a tech whiz in addition to being a TV and film buff. Maybe we should skip the records room and go right for the film club? Hard to say how long before something notices we're poking around where we shouldn't be."

"Yeah, probably a good idea. We can hit the records after if we think we have time," Cammie agrees. "No way this kid's name coming up twice in some of the only real files in the place is a flippin' coincidence. The fact he picked sitcoms for his prank and we're flippin' stuck in one, like...."

She gestures vaguely. He's gotta be connected to the state of this place, some way. Deliberately, or willingly or not is harder to say.

"Alright. Let's go check the film club." And hope it's not all freaky in there.

The film club seems shifted into the real world. It's a room filled with dusty computers and abandoned cameras. The kind of equipment that's normally too valuable to leave abandoned, but only in a world that isn't post apocalypse, where food and medical supplies are far more valuable.

There is nothing really significant to be found here but there are at least pictures in places, mostly on a bulletin board.

Nichols' picture is here, tacked up with a handwritten letter he sent to the teacher in charge of the club, complete with little TV related doodles he clearly thought she'd get a kick out of in the margins.

Dear Mrs. Grady,

Guess who got into UCLA? Ya boy!

I'll be starting in the fall!

This summer I also got a temp job at KGJM, Clarksdale's local (and only lol) tv station. It's not an internship exactly but they needed someone to work as a gofer and I impressed them during the interview because of the awards I won so they probably think I'll be all eager to do a ton of work for like no money (and they're right lol).

Bringing people's coffee. So super glamorous. But I'm ready to start paying my dues and am already practicing the "How would you like your latte, Mr. Affleck?"

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you because I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for you. Not just when it comes to video production, or finding my voice with what I create, but also in how you helped me with what was happening at home. If you hadn't told the school counselor to get DCF involved I'd still be festering in that rat hole.

I'm not ready to call Shelly and Trish mom and mom yet, but I think I might get there. They actually care about me, and home isn't all crazy now. I live in a house that actually has stuff like food, and forget just getting new clothes, they got me JORDANS. They're always nice to me and they listen and they actually pay attention to me. Everything got so much better after I came to live with them.

I know my bio parents aren't bad people. They were good parents whenever they were lucid and they tried to quit so many times. Their druggie shit was always just sad but I finally realized they're just never going to get better in the amount of time I needed them to. And it's not my job to babysit them until they do.

But I still could get better. And I have.

Thank you for helping me find the thing I was passionate about, but also for basically saving my life and making it so I even have a future. Hopefully my parents will get better someday but in the mean time I have Shelly and Trish helping me be okay. (Along with a butt load of therapy).

So thanks for everything. I know you told me before, that the way I could really thank you was making it so you see my name in some credits somewhere. So keep an eye out. Someday my name's going to be in lights, baby! Hollywood, here I come!

-Osh Kosh B'Josh, not to be confused with Josh 2, Tall Josh, or Ninja Josh.

(Srsly how were there four of us at the same time??? lol)

[ooc: Go ahead and have them react but stay in the room, there will be a surprise lolol.]

Food and medical supplies may be more valuable than computers and cameras, but the Rig technically supplies the former to their "employees". Stacia mutters a thank you to Cockroach and to her Glass Walker friends for teaching her about what is and isn't useful and lets Cammie check the room while she loots the computers for parts she can smuggle back onto the Rig.

"Not sure if I like the fact this place isn't all sitcom-y," Cammie comments idly as she examines the bulletin board, then she goes quiet as she reads through the letter.

It's quite sad, really, reading something like this in the midst of the abandoned school.

"Looks like that Nichols kid's life really did turn around after that report. Heading to college, got a summer job... sent a letter back to his teacher thanking her and everything. And then..."

She remembers the big hole in the nurse's office and shudders. War sucks. And whatever's happening here in the aftermath of it is even worse.

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DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL - INVESTIGATION

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cw: mention of non-graphic (robotic) decapitation

Re: cw: mention of non-graphic (robotic) decapitation

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