New VN? Yes? No? Maybe so?

For a while I've toyed with the idea of messing around with another visual novel (although YOU and HIM will always have priority).

And this idea has been ping ponging around in my head for a while.

Im not sure if I'll ever use it but I figure why not share the script just for fun? (Also note it's a VERY rough and unedited draft)

Soooooooooooooo-

Here ya go! For funsy doodles!

Script:

Intercom: Number 843, please step forward and onto the platform.

The crackling audio booms throughout the decrepit and decaying building.

Wooden slats creak as the mass of people still and become silent.

Each one checks the tattoos slashed across their wrists despite having memorized it by heart at this point.

It's more of reassurance than anything.

Even you can't help but glance at your own tattoo: Number 538.

Nope.

Not your turn.

You go back to what you were doing, which was nothing really to begin with, but it's better than the alternative-

Stepping forward.

Intercom: Number 843, please step onto the platform.

No one does.

Not surprising, really.

They'll go kicking and screaming because it's the only freedom any of you have before the end.

It's always like this.

You pick up a stick and trace lines in a small patch of dirt in the corner of the dilapidated building, frowning at the weird symbols.

An elderly woman called Tanya taught them to you before she, too, was called forward like 843.

She used to work as a kindergarten teacher.

Before any of this became legal, she worked with kids and helped them memorize the English language and taught simple arithmetics.

Then, as most of the people here, she committed a small crime.

Littering.

Accidentally missed the trash bin while walking through a park and speaking with her friend over call.

She never reached the end of the park.

Her head got slammed against the ground when the wardens caught and detained her.

They broke most of her teeth in the process, making them jagged like shards of broken glass.

She used to tease you about being a shark, but completely missed the fact you don't even know what sharks look like.

The last time you saw those teeth they dug into one of the warden's arms and tore off a chunk of flesh before they hauled her to the platform.

Or rather, her final destination.

It's the same one you'll go to someday.

Just not today.

You finish completing the line on your A when men dressed in tactical equipment come pouring in through the doors and windows.

Like, you know, show offs.

They fan out like a growing flame until they find the person they're searching for.

There's a shriek as they haul reluctant 843 out of the crowd.

A man with bird-like limbs and the mouth of a gossip monger claws at the wardens, tear tracks staining his cheeks.

His head whips around.

As if anyone will save him or take his place.

His eyes land on you.

They beg and plead.

But you remember all the times he spit in your food,  stole your straw bed mat, and screamed at you until your eardrums bled.

You smile and wiggle your fingers at him mouthing a little, tah-tah before his eyes widen and he lunges.

One of the men knocks him down with the butt of his gun.

Right on the neck too.

That's gotta hurt.

They then proceed to drag his limp body towards the steep platform in the center of the building, his dirtied feet dragging and bringing up dust.

Almost like even in his unconscious state, he's trying to keep the wardens from dragging him onto it.

Even the people watching keep a five foot distance from the platform.

Everyone avoids it for fear they'll jinx themselves into being next.

You're the only one who's willing to touch it unprompted.

Sometimes you even sleep on it during the summer months to cool down.

It's also probably why most of the people here either bully you or leave you alone.

You're a freak for tempting fate like that, most say.

Tanya was one of the few who never saw it that way.

She deemed you as brave.

When her time came, it was one of the few instances you wanted to change places with the person being called to the platform.

Or rather…the only instance.

Not that they'd let you take her place anyway.

Plenty of mothers or fathers tried offering themselves up when their adult children were on the chopping block.

But in the end…

They were always sedated and their children always taken.

In too many incidents, the parents often died not long after, so the intercom always called their numbers the next day as a preventative measure.

They want you alive for some reason.

And you aren't sure why despite having lived here most of your life.

You just know that it's important.

At least to them.

Warden 1: Hey. Hey.

The warden who knocked Number 843 out with his gun rattles him around a couple of feet away from the platform.

843's head whips around like a rag doll.

It looks silly despite how morbid all of this is.

There's a little bit of drool at 834s mouth and the whites of his eyes are showing.

Another warden comes up from behind the first and shoves his partner away.

He bends down and feels 843s pulse. He frowns

Then he speaks into a device attached to his ear.

Warden 2: Unit 23, Warden Salinger, reporting from Warehouse C5.

Warden Salinger: 843 has become unresponsive during retrieval. How do you wish to proceed?

He waits for a response.

Then-

Intercom: Number 538 please step onto the platform.

Ah.

So it's your turn.

You figured this day would come eventually, but it's unfortunate you couldn't finish what you were writing.

Damn.

You stand up and brush the dirt off your tattered clothes, yellowed from age and too small around the ankles and wrists.

You try to pull your sleeves down despite the fact they always tug upwards.

It's annoying.

Like an itch you can't scratch.

The mass of people part like a sea, giving you space as you willingly step forward, still readjusting your sleeves.

A few of them speak from behind their hands.

"No fight?" Some of them ask.

"Course not. There's a few screws loose in that head of theirs," more whisper back.

"What was their crime again?"

"Murder. They killed their entire family in minutes."

A few gasps.

Do they really have nothing better to do than to speculate over old news?

Who doesn't know your crime at this point?

Yeah it's been years, and you've long since entered adulthood, but last you knew, you're still pretty damn famous.

After all…

What eight year old kills someone without batting an eyelash?

You give the Chatty Cathies something else to talk about by blowing them a kiss, pairing it with a wink.

They reel backwards, going pale in the face as they trip over each other.

Really, they're no fun.

You step onto the round platform with a small hop and a few wardens flank each side of you.

All of them are well built, muscled machines with multiple weapons at their disposal.

How lovely.

An entourage just for you?

They shouldn't have.

You smile at one of the wardens and their grip tightens on the gun.

You're afraid for sure.

But fucking with people is already proving far more entertaining than doing the typical scream fest.

If you're going out, you want to be remembered.

And who would forget you?

It's impossible.

You're fucking delightful.

Warden Salinger speaks into his earpiece again and the platform starts to descend a moment later.

Once you're a few feet down, the floor gets covered up by something and drowns out all the light.

You're eclipsed in total darkness.