The context windows of an AI is variable on the system used, but GPT-4 has 128k context, locally runable models up to 200k. that's enough for a novel. Largest models are 10 millions token.
Any AI Gamemasters Out There?
- Thread starter Starfox
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The context windows of an AI is variable on the system used, but GPT-4 has 128k context, locally runable models up to 200k. that's enough for a novel. Largest models are 10 millions token.
I am pleased to report the result of my gamebook experience, using a modification of Oryth's adventure initial prompt.
1. It needs to have rule explained. While the initial prompt was already long, it's not long enough, in that it doesn't explain how does the game part works. Remember all those pages in gamebook where they told you how to roll for attack and calculate damage? We usually skipped it, and we need them to explain how the game part works to ChatGPT. I noticed that I wasn't failing unless I asked for it litterally, so I had to tell the AI to assess a percentile change of success and roll under. And display the rolls. A few times, it counted failure as a success, but it became overall much more interesting to decide on the actions to do.
2. It tends to do a bullet-point summaries of things, but can be prompted to write more detailed texts.
Example :
The dock is ancient and crumbling, but it was clearly built with precision and reinforced with magic. You notice several key features:
As the hum of the restored obelisk filled the air, steady and calming, you turned to your companions. The faint light from the ley lines bathed the nexus in an almost serene glow, a stark contrast to the chaotic mist you had traversed earlier. The decision was clear.
“This place will do,” you said, your voice steady. “We’ll make camp here for the night. The obelisk is stable, and its field will keep the worst of the Mournland’s chaos at bay. Better here than out there in the unknown.”
Kaelen nodded, his glowing sigils dimming slightly as he dropped his pack to the ground. “Not exactly the luxury of Sharn, but it beats wandering blind through the mist. I’ll set some wards—just in case your repairs attract unwanted attention.”
He moved toward the edges of the nexus, his hands glowing faintly as he traced protective glyphs into the ground. Meanwhile, Aegis-17 shifted into a defensive position near the obelisk, its arcane cannon swiveling slowly as it scanned the surroundings.
“Sentinel mode active,” the warforged stated, its voice calm and mechanical. “Hostile detection... negative. Monitoring perimeter.”
You set to work assembling your own corner of the camp, unfurling your Cloak of Shadows to create a makeshift cover against the ever-present mist. The air here felt lighter, almost breathable compared to the oppressive atmosphere you’d endured earlier. The glow of the obelisk provided enough light to see by, its presence reassuring despite the subtle hum of power it radiated.
Lytharion stood near the obelisk, their glowing blue eyes fixed on its surface. They ran a hand along the glyphs, their expression contemplative. “To think, this nexus has endured centuries of chaos. Your skill, Paxton, has given it purpose once more. Perhaps there is hope for what remains of Cyre.”
Their words hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the land’s shattered legacy. You said nothing, focusing instead on unpacking the few rations you had left. The Mournland was still a hostile place, but here, for a brief moment, there was peace.
(note: ChatGPT doesn't know that the Mourning happens less than 10 years ago, not centuries ago, but he happens to have memorized enough for it not to be grating. It would work even better in a real-world setting or something more generic like a medfan generic settings)
3. It has enough memory. Right now, the session is 57,000 words in, and he remembered a part I have salvaged at the beginning of the adventure.
4. It is not extremely original, but it's at the level of gamebook of old. It tends to repeat itself (I aborted a travel through the Mourland because scenes were tending to repeat themselves, worded differently but the statistical aspect of it started to show. On the other hand, with a real group, I'd be hard pressed to find interesting things to happen each day of a 10-days treck and I'd say "10 days later, you arrive in Vathirond".
5. While it's not good enough to be an AI DM, I had a good time reading it and I wanted to see the story proceed to its conclusion.
1. It needs to have rule explained. While the initial prompt was already long, it's not long enough, in that it doesn't explain how does the game part works. Remember all those pages in gamebook where they told you how to roll for attack and calculate damage? We usually skipped it, and we need them to explain how the game part works to ChatGPT. I noticed that I wasn't failing unless I asked for it litterally, so I had to tell the AI to assess a percentile change of success and roll under. And display the rolls. A few times, it counted failure as a success, but it became overall much more interesting to decide on the actions to do.
2. It tends to do a bullet-point summaries of things, but can be prompted to write more detailed texts.
Example :
The dock is ancient and crumbling, but it was clearly built with precision and reinforced with magic. You notice several key features:
- Magical Glyphs: The faintly glowing symbols etched into the stone floor are written in Draconic script. They pulse with residual arcane energy, indicating they are part of a warding system. Likely functions:
- Detection: The glyphs may alert the guards below or elsewhere in the prison.
- Containment: They could be designed to trigger a trap or magical barrier.
- Rusting Infrastructure: The beams holding the dock together are corroded but seem stable for now. However, any significant disturbance could weaken the structure.
- Cargo Hoist: Near the edge, you find the remains of a broken pulley system, likely used to unload goods from skycoaches. Though rusted, it might still function with repair or reinforcement.
- Entrance Hatch: The metal hatch partially buried in debris is your most promising lead. Its surface is smooth but layered with grime. A faint magical shimmer surrounds it, indicating a locking enchantment. Small Draconic symbols along the rim read: "Access Denied to the Unmarked."
As the hum of the restored obelisk filled the air, steady and calming, you turned to your companions. The faint light from the ley lines bathed the nexus in an almost serene glow, a stark contrast to the chaotic mist you had traversed earlier. The decision was clear.
“This place will do,” you said, your voice steady. “We’ll make camp here for the night. The obelisk is stable, and its field will keep the worst of the Mournland’s chaos at bay. Better here than out there in the unknown.”
Kaelen nodded, his glowing sigils dimming slightly as he dropped his pack to the ground. “Not exactly the luxury of Sharn, but it beats wandering blind through the mist. I’ll set some wards—just in case your repairs attract unwanted attention.”
He moved toward the edges of the nexus, his hands glowing faintly as he traced protective glyphs into the ground. Meanwhile, Aegis-17 shifted into a defensive position near the obelisk, its arcane cannon swiveling slowly as it scanned the surroundings.
“Sentinel mode active,” the warforged stated, its voice calm and mechanical. “Hostile detection... negative. Monitoring perimeter.”
You set to work assembling your own corner of the camp, unfurling your Cloak of Shadows to create a makeshift cover against the ever-present mist. The air here felt lighter, almost breathable compared to the oppressive atmosphere you’d endured earlier. The glow of the obelisk provided enough light to see by, its presence reassuring despite the subtle hum of power it radiated.
Lytharion stood near the obelisk, their glowing blue eyes fixed on its surface. They ran a hand along the glyphs, their expression contemplative. “To think, this nexus has endured centuries of chaos. Your skill, Paxton, has given it purpose once more. Perhaps there is hope for what remains of Cyre.”
Their words hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the land’s shattered legacy. You said nothing, focusing instead on unpacking the few rations you had left. The Mournland was still a hostile place, but here, for a brief moment, there was peace.
(note: ChatGPT doesn't know that the Mourning happens less than 10 years ago, not centuries ago, but he happens to have memorized enough for it not to be grating. It would work even better in a real-world setting or something more generic like a medfan generic settings)
3. It has enough memory. Right now, the session is 57,000 words in, and he remembered a part I have salvaged at the beginning of the adventure.
4. It is not extremely original, but it's at the level of gamebook of old. It tends to repeat itself (I aborted a travel through the Mourland because scenes were tending to repeat themselves, worded differently but the statistical aspect of it started to show. On the other hand, with a real group, I'd be hard pressed to find interesting things to happen each day of a 10-days treck and I'd say "10 days later, you arrive in Vathirond".
5. While it's not good enough to be an AI DM, I had a good time reading it and I wanted to see the story proceed to its conclusion.
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As a complement: on a very long run, it is starting to forget things. I had a starting money, didn't mention money for like, 80,000 words, I made a few purchases, had several pages of text related to the newest things, then bought lightning rail tickets and asked how much gold I had left, and he didn't remember (by virtue of me not asking for my inventory often). That's really not 3 seconds worth of attention. But this come from using a general purpose chatbot I think, as an AI specialized to track gaming elements wouldn't fall from this. Or as a user of the chatbot I should ask him more often about my invetory so it stays within the memory. Or I should run an alternate model with a larger window.
Also, as expected, it doesn't do any narrative control. I mean, once instructed on how it should assess success of failure of tasks, he... does that. A series of bad rolls can let one totally stranded, where a real GM wouldn't totally block the story if the player is stuck.
All in all, I think ChatGPT by itself is able to do gamebook level cooperative writing (it takes input from the human player well into consideration), but feel lacking as a game engine. I guess an AI DM would probably need to rely on AI but operate within another system to handle the parameters the AI have trouble to track at some point. Even if the AI is much better at writing things, like, even if I had not enough gold to buy a handful of feather fall amulets, but it was established that I had considerable family wealth at disposition, it didn't say "you fail to buy the amulet" just "it won't even make a dent in your resouces, but you contributed with all your pocket money".
Also, as expected, it doesn't do any narrative control. I mean, once instructed on how it should assess success of failure of tasks, he... does that. A series of bad rolls can let one totally stranded, where a real GM wouldn't totally block the story if the player is stuck.
All in all, I think ChatGPT by itself is able to do gamebook level cooperative writing (it takes input from the human player well into consideration), but feel lacking as a game engine. I guess an AI DM would probably need to rely on AI but operate within another system to handle the parameters the AI have trouble to track at some point. Even if the AI is much better at writing things, like, even if I had not enough gold to buy a handful of feather fall amulets, but it was established that I had considerable family wealth at disposition, it didn't say "you fail to buy the amulet" just "it won't even make a dent in your resouces, but you contributed with all your pocket money".
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Joshua Randall
Legend
Here you go, I just got this Reddit ad.
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Joshua Randall
Legend
I think you overestimate most real GMs.
“Allow the story to move forward regardless of success/failure” is (A) a relatively recent innovation in RPG design (compared to the age of the hobby), (B) not true in all games, (C) even when true, unevenly distributed across GMs.
Riding on the idea jokingly explained in the Cavern of the Snow Witch thread, where @Whizbang Dustyboots entertains us with a playthrough of gamebooks of old (kudoos for the idea), and where someone said we needed a Escape Corporate Hell gamebook... Here is the transcript of what Chat-GPT did.
Edit: It's quite long, so I put it into spoilers.
GAL: Understood. I’ll now assume the role of your Game AI Liaison. When you speak to “GAL,” I’ll know you’re issuing commands or having out-of-story discussions about the rules and parameters. When you speak in-world, I’ll treat it as your character acting and speaking within the story’s universe.
I have noted all the parameters you mentioned. Let me restate them in my own words to ensure full understanding:
GAL: Would you like to clarify anything else before we start, or should I begin crafting your character and the setting now?
GAL: Understood. I’ll set the stage now. Once the scene is established, you can make your first decision and we’ll proceed using the resolution system you requested. Remember: when you propose an action, I’ll estimate the odds of success, roll a percentile die (1–100), and show both the odds and the roll result. Then I’ll narrate the outcome accordingly.
SCENE SETUP
The office tower is immense: a sleek, mirror-glass monolith stabbing upward into a bruise-colored sky. You are Harry—just another salaryman in a cheap, ill-fitting suit with a loose tie and sweat on your collar. The day is dim, artificially lit by endless rows of flickering overhead fluorescents. It’s a place where even the daylight is rationed. The corporate tower’s lower floors swirl with stale coffee vapor and droning motivational announcements: “Productivity is peace. Insubordination is inefficiency.”
Desks stretch out as far as you can see, separated by thin cubicle walls decorated with false smiles and company slogans. You hear the mechanical footsteps of the HR robots clanking down the aisles, scanning for anyone not meeting their “Key Performance Indicators.” Their hollow, digitized voices call out punishment policies and demerit counts. A co-worker two aisles away accidentally drops a stapler, causing a minor disruption. Within seconds, you hear a short, muffled shriek and an unsettling hydraulic hiss—a reminder that “termination” here isn’t just a figure of speech.
The time displayed on the overhead screens reads: 3:45 PM. You know the rule: if you survive until 5:00 PM, the system’s automatic release protocol will unlock the building’s exits and you can go home—if the word “home” still means something to you. Problem is, no one knows why, but these last hours have become increasingly hostile. You’re pretty sure some of the HR bots have malfunctioned; they are stricter, their eyes redder, their blades sharper. And now there are rumors that the executive floors above have mandated “performance purges” to clear out underperforming staff.
Your workload is absurd: form after form, spreadsheet after spreadsheet, all nonsense. You have no meaningful tasks—just time-killers meant to keep you docile and busy. The air conditioning hums at a numbingly cold level, making you shiver. You rub your clammy hands together, scanning the rows of cubicles, the locked doors, and the security cameras that watch everything. To escape, you’ll need to outsmart these machines, bypass locked security gates, and maybe find allies who share your desperation.
Your inventory is meager. Let’s say you start with:
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): Understood. You’re attempting to throw a stapler near your neighbor’s cubicle to see if he’ll be terminated too. Since you haven’t specified a skill system yet, I’ll consider this a basic action and set your odds of success—i.e., throwing the stapler accurately enough to attract suspicion without immediately incriminating yourself—at 65%.
Odds of success: 65%
Rolling…
Roll result: (Let’s roll a 1d100)
Roll: 47 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You quietly lift a slightly rusted stapler from your own desk, keeping your movements subtle and low to avoid catching the camera’s attention. With a nervous twist in your stomach, you flick your wrist just enough so the stapler arcs through the stale air and lands with a dull thunk behind your neighbor’s chair.
He jolts upright, knocking over his coffee mug—its black contents spilling onto a stack of corporate forms. Immediately, a hush falls over the nearby cubicles. The overhead security camera’s red LED brightens ominously. One of the HR robots patrolling the aisle shifts direction, its hydraulics whining. Your neighbor glances around desperately, his eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow. He scrambles to pick up the stapler, stammering apologies as if speaking directly to the camera: “I…I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t—”
As this tension escalates, you notice the ID badge clipped to the front pocket of his cheap polyester shirt. It’s labeled “Access Level 2—Junior Associate.” Slightly better than yours, but not by much. That’s usually enough clearance to open a few intermediate level doors, possibly the supply closets or a secondary corridor. Certainly not the main exits, but it might be useful if he, by some means, loses that badge…
The HR robot’s hollow voice echoes: “Unauthorized noise detected. Productivity threshold not met. Verification in progress…”
Your neighbor is in trouble, and you stand just a few feet away. What happens next depends on the HR bot’s assessment.
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You choose to remain calm, focusing on your tedious workload and not drawing attention to yourself. Since this is a passive action, no roll is necessary for you. However, the fate of your neighbor hinges on the HR bot’s assessment. Let’s make a hidden roll to determine whether the HR bot decides to spare him or terminate him. Given the strict environment, we’ll say he has a 40% chance of being spared.
Odds of neighbor’s survival: 40%
Rolling…
Roll: 28 (Under 40%)
Result: Your neighbor survives—this time.
NARRATION:
You lower your gaze back to the flickering monitor at your station, where nonsensical data tables and redundant forms scroll by. Your fingers tap out half-hearted keystrokes, simulating compliance. You hear the HR robot’s articulated servos move closer, its metal joints clicking as it leans down toward your neighbor. For a tense few seconds, you can almost hear your co-worker’s panicked heartbeats.
“Just…just a minor infraction!” he pleads, voice quivering. “I’ll correct it immediately.” He holds up the stapler with trembling fingers as if offering tribute.
The robot’s single, glowing red eye scans his ID card. A recorded voice chimes overhead: “Associate #263-999, evaluated. Warning issued. Productivity must increase by end of shift to maintain status.”
With that, the HR robot straightens and moves on, leaving your neighbor alive—sweaty, shaken, and holding a now suspiciously meaningless object. He casts a nervous glance in your direction, his eyes filled with equal parts relief and fear. The moment passes, and the humming routine of this corporate hell resumes.
Time creeps forward. The overhead display flickers: 3:50 PM. An uneasy hush has settled over the rows of desks. Your neighbor carefully returns to his station, more compliant than ever. You note that he still has that Level 2 badge. If you could somehow get it, you might access more secure areas to find a way out. But the cameras remain vigilant, and the HR bots patrol relentlessly.
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You make a loud, accusatory claim that your neighbor’s theft of your stapler is affecting your ability to maintain productivity. Let’s consider this a persuasive/intimidation attempt. You’re trying to divert blame and suspicion onto him. Without a specified skill bonus, we’ll consider your odds of convincing the HR bot and the system that your neighbor is in the wrong at 50%.
Odds of success: 50%
Rolling…
Roll: 39 (Under 50%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You slam your palms down on the cheap laminate surface of your workstation and raise your voice—just enough to be heard over the persistent hum of the florescent lights and distant printers. “He stole my stapler!” you shout, painting your tone with a strained righteousness and just the right amount of desperation. “I can’t complete my assigned forms without my stapler. My productivity is suffering because of him!”
Heads pop up over the low cubicle partitions, curious eyes darting nervously. The overhead camera swivels a fraction, the red LED focusing on you and then your neighbor. The HR robot that was just leaving the vicinity halts, its spindly legs hissing as it pivots around, scanning the scene. Your neighbor pales, mouth agape. He still clutches the incriminating stapler—your stapler—in trembling hands.
“Misinformed resource allocation detected,” the HR bot intones. “Verification required. Please present your ID and assigned assets for inspection.”
Your neighbor stammers, “I—I didn’t steal it! I was just holding it after it landed in my cubicle area…”
The HR robot edges closer, its single optic locking onto him. Your neighbor tries to hand it over, fumbling the device. There’s a tension in the air; your timely outburst has shifted suspicion onto your neighbor. You see a few colleagues glance nervously, almost relieved the attention isn’t on them. The camera, the robot, the entire oppressive system is now scrutinizing that Level 2 badge holder for a possible infraction.
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You attempt to quietly rummage through your neighbor’s desk without drawing attention. This is a stealthy action. With no specialized skills mentioned, let’s give you a 60% chance of doing this undetected.
Odds of success: 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 84 (Over 60%)
Result: Failure
NARRATION:
While the HR robot’s attention is laser-focused on your neighbor’s alleged crime, you subtly lean over the short partition dividing your cubicles. The top drawer is slightly ajar, and you try to reach in, moving as quietly as possible. Your fingers brush past a small pile of paperclips, an unmarked USB drive, and some neatly stacked sticky notes. You notice a small tin that might contain something valuable. But just as you’re about to grab it, the entire drawer—cheap, flimsy particle board—wobbles loudly, the rail inside squeaking like a tortured mouse.
In that instant, your neighbor’s head whips around. His face grows panicked. The HR robot’s crimson eye flicks your way. You hurriedly straighten up, trying to look innocent, but you’ve lost the moment. You’ve found nothing to add to your inventory, and now the robot’s suspicion is splitting between both of you.
“Unauthorized rummaging detected,” the robot intones. Its voice sounds even colder than before. You catch a flash in its optical sensor as if it’s recording every detail. Your neighbor’s eyes widen, and a bead of sweat rolls down your own temple. Perhaps you’ve overplayed your hand.
The clock on the wall reads 3:55 PM now. Five minutes have trickled by like molasses, and you’re still stuck in this tense standoff. You need a new angle—something to regain the upper hand or defuse the situation. The overhead lighting flickers. The HR bot’s three-pronged mechanical grip flexes, as if anticipating the need to enforce a policy more directly.
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re attempting a passive de-escalation. You return to your tasks, making no sudden moves and trying to appear as a model employee once more. Since the situation is tense, let’s roll to see if your “just do my job” approach placates the HR robot’s suspicions. We’ll say there’s a 55% chance that the robot accepts your behavior as compliant enough to move on.
Odds of success: 55%
Rolling…
Roll: 9 (Under 55%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You swallow hard, lower your head, and start tapping keys on your terminal—filling out pointless forms, verifying meaningless data, and doing your best to radiate corporate submission. The HR robot lingers a moment, its red eye flicking from you to your neighbor and back again. A small click emanates from within its metal torso, followed by a choppy, digitized exhalation.
“Employee #263-999,” it pronounces, addressing your neighbor, “this discrepancy is logged. You have been issued a warning. Resume optimal performance.” It then swivels to you. For a heartbeat, you wonder if it will cite you as well. Instead, it intones: “Continue as assigned.”
A tense silence follows as the HR unit stalks off down the aisle, its metal limbs whirring, leaving you and your neighbor behind. Your neighbor’s face is ashen, his eyes filled with betrayal and confusion, but he turns away and begins typing with frantic compliance. Clearly, you have strained any trust that might have existed between you both.
The overhead monitors flicker again: 4:00 PM. One hour left before the building’s locks disengage. You can feel the gravity of your situation pressing down. You’re still stuck in this endless row of cubicles, barely any closer to escaping. The HR bots remain vigilant, and the tension among your co-workers could erupt at any time.
GAL: What do you do now?
NARRATION:
You lean back slightly in your squeaky office chair, stealing a glance at your neighbor. After the recent confrontation, he seems more guarded. His Level 2 badge dangles from a retractable clip attached to the breast pocket of his cheap uniform shirt. Every so often, he nervously pats it, as if assuring himself it’s still there. He’s seated, hunched over, typing as if his life depends on it—which in this place, it very well might.
If you were to attempt swiping that badge, you’d need to be careful. It’s not lying conveniently on the desk—he’s wearing it. The cameras are always alert, and the HR bots are unpredictable. Passing by his desk would mean you’d have to either create a distraction or have a moment where his attention is elsewhere. Attempting such a theft without a plan would be risky.
Still, it’s not impossible. The corridors between cubicles are somewhat narrow. With the right distraction or a feigned stumble, you might get close enough to snag it. But if you fail, you risk immediate scrutiny from the HR units. Considering how tense the atmosphere already is, any misstep could be your last.
GAL: What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re going to attempt a subtle maneuver: request a bathroom stop, then as you walk past your neighbor’s desk, try to snag his badge without him noticing. This is a twofold challenge:
First Roll (Bathroom break request):
You need the system to grant a bathroom pass without raising alarms. This is a subtle bluff in a high-security environment. Let’s give this a 50% chance of success.
Since you’ve successfully obtained permission to leave your station, you can now attempt the badge theft as you pass by.
Second Roll (Stealing the badge):
This is riskier. Even with your bathroom permission, the coworker is on high alert after recent events. The overhead cameras and potential HR patrols add pressure. Let’s give you a 45% chance.
NARRATION:
You pause your frantic typing and raise a trembling hand to your terminal, navigating the company’s bureaucratic interface. A few keystrokes and you submit a “Bio-Break Request Form.” In this tightly controlled environment, even requesting a bathroom break feels like threading a needle. Miraculously, the system dings with a green confirmation: “Bathroom stop approved. Time allocated: 3 minutes. Non-compliance will result in disciplinary action.”
You stand, trying not to look too relieved. The overhead lights buzz as you move through the narrow corridor that separates your cubicle from your neighbor’s. He’s absorbed in his screen, hands flying over the keyboard, fear driving him to meet some impossible deadline. You pass close enough to catch a whiff of stale coffee and stress-induced sweat.
Then, with careful precision, you brush by him. Your arm dips, your fingers find the retractable clip on his chest, and with a deft flick, you pop the badge off its holder. He doesn’t even flinch—he’s too busy salvaging his metrics. You palm the Level 2 badge inside your jacket pocket and continue on your way, forcing yourself not to break stride or glance back.
A few cubicles ahead is the corridor leading to the restroom. You have the badge now—an edge you sorely needed. Still, time marches forward. The clock reads 4:05 PM. Less than an hour remains before the building opens its exit locks. With this badge, maybe you can access areas of the tower that can help you escape: a maintenance corridor, a storage room with tools, or even a panel to override security.
Inventory Update:
GAL (OOC): You want to slip away to a storage room and locate a housekeeping bucket. First, you need to find such a room and use your new Level 2 badge to gain entry. Let’s consider two steps here:
NARRATION:
The corridor leading to non-public areas is dimmer and quieter than the main workspace. Your Level 2 badge, swiped from your neighbor, allows you to pass through a security panel that blinks green at your newly acquired clearance. The door slides open with a mechanical hum, granting you access to a cramped hallway lined with unmarked doors and humming utility panels. Emergency lighting and flickering LED strips guide your way.
You pause at an inconspicuous door with a small label: “Janitorial Supply.” You swipe the stolen badge over the panel. A muted beep confirms access. Inside, the storage room is stuffy and smells faintly of disinfectant. Mops, brooms, and industrial cleaners are neatly organized on racks. A small, dull-yellow bucket with chipped paint rests under a metal sink. You snag it, your fingers curling around the cool metal handle. The bottom of the bucket rattles slightly, hinting at some old dried residue.
You stand amidst shelves stocked with detergent bottles and dusty cartons of paper towels. The thick silence in this small room is a welcome respite from the stressful clatter of the office floor. A small clock on a shelf reads 4:10 PM. You have less than an hour left. The bucket might be useful for creating distractions, carrying water (if you can find some), or maybe as a makeshift helmet if things get truly dire. You’ll need more than a bucket to achieve an executive-level rise, but every tool can help.
Outside the door, you hear distant footsteps—likely a maintenance droid or an HR robot checking the corridors. You need to consider your next move carefully. If you want to rise to an executive level, you might need to forge documents, trick some systems, or find the executive elevator. Perhaps you’ll have to sabotage something… or align yourself with another desperate employee.
Inventory Update:
GAL (OOC): You’ve taken a detour to the storage room before going to the restroom. Now, you’re returning to the restroom corridor as if following your assigned path. You intend to appear normal and compliant by showing your original Level 1 badge to the cameras. This is a subtle deception—making the monitoring system believe you’re just an obedient employee on a sanctioned break, despite your little side excursion.
We’ll give this deception a 60% chance of success. If successful, the cameras and any HR bots reviewing the footage will accept your behavior as within parameters. If not, they might flag a discrepancy in your route or timing.
Odds of success (Maintaining plausible innocence): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 22 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Carrying your newly acquired bucket discreetly by your side, you approach the corridor leading to the restrooms. The overhead cameras track your movements, their red LEDs glaring down from corners where the walls meet the ceiling. You pause at a junction, tilting your head in a show of compliance and lifting your Level 1 badge to be scanned. The camera’s LED shifts from red to amber as it reads your credentials. The system finds no immediate cause for alarm—after all, you did file a bathroom break request and it was approved.
Satisfied, the camera returns to its default surveillance pattern. You continue, stepping into the narrow restroom corridor. The door to the restroom—harsh white fluorescent light spilling out beneath it—stands before you. The acrid smell of industrial soap and disinfectant greets you even before you enter.
Your heart thrums in your chest. It’s 4:15 PM now. Outside these halls of porcelain and industrial-grade toilet paper, the world still hums with mechanized suspicion. You’ve got a Level 2 badge in your pocket, a bucket in your hand, and the weight of the clock pressing down on your shoulders. If you want to escape this tower and reach an executive level, you’ll need to consider your next steps carefully. Perhaps there’s a maintenance hatch in the bathroom ceiling or a pipe you could follow. Maybe you can fill your bucket with water to create a distraction. Or wait until a higher-level employee enters and follow them. The possibilities are limited only by your cunning and caution.
GAL: You stand at the restroom door, bucket in hand, a stolen badge in your pocket, and time ticking away. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You aim to create a short circuit by filling the bucket with water and splashing it onto some power outlets. This is risky. The office is heavily monitored, and causing a short circuit might trigger an alarm or draw unwanted attention. Let’s say there’s a 45% chance this goes as planned (i.e., causes a short circuit without immediately blowing up in your face or alerting HR bots too quickly).
Odds of success (Causing a controlled short circuit): 45%
Rolling…
Roll: 9 (Under 45%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You push open the restroom door, greeted by the stark whiteness of the corporate lavatory: spotless tiled floors, harsh fluorescent lights, and cheap plastic stalls. It’s eerily quiet—only the distant hum of ventilation fans disturbs the silence. The mirrors are so clean you can see the exhaustion etched into your own face. Time is still creeping toward the fateful 5:00 PM, now about 4:20 PM, the minutes slipping by.
Carefully, you fill your bucket at the stainless steel sink. The water runs icy cold, splashing against the chipped bucket walls with a hollow echo. Once you have a decent volume, you step back into the hallway. Down this corridor, near where you spotted some utility panels and power outlets, you position yourself. With a final glance at the ceiling cameras—hoping they don’t register the act as sabotage—you fling a generous wave of water at a cluster of power plugs nestled in a maintenance panel.
The reaction is immediate: sparks burst from the outlet, accompanied by a sharp crackle of electricity. The lights in this section of the corridor flicker wildly, stuttering in and out. For a moment, the building’s hum fluctuates, and a muffled alarm tone begins to beep somewhere deep within the tower’s wiring.
In that uncertain flicker of darkness and dim emergency lighting, you’ve created a moment of chaos. You can hear the distant whir of HR bots changing their patrol routes—likely drawn to the electrical anomaly. This might grant you a window of opportunity to slip past a checkpoint or find a more secure area while the system dispatches units to investigate the disturbance.
Inventory Update:
GAL (OOC): You make a dash toward the stairwell, intent on reaching the cafeteria. With the lights flickering and HR bots momentarily distracted by your makeshift short circuit, you have a brief advantage. Let’s see if you can get there without being intercepted or raising new alarms.
The cafeteria should be on this floor or one floor above, easily accessible with your Level 2 badge. Reaching it stealthily, given the current confusion, we’ll say there’s a 70% chance of success.
Odds of success (Reaching cafeteria undetected): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 61 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You clutch your empty bucket’s handle tightly, the metal rattling slightly against your thigh, and bolt down the corridor. The emergency lights flicker in staccato bursts, painting the halls in jittery shadows. The smell of burnt wiring lingers behind you as you pass the half-scorched outlet. Down one corridor, you can hear the telltale metal-on-metal clank of HR bots converging toward the source of the electrical disturbance.
You reach the stairwell door—an unadorned, gray metal barrier with a Level 2 access lock. Your stolen badge slides through the reader, and with a muted beep, the heavy door releases. Inside the stairwell, it’s quieter, save for the echo of your footsteps. You ascend a short flight of steps, your breathing shallow. The tension in your chest is matched only by the relentless countdown in your head: 4:25 PM now. Time keeps slipping away.
Finally, you push through another door and enter the cafeteria level. It’s a wide, open area with bland blue carpeting, round tables, and vending machines that hum softly. Stale odors of processed snacks and reheated meals hang in the air. Normally, employees gather here for short breaks under close surveillance, but now the place seems almost deserted. A single security camera swivels lazily in the corner, and a lone cleaning drone putters about, polishing table legs.
Beyond the cafeteria, you know the executive lounges and restricted offices are located on higher floors—places where you might find means to upgrade your status or exploit your new Level 2 badge. You’ll need something here, perhaps: sustenance, a tool, or even a conversation with a sympathetic co-worker who might be hiding out. The flickering lights are less severe here, but the tension lingers in the background.
GAL: You stand in the cafeteria, bucket at your side, Level 2 badge in your pocket, and a security camera tracking your position. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re looking to blend in by grabbing a cafeteria uniform and then prepare some coffee sandwiches to deliver to the HR office. First, you need to find a changing room where cafeteria employees might keep their uniforms. Let’s see if you can locate such a room nearby without alerting anyone.
We’ll say there’s a 60% chance that there’s a staff-only changing area connected to the cafeteria (behind a discreet door, perhaps) and that you can access it with your Level 2 badge.
Odds of success (Finding and entering changing room): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 37 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You scan the cafeteria’s perimeter, past the humming vending machines and the half-stocked condiment stations. Your eyes settle on a nondescript door tucked behind the serving counters. A small plaque reads “Staff Only.” Given your stolen Level 2 badge, it’s plausible you can slip inside without too much fuss.
With a quick glance at the security camera overhead—its lens fixated on a spot far from the staff door—you move swiftly. Your badge beeps softly, and the door slides open to reveal a narrow hallway lit by a single dim bulb. The corridor is lined with lockers, spare aprons, hairnets, and plastic gloves. It smells faintly of stale coffee grounds and industrial detergent.
Farther down, you see another door labeled “Changing Area.” Inside are a few simple benches, lockers, and hanging rods where cafeteria uniforms—drab polo shirts and matching trousers—are neatly stored. One size fits most, apparently. A small curtained corner might serve as a makeshift dressing spot.
You’ve found a place to blend in. If you put on the cafeteria uniform, you can move more freely around this level without drawing immediate suspicion. And once properly attired, making coffee sandwiches (whatever that particular creation might entail) and delivering them to HR under the guise of low-level catering staff could give you crucial access or at least help you scout the area.
GAL: You stand in the changing room corridor, uniforms at hand. What do you do now?
NARRATION:
Understood—no “coffee sandwiches.” You plan to brew a pot of coffee and prepare a tray of sandwiches, then bring both together on a single service tray to the HR office. The distinction might save you from suspicion when actually executing your plan; after all, coffee and sandwiches are a standard break-room offering. Coffee sandwiches, on the other hand, might raise eyebrows even in this dystopian tower.
You now stand in the changing area. An array of dull green cafeteria uniforms hang in neat rows. The fabric looks thin and cheap, but will offer some degree of camouflage as long as no one scrutinizes your face too closely. A small plastic nametag pinned to the shirt reads “Assistant Catering Associate” in bland block letters. Just enough to blend in.
Outside this changing room, the cafeteria awaits with its counters, coffee machines, and stacks of bread and industrial cold cuts. If you can prepare the coffee and sandwiches without drawing suspicion, you might be able to carry them—alongside your newfound disguise—straight into the HR zones. You wonder if the HR office staff will question your presence, or if they’re too preoccupied with the electrical sabotage and other disruptions going on.
It’s 4:30 PM, the halfway mark of your final hour. You’re running short on time. Every move counts.
GAL: Standing in the changing area, uniforms and basic equipment at hand, what do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You proceed to enact your plan: first, you don the cafeteria uniform and head out to prepare coffee and sandwiches. This is a multi-step action—brewing a pot of coffee and assembling sandwiches—relatively low risk, as it’s a normal activity for cafeteria staff. Still, let’s roll to see if you manage to do it quickly and without raising suspicion.
Odds of success (Preparing coffee and sandwiches unnoticed): 75%
Rolling…
Roll: 58 (Under 75%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You change swiftly into the cafeteria uniform. The material is scratchy, but it fits well enough. You slide your original clothes and stolen Level 2 badge into a locker under a generic code lock (it’s easy enough to remember your code, and hopefully no one will think to check inside). Keeping your Level 2 badge discreetly in your pocket beneath the uniform shirt is a slight risk, but you don’t want to lose it.
Stepping back into the cafeteria, you approach a row of gleaming coffee makers—large industrial brewers that produce bland, mass-produced coffee. With practiced efficiency (or at least a good imitation thereof), you fill one pot and set it to percolate. Meanwhile, you gather sliced bread, marginal cold cuts, and processed cheese to assemble a platter of sandwiches. The overhead lights still flicker occasionally from your earlier sabotage, which might help mask any small errors in your routine.
The clock now reads 4:35 PM. The coffee is done, hot and bitter, and the sandwiches—though uninspired—are neat, symmetrical, and entirely forgettable. Perfect for corporate drones.
You slide both the pot and the sandwiches onto a service tray. Your heart thumps in your chest as you cross the threshold into the hall that leads toward the HR offices. You know the HR department occupies a secure section of this floor and possibly the one above. Low-level HR clerks often handle paperwork and metrics, and though you don’t know any of them personally as friends, you might recognize a face or two from your time navigating bureaucratic procedures: interns, junior enforcers, or compliance aides who haven’t yet earned their metal exoskeletons or lethal implements. They’re human—at least some of them—and might be susceptible to small talk or mild manipulation. No one here is truly at ease, and perhaps one of them might be desperate or fearful enough to provide you with a tip if you play your cards right.
As you push the service tray along, you recall one HR clerk you’ve seen before: Clerk Mallory, a nervous young woman who once processed your attendance infractions. She seemed harried and a bit sympathetic, constantly glancing over her shoulder at the bots. If she’s still around, you might be able to get some inside information—if you can get her alone, or at least speak quietly.
The corridor leading to HR is lined with motivational posters that ring hollow under the red surveillance LEDs. The door ahead has a keycard panel. You have your Level 2 badge. Let’s see if that gets you inside without issue.
GAL: You have your tray of coffee and sandwiches, heading toward HR. The door lies ahead. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re slipping a note onto the coffee pot destined for Mallory, hoping she’ll find it and meet you without raising suspicion. This involves some stealth and subtlety. The cameras are watching, and you’re already disguised as a cafeteria worker. Let’s assign a 60% chance that you manage to attach the note without the cameras or passing personnel becoming suspicious.
Odds of success (Placing the note discreetly): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 51 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You pause in front of a glass-walled office—nondescript, just another cell in the hive—your service tray balanced on one hip. The corridor is quiet except for the distant hum of a ventilation shaft. Glancing back at the security camera, you see its lens swivel away, tracking movement elsewhere. You seize the moment.
With steady hands, you pluck a blank Post-it note from a nearby stack on a vacant desk and scrawl hastily in tiny block letters: “Mallory, meet me in front of the restroom, I have a plan…” The handwriting isn’t elegant, but it’s legible. You affix the note to the coffee pot, tucking it just behind the pot’s handle to make it appear almost natural—like a simple label.
You then continue down the corridor at a measured pace, pushing the service tray toward the HR section. The door at the end of the hall is locked behind a panel of dull gray metal. You’ll need to swipe your Level 2 badge to get inside. Once in, you can pass the tray off to Mallory or at least leave it in the break area where she might find it. After all, HR staffers deserve coffee too—at least in theory. With luck, she’ll notice your message and slip out to the restroom at the designated time.
As you near the HR office door, you hear the low mechanical hum of an HR bot patrolling inside. This could get tricky, but your disguise and calm demeanor might see you through. The clock reads 4:40 PM now. The tension in your chest is mounting; each minute brings you closer to the crucial deadline.
GAL: The HR office door stands before you. The faint sound of robotic servos and hushed voices leaks through. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): Your goal is to appear as a simple cafeteria worker delivering refreshments for an extended shift. You are speaking to the camera, trying to justify your presence. This is a bluff under surveillance. Let’s give you a 50% chance of success that the camera’s system and any monitoring HR bots accept your explanation without question.
Odds of success (Convincing the camera/system): 50%
Rolling…
Roll: 15 (Under 50%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
With your cafeteria uniform on and the service tray balanced before you, you swipe the Level 2 badge through the panel by the HR office door. It blinks green, and the heavy door slides aside with a soft pneumatic hiss. Stepping through into the HR area, you find yourself in a quiet, open-plan section decorated with motivational slogans and silent terminals. The air is staler here, and there’s a lingering tension that makes your spine tingle.
Ahead, a security camera’s red LED fixes on you. You keep your composure and speak aloud, voice measured and respectful: “I’m here with refreshments for those assigned to the extra hours shift until nine tonight.” Your tone is as neutral as the décor.
For a tense second, the camera stares you down. Then, the LED flickers to amber, as if processing. No immediate alarm sounds. The HR staffers—a small group of anxious-looking clerks hunched over terminals—look up briefly. One or two nod absently, their minds elsewhere. Perhaps they’ve grown accustomed to last-minute extensions of shift hours. Perhaps the chaos caused by your earlier sabotage has them too distracted to scrutinize a simple cafeteria delivery.
You wheel the tray further in, scanning the room for Mallory. Across from a panel of blinking lights and a row of filing cabinets, you spot her: a slight, nervous figure with brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s typing furiously, glancing at a data slate, occasionally darting her eyes toward a patrolling HR bot at the far end of the room. You can see the tension in her posture and the sheen of sweat on her brow.
You position the coffee pot and sandwiches conveniently near Mallory’s station, making sure the Post-it note is visible only from her side. The hum of ventilation and distant printer activity fill your ears. It’s 4:45 PM, time ticking away.
GAL: The refreshments are delivered, the note placed. Mallory is nearby, the HR bot patrols the perimeter. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re attempting to slip out of the HR area and return to the restroom without drawing unwanted attention. Since you’ve just delivered coffee and sandwiches, it shouldn’t be too suspicious for a cafeteria worker to leave. However, you did plant a secret note. Let’s give you a 65% chance of leaving quietly and getting back to the restroom unnoticed.
Odds of success (Returning to restroom unnoticed): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 50 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
After setting down the tray, you give a small, deferential nod to the HR staffers (none of whom seem terribly interested in you, beyond their quiet gratitude for the coffee) and turn to leave. The camera tracks you for a moment but finds nothing overtly suspicious. The HR bot continues its patrol at the far end of the room, the whir of its servos steady and methodical.
You retrace your steps into the hallway, pass through the secured door with your borrowed badge, and move swiftly but calmly down the corridor. The flickering lights from earlier have mostly stabilized, though there’s still a faint hum of tension in the air. The entire building feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
You reach the restroom area without incident. The door opens easily. Inside, the tiles gleam under the fluorescent lights, and your reflection stares back at you from the mirror—uniformed, anxious, and yet determined. It’s now 4:50 PM, the final ten minutes stretching ahead like a razor’s edge.
You wait, heart thumping. Mallory’s discovery of the note isn’t guaranteed, but if she’s desperate, curious, or perceptive, she might appear. After all, who leaves a note like that on a coffee pot for no reason?
As the seconds tick by, a hush falls on this tiled sanctuary. Any moment now, footsteps might approach, or alarms might ring, or an HR bot might wander in. You’ve taken a bold gamble. Time will tell if Mallory shares your sense of urgency and is willing to risk meeting you.
GAL: Hidden in the restroom, with the clock ticking and your fate uncertain, what do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’ve decided to wait quietly in the restroom and see if Mallory comes. She received your note—assuming she saw it—and now you must trust in human curiosity and desperation. Let’s roll to see if she follows through. Mallory has reasons to be cautious, but also reasons to seek an ally. Let’s give this a 55% chance that she comes to find you.
Odds of success (Mallory showing up): 55%
Rolling…
Roll: 12 (Under 55%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Time stretches thin as you wait, ears attuned to every distant clank and hum. The restroom lights buzz in your skull, and the faint scent of industrial cleaner prickles your nostrils. Your plan is dangerous—who knows if you can trust Mallory? But at this point, trust is a rare and valuable commodity.
It’s nearing 4:55 PM when you hear light, hesitant footsteps in the corridor. The restroom door creaks open, and you tense, half-expecting a metal claw or a glowing red optic. Instead, you see her: Mallory, the HR clerk, peering inside. She’s a small figure, shoulders hunched with fear, her eyes darting nervously.
She spots you, standing off to the side, and steps inside, letting the door hush closed behind her. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Her voice, when it comes, is a shaky whisper: “Why? Why leave me that note?”
You stand close, your voice low, pressed for time. You explain your scheme, hurried yet earnest:
“I know this place wants to keep us trapped. I know promotions don’t come through honest work here—they’re engineered by the system to maintain compliance. But what if we seize the means of promotion ourselves? We’re on the brink of clock-out time. If we can force an update in the HR system, raise our clearance, we can escape. As executives, we’ll have the clearance to bypass security protocols and walk out the front door—maybe even with privileges that keep the HR bots off our backs. But I need your help. You know the HR interface; you can navigate it. If we work together, we can do this.”
She looks at you incredulously. Her fingers fidget with the corner of her ID badge. You sense her fear and uncertainty. Everyone here is a captive of the corporate machine. But the allure of freedom, and the promise of leaving this tower of horrors behind, might tip the scales.
Outside, the distant clattering of HR bots suggests they’re still on high alert from the earlier sabotage. Time is almost up. 4:56 PM now.
Mallory’s eyes dart to the door, then back to you. “You’re… you’re crazy,” she whispers, voice trembling. Then, as if grasping at a lifeline, “But what’s the alternative? Another day like this? Or worse? Tell me what you need me to do.”
GAL: Mallory seems willing to help, but uncertain. How do you respond, and what’s your next move?
GAL (OOC): You’re opening up to Mallory, appealing to her humanity and trust. This is a persuasive/emotional moment. Let’s consider whether your heartfelt confession and reasoning deepens her trust. We’ll give it a 60% chance that your words resonate strongly with her, making her more willing to assist wholeheartedly.
Odds of success (Gaining Mallory’s trust through sincerity): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 29 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Mallory’s tense posture softens, if only slightly, as you speak. Her large, wary eyes well with a complicated mix of emotions—fear, hope, disbelief, and something that might be trust. The hum of the ventilation system and the flickering fluorescent lights form a strange halo around this moment of vulnerable honesty. Here you both stand, trapped in a dystopian corporate tower, yet forging a fragile human connection.
“You… you’ve always liked me?” she whispers, voice barely audible over the faint drip of a faucet. She looks down at her shoes, her cheeks flushing with color. The corporate environment rarely allows for genuine human emotion, so this might be the first sincere exchange she’s had in ages. It must feel unreal in a place of fake smiles and constant surveillance.
When she lifts her gaze again, you see resolve hardening behind her eyes: “Thank you for trusting me. I know how risky this is.” She swallows and steels herself. “You’re right. I could have turned you in. But I won’t. This place is eating us alive, and if there’s a chance—any chance—to get out and start something new, I’ll take it.”
A distant mechanical hiss filters in from the hallway, a reminder that the oppressive system marches on. Outside, the clock’s digital face creeps toward 4:57 PM. Three minutes until the doors unlock at five o’clock—three minutes to tilt the balance in your favor.
She steps closer, voice now steady: “Tell me what we need to do. The HR system terminals are just down the hall. I can log in, but we’ll need authorization. If I alter certain employee records and add your name—and mine—to the executive roster, it might grant us high-level clearance. But if the system notices inconsistencies, it might trigger an alarm, and we’ll have to move fast. Do you have a plan for dealing with the HR bots if they catch on?”
GAL: Mallory awaits your instructions. Time is running short. What do you do now?
NARRATION:
Mallory’s face tightens with concentration as you pose your question. The minute hand is crawling closer to the hour, and the tension in this cramped, sterile restroom is palpable. The distant hum of HR bots, the hiss of recycled air, and the faint mechanical drone of the building’s endless systems press in on your ears. 4:57 PM now—only three minutes remain.
Mallory lowers her voice even further, leaning in so close you can see the weary stress lines etched around her eyes. “Yes,” she whispers, “the Head of HR would have a high-level badge—Level 4 or above, I believe. That’s the kind of clearance that lets them override security protocols, unlock private elevators, and even alter fundamental system settings. If we had their badge, escaping would be… simpler.”
A bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face. “But the Head of HR’s office is in a restricted corridor—farther back. Your Level 2 badge won’t cut it. Mine’s not high enough either.” She glances at the door and lowers her voice to a near silent hush. “He usually leaves right after the system’s official cutoff time. Maybe he’s rushing to get out early today because of all the disruptions. If we could intercept him on his way out and snag that badge…”
She hesitates, biting her lip. “Or, if we alter the records quickly enough… we could forge executive status and meet him as equals, demanding passage out. But forging that might set off alarms. Going after the Head of HR’s badge is also risky—he’s usually escorted by at least one HR bot for personal protection.”
Mallory studies your eyes, searching for certainty amid the swirling chaos. Time is dripping away, and both of you know it. “Which path do we take?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly. “Do we try to hack the system, or do we go after his badge directly?”
GAL: Time is running out. Will you attempt to hack the system and forge executive credentials, or try to intercept the Head of HR as he leaves? What do you do now?
NARRATION:
Mallory stands before you, a fragile figure caught in the machinery of corporate tyranny. In the flickering restroom light, you can see that she’s in her late twenties—though the stress of this place might have etched a few extra years into her demeanor. She’s short, perhaps no taller than your shoulder, with a slight, wiry build that suggests she’s been living on coffee and anxiety for too long. Her brown hair, pulled tightly into a functional bun, is slightly frayed at the edges, strands escaping as if in quiet rebellion. Her eyes, a deep hazel, are lined with faint shadows, the kind that come from restless nights staring at data screens and worrying about quotas.
Her uniform is the standard HR clerk attire: a muted, charcoal-gray blouse and dark slacks pressed to an almost military crispness. A cheap name tag pinned to her chest displays her name and title in plain block lettering, and a thin, plastic ID badge dangles from a retractable lanyard on her hip. From this close, you can see that the lamination is bubbling slightly at the edges—a small imperfection in an otherwise obsessively controlled environment.
Mallory’s posture is tense, shoulders drawn upward, as if permanently braced for reprimand. She stands with one foot slightly behind the other, ready to dart away at the first sign of danger. But in her eyes, behind that film of fear and caution, there is something softer: a lingering kindness and vulnerability that no corporate system has fully crushed. Her voice, when she speaks, is hushed and breathy, as though each word must be carefully chosen and swiftly delivered, lest someone overhear.
In this moment, Mallory is torn between terror and trust, between a lifetime of compliance and the faint hope of liberation. It shows in the trembling of her hands, in the determined line of her jaw, and the way she looks at you—not as a stranger, but as a spark of possibility she never knew she needed.
NARRATION:
Mallory wrinkles her forehead, narrowing her eyes as if trying to picture the machines in detail. She lowers her voice to a whisper, leaning in closer so the hush of the restroom swallows her words. Outside, the distant hum of corporate machinery continues, and the clock edges closer to that fateful hour: 4:58 PM. Time is almost gone.
Mallory speaks softly, “The HR bots…they’re supposed to be highly resistant to most disruptions. I’ve heard rumors of them being exposed to spilled coffee, soda, even small floods from malfunctioning sprinklers. They usually keep functioning.” She frowns and chews her lower lip. “But, you did short-circuit part of the corridor with water before. Maybe if we target a delicate part of their casing—like their access ports—or if we mix something with the water, we could at least slow one down.”
Her eyes flick to the bucket you mentioned earlier, then back to your face. “If we can corner it or catch it off-guard, maybe drenching it won’t destroy it, but it could force a malfunction or a reboot cycle. That might buy us time to grab the Head of HR’s badge. But be warned, these bots are designed to endure. Plain water might not be enough. Do we have anything else we can add—cleaning chemicals, maybe? Something corrosive?” She glances toward the door and back to you. “Or we need to find a weak spot in their armor. It’s a risk, but so is everything else we’re planning.”
The clock keeps ticking. The tower feels like it’s holding its breath. Mallory stands there, an ally you never knew you’d have, waiting for your decision.
GAL: Mallory has doubts but sees a slim possibility of success if you get creative. How do you respond or proceed?
GAL (OOC): You are splitting tasks. Mallory will fill the bucket with water from the restroom sink, while you run to a janitorial storage closet to find bleach or some chemical to enhance the water’s damaging potential. Since you previously found and accessed a janitorial storage area, you know at least one exists on this floor or a nearby one. Let’s roll to see if you can find a suitable chemical (bleach or other corrosive cleaner) quickly and without attracting attention.
Odds of success (Finding bleach in a timely and discreet manner): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 58 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
“Fill the bucket,” you whisper urgently to Mallory, and she nods, her eyes firm with determination. You slip out of the restroom, heart pounding, leaving her behind to run the tap. The hallways are dimmer now—perhaps the building is preparing for the shift change. It’s 4:59 PM, so close to that liberating hour, yet you’re taking an incredible risk.
You remember passing a janitorial storage room somewhere near the cafeteria area—where you got your uniform. With brisk, silent steps, you navigate a short corridor, keeping close to the wall. The security cameras track lazily in wide arcs. The HR bots might be busy dealing with small anomalies elsewhere—or prepping for the Head of HR’s imminent departure.
At last, you find a small door labeled “Janitorial Supplies.” It’s identical in appearance to the one you accessed before. With the Level 2 badge pressed to the reader, it grants you entry. Inside, you locate a shelf stocked with industrial cleaning chemicals. Large plastic jugs, their labels faded but still legible, boast potent disinfectants, acidic cleaners for drains, and—most importantly—a gallon jug of bleach. You recognize the chemical warning symbols easily.
Clutching the bleach, you slip back into the corridor. You must return to Mallory at the restroom quickly. Your adrenaline surges; each second counts. From the distance, you hear faint mechanical clanks—perhaps an HR bot patrol shifting position. The building’s silence is layered with threat. The exact time is unknown, but it must be seconds before 5:00 PM by now.
Once you mix the bleach into the bucket of water, you might have a caustic concoction that could weaken the HR bot’s systems when splashed onto critical components. But how will you corner the bot—and how will you get close to the Head of HR?
GAL: You have the bleach in hand. Mallory is presumably waiting in the restroom with a bucket of water. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’ve outlined a complex, high-risk plan. Mallory will have to make noise and help lure either the Head of HR or his HR bot into the restroom. Given the tension and fear, let’s quickly roll to gauge her willingness to cooperate fully in such a dangerous gambit. She’s already shown trust and courage, but this new step is even riskier. We’ll say there’s a 65% chance she’ll agree and commit herself wholeheartedly.
Odds of success (Mallory’s agreement): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 42 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You return quietly to the restroom, bleach jug in hand. Mallory stands near the sink, the bucket now filled with cold water that shimmers under the fluorescent lights. She startles slightly as you slip inside, but relaxes when she sees it’s just you. Her anxious eyes flick between the bleach jug and the closed door. The distant humming of the building’s ventilation fills the silence.
Carefully, you pour a generous dose of bleach into the water, the acrid fumes hitting your nostrils. Mallory wrinkles her nose, and together you stir the mixture quietly, ensuring it’s as homogeneous as possible. The bucket now holds a chemical cocktail potent enough to corrode sensitive electronics.
You explain your plan: waiting for the Head of HR to leave after the official exit time, catching him as he passes, hoping he’s accompanied by just one HR bot. You and Mallory will stage a disturbance inside the restroom—some improvised, embarrassing commotion that might prompt a check. If the HR bot comes in, you’ll douse it. If, by some stroke of luck, the Head of HR himself enters alone, you’ll try to pin him down and snatch that coveted badge.
Mallory’s brow is furrowed in fear, but when you ask for her help, she nods. “I’m in,” she whispers, voice tight but determined. “If we don’t risk something, we’ll never get out of here. I’ll make as much noise as I can. Just…be ready. If we fail, we’ll never see the outside of this place again.” Her hand trembles slightly as she adjusts her shirt, and you can sense the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The clock above the doorframe ticks softly: 4:59 PM… and then, at long last, 5:00 PM. Somewhere distant, you hear mechanical locks disengaging as the building’s official end-of-day protocols kick in. Employees, the lucky ones, are filtering out toward freedom. Soon, the Head of HR will depart, too, following whatever secret route leads him to his car, his home—or whatever lies outside these walls.
GAL: The trap is set, and Mallory agrees to play her part. The time is 5:00 PM. You can almost feel the Head of HR’s approach. How do you proceed?
GAL (OOC): Understood. You’ll stage an “inappropriate conduct” scenario—specifically the sounds of two employees engaging in forbidden, intimate behavior in the restroom. This is indeed something the Head of HR would likely find intolerable, forcing him or his bot to intervene. Let’s roll forward with this clarified plan.
NARRATION:
The clock now reads 5:00 PM, the official end of the workday. Somewhere in these sprawling corridors, employees are trickling out toward the promised release, scanning their badges, stepping into the night. For most, it’s just another evening, another day survived in the corporate engine. But for you and Mallory, the stakes couldn’t be higher. If this gamble pays off, you’ll soon be wielding the Head of HR’s badge. If it fails, well… termination here is anything but metaphorical.
You stand with Mallory inside the restroom, the bucket of corrosive water ready at your feet. Mallory’s eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and adrenaline. She positions herself so that her voice will carry through the door without revealing her face or identity. The restroom’s acoustics are harsh and echoing—perfect for amplifying the scandalous sounds you’re about to produce.
Catching your eye, Mallory swallows hard and then begins, letting out a series of low, breathy moans and whispered insinuations, as if two people were locked in a brazen, passionate embrace. The sound makes your own heart thump; it’s so wildly out of place in this sterile corporate machine. You add a few hushed words, interjecting a muffled laugh or two, making it sound like a secret tryst caught at a fever pitch. The restroom door muffles the precise words, but not the tone—indecorous, unmistakably against company policy.
As the seconds tick by, you both continue this performance, your voices weaving a tapestry of forbidden intimacy. The idea is simple: the Head of HR, or his bot, must respond. This is a blatant violation of corporate conduct. HR thrives on compliance, on uniformity, on sterile obedience. To allow such behavior to go unaddressed would be a failure of their entire purpose.
Outside, you hear the soft whoosh of the corridor door opening. Footsteps—soft, measured, accompanied by the faint mechanical whir of a bot’s servos. Perhaps this is him. Perhaps it’s the Head of HR, departing for the day with his ironclad badge. The air grows taut. Mallory catches your eye again, her voice never wavering from the performance, but her gaze trembling with nervous energy. The bucket at your feet gleams with deadly promise.
Any second now, the handle will turn, the door will open, and you’ll have your chance. You only hope you’re ready.
GAL: The trap is laid. You hear signs of someone approaching. How do you respond?
GAL (OOC): You’re preparing for a tense confrontation. You have the bucket of corrosive liquid in one hand and your data tablet in the other, intending to use it as an improvised weapon if needed. Let’s break down the next moments into two parts:
NARRATION:
At the sound of footsteps halting just outside the restroom door, you and Mallory pause the performance for a single nervous breath—then escalate the sounds to a crescendo, as if caught in the height of inappropriate passion. It’s the final lure. The knob rattles, and the door creaks open with a soft pneumatic hiss.
A sleek HR bot glides in first, its metal frame reflecting the harsh restroom lights. Its single red optic zeroes in on you, ready to enforce policy. Before it can emit a warning, you hoist the bucket high and hurl the caustic solution right into its optical assembly and access ports. The water and bleach wash over the robot’s faceplate and down its torso, dripping into the fine seams of its plating. Immediately, sparks fizz and crackle beneath its armor, and a sound like grinding metal escapes its speaker. The HR bot jerks violently, arms flailing in mechanical confusion.
Mallory stifles a gasp. Beyond the thrashing bot’s shoulder, you see a tall, imposing figure in a sharply tailored suit—the Head of HR himself—lurking just beyond the threshold. He takes half a step back at the sudden chaos erupting inside the restroom. His expression twists into shock and disgust. He doesn’t yet see the bucket’s empty handle clutched in your hand, or the data tablet you’ve raised like a makeshift bludgeon. But he knows something has gone terribly off-script.
Outside, the building’s corridors might be emptying, employees shuffling out to supposed freedom. But here, in this starkly lit restroom, the battle for your liberation begins. Mallory stands at your side, trembling but resolute, as the HR bot sputters and seizes, and the Head of HR stares in appalled confusion.
GAL: The HR bot is compromised, flailing but not yet fully disabled. The Head of HR is right outside, shocked. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): Your goal is to lure the Head of HR fully into the restroom by having Mallory call for help, convincing him that something serious is happening inside. Once he’s through the door, you plan to close it behind him and presumably trap him inside. Let’s see if Mallory’s frantic call for help convinces the Head of HR to enter rather than fleeing or calling backup.
We’ll give this a 65% chance of success that Mallory’s plea is compelling enough to draw him in without causing him to immediately summon reinforcements or retreat.
Odds of success (Luring Head of HR inside): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 47 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You lock eyes with Mallory and give a sharp, urgent nod. She catches on instantly, raising her voice in a frantic, desperate cry: “Help! Please! This thing—it’s—oh God, help us!” Her voice rises in pitch, trembling with fear and alarm. The echo off the tiled walls makes her plea especially shrill, like a panicked canary in a cramped cage.
The Head of HR, already startled by the HR bot’s malfunction, takes another step forward. You see the conflict on his face—he’s an authority figure here, trained to maintain control and compliance. Fleeing would mean leaving a mess unaddressed, a question unanswered. He can’t allow that, can he? The sheer audacity of this situation seems to baffle him. He steps inside, pushing past the jerking HR bot that’s now hissing static and convulsing against the sink.
As soon as the Head of HR clears the threshold, you seize the moment. Your hand grasps the edge of the restroom door and swing it shut behind him with a firm click. There’s a soft thump as the door seals, the locking mechanism engaging with a metallic snick. Now, the Head of HR stands fully inside, the HR bot still sputtering at his side, and you and Mallory forming a line between him and the exit.
He snaps his gaze between you and Mallory, confusion turning to anger and fear. His lips part, searching for words, but in that instant, the air feels charged with possibility. With each second, you’re closer to securing his badge—and possibly your freedom. Outside, the building’s workforce might be streaming toward the exits, utterly unaware of the showdown unfolding in this small, fluorescent cube.
GAL: The Head of HR is in the restroom with you now, door closed. What do you do?
GAL (OOC): You and Mallory attempt to physically subdue the Head of HR. The environment is cramped, you have a data tablet as an improvised weapon, and Mallory can assist by grabbing or distracting him. He is a suited executive, likely not trained in close combat, but he’s no pushover. Let’s give you a 60% chance of successfully knocking him out.
Odds of success (Knocking out Head of HR): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 19 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
In the stark white light of the restroom, the Head of HR’s eyes widen, and his carefully maintained corporate composure cracks. He tries to back away, but there’s nowhere to go—just the sputtering HR bot, the sink, and the unforgiving tile walls.
You move first, swinging the data tablet in a wide arc. It’s heavier than it looks—an older model, company-issued and built sturdy. The corner of the device catches him along the temple with a hollow thunk. He staggers, arms flailing, struggling to keep his balance on the slippery floor. Mallory seizes the opportunity and lunges forward, grabbing at his shoulders, attempting to pull him down.
He tries to resist, but the blow has already dazed him. His knees buckle. Mallory’s grip tightens as you angle in for a second strike, bringing the tablet down again, this time less violently, more to ensure he slumps fully rather than fighting back. There’s a dull thud as he crumples to the floor, suit rumpled, head lolling. The stench of the spilled chemical mixture still lingers in the air, mixing with the sweat and adrenaline of the moment.
The HR bot twitches and sparks at your backs, its optic flickering erratically. It might be disabled for now, but there’s no telling how long before it reboots or if others will come searching. Meanwhile, at your feet lies the Head of HR. On his lapel hangs the holy grail of your plan: a high-level clearance badge.
Mallory’s breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she looks to you, eyes filled with equal measures of terror and hope. The building’s corridors must be emptying now. It’s likely just past 5:00 PM, and time is ripe for escape. With the Head of HR’s clearance, doors that were sealed will open. Executive-level overrides might silence alarms, halt HR units, and grant you passage into the world beyond this corporate hell.
GAL: The Head of HR is unconscious, his badge within reach, and the HR bot is out of commission for the moment. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You’re executing a cunning final step: swapping the badges so the unconscious Head of HR is left holding a lower-level badge, potentially incriminating him if the HR bots regain function. This is a subtle action, but since he’s unconscious and the HR bot is incapacitated, no immediate roll is necessary. The real challenge will be leaving the area undetected.
Now you and Mallory have the Head of HR’s high-level badge. With it, you should be able to navigate securely and potentially slip out among the last of the exiting crowd—or find a secure executive route. Let’s make one final roll to determine if you slip away quietly without the HR bot rebooting or other security triggers activating prematurely.
Odds of success (Leaving restroom area undetected): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 64 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You kneel over the slumped executive and pry the high-level clearance badge from his lapel. Its sleek casing and embossed lettering feel heavier and more substantial than the lower-level passes. Without hesitation, you clip your stolen Level 2 badge onto his collar in its place. Now, if the HR bot or any others awaken and see him, he’ll appear as just another unauthorized individual near the scene of a violent disruption. It’s a cruel trick, but in this savage corporate world, mercy is a luxury you cannot afford.
Mallory watches, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line. As you finish the swap, you rise quietly, the new badge warming in your palm as if it carries the pulse of newfound power. The HR bot sputters behind you—a fizzle of sparks and a muffled mechanical groan, but not enough to regain its deadly composure yet.
Together, you and Mallory slip out of the restroom. The corridor beyond is eerily quiet. Most employees have cleared out, the overhead lights humming softly in near-deserted halls. With the high-level badge, locked corridors whisper open at your command. Surveillance cameras flick from red to amber, scanning your new credentials and finding no fault. A door that would have been sealed tight before now slides aside, granting you access to a private elevator bay reserved for upper management. Mallory sticks close by, her eyes shining with a wild mix of relief and disbelief. She never thought she’d see the halls from this side—where executives tread and the tower’s secrets are kept.
The time is just a few minutes past 5:00 PM. The night sky, visible through an upper-floor window, has turned a deep violet. If you play your cards right, in moments you could be stepping through the grand lobby doors and out into the world, no longer a low-level cog in a merciless machine, but a liberated soul—albeit one who’s bloodied the corporate gears to earn that freedom.
GAL: You and Mallory are now free to navigate with the Head of HR’s badge. The tower’s exits should be open. How do you proceed?
NARRATION:
Mallory stands beside you in the dim corridor, the silence of the towering edifice pressing in on both of you. She’s still breathing heavily, the adrenaline of the scuffle and the narrow escape from discovery ringing in her ears. Her brown hair is coming loose from its bun, stray strands framing her anxious, thoughtful face. Outside, the muffled hum of distant traffic and the faint glow of streetlights promise something like freedom—but the corporate machine you just wounded may yet turn its attention on you.
When you lay out the options, Mallory’s face contorts with conflicting emotions. Her whisper is urgent, but careful: “If we leave now,” she begins, searching your eyes, “we might blend into the crowd. The Head of HR will wake up confused and surrounded by evidence he was out of line. Maybe he gets terminated; maybe there’s chaos. With this badge, we can get far away, find new identities, never step foot in this place again.”
She wets her lips, drawing in a shaky breath, and continues: “But if we go back tomorrow, pretending nothing happened, we’d be living a lie. Constantly on edge, hoping our ruse holds. The system might catch on. And trying to pass as the Head of HR is… risky. We barely understand the upper tiers of this place. One slip-up, and we’re done.”
Mallory glances around, ensuring no one is near. Her voice takes on a steadier tone: “Changing our job positions in the system now, making us newly hired upper executives—if we can pull it off—would mean we walk out tonight with genuine top-level clearance. We’d have legitimacy. But it could trip every alarm if we mess up. The system might detect unauthorized modifications. Do we have the time to hack it safely, without setting off all the sirens?”
A tired but hopeful smile ghosts over her lips. “Look… I trust you, after everything we’ve done. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m willing to take a risk if it means real freedom. I want out of here, and I want something better than just surviving day to day.”
She edges closer, voice low and earnest: “What’s your gut telling you? We stand on the edge of the unknown. We can bolt for the door now and leave this nightmare behind—or we can try to wield this power we’ve stolen to remake ourselves in the system’s eyes. I’ll follow your lead. Just… let’s decide quickly, before someone comes looking.”
GAL: Mallory has laid out the pros and cons of each path. The corridor is quiet, and the clock is ticking. How do you respond?
NARRATION:
Mallory’s eyes dart between the stolen badge in your hand and the corridor leading back into the heart of the HR zone. She takes a moment, breathing softly through parted lips, as if recalculating the variables of your predicament. The tension that’s bound you together so tightly over these last desperate minutes seems to hum through the walls themselves.
“Changing our schedule to run until 8pm…” she murmurs, thoughtful. “It’s clever. If the system recognizes our shift extension, we’ll have an official reason to be here long after everyone’s gone.” Her voice carries a note of cautious optimism. “That gives us time to breathe, to alter the employee records and maybe even fine-tune our new executive statuses in the system—correctly, without rushing. If the building assumes we’re legitimately working late, there’ll be fewer prying eyes and fewer chances for alarm.”
She crosses her arms and looks at you. “The Head of HR’s badge should grant us access to his office terminal, where all such schedules and records are kept. As for the HR bot, if it tries to file a report, it will look for the Head of HR’s authorization or follow his standing orders. And if you’re sitting right there in his seat, with his clearance… Well, it might just think you’re him, or at least accept your orders over anyone else’s.” There’s a spark of hope in her eyes at that thought. After all, these machines are designed to obey credentials, not question identities deeply—at least in theory.
Her gaze drifts down the hall, then back to your face. “It’s risky, but I think it’s less chaotic than trying to leave now or forging everything on the fly. If we can slip into the Head of HR’s office and set a new schedule for ourselves, we control the narrative. We’ll have time to shape our employee records, make it look like we’ve always been executives, and let the rest of the building’s systems adjust accordingly.”
Mallory lifts her chin slightly. “Yes, I think it’s easier than the previous plans. We just need to be careful: any major inconsistencies will raise red flags. But if we stick to something plausible—like a last-minute ordered overtime shift for ‘system maintenance’—the system might not question it. Let’s do it. Let’s head to his office, extend our shift, and seize our moment.”
GAL: Mallory agrees that the revised plan could be easier and safer. You have the Head of HR’s badge and a quieter building. What do you do now?
GAL (OOC): You and Mallory proceed to the Head of HR’s office to implement your new plan. With the high-level badge, entry shouldn’t be a problem. The next challenge will be manipulating the schedule and records so that working until 8pm seems official and necessary, tied to addressing incidents involving stolen staplers and water-based sabotage. We’ll make one roll for this key action—falsifying the records while avoiding detection by the system’s internal checks.
You have top-level clearance, which helps, and Mallory’s knowledge of the HR interface. Let’s say there’s a 70% chance of success. If successful, you’ll set your schedules to run until 8pm legitimately and create a plausible paper trail. If you fail, the system might flag the changes as suspicious and trigger an investigation.
Odds of success (Modifying schedules & records): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 67 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
The Head of HR’s office smells faintly of stale air and old carpet. Soft overhead lighting and a wide mahogany desk project an air of authority. You swipe the badge, and the door slides open silently. Inside, you find neat stacks of sealed documents, a high-backed leather chair, and multiple screens humming on standby. The walls are adorned with motivational posters far more tasteful than those in the lower levels, and a subtle, expensive cologne lingers in the stillness.
Mallory steps in behind you, eyes scanning the room nervously. “Let’s do this quickly,” she whispers, casting a glance over her shoulder. The building should now be mostly empty, and with your story set, any HR bot or system query should accept your presence here as legitimate—if you handle the records right.
You slip into the chair and tap the console. The system recognizes the Head of HR’s credentials and grants you full access. Mallory stands behind you, pointing out the appropriate menus and fields. With each keystroke, you weave a plausible narrative: due to recent infractions at the lower levels—stolen staplers, suspicious water-related sabotage, and potential misconduct—a sudden after-hours review has been ordered. You assign yourself and Mallory as key personnel required for this “compliance audit,” extending your shift until 8pm. The system accepts the alterations without protest, logging them as authorized by the Head of HR’s badge.
Your records now show that both you and Mallory are legitimate mid-level or even upper-tier employees drafted into an urgent late shift. This buys you time—precious hours, free from the normal cycle of suspicion, to adjust your employee records more permanently. If you choose, you could now even tweak titles, salaries, or clearance levels with relative ease.
Mallory watches the lines of text update on the screen, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “We did it,” she says softly, amazement coloring her tone. “No alarms, no red flags. The system just… accepted it.”
Outside the office, the halls are quieter still. Just a distant mechanical hum and the soft sigh of ventilators. It’s after 5pm, and if anyone else remains in the building, they must be locked in their own silent struggles. You have time, a badge, and no immediate pursuit.
GAL: You’ve secured overtime authorization and a plausible cover story. You hold the Head of HR’s clearance and have time to further manipulate records or leave. What do you do now?
NARRATION:
You settle deeper into the plush leather chair, the console’s ambient glow casting stark shadows across the Head of HR’s office. Mallory leans in beside you, scanning lines of code and directory trees as you navigate the HR database. The silence of the building seeps in from the hall, where not even the faintest footstep disturbs the hush. Time feels elastic, now that you’ve bought yourselves a late-night audit session.
Mallory’s eyes narrow thoughtfully at your question. She taps the screen lightly, pointing out a submenu. “The system keeps comprehensive archives of all employees—current, former, terminated. If they’re fired, their records remain in a historical database. Management uses these logs to prevent rehiring those deemed ‘unproductive’ or prone to sabotage.” She bites her lip, considering your idea.
You skim through several fields on the admin console. Indeed, the system maintains a complete ledger of employee status changes. Once you flag someone as ‘fired,’ they don’t disappear; they simply migrate into the former employees’ register. It would be suspicious if a fired employee showed up again under the same credentials, especially in a higher position. But maybe that’s part of your strategy.
Mallory’s voice is a hushed whisper as she thinks it through: “If we mark ourselves as terminated today—right now—and then, a moment later, create entirely new employee files with higher clearance and a backdated hire date… we might bypass any continuity issues. We could be brand-new executive hires who never appeared in the system before. The records would show we once worked here at a low level, but got fired, and then, as far as the system knows, two new top-level executives were brought on board out of nowhere.”
She frowns slightly. “The risk is that if anyone compares the timestamps closely, they might notice that these two fired employees disappeared just as two new executives materialized. But upper management seldom questions the logs if they see the correct authorizations. And we have the Head of HR’s badge…”
Her eyes catch yours. “It’s bold, but it might work. The system is built on layers of trust in credentials. If we play our cards right, by tomorrow morning we could be strolling in here with perks, private offices, and the highest clearance. Who would dare question two C-level executives? Especially if we ensure our new records have the proper approvals—like from the Head of HR himself.”
The idea radiates audacity. If you succeed, you’ll not only escape your current predicament but re-enter the corporate sphere at its pinnacle, protected from the very hounds that stalked you before. But if anyone scrutinizes the logs or interviews whoever might recall your old faces, you could be caught. Still, Mallory seems intrigued. Her shoulders square, and you sense that the taste of defiance is growing sweeter in her mouth.
GAL: Mallory has explained the system’s logic and risks. You have the Head of HR’s clearance and the means to edit records. Will you proceed with firing yourselves and re-hiring yourselves as C-level executives? How do you proceed?
NARRATION:
The office is quiet except for the gentle hum of the console’s cooling fan. On-screen, data scrolls under your fingertips—names, clearance levels, metrics, and performance reviews. You’re poised on the precipice of a daring identity overhaul, and Mallory stands beside you, her face illuminated by the terminal’s subdued glow. The Head of HR’s badge sits on the desk, a talisman of boundless authority.
When you mention the plan to obscure your tracks—firing yourselves under false names and re-emerging as executives under your real names—Mallory’s brows lift in cautious agreement. She nods slowly, as if understanding the logic. But when you propose going further, firing everyone you worked with, a tremor of uncertainty passes over her features. She takes in a long, shaky breath and listens as you elaborate on the idea, the possibility of wiping out entire swaths of employee records to cover your tracks.
You pick up the Level 2 badge you stole and study it closely. The name printed on it, beneath the cheap lamination, reads “Colin Faraday, Jr. Associate”. A meaningless corporate cog, just like you once were, trudging through this tower’s grim cycle. You barely know him—and yet he is a person, perhaps with family, fears, and hopes as stunted as your own once were.
Mallory’s voice is soft, laced with moral conflict: “Changing our own files, rewriting who we are to escape this system… that’s different. It’s self-preservation. But firing everyone we’ve worked with? That would condemn them to at best joblessness, and at worst… I don’t even know if termination here means the same thing outside these walls.”
She rubs her arms, as if cold, and her next words come haltingly: “The people down there… they’re as trapped as we were. They’re victims of the same machine. If we fire them en masse, we might doom them. Maybe not physically—maybe firing doesn’t always mean execution—but we know how ruthless this place is. They could be blacklisted, stripped of whatever meager protections they have. Some might never find work again.” Her eyes turn to you, searching. “I’m not comfortable doing that if it’s just to save our own skins.”
She glances at the console, the pathways of forbidden power waiting at your command. “If we’re careful, maybe we can just erase or alter our old records without dragging everyone else into the void. Yes, it’s riskier. Maybe someone will recognize us. But if we carry ourselves as executives—if we avoid direct contact with our old peers—maybe we can reduce that risk. And if someone does recognize us, we can claim a coincidence, or question their memory. High-level clearance can silence many doubts.”
Mallory steps closer, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. “I understand wanting to be safe. But think about what it means to throw all those innocent people under the bus just to cover our tracks. We’d be no better than the ones who built this hellish system. We have a chance not just to escape, but to live with ourselves afterward, don’t we?”
The silence settles around you again. Through the window, the city lights shimmer distantly, indifferent to the moral crisis playing out in this sealed office. You have the Head of HR’s power at your fingertips—enough to rewrite realities for countless employees. In the end, how far are you willing to go for your freedom?
GAL: Mallory’s not comfortable mass-firing innocents. She suggests taking a risk and only altering your records. How do you respond, and what will you do next?
NARRATION:
A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of Mallory’s mouth as you affirm your moral stance. The tension in her shoulders seems to ease. “Thank you,” she whispers, voice quiet but steady. In the hush of the Head of HR’s office, your decision feels momentous—choosing not to punish the innocent just to safeguard your secret. It’s a subtle, noble choice in a place that seldom rewards nobility.
You turn back to the console, the bright icons and dropdown menus awaiting your commands. The path is clear now: you will limit your alterations to your own records. It will be delicate work, changing your employment history, purging any direct links to your old positions, and creating new executive profiles complete with security clearance and official titles. You’ll need to think carefully about what names and backgrounds to give these new identities—just enough to seem authentic and to blend into the upper echelons of corporate hierarchy. Mallory can guide you to the right fields and forms, ensuring that the necessary authorizations and timestamps appear legitimate.
Beyond the office door, the building settles into its after-hours quiet. You have the time, you have the power, and now you have a measure of moral clarity. The night stretches before you like a secret corridor. By the time dawn comes, you and Mallory can emerge as entirely new persons in this corporate ecosystem—free from the chains that once bound you, and without crushing the innocent underfoot.
GAL: You’re both in agreement. How do you proceed with altering your records and forging your new executive identities?
NARRATION:
You lean closer to the screen, navigating nested menus that list and define all the upper-tier positions along with their clearance levels. The company’s hierarchy is sprawling and absurd, a thicket of titles and roles that likely exist more for appearance than for productivity. Mallory steps beside you, pointing out tabs and directories that name executives you’ve never heard of, each with a grandiose title and unspecified responsibilities.
There are, of course, the traditional roles: Chief Financial Officer, Chief Operations Officer, Chief Technical Officer. These imply actual skill sets—financial savvy, operational oversight, technical acumen. Adopting one of these roles might invite questions you can’t answer and demand knowledge you don’t possess. Anyone expecting results from such a position would quickly discover something’s off.
But as you dig deeper, you find a wealth of modern, vaguely-defined executive-level titles that sound weighty yet lack clear, quantifiable outputs. These “innovative” positions appear to have spread like a cultural fungus throughout the corporate world. For example:
Mallory tilts her head, reading the titles with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “I had no idea these existed,” she murmurs. “They’re perfect. We can invent a few motivational slides, send out some useless memos, and no one will think twice.”
GAL: Now that you’ve discovered these nebulous Level 8 positions, how do you proceed?
GAL (OOC): You have top-level clearance and a plausible reason to be working late. You’re now set on giving yourselves new roles as upper-level executives with titles that are ambiguous and non-intensive. Let’s roll to see if you can smoothly edit the records, ensuring all references align, and that the system accepts these executive positions for you and Mallory without raising any security flags. Given your earlier successes and the complete access from the Head of HR’s badge, let’s put the odds of success at 80%.
Odds of success (Rewriting files for new executive identities): 80%
Rolling…
Roll: 39 (Under 80%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
With Mallory standing beside you, you dive into the personnel database once more. The console’s pale glow limns your determined features as you navigate to a hidden administrative menu. Using the Head of HR’s credentials, you carve out two new employee entries at the highest echelons of the corporate tree.
For yourself, you create the record of the Chief Brand Harmonization Officer—an esteemed position placed just below the Chief Executive ranks. You assign a comfortable salary, generous perks, and an impressive start date that suggests you’ve been onboarded specifically to address emerging “brand consistency challenges.” The record notes your new employee number, clearance level, and a suite of privileges that will open countless doors—literal and metaphorical—throughout the building. You even attach a few generic performance reviews from nonexistent mentors, praising your “forward-thinking insights” and “unparalleled synergy with corporate values.”
For Mallory, you craft a parallel identity: the Chief Happiness Integration Officer. The file touts her expertise in aligning employee morale with key productivity indicators. It implies that her presence in the upper management team is a vital strategic move to boost retention and overall satisfaction scores. Neatly inserted references and phantom commendations paint her as an expert in intangible “wellness frameworks” and “emotional brand loyalty.”
Each keystroke weaves this new narrative into the company’s digital tapestry. When you finish, the system hums softly, no error messages or suspicious alerts popping up. It’s as if the corporation itself accepts your fabricated backstories and manufactured prestige with open arms.
Mallory leans closer, reviewing the final entries. She cracks a hesitant, relieved smile. “I… I can’t believe it. It’s done,” she whispers. “We’re execs. And no one’s going to question what we do, because… who even understands these titles?” Her voice carries a subdued awe.
It’s past 5:10 PM now. The building is likely empty of anyone but the occasional droid, and the HR bots remain busy or disabled. With your new clearance, you can move freely, even come in “late” tomorrow, strolling right through the main entrance as executives. If anyone notices a resemblance to your old selves, it should be easily dismissed. After all, who expects the lowly, overworked salaryman and the frightened HR clerk to transform overnight into top-tier officers?
You can choose to leave now, blending into the quiet city under your new identities, or remain in the tower to gather a few more perks before strolling out through the lobby doors, heads held high.
GAL: Your new identities are established. You and Mallory stand in the Head of HR’s office, the system fully accepting your new executive roles. What do you do now?
NARRATION:
Mallory’s eyes widen slightly, the pale glow of the console reflecting in her gaze. For a heartbeat, the quiet hum of the office fills the space between you—an uncertain pause that feels as fragile as glass. Her cheeks flush faintly, the tension in her shoulders softening. The weight of everything you’ve just done, the choices you’ve made together, seems to momentarily lift.
A shy smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “I think a drink sounds… really good right now,” she murmurs, her voice gentle but clear. “After everything we’ve been through, I’d like that. I think we both deserve a chance to just breathe… and maybe celebrate a little.” She brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Besides,” she adds with a hint of mischief, “I’d like to know what kind of brand harmonization strategy you’re planning for your living room.”
The glimmer of humor in her voice is a balm, a reminder that even here—amid the cold steel and flickering fluorescents of corporate tyranny—connection, hope, and maybe even joy still exist.
The two of you turn toward the door, your new badges clipped securely in place. The building seems to breathe out a sigh, its systems placated by the façade you’ve built. As you step into the empty hallway, the quiet stretches ahead like a promise, the faint scent of stale coffee and ozone lingering behind you.
You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. The Head of HR situation will demand careful handling, and the tower’s oppressive grip won’t loosen easily. But tonight, there’s freedom, companionship, and the possibility of something more—a spark ignited in the bleakest of places.
Mallory’s fingers brush against yours as you walk, a tentative, fleeting touch that speaks volumes. She glances at you, her smile small but sincere. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers. “We’ve earned it.”
Together, you push through the double doors, stepping into the cool night air. The city stretches out before you, a constellation of lights and possibilities. For the first time in a long time, the future feels like it belongs to you.
The night air felt like liberation itself, a sharp contrast to the stale, recycled air of the corporate tomb you left behind. You and Mallory walked in silence for a while, the weight of everything you’d done settling into a mixture of disbelief and cautious triumph. The glow of streetlights bathed the sidewalks in gold and shadow, the city alive with a rhythm that no corporation could fully control.
The Head of HR, groggy and disoriented, is discovered slumped on the restroom floor, clutching a Level 2 badge that doesn’t belong to him. The compromised HR bot stands nearby, its circuits fried, unable to give a coherent report. The system flags the scene as a gross breach of protocol—a high-ranking officer found unconscious near sabotage, with unauthorized clearance in hand.
Confusion and panic spread through the upper floors of the tower like wildfire. Automated inquiries spiral into contradictions. The Head of HR’s protests fall on deaf ears; the system only understands anomalies, not explanations. The evidence condemns him: unauthorized access, unexplained failures, and proximity to sabotage. His fellow executives, sharks in tailored suits, smell blood in the water.
By noon, he’s escorted out of the building by security drones, his shouts of indignation drowned out by the sterile hum of the corporate machine he once controlled. A “Termination Pending Review” status blinks ominously beside his employee record.
He walks into work the next day a Level 3 Associate, with a modest raise and a better cubicle. Colin scratches his head, wondering if the universe finally decided to cut him a break. He shrugs, adjusts his tie, and gets back to his spreadsheets, blissfully unaware of the storm that passed just above his head.
No one questions you. No one looks twice.
The offices of the 42nd floor—reserved for senior executives—become your new domain. Plush chairs, panoramic windows, and coffee machines that grind beans to order. Your titles are gloriously ambiguous. Meetings consist of vague directives and jargon-filled pep talks. You send out a monthly bulletin on “Brand Synergy” that nobody reads. Mallory hosts “Wellness Integration Workshops” where attendance is optional and snacks are plentiful.
You wield your power lightly, content to let the corporate machine churn around you while you enjoy the quiet luxury of being untouchable. The fear that once defined your days is gone, replaced by a calm certainty that you are free, at least within these walls.
At night, the two of you sometimes linger in the office long after everyone has left, sharing a drink, looking out over the glittering city below. The bond forged in desperation has blossomed into something deeper—an alliance, a friendship, perhaps the beginnings of love. Mallory’s laughter, once rare and brittle, now rings clear and genuine.
It’s a slow process, like steering a massive ship by degrees. But it’s a start.
And through it all, you and Mallory remain vigilant, always watching, always ready. You know the machine could turn on you at any moment, but for now, you are its masters, not its slaves.
You are no longer trapped in corporate hell. You’ve become its architects, reshaping it from within, one subtle act at a time.
The future stretches before you—a future you seized with your own hands, against impossible odds.
And that’s the best kind of freedom there is.
Edit: It's quite long, so I put it into spoilers.
GAL: Understood. I’ll now assume the role of your Game AI Liaison. When you speak to “GAL,” I’ll know you’re issuing commands or having out-of-story discussions about the rules and parameters. When you speak in-world, I’ll treat it as your character acting and speaking within the story’s universe.
I have noted all the parameters you mentioned. Let me restate them in my own words to ensure full understanding:
- We are playing a story-driven RPG with skill-based progression.
- We will have in-depth dialogues and conversations.
- When you engage another character in conversation, I’ll provide a dialogue exchange to make it immersive.
- You’ll have a lot of control over your actions and decisions; I won’t force you down a single path or reduce your choices to a menu. Instead, I’ll ask open-ended questions.
- There will be a main overarching goal and multiple side missions, like a video game.
- The setting, theme, and rules of the world will remain consistent.
- The game can be challenging and unpredictable, and not all actions will succeed.
- Your abilities, items, inventory, and resources will be tracked and finite.
- I can include mature themes, as appropriate.
- There will be a day/night cycle in the game world, and I’ll update you periodically.
- The story won’t end prematurely; it will keep going.
- I will insert obstacles, enemies, and unexpected events to keep things interesting.
- I can ask you to clarify or add parameters as needed.
GAL: Would you like to clarify anything else before we start, or should I begin crafting your character and the setting now?
Vous avez dit :
GAL: yes, the adventure should be "Escape Corporate Hell" and should feature Harry, an overworked salaryman working in an office tower, where everything turn wrong as if in a dystopian novel, with employees having to do stupid tasks to avoid termination -- in this case, litteral execution -- by the HR robots. The goal of the adventure will be to escape the corporate tower after surviving until the System register it's 5pm to allow employees to get home. Use a very descriptive prose when telling the adventure. Also, when I propose a course of action, the resolution system is this: you calculate the odd of success (on a percentile scale) and roll a dice. If the roll is under the odd number, it will be a success and you'll narrate a positive outcome. If the roll is over the odd number, you'll narrate a failure. Display the odd and the roll result before narrating.GAL: Understood. I’ll set the stage now. Once the scene is established, you can make your first decision and we’ll proceed using the resolution system you requested. Remember: when you propose an action, I’ll estimate the odds of success, roll a percentile die (1–100), and show both the odds and the roll result. Then I’ll narrate the outcome accordingly.
SCENE SETUP
The office tower is immense: a sleek, mirror-glass monolith stabbing upward into a bruise-colored sky. You are Harry—just another salaryman in a cheap, ill-fitting suit with a loose tie and sweat on your collar. The day is dim, artificially lit by endless rows of flickering overhead fluorescents. It’s a place where even the daylight is rationed. The corporate tower’s lower floors swirl with stale coffee vapor and droning motivational announcements: “Productivity is peace. Insubordination is inefficiency.”
Desks stretch out as far as you can see, separated by thin cubicle walls decorated with false smiles and company slogans. You hear the mechanical footsteps of the HR robots clanking down the aisles, scanning for anyone not meeting their “Key Performance Indicators.” Their hollow, digitized voices call out punishment policies and demerit counts. A co-worker two aisles away accidentally drops a stapler, causing a minor disruption. Within seconds, you hear a short, muffled shriek and an unsettling hydraulic hiss—a reminder that “termination” here isn’t just a figure of speech.
The time displayed on the overhead screens reads: 3:45 PM. You know the rule: if you survive until 5:00 PM, the system’s automatic release protocol will unlock the building’s exits and you can go home—if the word “home” still means something to you. Problem is, no one knows why, but these last hours have become increasingly hostile. You’re pretty sure some of the HR bots have malfunctioned; they are stricter, their eyes redder, their blades sharper. And now there are rumors that the executive floors above have mandated “performance purges” to clear out underperforming staff.
Your workload is absurd: form after form, spreadsheet after spreadsheet, all nonsense. You have no meaningful tasks—just time-killers meant to keep you docile and busy. The air conditioning hums at a numbingly cold level, making you shiver. You rub your clammy hands together, scanning the rows of cubicles, the locked doors, and the security cameras that watch everything. To escape, you’ll need to outsmart these machines, bypass locked security gates, and maybe find allies who share your desperation.
Your inventory is meager. Let’s say you start with:
- Inventory: A cheap ballpoint pen, a cracked company-issued data tablet (limited battery), your access badge (Level 1 clearance), and 10 Corporate Tokens (an in-house currency you can use for vending machines or minor bribes).
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I throw a stapler near the neighbor's cubicle, trying to see if he'll be terminated too. What's his clearance level?
GAL (OOC): Understood. You’re attempting to throw a stapler near your neighbor’s cubicle to see if he’ll be terminated too. Since you haven’t specified a skill system yet, I’ll consider this a basic action and set your odds of success—i.e., throwing the stapler accurately enough to attract suspicion without immediately incriminating yourself—at 65%.
Odds of success: 65%
Rolling…
Roll result: (Let’s roll a 1d100)
Roll: 47 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You quietly lift a slightly rusted stapler from your own desk, keeping your movements subtle and low to avoid catching the camera’s attention. With a nervous twist in your stomach, you flick your wrist just enough so the stapler arcs through the stale air and lands with a dull thunk behind your neighbor’s chair.
He jolts upright, knocking over his coffee mug—its black contents spilling onto a stack of corporate forms. Immediately, a hush falls over the nearby cubicles. The overhead security camera’s red LED brightens ominously. One of the HR robots patrolling the aisle shifts direction, its hydraulics whining. Your neighbor glances around desperately, his eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow. He scrambles to pick up the stapler, stammering apologies as if speaking directly to the camera: “I…I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t—”
As this tension escalates, you notice the ID badge clipped to the front pocket of his cheap polyester shirt. It’s labeled “Access Level 2—Junior Associate.” Slightly better than yours, but not by much. That’s usually enough clearance to open a few intermediate level doors, possibly the supply closets or a secondary corridor. Certainly not the main exits, but it might be useful if he, by some means, loses that badge…
The HR robot’s hollow voice echoes: “Unauthorized noise detected. Productivity threshold not met. Verification in progress…”
Your neighbor is in trouble, and you stand just a few feet away. What happens next depends on the HR bot’s assessment.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I focus on getting my job done until the assessment is finished.
GAL (OOC): You choose to remain calm, focusing on your tedious workload and not drawing attention to yourself. Since this is a passive action, no roll is necessary for you. However, the fate of your neighbor hinges on the HR bot’s assessment. Let’s make a hidden roll to determine whether the HR bot decides to spare him or terminate him. Given the strict environment, we’ll say he has a 40% chance of being spared.
Odds of neighbor’s survival: 40%
Rolling…
Roll: 28 (Under 40%)
Result: Your neighbor survives—this time.
NARRATION:
You lower your gaze back to the flickering monitor at your station, where nonsensical data tables and redundant forms scroll by. Your fingers tap out half-hearted keystrokes, simulating compliance. You hear the HR robot’s articulated servos move closer, its metal joints clicking as it leans down toward your neighbor. For a tense few seconds, you can almost hear your co-worker’s panicked heartbeats.
“Just…just a minor infraction!” he pleads, voice quivering. “I’ll correct it immediately.” He holds up the stapler with trembling fingers as if offering tribute.
The robot’s single, glowing red eye scans his ID card. A recorded voice chimes overhead: “Associate #263-999, evaluated. Warning issued. Productivity must increase by end of shift to maintain status.”
With that, the HR robot straightens and moves on, leaving your neighbor alive—sweaty, shaken, and holding a now suspiciously meaningless object. He casts a nervous glance in your direction, his eyes filled with equal parts relief and fear. The moment passes, and the humming routine of this corporate hell resumes.
Time creeps forward. The overhead display flickers: 3:50 PM. An uneasy hush has settled over the rows of desks. Your neighbor carefully returns to his station, more compliant than ever. You note that he still has that Level 2 badge. If you could somehow get it, you might access more secure areas to find a way out. But the cameras remain vigilant, and the HR bots patrol relentlessly.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I vigorously accuse my neighbour of stealing my staple, decreasing my productivity.
GAL (OOC): You make a loud, accusatory claim that your neighbor’s theft of your stapler is affecting your ability to maintain productivity. Let’s consider this a persuasive/intimidation attempt. You’re trying to divert blame and suspicion onto him. Without a specified skill bonus, we’ll consider your odds of convincing the HR bot and the system that your neighbor is in the wrong at 50%.
Odds of success: 50%
Rolling…
Roll: 39 (Under 50%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You slam your palms down on the cheap laminate surface of your workstation and raise your voice—just enough to be heard over the persistent hum of the florescent lights and distant printers. “He stole my stapler!” you shout, painting your tone with a strained righteousness and just the right amount of desperation. “I can’t complete my assigned forms without my stapler. My productivity is suffering because of him!”
Heads pop up over the low cubicle partitions, curious eyes darting nervously. The overhead camera swivels a fraction, the red LED focusing on you and then your neighbor. The HR robot that was just leaving the vicinity halts, its spindly legs hissing as it pivots around, scanning the scene. Your neighbor pales, mouth agape. He still clutches the incriminating stapler—your stapler—in trembling hands.
“Misinformed resource allocation detected,” the HR bot intones. “Verification required. Please present your ID and assigned assets for inspection.”
Your neighbor stammers, “I—I didn’t steal it! I was just holding it after it landed in my cubicle area…”
The HR robot edges closer, its single optic locking onto him. Your neighbor tries to hand it over, fumbling the device. There’s a tension in the air; your timely outburst has shifted suspicion onto your neighbor. You see a few colleagues glance nervously, almost relieved the attention isn’t on them. The camera, the robot, the entire oppressive system is now scrutinizing that Level 2 badge holder for a possible infraction.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I check his desk for possible useful items I could swipe while the robot and the coworker's attentions are focused elsewhere.
GAL (OOC): You attempt to quietly rummage through your neighbor’s desk without drawing attention. This is a stealthy action. With no specialized skills mentioned, let’s give you a 60% chance of doing this undetected.
Odds of success: 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 84 (Over 60%)
Result: Failure
NARRATION:
While the HR robot’s attention is laser-focused on your neighbor’s alleged crime, you subtly lean over the short partition dividing your cubicles. The top drawer is slightly ajar, and you try to reach in, moving as quietly as possible. Your fingers brush past a small pile of paperclips, an unmarked USB drive, and some neatly stacked sticky notes. You notice a small tin that might contain something valuable. But just as you’re about to grab it, the entire drawer—cheap, flimsy particle board—wobbles loudly, the rail inside squeaking like a tortured mouse.
In that instant, your neighbor’s head whips around. His face grows panicked. The HR robot’s crimson eye flicks your way. You hurriedly straighten up, trying to look innocent, but you’ve lost the moment. You’ve found nothing to add to your inventory, and now the robot’s suspicion is splitting between both of you.
“Unauthorized rummaging detected,” the robot intones. Its voice sounds even colder than before. You catch a flash in its optical sensor as if it’s recording every detail. Your neighbor’s eyes widen, and a bead of sweat rolls down your own temple. Perhaps you’ve overplayed your hand.
The clock on the wall reads 3:55 PM now. Five minutes have trickled by like molasses, and you’re still stuck in this tense standoff. You need a new angle—something to regain the upper hand or defuse the situation. The overhead lighting flickers. The HR bot’s three-pronged mechanical grip flexes, as if anticipating the need to enforce a policy more directly.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I resume work, hoping to defuse the situation
GAL (OOC): You’re attempting a passive de-escalation. You return to your tasks, making no sudden moves and trying to appear as a model employee once more. Since the situation is tense, let’s roll to see if your “just do my job” approach placates the HR robot’s suspicions. We’ll say there’s a 55% chance that the robot accepts your behavior as compliant enough to move on.
Odds of success: 55%
Rolling…
Roll: 9 (Under 55%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You swallow hard, lower your head, and start tapping keys on your terminal—filling out pointless forms, verifying meaningless data, and doing your best to radiate corporate submission. The HR robot lingers a moment, its red eye flicking from you to your neighbor and back again. A small click emanates from within its metal torso, followed by a choppy, digitized exhalation.
“Employee #263-999,” it pronounces, addressing your neighbor, “this discrepancy is logged. You have been issued a warning. Resume optimal performance.” It then swivels to you. For a heartbeat, you wonder if it will cite you as well. Instead, it intones: “Continue as assigned.”
A tense silence follows as the HR unit stalks off down the aisle, its metal limbs whirring, leaving you and your neighbor behind. Your neighbor’s face is ashen, his eyes filled with betrayal and confusion, but he turns away and begins typing with frantic compliance. Clearly, you have strained any trust that might have existed between you both.
The overhead monitors flicker again: 4:00 PM. One hour left before the building’s locks disengage. You can feel the gravity of your situation pressing down. You’re still stuck in this endless row of cubicles, barely any closer to escaping. The HR bots remain vigilant, and the tension among your co-workers could erupt at any time.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
Is the coworker holding his badge or is on the desk? If I were to pass by the desk, is there a chance I could steal the badge?
NARRATION:
You lean back slightly in your squeaky office chair, stealing a glance at your neighbor. After the recent confrontation, he seems more guarded. His Level 2 badge dangles from a retractable clip attached to the breast pocket of his cheap uniform shirt. Every so often, he nervously pats it, as if assuring himself it’s still there. He’s seated, hunched over, typing as if his life depends on it—which in this place, it very well might.
If you were to attempt swiping that badge, you’d need to be careful. It’s not lying conveniently on the desk—he’s wearing it. The cameras are always alert, and the HR bots are unpredictable. Passing by his desk would mean you’d have to either create a distraction or have a moment where his attention is elsewhere. Attempting such a theft without a plan would be risky.
Still, it’s not impossible. The corridors between cubicles are somewhat narrow. With the right distraction or a feigned stumble, you might get close enough to snag it. But if you fail, you risk immediate scrutiny from the HR units. Considering how tense the atmosphere already is, any misstep could be your last.
GAL: What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I submit a request for a bathroom stop and I'll pass by his desk. I hope he'll be too focused on making up for productivity to notice...
GAL (OOC): You’re going to attempt a subtle maneuver: request a bathroom stop, then as you walk past your neighbor’s desk, try to snag his badge without him noticing. This is a twofold challenge:
- Convincing the system to allow a bathroom break without suspicion.
- Stealthily taking the badge as you pass by.
First Roll (Bathroom break request):
You need the system to grant a bathroom pass without raising alarms. This is a subtle bluff in a high-security environment. Let’s give this a 50% chance of success.
- Odds of success (Bathroom request): 50%
- Rolling…
Roll: 23 (Under 50%)
Since you’ve successfully obtained permission to leave your station, you can now attempt the badge theft as you pass by.
Second Roll (Stealing the badge):
This is riskier. Even with your bathroom permission, the coworker is on high alert after recent events. The overhead cameras and potential HR patrols add pressure. Let’s give you a 45% chance.
- Odds of success (Stealing the badge): 45%
- Rolling…
Roll: 17 (Under 45%)
NARRATION:
You pause your frantic typing and raise a trembling hand to your terminal, navigating the company’s bureaucratic interface. A few keystrokes and you submit a “Bio-Break Request Form.” In this tightly controlled environment, even requesting a bathroom break feels like threading a needle. Miraculously, the system dings with a green confirmation: “Bathroom stop approved. Time allocated: 3 minutes. Non-compliance will result in disciplinary action.”
You stand, trying not to look too relieved. The overhead lights buzz as you move through the narrow corridor that separates your cubicle from your neighbor’s. He’s absorbed in his screen, hands flying over the keyboard, fear driving him to meet some impossible deadline. You pass close enough to catch a whiff of stale coffee and stress-induced sweat.
Then, with careful precision, you brush by him. Your arm dips, your fingers find the retractable clip on his chest, and with a deft flick, you pop the badge off its holder. He doesn’t even flinch—he’s too busy salvaging his metrics. You palm the Level 2 badge inside your jacket pocket and continue on your way, forcing yourself not to break stride or glance back.
A few cubicles ahead is the corridor leading to the restroom. You have the badge now—an edge you sorely needed. Still, time marches forward. The clock reads 4:05 PM. Less than an hour remains before the building opens its exit locks. With this badge, maybe you can access areas of the tower that can help you escape: a maintenance corridor, a storage room with tools, or even a panel to override security.
Inventory Update:
- Level 2 Badge acquired.
Vous avez dit :
I need to change my life by getting myself promoted to executive level... still, my first task can't be to fiddle with security system right under a camera. I'll go to the storage room and try to find a bucket, hoping the housekeeping workers store their tools there.
GAL (OOC): You want to slip away to a storage room and locate a housekeeping bucket. First, you need to find such a room and use your new Level 2 badge to gain entry. Let’s consider two steps here:
- Locating the Storage Room and Entering:
With a Level 2 badge, you should have access to certain utility corridors and supply closets. The chance you find a suitable storage room and enter discreetly without attracting HR attention is 65%.- Odds of success (Finding and entering storage room): 65%
- Rolling…
Roll: 33 (Under 65%) - Result: Success. You find and enter the storage room.
- Finding a Bucket Among Housekeeping Supplies:
The storage room might be cluttered, but housekeeping buckets are common items. Finding one without making noise or drawing suspicion we’ll put at 70%.- Odds of success (Finding bucket): 70%
- Rolling…
Roll: 52 (Under 70%) - Result: Success. You obtain a bucket.
NARRATION:
The corridor leading to non-public areas is dimmer and quieter than the main workspace. Your Level 2 badge, swiped from your neighbor, allows you to pass through a security panel that blinks green at your newly acquired clearance. The door slides open with a mechanical hum, granting you access to a cramped hallway lined with unmarked doors and humming utility panels. Emergency lighting and flickering LED strips guide your way.
You pause at an inconspicuous door with a small label: “Janitorial Supply.” You swipe the stolen badge over the panel. A muted beep confirms access. Inside, the storage room is stuffy and smells faintly of disinfectant. Mops, brooms, and industrial cleaners are neatly organized on racks. A small, dull-yellow bucket with chipped paint rests under a metal sink. You snag it, your fingers curling around the cool metal handle. The bottom of the bucket rattles slightly, hinting at some old dried residue.
You stand amidst shelves stocked with detergent bottles and dusty cartons of paper towels. The thick silence in this small room is a welcome respite from the stressful clatter of the office floor. A small clock on a shelf reads 4:10 PM. You have less than an hour left. The bucket might be useful for creating distractions, carrying water (if you can find some), or maybe as a makeshift helmet if things get truly dire. You’ll need more than a bucket to achieve an executive-level rise, but every tool can help.
Outside the door, you hear distant footsteps—likely a maintenance droid or an HR robot checking the corridors. You need to consider your next move carefully. If you want to rise to an executive level, you might need to forge documents, trick some systems, or find the executive elevator. Perhaps you’ll have to sabotage something… or align yourself with another desperate employee.
Inventory Update:
- Bucket acquired.
Vous avez dit :
I get to the restroom, where I am supposed to be, showing my level 1 badge to the cameras if needed.
GAL (OOC): You’ve taken a detour to the storage room before going to the restroom. Now, you’re returning to the restroom corridor as if following your assigned path. You intend to appear normal and compliant by showing your original Level 1 badge to the cameras. This is a subtle deception—making the monitoring system believe you’re just an obedient employee on a sanctioned break, despite your little side excursion.
We’ll give this deception a 60% chance of success. If successful, the cameras and any HR bots reviewing the footage will accept your behavior as within parameters. If not, they might flag a discrepancy in your route or timing.
Odds of success (Maintaining plausible innocence): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 22 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Carrying your newly acquired bucket discreetly by your side, you approach the corridor leading to the restrooms. The overhead cameras track your movements, their red LEDs glaring down from corners where the walls meet the ceiling. You pause at a junction, tilting your head in a show of compliance and lifting your Level 1 badge to be scanned. The camera’s LED shifts from red to amber as it reads your credentials. The system finds no immediate cause for alarm—after all, you did file a bathroom break request and it was approved.
Satisfied, the camera returns to its default surveillance pattern. You continue, stepping into the narrow restroom corridor. The door to the restroom—harsh white fluorescent light spilling out beneath it—stands before you. The acrid smell of industrial soap and disinfectant greets you even before you enter.
Your heart thrums in your chest. It’s 4:15 PM now. Outside these halls of porcelain and industrial-grade toilet paper, the world still hums with mechanized suspicion. You’ve got a Level 2 badge in your pocket, a bucket in your hand, and the weight of the clock pressing down on your shoulders. If you want to escape this tower and reach an executive level, you’ll need to consider your next steps carefully. Perhaps there’s a maintenance hatch in the bathroom ceiling or a pipe you could follow. Maybe you can fill your bucket with water to create a distraction. Or wait until a higher-level employee enters and follow them. The possibilities are limited only by your cunning and caution.
GAL: You stand at the restroom door, bucket in hand, a stolen badge in your pocket, and time ticking away. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I fill the bucket with water and throw water on power plugs, hoping to create a short circuit.
GAL (OOC): You aim to create a short circuit by filling the bucket with water and splashing it onto some power outlets. This is risky. The office is heavily monitored, and causing a short circuit might trigger an alarm or draw unwanted attention. Let’s say there’s a 45% chance this goes as planned (i.e., causes a short circuit without immediately blowing up in your face or alerting HR bots too quickly).
Odds of success (Causing a controlled short circuit): 45%
Rolling…
Roll: 9 (Under 45%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You push open the restroom door, greeted by the stark whiteness of the corporate lavatory: spotless tiled floors, harsh fluorescent lights, and cheap plastic stalls. It’s eerily quiet—only the distant hum of ventilation fans disturbs the silence. The mirrors are so clean you can see the exhaustion etched into your own face. Time is still creeping toward the fateful 5:00 PM, now about 4:20 PM, the minutes slipping by.
Carefully, you fill your bucket at the stainless steel sink. The water runs icy cold, splashing against the chipped bucket walls with a hollow echo. Once you have a decent volume, you step back into the hallway. Down this corridor, near where you spotted some utility panels and power outlets, you position yourself. With a final glance at the ceiling cameras—hoping they don’t register the act as sabotage—you fling a generous wave of water at a cluster of power plugs nestled in a maintenance panel.
The reaction is immediate: sparks burst from the outlet, accompanied by a sharp crackle of electricity. The lights in this section of the corridor flicker wildly, stuttering in and out. For a moment, the building’s hum fluctuates, and a muffled alarm tone begins to beep somewhere deep within the tower’s wiring.
In that uncertain flicker of darkness and dim emergency lighting, you’ve created a moment of chaos. You can hear the distant whir of HR bots changing their patrol routes—likely drawn to the electrical anomaly. This might grant you a window of opportunity to slip past a checkpoint or find a more secure area while the system dispatches units to investigate the disturbance.
Inventory Update:
- Bucket now empty.
Vous avez dit :
I run toward the stairs and try to get to the cafeteria.
GAL (OOC): You make a dash toward the stairwell, intent on reaching the cafeteria. With the lights flickering and HR bots momentarily distracted by your makeshift short circuit, you have a brief advantage. Let’s see if you can get there without being intercepted or raising new alarms.
The cafeteria should be on this floor or one floor above, easily accessible with your Level 2 badge. Reaching it stealthily, given the current confusion, we’ll say there’s a 70% chance of success.
Odds of success (Reaching cafeteria undetected): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 61 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You clutch your empty bucket’s handle tightly, the metal rattling slightly against your thigh, and bolt down the corridor. The emergency lights flicker in staccato bursts, painting the halls in jittery shadows. The smell of burnt wiring lingers behind you as you pass the half-scorched outlet. Down one corridor, you can hear the telltale metal-on-metal clank of HR bots converging toward the source of the electrical disturbance.
You reach the stairwell door—an unadorned, gray metal barrier with a Level 2 access lock. Your stolen badge slides through the reader, and with a muted beep, the heavy door releases. Inside the stairwell, it’s quieter, save for the echo of your footsteps. You ascend a short flight of steps, your breathing shallow. The tension in your chest is matched only by the relentless countdown in your head: 4:25 PM now. Time keeps slipping away.
Finally, you push through another door and enter the cafeteria level. It’s a wide, open area with bland blue carpeting, round tables, and vending machines that hum softly. Stale odors of processed snacks and reheated meals hang in the air. Normally, employees gather here for short breaks under close surveillance, but now the place seems almost deserted. A single security camera swivels lazily in the corner, and a lone cleaning drone putters about, polishing table legs.
Beyond the cafeteria, you know the executive lounges and restricted offices are located on higher floors—places where you might find means to upgrade your status or exploit your new Level 2 badge. You’ll need something here, perhaps: sustenance, a tool, or even a conversation with a sympathetic co-worker who might be hiding out. The flickering lights are less severe here, but the tension lingers in the background.
GAL: You stand in the cafeteria, bucket at your side, Level 2 badge in your pocket, and a security camera tracking your position. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
My goal is to make coffee sandwiches and take a tray to bring it to the HR office. I'll probably need a cafeteria uniform to not look suspicious... Is there a changing room for employees working in the cafetaria nearby?
GAL (OOC): You’re looking to blend in by grabbing a cafeteria uniform and then prepare some coffee sandwiches to deliver to the HR office. First, you need to find a changing room where cafeteria employees might keep their uniforms. Let’s see if you can locate such a room nearby without alerting anyone.
We’ll say there’s a 60% chance that there’s a staff-only changing area connected to the cafeteria (behind a discreet door, perhaps) and that you can access it with your Level 2 badge.
Odds of success (Finding and entering changing room): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 37 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You scan the cafeteria’s perimeter, past the humming vending machines and the half-stocked condiment stations. Your eyes settle on a nondescript door tucked behind the serving counters. A small plaque reads “Staff Only.” Given your stolen Level 2 badge, it’s plausible you can slip inside without too much fuss.
With a quick glance at the security camera overhead—its lens fixated on a spot far from the staff door—you move swiftly. Your badge beeps softly, and the door slides open to reveal a narrow hallway lit by a single dim bulb. The corridor is lined with lockers, spare aprons, hairnets, and plastic gloves. It smells faintly of stale coffee grounds and industrial detergent.
Farther down, you see another door labeled “Changing Area.” Inside are a few simple benches, lockers, and hanging rods where cafeteria uniforms—drab polo shirts and matching trousers—are neatly stored. One size fits most, apparently. A small curtained corner might serve as a makeshift dressing spot.
You’ve found a place to blend in. If you put on the cafeteria uniform, you can move more freely around this level without drawing immediate suspicion. And once properly attired, making coffee sandwiches (whatever that particular creation might entail) and delivering them to HR under the guise of low-level catering staff could give you crucial access or at least help you scout the area.
GAL: You stand in the changing room corridor, uniforms at hand. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I precise that I intend to make a coffee pot, and sandwiches separately, not a coffee sandwich!
NARRATION:
Understood—no “coffee sandwiches.” You plan to brew a pot of coffee and prepare a tray of sandwiches, then bring both together on a single service tray to the HR office. The distinction might save you from suspicion when actually executing your plan; after all, coffee and sandwiches are a standard break-room offering. Coffee sandwiches, on the other hand, might raise eyebrows even in this dystopian tower.
You now stand in the changing area. An array of dull green cafeteria uniforms hang in neat rows. The fabric looks thin and cheap, but will offer some degree of camouflage as long as no one scrutinizes your face too closely. A small plastic nametag pinned to the shirt reads “Assistant Catering Associate” in bland block letters. Just enough to blend in.
Outside this changing room, the cafeteria awaits with its counters, coffee machines, and stacks of bread and industrial cold cuts. If you can prepare the coffee and sandwiches without drawing suspicion, you might be able to carry them—alongside your newfound disguise—straight into the HR zones. You wonder if the HR office staff will question your presence, or if they’re too preoccupied with the electrical sabotage and other disruptions going on.
It’s 4:30 PM, the halfway mark of your final hour. You’re running short on time. Every move counts.
GAL: Standing in the changing area, uniforms and basic equipment at hand, what do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I enact my plan and make the appropriate food and coffee, then go to HR. Do I know some low level employees at HR?
GAL (OOC): You proceed to enact your plan: first, you don the cafeteria uniform and head out to prepare coffee and sandwiches. This is a multi-step action—brewing a pot of coffee and assembling sandwiches—relatively low risk, as it’s a normal activity for cafeteria staff. Still, let’s roll to see if you manage to do it quickly and without raising suspicion.
Odds of success (Preparing coffee and sandwiches unnoticed): 75%
Rolling…
Roll: 58 (Under 75%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You change swiftly into the cafeteria uniform. The material is scratchy, but it fits well enough. You slide your original clothes and stolen Level 2 badge into a locker under a generic code lock (it’s easy enough to remember your code, and hopefully no one will think to check inside). Keeping your Level 2 badge discreetly in your pocket beneath the uniform shirt is a slight risk, but you don’t want to lose it.
Stepping back into the cafeteria, you approach a row of gleaming coffee makers—large industrial brewers that produce bland, mass-produced coffee. With practiced efficiency (or at least a good imitation thereof), you fill one pot and set it to percolate. Meanwhile, you gather sliced bread, marginal cold cuts, and processed cheese to assemble a platter of sandwiches. The overhead lights still flicker occasionally from your earlier sabotage, which might help mask any small errors in your routine.
The clock now reads 4:35 PM. The coffee is done, hot and bitter, and the sandwiches—though uninspired—are neat, symmetrical, and entirely forgettable. Perfect for corporate drones.
You slide both the pot and the sandwiches onto a service tray. Your heart thumps in your chest as you cross the threshold into the hall that leads toward the HR offices. You know the HR department occupies a secure section of this floor and possibly the one above. Low-level HR clerks often handle paperwork and metrics, and though you don’t know any of them personally as friends, you might recognize a face or two from your time navigating bureaucratic procedures: interns, junior enforcers, or compliance aides who haven’t yet earned their metal exoskeletons or lethal implements. They’re human—at least some of them—and might be susceptible to small talk or mild manipulation. No one here is truly at ease, and perhaps one of them might be desperate or fearful enough to provide you with a tip if you play your cards right.
As you push the service tray along, you recall one HR clerk you’ve seen before: Clerk Mallory, a nervous young woman who once processed your attendance infractions. She seemed harried and a bit sympathetic, constantly glancing over her shoulder at the bots. If she’s still around, you might be able to get some inside information—if you can get her alone, or at least speak quietly.
The corridor leading to HR is lined with motivational posters that ring hollow under the red surveillance LEDs. The door ahead has a keycard panel. You have your Level 2 badge. Let’s see if that gets you inside without issue.
GAL: You have your tray of coffee and sandwiches, heading toward HR. The door lies ahead. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
As I pass by offices, I stop quickly to scribble a note on a post-it "Mallory, meet me in front of the restroom, I have a plan to escape our destiny as drones!" and put it on the coffee pot. I intend to give her the pot and continue my "patrol" so it doesn't raise an alarm into HR offices.
GAL (OOC): You’re slipping a note onto the coffee pot destined for Mallory, hoping she’ll find it and meet you without raising suspicion. This involves some stealth and subtlety. The cameras are watching, and you’re already disguised as a cafeteria worker. Let’s assign a 60% chance that you manage to attach the note without the cameras or passing personnel becoming suspicious.
Odds of success (Placing the note discreetly): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 51 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You pause in front of a glass-walled office—nondescript, just another cell in the hive—your service tray balanced on one hip. The corridor is quiet except for the distant hum of a ventilation shaft. Glancing back at the security camera, you see its lens swivel away, tracking movement elsewhere. You seize the moment.
With steady hands, you pluck a blank Post-it note from a nearby stack on a vacant desk and scrawl hastily in tiny block letters: “Mallory, meet me in front of the restroom, I have a plan…” The handwriting isn’t elegant, but it’s legible. You affix the note to the coffee pot, tucking it just behind the pot’s handle to make it appear almost natural—like a simple label.
You then continue down the corridor at a measured pace, pushing the service tray toward the HR section. The door at the end of the hall is locked behind a panel of dull gray metal. You’ll need to swipe your Level 2 badge to get inside. Once in, you can pass the tray off to Mallory or at least leave it in the break area where she might find it. After all, HR staffers deserve coffee too—at least in theory. With luck, she’ll notice your message and slip out to the restroom at the designated time.
As you near the HR office door, you hear the low mechanical hum of an HR bot patrolling inside. This could get tricky, but your disguise and calm demeanor might see you through. The clock reads 4:40 PM now. The tension in your chest is mounting; each minute brings you closer to the crucial deadline.
GAL: The HR office door stands before you. The faint sound of robotic servos and hushed voices leaks through. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I enter HR, saying to the camera that I am bringing food for people who will do extra hours shift until 9pm.
GAL (OOC): Your goal is to appear as a simple cafeteria worker delivering refreshments for an extended shift. You are speaking to the camera, trying to justify your presence. This is a bluff under surveillance. Let’s give you a 50% chance of success that the camera’s system and any monitoring HR bots accept your explanation without question.
Odds of success (Convincing the camera/system): 50%
Rolling…
Roll: 15 (Under 50%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
With your cafeteria uniform on and the service tray balanced before you, you swipe the Level 2 badge through the panel by the HR office door. It blinks green, and the heavy door slides aside with a soft pneumatic hiss. Stepping through into the HR area, you find yourself in a quiet, open-plan section decorated with motivational slogans and silent terminals. The air is staler here, and there’s a lingering tension that makes your spine tingle.
Ahead, a security camera’s red LED fixes on you. You keep your composure and speak aloud, voice measured and respectful: “I’m here with refreshments for those assigned to the extra hours shift until nine tonight.” Your tone is as neutral as the décor.
For a tense second, the camera stares you down. Then, the LED flickers to amber, as if processing. No immediate alarm sounds. The HR staffers—a small group of anxious-looking clerks hunched over terminals—look up briefly. One or two nod absently, their minds elsewhere. Perhaps they’ve grown accustomed to last-minute extensions of shift hours. Perhaps the chaos caused by your earlier sabotage has them too distracted to scrutinize a simple cafeteria delivery.
You wheel the tray further in, scanning the room for Mallory. Across from a panel of blinking lights and a row of filing cabinets, you spot her: a slight, nervous figure with brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s typing furiously, glancing at a data slate, occasionally darting her eyes toward a patrolling HR bot at the far end of the room. You can see the tension in her posture and the sheen of sweat on her brow.
You position the coffee pot and sandwiches conveniently near Mallory’s station, making sure the Post-it note is visible only from her side. The hum of ventilation and distant printer activity fill your ears. It’s 4:45 PM, time ticking away.
GAL: The refreshments are delivered, the note placed. Mallory is nearby, the HR bot patrols the perimeter. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I get to the restroom to hide until Mallory can meet me, hoping she'll be intrigued
GAL (OOC): You’re attempting to slip out of the HR area and return to the restroom without drawing unwanted attention. Since you’ve just delivered coffee and sandwiches, it shouldn’t be too suspicious for a cafeteria worker to leave. However, you did plant a secret note. Let’s give you a 65% chance of leaving quietly and getting back to the restroom unnoticed.
Odds of success (Returning to restroom unnoticed): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 50 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
After setting down the tray, you give a small, deferential nod to the HR staffers (none of whom seem terribly interested in you, beyond their quiet gratitude for the coffee) and turn to leave. The camera tracks you for a moment but finds nothing overtly suspicious. The HR bot continues its patrol at the far end of the room, the whir of its servos steady and methodical.
You retrace your steps into the hallway, pass through the secured door with your borrowed badge, and move swiftly but calmly down the corridor. The flickering lights from earlier have mostly stabilized, though there’s still a faint hum of tension in the air. The entire building feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
You reach the restroom area without incident. The door opens easily. Inside, the tiles gleam under the fluorescent lights, and your reflection stares back at you from the mirror—uniformed, anxious, and yet determined. It’s now 4:50 PM, the final ten minutes stretching ahead like a razor’s edge.
You wait, heart thumping. Mallory’s discovery of the note isn’t guaranteed, but if she’s desperate, curious, or perceptive, she might appear. After all, who leaves a note like that on a coffee pot for no reason?
As the seconds tick by, a hush falls on this tiled sanctuary. Any moment now, footsteps might approach, or alarms might ring, or an HR bot might wander in. You’ve taken a bold gamble. Time will tell if Mallory shares your sense of urgency and is willing to risk meeting you.
GAL: Hidden in the restroom, with the clock ticking and your fate uncertain, what do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I wait. If she comes, I'll tell her my plan of staying trapped here in order to access the HR system and promote both of us to executive positions, if she helps. If she doesn't come, I'll stay hidden into the restroom and leave only after the others employees have left.
GAL (OOC): You’ve decided to wait quietly in the restroom and see if Mallory comes. She received your note—assuming she saw it—and now you must trust in human curiosity and desperation. Let’s roll to see if she follows through. Mallory has reasons to be cautious, but also reasons to seek an ally. Let’s give this a 55% chance that she comes to find you.
Odds of success (Mallory showing up): 55%
Rolling…
Roll: 12 (Under 55%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Time stretches thin as you wait, ears attuned to every distant clank and hum. The restroom lights buzz in your skull, and the faint scent of industrial cleaner prickles your nostrils. Your plan is dangerous—who knows if you can trust Mallory? But at this point, trust is a rare and valuable commodity.
It’s nearing 4:55 PM when you hear light, hesitant footsteps in the corridor. The restroom door creaks open, and you tense, half-expecting a metal claw or a glowing red optic. Instead, you see her: Mallory, the HR clerk, peering inside. She’s a small figure, shoulders hunched with fear, her eyes darting nervously.
She spots you, standing off to the side, and steps inside, letting the door hush closed behind her. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Her voice, when it comes, is a shaky whisper: “Why? Why leave me that note?”
You stand close, your voice low, pressed for time. You explain your scheme, hurried yet earnest:
“I know this place wants to keep us trapped. I know promotions don’t come through honest work here—they’re engineered by the system to maintain compliance. But what if we seize the means of promotion ourselves? We’re on the brink of clock-out time. If we can force an update in the HR system, raise our clearance, we can escape. As executives, we’ll have the clearance to bypass security protocols and walk out the front door—maybe even with privileges that keep the HR bots off our backs. But I need your help. You know the HR interface; you can navigate it. If we work together, we can do this.”
She looks at you incredulously. Her fingers fidget with the corner of her ID badge. You sense her fear and uncertainty. Everyone here is a captive of the corporate machine. But the allure of freedom, and the promise of leaving this tower of horrors behind, might tip the scales.
Outside, the distant clattering of HR bots suggests they’re still on high alert from the earlier sabotage. Time is almost up. 4:56 PM now.
Mallory’s eyes dart to the door, then back to you. “You’re… you’re crazy,” she whispers, voice trembling. Then, as if grasping at a lifeline, “But what’s the alternative? Another day like this? Or worse? Tell me what you need me to do.”
GAL: Mallory seems willing to help, but uncertain. How do you respond, and what’s your next move?
Vous avez dit :
I have always liked you... a lot. That's why I decided to tell you of this plan -- you could denounce me and get me terminated. But you processed by attendance infraction and I think you are a good person. Let's do this together.
GAL (OOC): You’re opening up to Mallory, appealing to her humanity and trust. This is a persuasive/emotional moment. Let’s consider whether your heartfelt confession and reasoning deepens her trust. We’ll give it a 60% chance that your words resonate strongly with her, making her more willing to assist wholeheartedly.
Odds of success (Gaining Mallory’s trust through sincerity): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 29 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
Mallory’s tense posture softens, if only slightly, as you speak. Her large, wary eyes well with a complicated mix of emotions—fear, hope, disbelief, and something that might be trust. The hum of the ventilation system and the flickering fluorescent lights form a strange halo around this moment of vulnerable honesty. Here you both stand, trapped in a dystopian corporate tower, yet forging a fragile human connection.
“You… you’ve always liked me?” she whispers, voice barely audible over the faint drip of a faucet. She looks down at her shoes, her cheeks flushing with color. The corporate environment rarely allows for genuine human emotion, so this might be the first sincere exchange she’s had in ages. It must feel unreal in a place of fake smiles and constant surveillance.
When she lifts her gaze again, you see resolve hardening behind her eyes: “Thank you for trusting me. I know how risky this is.” She swallows and steels herself. “You’re right. I could have turned you in. But I won’t. This place is eating us alive, and if there’s a chance—any chance—to get out and start something new, I’ll take it.”
A distant mechanical hiss filters in from the hallway, a reminder that the oppressive system marches on. Outside, the clock’s digital face creeps toward 4:57 PM. Three minutes until the doors unlock at five o’clock—three minutes to tilt the balance in your favor.
She steps closer, voice now steady: “Tell me what we need to do. The HR system terminals are just down the hall. I can log in, but we’ll need authorization. If I alter certain employee records and add your name—and mine—to the executive roster, it might grant us high-level clearance. But if the system notices inconsistencies, it might trigger an alarm, and we’ll have to move fast. Do you have a plan for dealing with the HR bots if they catch on?”
GAL: Mallory awaits your instructions. Time is running short. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
In three minutes, everyone will leave the building and get home. Including the head of the HR office. He must have a badge allowing extended access, doesn't he?, I ask Mallory.
NARRATION:
Mallory’s face tightens with concentration as you pose your question. The minute hand is crawling closer to the hour, and the tension in this cramped, sterile restroom is palpable. The distant hum of HR bots, the hiss of recycled air, and the faint mechanical drone of the building’s endless systems press in on your ears. 4:57 PM now—only three minutes remain.
Mallory lowers her voice even further, leaning in so close you can see the weary stress lines etched around her eyes. “Yes,” she whispers, “the Head of HR would have a high-level badge—Level 4 or above, I believe. That’s the kind of clearance that lets them override security protocols, unlock private elevators, and even alter fundamental system settings. If we had their badge, escaping would be… simpler.”
A bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face. “But the Head of HR’s office is in a restricted corridor—farther back. Your Level 2 badge won’t cut it. Mine’s not high enough either.” She glances at the door and lowers her voice to a near silent hush. “He usually leaves right after the system’s official cutoff time. Maybe he’s rushing to get out early today because of all the disruptions. If we could intercept him on his way out and snag that badge…”
She hesitates, biting her lip. “Or, if we alter the records quickly enough… we could forge executive status and meet him as equals, demanding passage out. But forging that might set off alarms. Going after the Head of HR’s badge is also risky—he’s usually escorted by at least one HR bot for personal protection.”
Mallory studies your eyes, searching for certainty amid the swirling chaos. Time is dripping away, and both of you know it. “Which path do we take?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly. “Do we try to hack the system, or do we go after his badge directly?”
GAL: Time is running out. Will you attempt to hack the system and forge executive credentials, or try to intercept the Head of HR as he leaves? What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
Is Mallory reliable?
NARRATION:
Mallory stands before you, a fragile figure caught in the machinery of corporate tyranny. In the flickering restroom light, you can see that she’s in her late twenties—though the stress of this place might have etched a few extra years into her demeanor. She’s short, perhaps no taller than your shoulder, with a slight, wiry build that suggests she’s been living on coffee and anxiety for too long. Her brown hair, pulled tightly into a functional bun, is slightly frayed at the edges, strands escaping as if in quiet rebellion. Her eyes, a deep hazel, are lined with faint shadows, the kind that come from restless nights staring at data screens and worrying about quotas.
Her uniform is the standard HR clerk attire: a muted, charcoal-gray blouse and dark slacks pressed to an almost military crispness. A cheap name tag pinned to her chest displays her name and title in plain block lettering, and a thin, plastic ID badge dangles from a retractable lanyard on her hip. From this close, you can see that the lamination is bubbling slightly at the edges—a small imperfection in an otherwise obsessively controlled environment.
Mallory’s posture is tense, shoulders drawn upward, as if permanently braced for reprimand. She stands with one foot slightly behind the other, ready to dart away at the first sign of danger. But in her eyes, behind that film of fear and caution, there is something softer: a lingering kindness and vulnerability that no corporate system has fully crushed. Her voice, when she speaks, is hushed and breathy, as though each word must be carefully chosen and swiftly delivered, lest someone overhear.
In this moment, Mallory is torn between terror and trust, between a lifetime of compliance and the faint hope of liberation. It shows in the trembling of her hands, in the determined line of her jaw, and the way she looks at you—not as a stranger, but as a spark of possibility she never knew she needed.
Vous avez dit :
The fact that he's escorted is bad news, I reply. I hoped we could ambush him. We'll need to tackle the HR bot. Are they waterproof? I have a bucket and we could fill it with water... (I test this plan with Mallory)
NARRATION:
Mallory wrinkles her forehead, narrowing her eyes as if trying to picture the machines in detail. She lowers her voice to a whisper, leaning in closer so the hush of the restroom swallows her words. Outside, the distant hum of corporate machinery continues, and the clock edges closer to that fateful hour: 4:58 PM. Time is almost gone.
Mallory speaks softly, “The HR bots…they’re supposed to be highly resistant to most disruptions. I’ve heard rumors of them being exposed to spilled coffee, soda, even small floods from malfunctioning sprinklers. They usually keep functioning.” She frowns and chews her lower lip. “But, you did short-circuit part of the corridor with water before. Maybe if we target a delicate part of their casing—like their access ports—or if we mix something with the water, we could at least slow one down.”
Her eyes flick to the bucket you mentioned earlier, then back to your face. “If we can corner it or catch it off-guard, maybe drenching it won’t destroy it, but it could force a malfunction or a reboot cycle. That might buy us time to grab the Head of HR’s badge. But be warned, these bots are designed to endure. Plain water might not be enough. Do we have anything else we can add—cleaning chemicals, maybe? Something corrosive?” She glances toward the door and back to you. “Or we need to find a weak spot in their armor. It’s a risk, but so is everything else we’re planning.”
The clock keeps ticking. The tower feels like it’s holding its breath. Mallory stands there, an ally you never knew you’d have, waiting for your decision.
GAL: Mallory has doubts but sees a slim possibility of success if you get creative. How do you respond or proceed?
Vous avez dit :
I ask her to fill the bucket with water in the restroom. Hoping all levels of the building are built the same, I run to a janitorial storage, hoping to find bleach to add to the mix.
GAL (OOC): You are splitting tasks. Mallory will fill the bucket with water from the restroom sink, while you run to a janitorial storage closet to find bleach or some chemical to enhance the water’s damaging potential. Since you previously found and accessed a janitorial storage area, you know at least one exists on this floor or a nearby one. Let’s roll to see if you can find a suitable chemical (bleach or other corrosive cleaner) quickly and without attracting attention.
Odds of success (Finding bleach in a timely and discreet manner): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 58 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
“Fill the bucket,” you whisper urgently to Mallory, and she nods, her eyes firm with determination. You slip out of the restroom, heart pounding, leaving her behind to run the tap. The hallways are dimmer now—perhaps the building is preparing for the shift change. It’s 4:59 PM, so close to that liberating hour, yet you’re taking an incredible risk.
You remember passing a janitorial storage room somewhere near the cafeteria area—where you got your uniform. With brisk, silent steps, you navigate a short corridor, keeping close to the wall. The security cameras track lazily in wide arcs. The HR bots might be busy dealing with small anomalies elsewhere—or prepping for the Head of HR’s imminent departure.
At last, you find a small door labeled “Janitorial Supplies.” It’s identical in appearance to the one you accessed before. With the Level 2 badge pressed to the reader, it grants you entry. Inside, you locate a shelf stocked with industrial cleaning chemicals. Large plastic jugs, their labels faded but still legible, boast potent disinfectants, acidic cleaners for drains, and—most importantly—a gallon jug of bleach. You recognize the chemical warning symbols easily.
Clutching the bleach, you slip back into the corridor. You must return to Mallory at the restroom quickly. Your adrenaline surges; each second counts. From the distance, you hear faint mechanical clanks—perhaps an HR bot patrol shifting position. The building’s silence is layered with threat. The exact time is unknown, but it must be seconds before 5:00 PM by now.
Once you mix the bleach into the bucket of water, you might have a caustic concoction that could weaken the HR bot’s systems when splashed onto critical components. But how will you corner the bot—and how will you get close to the Head of HR?
GAL: You have the bleach in hand. Mallory is presumably waiting in the restroom with a bucket of water. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
We meet again and make the mix. I suggest we wait for the Head of HR to leave, as he's leaving, as Mallory mentionned, after the wave of employees, and as he passes by, presumably alone with his HR bot, we'll make noises as we had "inappropriate conduct" in the restroom. If he sends his bot to check, we'll pour the mix on it. If goes without his bot, we'll close the door and try to overpower the head of HR. This is risky, but's it's worth it. I check with Mallory if she's OK with this, as she'll need to take part in the noise making.
GAL (OOC): You’ve outlined a complex, high-risk plan. Mallory will have to make noise and help lure either the Head of HR or his HR bot into the restroom. Given the tension and fear, let’s quickly roll to gauge her willingness to cooperate fully in such a dangerous gambit. She’s already shown trust and courage, but this new step is even riskier. We’ll say there’s a 65% chance she’ll agree and commit herself wholeheartedly.
Odds of success (Mallory’s agreement): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 42 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You return quietly to the restroom, bleach jug in hand. Mallory stands near the sink, the bucket now filled with cold water that shimmers under the fluorescent lights. She startles slightly as you slip inside, but relaxes when she sees it’s just you. Her anxious eyes flick between the bleach jug and the closed door. The distant humming of the building’s ventilation fills the silence.
Carefully, you pour a generous dose of bleach into the water, the acrid fumes hitting your nostrils. Mallory wrinkles her nose, and together you stir the mixture quietly, ensuring it’s as homogeneous as possible. The bucket now holds a chemical cocktail potent enough to corrode sensitive electronics.
You explain your plan: waiting for the Head of HR to leave after the official exit time, catching him as he passes, hoping he’s accompanied by just one HR bot. You and Mallory will stage a disturbance inside the restroom—some improvised, embarrassing commotion that might prompt a check. If the HR bot comes in, you’ll douse it. If, by some stroke of luck, the Head of HR himself enters alone, you’ll try to pin him down and snatch that coveted badge.
Mallory’s brow is furrowed in fear, but when you ask for her help, she nods. “I’m in,” she whispers, voice tight but determined. “If we don’t risk something, we’ll never get out of here. I’ll make as much noise as I can. Just…be ready. If we fail, we’ll never see the outside of this place again.” Her hand trembles slightly as she adjusts her shirt, and you can sense the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The clock above the doorframe ticks softly: 4:59 PM… and then, at long last, 5:00 PM. Somewhere distant, you hear mechanical locks disengaging as the building’s official end-of-day protocols kick in. Employees, the lucky ones, are filtering out toward freedom. Soon, the Head of HR will depart, too, following whatever secret route leads him to his car, his home—or whatever lies outside these walls.
GAL: The trap is set, and Mallory agrees to play her part. The time is 5:00 PM. You can almost feel the Head of HR’s approach. How do you proceed?
Vous avez dit :
GAL: to be clear, I was thinking of making noise of lovemaking, something that the head of HR would feel forced to investigate as it is certainly highly inappropriate conduct...
GAL (OOC): Understood. You’ll stage an “inappropriate conduct” scenario—specifically the sounds of two employees engaging in forbidden, intimate behavior in the restroom. This is indeed something the Head of HR would likely find intolerable, forcing him or his bot to intervene. Let’s roll forward with this clarified plan.
NARRATION:
The clock now reads 5:00 PM, the official end of the workday. Somewhere in these sprawling corridors, employees are trickling out toward the promised release, scanning their badges, stepping into the night. For most, it’s just another evening, another day survived in the corporate engine. But for you and Mallory, the stakes couldn’t be higher. If this gamble pays off, you’ll soon be wielding the Head of HR’s badge. If it fails, well… termination here is anything but metaphorical.
You stand with Mallory inside the restroom, the bucket of corrosive water ready at your feet. Mallory’s eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and adrenaline. She positions herself so that her voice will carry through the door without revealing her face or identity. The restroom’s acoustics are harsh and echoing—perfect for amplifying the scandalous sounds you’re about to produce.
Catching your eye, Mallory swallows hard and then begins, letting out a series of low, breathy moans and whispered insinuations, as if two people were locked in a brazen, passionate embrace. The sound makes your own heart thump; it’s so wildly out of place in this sterile corporate machine. You add a few hushed words, interjecting a muffled laugh or two, making it sound like a secret tryst caught at a fever pitch. The restroom door muffles the precise words, but not the tone—indecorous, unmistakably against company policy.
As the seconds tick by, you both continue this performance, your voices weaving a tapestry of forbidden intimacy. The idea is simple: the Head of HR, or his bot, must respond. This is a blatant violation of corporate conduct. HR thrives on compliance, on uniformity, on sterile obedience. To allow such behavior to go unaddressed would be a failure of their entire purpose.
Outside, you hear the soft whoosh of the corridor door opening. Footsteps—soft, measured, accompanied by the faint mechanical whir of a bot’s servos. Perhaps this is him. Perhaps it’s the Head of HR, departing for the day with his ironclad badge. The air grows taut. Mallory catches your eye again, her voice never wavering from the performance, but her gaze trembling with nervous energy. The bucket at your feet gleams with deadly promise.
Any second now, the handle will turn, the door will open, and you’ll have your chance. You only hope you’re ready.
GAL: The trap is laid. You hear signs of someone approaching. How do you respond?
Vous avez dit :
I take the bucket into my hand, ready to throw at the bot, while I take my data tablet in the other hand... it's the closest thing I have resembling a heavy hammer in order to try and knock-out the head of HR.
GAL (OOC): You’re preparing for a tense confrontation. You have the bucket of corrosive liquid in one hand and your data tablet in the other, intending to use it as an improvised weapon if needed. Let’s break down the next moments into two parts:
- Determining who enters first—HR Bot or Head of HR:
Let’s give a 50% chance that the HR bot enters before the Head of HR, and a 50%chance that the Head of HR comes alone out of pride or curiosity.- Odds of HR Bot entering first: 50%
- Rolling…
Roll: 38 (Under 50%) - Result: The HR Bot enters first.
- Your attack on the HR Bot:
Now that the HR bot steps in first, you’ll attempt to throw the corrosive mixture right at its sensitive components. Let’s assign a 60%chance that you successfully douse the bot’s vulnerable areas and impede its functions.- Odds of success (Splashing the HR Bot effectively): 60%
- Rolling…
Roll: 29 (Under 60%) - Result: Success. The HR Bot is doused effectively.
NARRATION:
At the sound of footsteps halting just outside the restroom door, you and Mallory pause the performance for a single nervous breath—then escalate the sounds to a crescendo, as if caught in the height of inappropriate passion. It’s the final lure. The knob rattles, and the door creaks open with a soft pneumatic hiss.
A sleek HR bot glides in first, its metal frame reflecting the harsh restroom lights. Its single red optic zeroes in on you, ready to enforce policy. Before it can emit a warning, you hoist the bucket high and hurl the caustic solution right into its optical assembly and access ports. The water and bleach wash over the robot’s faceplate and down its torso, dripping into the fine seams of its plating. Immediately, sparks fizz and crackle beneath its armor, and a sound like grinding metal escapes its speaker. The HR bot jerks violently, arms flailing in mechanical confusion.
Mallory stifles a gasp. Beyond the thrashing bot’s shoulder, you see a tall, imposing figure in a sharply tailored suit—the Head of HR himself—lurking just beyond the threshold. He takes half a step back at the sudden chaos erupting inside the restroom. His expression twists into shock and disgust. He doesn’t yet see the bucket’s empty handle clutched in your hand, or the data tablet you’ve raised like a makeshift bludgeon. But he knows something has gone terribly off-script.
Outside, the building’s corridors might be emptying, employees shuffling out to supposed freedom. But here, in this starkly lit restroom, the battle for your liberation begins. Mallory stands at your side, trembling but resolute, as the HR bot sputters and seizes, and the Head of HR stares in appalled confusion.
GAL: The HR bot is compromised, flailing but not yet fully disabled. The Head of HR is right outside, shocked. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I signal Mallory to call for help. He'll probably enter the room so I can close the door behind him.
GAL (OOC): Your goal is to lure the Head of HR fully into the restroom by having Mallory call for help, convincing him that something serious is happening inside. Once he’s through the door, you plan to close it behind him and presumably trap him inside. Let’s see if Mallory’s frantic call for help convinces the Head of HR to enter rather than fleeing or calling backup.
We’ll give this a 65% chance of success that Mallory’s plea is compelling enough to draw him in without causing him to immediately summon reinforcements or retreat.
Odds of success (Luring Head of HR inside): 65%
Rolling…
Roll: 47 (Under 65%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You lock eyes with Mallory and give a sharp, urgent nod. She catches on instantly, raising her voice in a frantic, desperate cry: “Help! Please! This thing—it’s—oh God, help us!” Her voice rises in pitch, trembling with fear and alarm. The echo off the tiled walls makes her plea especially shrill, like a panicked canary in a cramped cage.
The Head of HR, already startled by the HR bot’s malfunction, takes another step forward. You see the conflict on his face—he’s an authority figure here, trained to maintain control and compliance. Fleeing would mean leaving a mess unaddressed, a question unanswered. He can’t allow that, can he? The sheer audacity of this situation seems to baffle him. He steps inside, pushing past the jerking HR bot that’s now hissing static and convulsing against the sink.
As soon as the Head of HR clears the threshold, you seize the moment. Your hand grasps the edge of the restroom door and swing it shut behind him with a firm click. There’s a soft thump as the door seals, the locking mechanism engaging with a metallic snick. Now, the Head of HR stands fully inside, the HR bot still sputtering at his side, and you and Mallory forming a line between him and the exit.
He snaps his gaze between you and Mallory, confusion turning to anger and fear. His lips part, searching for words, but in that instant, the air feels charged with possibility. With each second, you’re closer to securing his badge—and possibly your freedom. Outside, the building’s workforce might be streaming toward the exits, utterly unaware of the showdown unfolding in this small, fluorescent cube.
GAL: The Head of HR is in the restroom with you now, door closed. What do you do?
Vous avez dit :
I try to knock him out, with Mallory's help.
GAL (OOC): You and Mallory attempt to physically subdue the Head of HR. The environment is cramped, you have a data tablet as an improvised weapon, and Mallory can assist by grabbing or distracting him. He is a suited executive, likely not trained in close combat, but he’s no pushover. Let’s give you a 60% chance of successfully knocking him out.
Odds of success (Knocking out Head of HR): 60%
Rolling…
Roll: 19 (Under 60%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
In the stark white light of the restroom, the Head of HR’s eyes widen, and his carefully maintained corporate composure cracks. He tries to back away, but there’s nowhere to go—just the sputtering HR bot, the sink, and the unforgiving tile walls.
You move first, swinging the data tablet in a wide arc. It’s heavier than it looks—an older model, company-issued and built sturdy. The corner of the device catches him along the temple with a hollow thunk. He staggers, arms flailing, struggling to keep his balance on the slippery floor. Mallory seizes the opportunity and lunges forward, grabbing at his shoulders, attempting to pull him down.
He tries to resist, but the blow has already dazed him. His knees buckle. Mallory’s grip tightens as you angle in for a second strike, bringing the tablet down again, this time less violently, more to ensure he slumps fully rather than fighting back. There’s a dull thud as he crumples to the floor, suit rumpled, head lolling. The stench of the spilled chemical mixture still lingers in the air, mixing with the sweat and adrenaline of the moment.
The HR bot twitches and sparks at your backs, its optic flickering erratically. It might be disabled for now, but there’s no telling how long before it reboots or if others will come searching. Meanwhile, at your feet lies the Head of HR. On his lapel hangs the holy grail of your plan: a high-level clearance badge.
Mallory’s breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she looks to you, eyes filled with equal measures of terror and hope. The building’s corridors must be emptying now. It’s likely just past 5:00 PM, and time is ripe for escape. With the Head of HR’s clearance, doors that were sealed will open. Executive-level overrides might silence alarms, halt HR units, and grant you passage into the world beyond this corporate hell.
GAL: The Head of HR is unconscious, his badge within reach, and the HR bot is out of commission for the moment. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
I take the head of HR's badge, replace it with the level 2 badge. If the bots resume functioning, he'll find an unauthorized personel near him just after being assaulted: maybe he'll terminate our only witness, and we leave the restroom.
GAL (OOC): You’re executing a cunning final step: swapping the badges so the unconscious Head of HR is left holding a lower-level badge, potentially incriminating him if the HR bots regain function. This is a subtle action, but since he’s unconscious and the HR bot is incapacitated, no immediate roll is necessary. The real challenge will be leaving the area undetected.
Now you and Mallory have the Head of HR’s high-level badge. With it, you should be able to navigate securely and potentially slip out among the last of the exiting crowd—or find a secure executive route. Let’s make one final roll to determine if you slip away quietly without the HR bot rebooting or other security triggers activating prematurely.
Odds of success (Leaving restroom area undetected): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 64 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
You kneel over the slumped executive and pry the high-level clearance badge from his lapel. Its sleek casing and embossed lettering feel heavier and more substantial than the lower-level passes. Without hesitation, you clip your stolen Level 2 badge onto his collar in its place. Now, if the HR bot or any others awaken and see him, he’ll appear as just another unauthorized individual near the scene of a violent disruption. It’s a cruel trick, but in this savage corporate world, mercy is a luxury you cannot afford.
Mallory watches, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line. As you finish the swap, you rise quietly, the new badge warming in your palm as if it carries the pulse of newfound power. The HR bot sputters behind you—a fizzle of sparks and a muffled mechanical groan, but not enough to regain its deadly composure yet.
Together, you and Mallory slip out of the restroom. The corridor beyond is eerily quiet. Most employees have cleared out, the overhead lights humming softly in near-deserted halls. With the high-level badge, locked corridors whisper open at your command. Surveillance cameras flick from red to amber, scanning your new credentials and finding no fault. A door that would have been sealed tight before now slides aside, granting you access to a private elevator bay reserved for upper management. Mallory sticks close by, her eyes shining with a wild mix of relief and disbelief. She never thought she’d see the halls from this side—where executives tread and the tower’s secrets are kept.
The time is just a few minutes past 5:00 PM. The night sky, visible through an upper-floor window, has turned a deep violet. If you play your cards right, in moments you could be stepping through the grand lobby doors and out into the world, no longer a low-level cog in a merciless machine, but a liberated soul—albeit one who’s bloodied the corporate gears to earn that freedom.
GAL: You and Mallory are now free to navigate with the Head of HR’s badge. The tower’s exits should be open. How do you proceed?
Vous avez dit :
I ask Mallory how she'd like to proceed: escape, hope the trick works, get back tomorrow to work and then I'll try to pass for the head of HR, or act now to change our job positions in the system, making us newly hired upper executive?
NARRATION:
Mallory stands beside you in the dim corridor, the silence of the towering edifice pressing in on both of you. She’s still breathing heavily, the adrenaline of the scuffle and the narrow escape from discovery ringing in her ears. Her brown hair is coming loose from its bun, stray strands framing her anxious, thoughtful face. Outside, the muffled hum of distant traffic and the faint glow of streetlights promise something like freedom—but the corporate machine you just wounded may yet turn its attention on you.
When you lay out the options, Mallory’s face contorts with conflicting emotions. Her whisper is urgent, but careful: “If we leave now,” she begins, searching your eyes, “we might blend into the crowd. The Head of HR will wake up confused and surrounded by evidence he was out of line. Maybe he gets terminated; maybe there’s chaos. With this badge, we can get far away, find new identities, never step foot in this place again.”
She wets her lips, drawing in a shaky breath, and continues: “But if we go back tomorrow, pretending nothing happened, we’d be living a lie. Constantly on edge, hoping our ruse holds. The system might catch on. And trying to pass as the Head of HR is… risky. We barely understand the upper tiers of this place. One slip-up, and we’re done.”
Mallory glances around, ensuring no one is near. Her voice takes on a steadier tone: “Changing our job positions in the system now, making us newly hired upper executives—if we can pull it off—would mean we walk out tonight with genuine top-level clearance. We’d have legitimacy. But it could trip every alarm if we mess up. The system might detect unauthorized modifications. Do we have the time to hack it safely, without setting off all the sirens?”
A tired but hopeful smile ghosts over her lips. “Look… I trust you, after everything we’ve done. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m willing to take a risk if it means real freedom. I want out of here, and I want something better than just surviving day to day.”
She edges closer, voice low and earnest: “What’s your gut telling you? We stand on the edge of the unknown. We can bolt for the door now and leave this nightmare behind—or we can try to wield this power we’ve stolen to remake ourselves in the system’s eyes. I’ll follow your lead. Just… let’s decide quickly, before someone comes looking.”
GAL: Mallory has laid out the pros and cons of each path. The corridor is quiet, and the clock is ticking. How do you respond?
Vous avez dit :
I have another plan. Let's use the head of HR badge to get into his office, and we'll change our schedule so he and you are supposed to be working on a longer shift till 8pm. So we'll have more time, and very few people to see us, to fudge our employees record. Mallory, do you think it's easier than the previous plans? Also, if the HR bot reports on what to do with the person lying here, he'll report to the head of hr... and meet me in his office!
NARRATION:
Mallory’s eyes dart between the stolen badge in your hand and the corridor leading back into the heart of the HR zone. She takes a moment, breathing softly through parted lips, as if recalculating the variables of your predicament. The tension that’s bound you together so tightly over these last desperate minutes seems to hum through the walls themselves.
“Changing our schedule to run until 8pm…” she murmurs, thoughtful. “It’s clever. If the system recognizes our shift extension, we’ll have an official reason to be here long after everyone’s gone.” Her voice carries a note of cautious optimism. “That gives us time to breathe, to alter the employee records and maybe even fine-tune our new executive statuses in the system—correctly, without rushing. If the building assumes we’re legitimately working late, there’ll be fewer prying eyes and fewer chances for alarm.”
She crosses her arms and looks at you. “The Head of HR’s badge should grant us access to his office terminal, where all such schedules and records are kept. As for the HR bot, if it tries to file a report, it will look for the Head of HR’s authorization or follow his standing orders. And if you’re sitting right there in his seat, with his clearance… Well, it might just think you’re him, or at least accept your orders over anyone else’s.” There’s a spark of hope in her eyes at that thought. After all, these machines are designed to obey credentials, not question identities deeply—at least in theory.
Her gaze drifts down the hall, then back to your face. “It’s risky, but I think it’s less chaotic than trying to leave now or forging everything on the fly. If we can slip into the Head of HR’s office and set a new schedule for ourselves, we control the narrative. We’ll have time to shape our employee records, make it look like we’ve always been executives, and let the rest of the building’s systems adjust accordingly.”
Mallory lifts her chin slightly. “Yes, I think it’s easier than the previous plans. We just need to be careful: any major inconsistencies will raise red flags. But if we stick to something plausible—like a last-minute ordered overtime shift for ‘system maintenance’—the system might not question it. Let’s do it. Let’s head to his office, extend our shift, and seize our moment.”
GAL: Mallory agrees that the revised plan could be easier and safer. You have the Head of HR’s badge and a quieter building. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
We head to the Head of HR office. I'll try to use the excuse to review the incidents of stealing staplers and suspicious sabotage involving water at my level as an excuse to decide this overtime, requiring Mallory to assist me into dealing with it.
GAL (OOC): You and Mallory proceed to the Head of HR’s office to implement your new plan. With the high-level badge, entry shouldn’t be a problem. The next challenge will be manipulating the schedule and records so that working until 8pm seems official and necessary, tied to addressing incidents involving stolen staplers and water-based sabotage. We’ll make one roll for this key action—falsifying the records while avoiding detection by the system’s internal checks.
You have top-level clearance, which helps, and Mallory’s knowledge of the HR interface. Let’s say there’s a 70% chance of success. If successful, you’ll set your schedules to run until 8pm legitimately and create a plausible paper trail. If you fail, the system might flag the changes as suspicious and trigger an investigation.
Odds of success (Modifying schedules & records): 70%
Rolling…
Roll: 67 (Under 70%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
The Head of HR’s office smells faintly of stale air and old carpet. Soft overhead lighting and a wide mahogany desk project an air of authority. You swipe the badge, and the door slides open silently. Inside, you find neat stacks of sealed documents, a high-backed leather chair, and multiple screens humming on standby. The walls are adorned with motivational posters far more tasteful than those in the lower levels, and a subtle, expensive cologne lingers in the stillness.
Mallory steps in behind you, eyes scanning the room nervously. “Let’s do this quickly,” she whispers, casting a glance over her shoulder. The building should now be mostly empty, and with your story set, any HR bot or system query should accept your presence here as legitimate—if you handle the records right.
You slip into the chair and tap the console. The system recognizes the Head of HR’s credentials and grants you full access. Mallory stands behind you, pointing out the appropriate menus and fields. With each keystroke, you weave a plausible narrative: due to recent infractions at the lower levels—stolen staplers, suspicious water-related sabotage, and potential misconduct—a sudden after-hours review has been ordered. You assign yourself and Mallory as key personnel required for this “compliance audit,” extending your shift until 8pm. The system accepts the alterations without protest, logging them as authorized by the Head of HR’s badge.
Your records now show that both you and Mallory are legitimate mid-level or even upper-tier employees drafted into an urgent late shift. This buys you time—precious hours, free from the normal cycle of suspicion, to adjust your employee records more permanently. If you choose, you could now even tweak titles, salaries, or clearance levels with relative ease.
Mallory watches the lines of text update on the screen, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “We did it,” she says softly, amazement coloring her tone. “No alarms, no red flags. The system just… accepted it.”
Outside the office, the halls are quieter still. Just a distant mechanical hum and the soft sigh of ventilators. It’s after 5pm, and if anyone else remains in the building, they must be locked in their own silent struggles. You have time, a badge, and no immediate pursuit.
GAL: You’ve secured overtime authorization and a plausible cover story. You hold the Head of HR’s clearance and have time to further manipulate records or leave. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
Does the system tracks FORMER employees? I have an idea: we could have Mallory and I marked as fired today, and open new files as newly hired level 8 executive, the C-level grade, with salary and perks accordingly...
NARRATION:
You settle deeper into the plush leather chair, the console’s ambient glow casting stark shadows across the Head of HR’s office. Mallory leans in beside you, scanning lines of code and directory trees as you navigate the HR database. The silence of the building seeps in from the hall, where not even the faintest footstep disturbs the hush. Time feels elastic, now that you’ve bought yourselves a late-night audit session.
Mallory’s eyes narrow thoughtfully at your question. She taps the screen lightly, pointing out a submenu. “The system keeps comprehensive archives of all employees—current, former, terminated. If they’re fired, their records remain in a historical database. Management uses these logs to prevent rehiring those deemed ‘unproductive’ or prone to sabotage.” She bites her lip, considering your idea.
You skim through several fields on the admin console. Indeed, the system maintains a complete ledger of employee status changes. Once you flag someone as ‘fired,’ they don’t disappear; they simply migrate into the former employees’ register. It would be suspicious if a fired employee showed up again under the same credentials, especially in a higher position. But maybe that’s part of your strategy.
Mallory’s voice is a hushed whisper as she thinks it through: “If we mark ourselves as terminated today—right now—and then, a moment later, create entirely new employee files with higher clearance and a backdated hire date… we might bypass any continuity issues. We could be brand-new executive hires who never appeared in the system before. The records would show we once worked here at a low level, but got fired, and then, as far as the system knows, two new top-level executives were brought on board out of nowhere.”
She frowns slightly. “The risk is that if anyone compares the timestamps closely, they might notice that these two fired employees disappeared just as two new executives materialized. But upper management seldom questions the logs if they see the correct authorizations. And we have the Head of HR’s badge…”
Her eyes catch yours. “It’s bold, but it might work. The system is built on layers of trust in credentials. If we play our cards right, by tomorrow morning we could be strolling in here with perks, private offices, and the highest clearance. Who would dare question two C-level executives? Especially if we ensure our new records have the proper approvals—like from the Head of HR himself.”
The idea radiates audacity. If you succeed, you’ll not only escape your current predicament but re-enter the corporate sphere at its pinnacle, protected from the very hounds that stalked you before. But if anyone scrutinizes the logs or interviews whoever might recall your old faces, you could be caught. Still, Mallory seems intrigued. Her shoulders square, and you sense that the taste of defiance is growing sweeter in her mouth.
GAL: Mallory has explained the system’s logic and risks. You have the Head of HR’s clearance and the means to edit records. Will you proceed with firing yourselves and re-hiring yourselves as C-level executives? How do you proceed?
Vous avez dit :
I ask Mallory... it's a tough choice, but I think we might even change the names of our current record marked as fired. So our real names would only appear on the newly-minted execs profile. It is more job, but we have time. On the other hand... we can't risk being recognized. I have an idea. We could... fire everyone we have worked with. In my cubicle, I didn't even know the name of the level 2 salaryman from whom I took the badge (I check the badge to learn his name, btw)... is it the same dehumanizing thing in HR, so we don't have a large list of persons to fire. And ethically, are you OK with it? They're innocent after all.
NARRATION:
The office is quiet except for the gentle hum of the console’s cooling fan. On-screen, data scrolls under your fingertips—names, clearance levels, metrics, and performance reviews. You’re poised on the precipice of a daring identity overhaul, and Mallory stands beside you, her face illuminated by the terminal’s subdued glow. The Head of HR’s badge sits on the desk, a talisman of boundless authority.
When you mention the plan to obscure your tracks—firing yourselves under false names and re-emerging as executives under your real names—Mallory’s brows lift in cautious agreement. She nods slowly, as if understanding the logic. But when you propose going further, firing everyone you worked with, a tremor of uncertainty passes over her features. She takes in a long, shaky breath and listens as you elaborate on the idea, the possibility of wiping out entire swaths of employee records to cover your tracks.
You pick up the Level 2 badge you stole and study it closely. The name printed on it, beneath the cheap lamination, reads “Colin Faraday, Jr. Associate”. A meaningless corporate cog, just like you once were, trudging through this tower’s grim cycle. You barely know him—and yet he is a person, perhaps with family, fears, and hopes as stunted as your own once were.
Mallory’s voice is soft, laced with moral conflict: “Changing our own files, rewriting who we are to escape this system… that’s different. It’s self-preservation. But firing everyone we’ve worked with? That would condemn them to at best joblessness, and at worst… I don’t even know if termination here means the same thing outside these walls.”
She rubs her arms, as if cold, and her next words come haltingly: “The people down there… they’re as trapped as we were. They’re victims of the same machine. If we fire them en masse, we might doom them. Maybe not physically—maybe firing doesn’t always mean execution—but we know how ruthless this place is. They could be blacklisted, stripped of whatever meager protections they have. Some might never find work again.” Her eyes turn to you, searching. “I’m not comfortable doing that if it’s just to save our own skins.”
She glances at the console, the pathways of forbidden power waiting at your command. “If we’re careful, maybe we can just erase or alter our old records without dragging everyone else into the void. Yes, it’s riskier. Maybe someone will recognize us. But if we carry ourselves as executives—if we avoid direct contact with our old peers—maybe we can reduce that risk. And if someone does recognize us, we can claim a coincidence, or question their memory. High-level clearance can silence many doubts.”
Mallory steps closer, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. “I understand wanting to be safe. But think about what it means to throw all those innocent people under the bus just to cover our tracks. We’d be no better than the ones who built this hellish system. We have a chance not just to escape, but to live with ourselves afterward, don’t we?”
The silence settles around you again. Through the window, the city lights shimmer distantly, indifferent to the moral crisis playing out in this sealed office. You have the Head of HR’s power at your fingertips—enough to rewrite realities for countless employees. In the end, how far are you willing to go for your freedom?
GAL: Mallory’s not comfortable mass-firing innocents. She suggests taking a risk and only altering your records. How do you respond, and what will you do next?
Vous avez dit :
"I agree with you. I wanted to be sure you were a good person as I thought you were, Mallory".
NARRATION:
A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of Mallory’s mouth as you affirm your moral stance. The tension in her shoulders seems to ease. “Thank you,” she whispers, voice quiet but steady. In the hush of the Head of HR’s office, your decision feels momentous—choosing not to punish the innocent just to safeguard your secret. It’s a subtle, noble choice in a place that seldom rewards nobility.
You turn back to the console, the bright icons and dropdown menus awaiting your commands. The path is clear now: you will limit your alterations to your own records. It will be delicate work, changing your employment history, purging any direct links to your old positions, and creating new executive profiles complete with security clearance and official titles. You’ll need to think carefully about what names and backgrounds to give these new identities—just enough to seem authentic and to blend into the upper echelons of corporate hierarchy. Mallory can guide you to the right fields and forms, ensuring that the necessary authorizations and timestamps appear legitimate.
Beyond the office door, the building settles into its after-hours quiet. You have the time, you have the power, and now you have a measure of moral clarity. The night stretches before you like a secret corridor. By the time dawn comes, you and Mallory can emerge as entirely new persons in this corporate ecosystem—free from the chains that once bound you, and without crushing the innocent underfoot.
GAL: You’re both in agreement. How do you proceed with altering your records and forging your new executive identities?
Vous avez dit :
What are the positions at level 8 clearance? I suspect the company is made of meaningless task at all level. Appointing ourselves as Chief Financial Officer or Chief Compliance Officers might mean a real work, being scrutinized and having knowledge we don't have. But are there positions like Chief Strategic Acquisitions Officer of Chief Happiness Manager, that could pass as realistic, while entailing absolutely no real competence we couldn't build on the spot?
NARRATION:
You lean closer to the screen, navigating nested menus that list and define all the upper-tier positions along with their clearance levels. The company’s hierarchy is sprawling and absurd, a thicket of titles and roles that likely exist more for appearance than for productivity. Mallory steps beside you, pointing out tabs and directories that name executives you’ve never heard of, each with a grandiose title and unspecified responsibilities.
There are, of course, the traditional roles: Chief Financial Officer, Chief Operations Officer, Chief Technical Officer. These imply actual skill sets—financial savvy, operational oversight, technical acumen. Adopting one of these roles might invite questions you can’t answer and demand knowledge you don’t possess. Anyone expecting results from such a position would quickly discover something’s off.
But as you dig deeper, you find a wealth of modern, vaguely-defined executive-level titles that sound weighty yet lack clear, quantifiable outputs. These “innovative” positions appear to have spread like a cultural fungus throughout the corporate world. For example:
- Chief Synergy Architect (Level 8): Supposedly someone who aligns various departments under a unified corporate vision. Its metrics are so abstract you could spend weeks “assessing” synergy without producing anything concrete.
- Chief Happiness Integration Officer (Level 8): Oversees “employee satisfaction algorithms” and “wellness touchpoints” without any clear performance KPIs. Essentially, you’d preside over feel-good memos and artificial morale-boosting initiatives that no one can truly evaluate.
- Chief Brand Harmonization Officer (Level 8): Charged with ensuring every communication, logo placement, and internal memo “projects consistent brand values.” There’s no tangible product here—just endless presentations and subjective design feedback.
- Chief Strategic Acquisitions Liaison (Level 8): A role that claims to scout potential business mergers or vendor partnerships. In reality, it could mean endless emails, “vision boards,” and vague monthly reports about “market landscapes.” Actual deals might never materialize, and nobody would be certain what your actual responsibilities entail.
- Chief Vision Engagement Manager (Level 8): Responsible for “engaging stakeholders with the company’s long-term vision.” A job that seems more like a corporate storytelling post. You’d be holding workshops, drafting motivational slogans, and never once producing a quantifiable deliverable that anyone could question too deeply.
Mallory tilts her head, reading the titles with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “I had no idea these existed,” she murmurs. “They’re perfect. We can invent a few motivational slides, send out some useless memos, and no one will think twice.”
GAL: Now that you’ve discovered these nebulous Level 8 positions, how do you proceed?
Vous avez dit :
I propose I hire myself as Chief Brand Harmonization Officer and Mallory as Chief Happiness Integration Officer. These two position can last forever without having any noticeable effect on the company, and if Mallory is OK, we proceed carefully with the modification of the files.
GAL (OOC): You have top-level clearance and a plausible reason to be working late. You’re now set on giving yourselves new roles as upper-level executives with titles that are ambiguous and non-intensive. Let’s roll to see if you can smoothly edit the records, ensuring all references align, and that the system accepts these executive positions for you and Mallory without raising any security flags. Given your earlier successes and the complete access from the Head of HR’s badge, let’s put the odds of success at 80%.
Odds of success (Rewriting files for new executive identities): 80%
Rolling…
Roll: 39 (Under 80%)
Result: Success
NARRATION:
With Mallory standing beside you, you dive into the personnel database once more. The console’s pale glow limns your determined features as you navigate to a hidden administrative menu. Using the Head of HR’s credentials, you carve out two new employee entries at the highest echelons of the corporate tree.
For yourself, you create the record of the Chief Brand Harmonization Officer—an esteemed position placed just below the Chief Executive ranks. You assign a comfortable salary, generous perks, and an impressive start date that suggests you’ve been onboarded specifically to address emerging “brand consistency challenges.” The record notes your new employee number, clearance level, and a suite of privileges that will open countless doors—literal and metaphorical—throughout the building. You even attach a few generic performance reviews from nonexistent mentors, praising your “forward-thinking insights” and “unparalleled synergy with corporate values.”
For Mallory, you craft a parallel identity: the Chief Happiness Integration Officer. The file touts her expertise in aligning employee morale with key productivity indicators. It implies that her presence in the upper management team is a vital strategic move to boost retention and overall satisfaction scores. Neatly inserted references and phantom commendations paint her as an expert in intangible “wellness frameworks” and “emotional brand loyalty.”
Each keystroke weaves this new narrative into the company’s digital tapestry. When you finish, the system hums softly, no error messages or suspicious alerts popping up. It’s as if the corporation itself accepts your fabricated backstories and manufactured prestige with open arms.
Mallory leans closer, reviewing the final entries. She cracks a hesitant, relieved smile. “I… I can’t believe it. It’s done,” she whispers. “We’re execs. And no one’s going to question what we do, because… who even understands these titles?” Her voice carries a subdued awe.
It’s past 5:10 PM now. The building is likely empty of anyone but the occasional droid, and the HR bots remain busy or disabled. With your new clearance, you can move freely, even come in “late” tomorrow, strolling right through the main entrance as executives. If anyone notices a resemblance to your old selves, it should be easily dismissed. After all, who expects the lowly, overworked salaryman and the frightened HR clerk to transform overnight into top-tier officers?
You can choose to leave now, blending into the quiet city under your new identities, or remain in the tower to gather a few more perks before strolling out through the lobby doors, heads held high.
GAL: Your new identities are established. You and Mallory stand in the Head of HR’s office, the system fully accepting your new executive roles. What do you do now?
Vous avez dit :
Tomorrow we'll have to deal with that pesky Head of HR situation, and I think a good time is in order... Mallory, fancy a drink?ChatGPT a dit :
NARRATION:
Mallory’s eyes widen slightly, the pale glow of the console reflecting in her gaze. For a heartbeat, the quiet hum of the office fills the space between you—an uncertain pause that feels as fragile as glass. Her cheeks flush faintly, the tension in her shoulders softening. The weight of everything you’ve just done, the choices you’ve made together, seems to momentarily lift.
A shy smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “I think a drink sounds… really good right now,” she murmurs, her voice gentle but clear. “After everything we’ve been through, I’d like that. I think we both deserve a chance to just breathe… and maybe celebrate a little.” She brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Besides,” she adds with a hint of mischief, “I’d like to know what kind of brand harmonization strategy you’re planning for your living room.”
The glimmer of humor in her voice is a balm, a reminder that even here—amid the cold steel and flickering fluorescents of corporate tyranny—connection, hope, and maybe even joy still exist.
The two of you turn toward the door, your new badges clipped securely in place. The building seems to breathe out a sigh, its systems placated by the façade you’ve built. As you step into the empty hallway, the quiet stretches ahead like a promise, the faint scent of stale coffee and ozone lingering behind you.
You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. The Head of HR situation will demand careful handling, and the tower’s oppressive grip won’t loosen easily. But tonight, there’s freedom, companionship, and the possibility of something more—a spark ignited in the bleakest of places.
Mallory’s fingers brush against yours as you walk, a tentative, fleeting touch that speaks volumes. She glances at you, her smile small but sincere. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers. “We’ve earned it.”
Together, you push through the double doors, stepping into the cool night air. The city stretches out before you, a constellation of lights and possibilities. For the first time in a long time, the future feels like it belongs to you.
The night air felt like liberation itself, a sharp contrast to the stale, recycled air of the corporate tomb you left behind. You and Mallory walked in silence for a while, the weight of everything you’d done settling into a mixture of disbelief and cautious triumph. The glow of streetlights bathed the sidewalks in gold and shadow, the city alive with a rhythm that no corporation could fully control.
The Head of HR’s Fate
The morning sun rises on a scene of bureaucratic chaos.The Head of HR, groggy and disoriented, is discovered slumped on the restroom floor, clutching a Level 2 badge that doesn’t belong to him. The compromised HR bot stands nearby, its circuits fried, unable to give a coherent report. The system flags the scene as a gross breach of protocol—a high-ranking officer found unconscious near sabotage, with unauthorized clearance in hand.
Confusion and panic spread through the upper floors of the tower like wildfire. Automated inquiries spiral into contradictions. The Head of HR’s protests fall on deaf ears; the system only understands anomalies, not explanations. The evidence condemns him: unauthorized access, unexplained failures, and proximity to sabotage. His fellow executives, sharks in tailored suits, smell blood in the water.
By noon, he’s escorted out of the building by security drones, his shouts of indignation drowned out by the sterile hum of the corporate machine he once controlled. A “Termination Pending Review” status blinks ominously beside his employee record.
Colin Faraday’s Unexpected Fortune
Meanwhile, Colin Faraday, the bewildered Junior Associate whose badge you borrowed, finds himself the inadvertent beneficiary of your subterfuge. The system, confused by the events, flags his record for further review but fails to follow up. In the ensuing chaos, his metrics are mysteriously boosted, and an automatic promotion lands on his desk with no explanation.He walks into work the next day a Level 3 Associate, with a modest raise and a better cubicle. Colin scratches his head, wondering if the universe finally decided to cut him a break. He shrugs, adjusts his tie, and gets back to his spreadsheets, blissfully unaware of the storm that passed just above his head.
Harry and Mallory: The New Executives
You and Mallory return to the building the next morning, dressed in sharp, tailored suits that fit the power you now wield. The Chief Brand Harmonization Officer and the Chief Happiness Integration Officer enter through the grand lobby, the clack of your polished shoes echoing with authority. The security drones scan your new badges, their red optics blinking to green without hesitation.No one questions you. No one looks twice.
The offices of the 42nd floor—reserved for senior executives—become your new domain. Plush chairs, panoramic windows, and coffee machines that grind beans to order. Your titles are gloriously ambiguous. Meetings consist of vague directives and jargon-filled pep talks. You send out a monthly bulletin on “Brand Synergy” that nobody reads. Mallory hosts “Wellness Integration Workshops” where attendance is optional and snacks are plentiful.
You wield your power lightly, content to let the corporate machine churn around you while you enjoy the quiet luxury of being untouchable. The fear that once defined your days is gone, replaced by a calm certainty that you are free, at least within these walls.
At night, the two of you sometimes linger in the office long after everyone has left, sharing a drink, looking out over the glittering city below. The bond forged in desperation has blossomed into something deeper—an alliance, a friendship, perhaps the beginnings of love. Mallory’s laughter, once rare and brittle, now rings clear and genuine.
The Future
In time, you begin to use your positions to subtly erode the cruelty of the system. Anonymous memos recommending kinder policies. Small changes that ripple outward, softening the sharp edges of corporate life. Promotions that land on the desks of those who deserve them. Termination quotas quietly reduced.It’s a slow process, like steering a massive ship by degrees. But it’s a start.
And through it all, you and Mallory remain vigilant, always watching, always ready. You know the machine could turn on you at any moment, but for now, you are its masters, not its slaves.
You are no longer trapped in corporate hell. You’ve become its architects, reshaping it from within, one subtle act at a time.
The future stretches before you—a future you seized with your own hands, against impossible odds.
And that’s the best kind of freedom there is.
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Huh?
Someone was commenting there that we needed a Escape from Corporate Hell gamebook (as a commentary on the cover of the book). Since we discussed what kind of narration an AI gamemaster could do and whether it forgot things, I thought interesting to ask ChatGPT to narrate this situation in a gamebook style activity.
Joshua Randall
Legend
“Productivity is peace. Inefficiency is insubordination.” Is a fantastic quote by the AI. Very Orwellian.
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