Conversation · Mainframe
Speakers · 20
Perception
Inland Empire
Physical Instrument
East-Insulindian Repeater Station
Half Light
Suggestion
Shivers
Empathy
Savoir Faire
Esprit de CorpsWhen
- 12:00 · 13:00 · 14:00 · 15:00 · 16:00 · 17:00 · 18:00 "Good afternoon, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater
- 19:00 · 20:00 · 21:00 · 22:00 · 23:00 "Good evening, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater St
- 07:00 · 08:00 · 09:00 · 10:00 · 11:00 "Good morning, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater St
- 00:00 · 01:00 · 02:00 · 03:00 · 04:00 · 05:00 · 06:00 "Good evening, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater St
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Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.
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- Look inside the compartment.
- Press PRINT.
- Read the printout.
- Insert THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE.− "Production Schedule" Filament MemoryRemembered · 1
- Remove THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE.Remembered · 2
- [Leave.]
- Insert THE OFF-SITE COPY.− "Off-Site Copy" Filament MemoryRemembered · 1
- Remove THE OFF-SITE COPY.Remembered · 2
- Press PLAY again.
- Press PLAY.Remembered · 1
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- Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.
- Continue
- Continue
- Continue
- The machine lights up like some prehistoric animal stirring from its slumber, revealing virescent PLAY and PRINT keys on the keyboard. The hatch on the machine's central compartment is wide open.
- Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.
- Continue
- Continue
- Continue
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Behind the hatch sits a cube-like crisscross of filaments, smouldering in the dark like fireflies. Silver tape on the side says in a black marker: "THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE".
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- Behind the hatch sits a cube-like crisscross of filaments, smouldering in the dark like fireflies. Silver tape on the side says in a black marker: "THE PRODUCTION SCHEDULE".
- Behind the hatch sits a cube-like crisscross of filaments, smouldering in the dark like fireflies. Silver tape on the side says in a black marker: "THE OFF-SITE COPY".
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Behind the hatch sits a cube-like crisscross of filaments, smouldering in the dark like fireflies. Silver tape on the side says in a black marker: "THE OFF-SITE COPY".
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It's empty like a beehive without its brood. Some cables have been left dangling, disconnected...
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With a quiet determination the printer starts printing, a piece of paper unfolding like a hand-held fan. A black criss-cross of letters covers its surface.
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It sounds like something cracks, before the piece of paper starts filling up with pure black ink.
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It's a project report written by the lead producer Andrew 'Andy' Schott about 'Wirrâl Untethered', a radio game developed by studio Fortress Accident.
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The first few pages give an overview of the capital and workforce, while the rest of it seems to be a production schedule.
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In its short time of existence, Fortress Accident SCA managed to burn through truly insane amounts of money.
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Igaunija -- a god-forsaken (and tiny) territory in Graad that has not once, but twice wasted its independence on microfascism. The less said about Igaunija the better. Matter of fact, let's stop saying things about it right now and continue what we were doing.
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Fortress Accident employed 18 people, the bulk of the team composed of writers and concept artists. There were also radio programmers, sound engineers, a CEO, two marketing experts...
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...and a single overburdened producer who developed a habit of popping Pyrholidon in the basement to escape his obligations.
But on the other hand, their obligations were piling up at an inhuman rate -- a rate that could only be amended by Pyrholidon.
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The first few pages give an overview of the capital and workforce, while the rest of it seems to be a production schedule.
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No, definitely not. A few more producers could have come handy though -- especially when dealing with writers, some of whom routinely skipped work because of 'mental health issues' and extremely unprofessional sleep schedules...
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One of them even managed to steal some valuable company property before skipping town for good.
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Four months later by an unknown author: "I am the only one left and it's gotten rather damp here. A few other businesses have gone under too. Slipstream switched to making skis and the hairdressers just left, cursing Martinaise. They're right, though, something's seriously wrong with this place. Martinaise, all of it."
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"Still haven't gotten an answer from Lintel about what happened. All I could get were the physical coordinates of the error on the East-Insulindian front on that day. Since the computation happened on-air, I reckoned it had to coincide with an actually existing location..."
"I have compared the coordinates to a map of Revachol West. Turns out it's only 800 metres from here. The address is Saint-Brune 1147. I am going there to look this thing in the eye..."
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Tiles on the cube are still smouldering, casting the framework in a soft glow. Virescent PLAY and PRINT keys shine on the keyboard.
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No, not the concept artists. It wasn't even the writers, with their panic attacks and three-hour lunches...
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It was impossible not to fail. The project was too large and no amount of money could satiate the ever-expanding ambitions of the development team.
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Even then, success remained within an ever-narrowing margin of possibility that, despite everything, never entirely disappeared...
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