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CAR WASH
CAR WASH
AT THE CAR WASH, WOAH
The door leading into the car wash is locked. You all know that, of course. You've likely tried it yourself, or watched someone make a fool out of themselves trying to break in. (Man, this is going to age poorly if you've all decided to surprise us and just leave the locked door alone.)
But today... well, call it a feeling. A gut instinct, maybe, that leads you to the doorway. This time, you put your hand on the doorknob - and it turns fully, the door swinging open so that you can enter. As you draw your hand back, you'll spot a bloody handprint on the knob - but then you blink, and it's gone.
The inside of the car wash is rather industrial looking, albeit mostly powered down. The lights are dim to begin with, and flicker ominously from time to time; occasionally, they even go out entirely, and it may be several minutes or several hours before they come back on. None of the machinery seems to be working, though there's a faint electronic hum coming from a shelf built into the wall, upon which a radio sits. Strangely, no matter how tall you are or how you conspire to stack things up and climb up to get it, it always seems to be just out of reach - there won't be any changing the channel for you.
It's hard to tell what you're meant to do here, now that you've gotten in. But since you couldn't get in until now, there must be some reason... right?
...only time will tell.
no subject
no subject
he can't see anything. something is covering his eyes.
rough hands pick him up and then push him down into something, and he hears the creaking of something heavy shutting, and then a thud and a click of a lock. he struggles, and a blindfold comes off of his eyes, but it's too dark to make out his surroundings.
it's cramped in here. there's just barely enough room to move, but not really enough to stretch. he can hear muffled squeaking around him, and then lurches forward as whatever he's in gets picked up.
a voice, amidst the squeaks:
-̶͙̘̮͈̞̀͑͛̈́̂͌̄̓̓̚-̸̰̲͓͈͇͇͌͛͗̏̎̏͆͒͘̕ ̸̡̡̻̙̣̭̱͎̄̄̒̆͝͠-̸̡̢̡̧̛͇̠͉̞̯̝̣͉͒̾͒̿̎͂̊̽̓͑̚͜͝͝ͅ-̸̨̛̣̹͔̗̇̄̿̌̋̉-̸̻̱̹͔͚̜͚̅̃͠ͅ ̷̧̛̳̼̭̲͚̤̩̠͔̬͖̱̿̽̇̾̾̌̓̀̉̏̾͘̕͜ͅw̷̧͎̘̯̲͚͇͔̤̣̭͑̀̒̀̽̃̆͝ì̶̧̧̖̩͚̩͍͙͙̖̈́̾͂́̈́̌̋̊̌̆͜͝l̶̳̟̄͐ļ̷̯̱̰̩̝̟̥̗̃͊̉ͅ ̶̨̮̳̹̊̀b̵̛̛̗̻̼̰̳̋͒́̄͐̐̿͗͛͗̚͜͠ͅe̶̡͖͔͇͊ ̷̧̢̨̨̡̢̞̻̟̪̲͎̞̼͋̐-̶̛̛̭̩̭͙̞̂͗̒́̃͑̀͝͝-̷̛́̌̀ͅͅ-̴̧̧̛̲͍͙͙̞̲̤̣̺̹͎̠̆͛̈͛̃́́̽͌̈́̿-̷̡̢͎̳͇͉͓͍̮̼͑ͅ ̶̧̡̡̡̩͉̣̼͊̊͒͑ẗ̷̨̥̞̗́͐̐̂͐̓̎̓̽̓͆͝͠͝o̸͚̤̗͕̎ ̵̢͉̦̭̀͌̋̈̒̍̃̚͜͠͠͝-̸͎̫͖̺͈̮̬̖̰̖͐͝-̴̝̤͈͍̟́̈́̔̎͐̎͊͘-̴̨̦͖̰̽̊̓̒͘̚-̵̮̇̄͆̾̍̓͆͌͐̓̐̕͘͜ ̵̯̽̄͊̆͒̀͜͝h̷̙̺͊ị̸̫̤͔̖͂̄̽̀̾̆̅͆͠m̶̛̲̓̋͐́̈̀͒̊̿̃͊
more squeaking that sounds almost like laughter, and then -
everything is normal.
he's back in the car wash.
the radio is playing, cycling through all the messages that have come through so far. he's been here all along. this is normal.
isn't it?]