You awaken to the silent hum of machinery and the steady glow of sterile lights that fill every corner of this strange, alien space. Metal walkways crisscross above and below, a network of endless conveyor belts and surveillance systems operated by your captors. Towering, grotesque figures, their flesh a sickly green hue, ooze with a slow, deliberate fluidity. Multiple bloodshot eyes blink in unison, casting a constant, watchful gaze across the vast chambers. These creatures wear space suits that are patchworks of bronze, copper, and chrome—complex machinery wired directly into their monstrous forms. Each suit bristles with countless mechanical arms, giving them an eerie sense of omnipresence and control, as though they can tend to a thousand tasks without breaking their unfaltering stare. (edited)
[10:56 AM]
You feel the cold weight of a chrome band encircling your wrist—a mark of your confinement here. Those around you bear the same bands, a bleak symbol of silent obedience enforced by an unseen power. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other prisoners, stories of those who dared to question, resist, or tamper with the prison’s foreign architecture. They were met with a swift, merciless end. When the guards’ many eyes flare with a chilling, synchronized glow, the chrome bands activate. Screams echo, bodies contort, and in a matter of moments, defiance is met with decay—an agonizing transformation into a hollow, desiccated husk. The creatures show no remorse, no satisfaction, only a detached, mechanical precision. They are not here to study you or to torture you beyond the confines of this silent surveillance; they simply enforce.

This place is no ordinary prison. The boundaries of your cell are undefined, seemingly open, yet escape is a mirage. These beings, with their many eyes and tireless gaze, create an invisible barrier as strong as any wall. No one recalls how they arrived in this forsaken place, only that they are here, caught in a web woven by creatures who need neither rest nor relief. They do not seek to understand you or make you suffer.

In this cold, alien confinement, surrounded by unfamiliarity:
Who are you?

You are falling from the sky. The terrible howling of the void fills your head - you stare fixedly at the blue-white wanderer, Kar Moraeg, the planet below, and ignore the voices from between. Your distant home, the green pearl, falls away into the dark between worlds as you drop like a thunderbolt. Solar sails fan between your limbs, and you have a moment to turn before the sky-fire burns up the sails.

>Turn north, aim for the snows.
>Aim for the warm swamps of the inner belt
>Let the Moraeg guide you as it will

I am using 4chan for the first time. I was looking for a very strange old site that I once visited. What I can say about it is that it was extremely unusual. As far as I remember, this site was like a quest and was called terminal zero. Another feature was that the site had a custom cursor in the form of a diamond with patterns and techno ambient was constantly playing on the site and many links to other sites came from it, which were other locations. I left an example of what the cursor looked like on that site. I did it from memory.

Recess Quest (Oneshot)

Your name is Lucas Smith. Actually, your real name is Luke Skywalker Smith, you go by Lucas now, because according to Trip Matthews last semester, your parents named you after a character from a movie called Star Wars, a movie that is “For Nerds.” Trip Matthews got a PlayStation 2 recently, not even on his birthday or Christmas, that’s really cool, so you trust his judgement immensely. After all, he’s a fifth grader and you’re just a fourth grader, and you’ve only got a Nintendo 64. In a year’s time, you’ll be a fifth grader, and maybe even have a GameCube, or (if your mom allows it), an Xbox. But for now, you’re at the bottom of the chain gazing at the top.

But it’s not so bad. You’re really good at games, not just video games, but board games, recess games, and PE games too. So much so, you’ve been allowed to sit at the Plotter’s Table. Every recess, this illustrious lunch table decides on a game to play, and over the years the games have been said to be pretty legendary.

What did they say you were all doing today…?

>A Fantasy Quest
>Wild West Cops & Robbers
>Ultimate Tag
>They decided to pick your suggestion, despite your newbie status. (Write-in. Keep in mind I reserve the right to veto write-ins that are too ridiculous.)

You were just a regular person attending university in his 20s. Studies took up your days and on your free time you would choose to play video games or hang out with your friends.

That is until the intrusive thoughts came...

Friends in your dorm suddenly noticed you began acting strangely, fatigued, jumpy, anxious. Your studies began to suffer. Then your family started asking if there was something wrong as they received worrying reports from the school about your condition.

You tried to keep going as if everything was normal...and fine...and peachy....until one day you just couldn't do it anymore.

And. You. Just. SNAPPED!

(This is a CYOA where you play as a schizo in modern day and depending on your choices, your schizo can end up differently. Not all of them "good", not all of them "bad". Examples of different outcomes include being a Orthodox Christian Monk in a Monastry attempting to achieve unity with God or a O9A Satanic Neo Nazi insurgent or a wandering vagabond who collects spare bottles for cash and many more.)

For now choose the nature of your intrusive thoughts:

A.) Religious: Your Schizo is suffering from intrusive thoughts relating to that of a religious nature. Your schizo has never thought about religion before but now seems to be getting signs from the divine and has no idea what to do with it.

B.) Paranoid: It started with doubts whether your friends liked you but now it has blown into full paranoia over whether strangers want to harm you or not. Your eyes wander every corner, every nook and cranny for any possible means to bring damage to your soft supple body.

C.) Narcissistic: Your schizo is seeing himself in a brand new light. Some would say holy light if your schizo believes in such things. He at least believes himself to be a gift to humanity and sees himself as superior in almost every way and can't stand it when someone breaks his ego even in the tiniest of ways.

D.) Violent: Your schizo is suffering from violent intrusive thoughts which constantly fill him with the visualization of harming others. Cutting people, bashing their heads or breaking their bones are all thoughts that have made it to your schizo one way or another. What your schizo does in response to this is up to you.

E.) Write up your own option of what intrusive thoughts your schizo has been plagued with.

Pick race and location

After arriving in Teraburg, a city teetering on the brink of chaos, the party was forced to seek refuge there, but tensions rose quickly. Caleb, afflicted by a ghoul curse due to a vampire’s bite, was taken to the city dungeons, while the rest of the group, including Gris, attempted to find sanctuary. Meanwhile, the kobold in your group, wary of human cities, stayed hidden in the outskirts.

In Teraburg, Gris fell gravely ill, bleeding uncontrollably due to her resurrection through dragon blood. The group sought out a priest who, recognizing her unique predicament, provided her with a small vial of dragon blood—the last in his possession. He explained that Gris must consume dragon blood every few days to survive, a harsh reminder of the consequences of such a desperate resurrection. Despite her own financial struggles, Gris donated her last coins to the priest in gratitude, determined to support his work in the underfunded temple.

The group then negotiated Caleb's release from the dungeons, convincing the chief guard with a bribe and promising to take Caleb out of the city. Recognizing the dangers in traveling on foot, you purchased a wagon and horse, equipping yourselves for the journey ahead.

Before leaving Teraburg, you encountered a dark elf named Zamora, fleeing accusations of poisoning the local baron. Zamora shared her life story: a pacifist alchemist with seven children from various human partners, she had fled the oppressive society of her kind. She carried an adamantine charm—a gift from the Spider Mother—that extended her already long lifespan. Though cautious of bringing more trouble, you invited Zamora to join your group, valuing her skills in potion-making.

As you traveled, the bard in your group often sang alongside Gris, their music a welcome distraction from the hardships of the road. Heavy rain on the first day slowed progress, and on the third day, you passed an abandoned, fire-damaged tavern. It was there that you decided to summon Nabi, your dragon companion, recognizing that Gris would soon need more dragon blood.

Nabi, nearly recovered from his previous wounds, arrived but seemed uneasy, sensing danger. Moments later, a wyvern rider appeared on the horizon, circling ominously. The wyvern was massive, much larger than Nabi, and clearly searching for an opening to attack. Caleb speculated that Nabi had been fleeing from this creature when summoned.

Realizing escape was unlikely, you organized your group to prepare for battle. Ruth and Megara began crafting a powerful spell, while Zamora readied an explosive potion. Nabi and Caleb stood poised to defend, while Gris aimed to strike the rider if necessary. The wyvern descended, its screeches piercing the air, targeting one of you. The battle loomed as your party braced for the deadly confrontation ahead.

Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.


A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.

Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?

Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6098726/

Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol

You are Rosa Montagni, and the raid on the Singularity Cult's cave had began in earnest. Working with an ex-lawman and a bandit gang with a grudge towards the cult to prevent the cultists from escaping, your team incidentally joined forces with a mime - a sort of clown special forces - to rescue the kidnapped clown kids and apprehend the cultists. But soon after freeing the kids, you face the boss of this cultist cell: a rabbit whom Millie is quite familiar with. And he's a serial killer!

At the top of the Shotgun Kiss, where the prisoners don’t see the light of day, a painting hangs on the wall. Trapped within its colors is the spirit of a horrified girl. A group of idiots wants to set her free. This is where you are.

With the former cultist (and active prisoner) Hubbard’s power to see spiritual potential, you were able to track down Agent Spooky in her spirit form, leading you to the Solitary Confinement part of the prison. Into an old dungeon cell to be more specific. Here, a prisoner is chained to the wall, poor guy is wearing a heavy iron mask, and is in a rough shape — but he’s far from the only suffering soul within these walls. Odetta’s cousin, Jaylene, is trapped within the painting by some type of curse. You have little to no clue why there’s a painting inside this cell, but it’s not the time to ask questions! There are more issues to be concerned with… Mr. Explosion-Earthquake man, aka, the other intruder is here! The person causing havoc through the prison who has nothing to do with the havoc that you and your friends have been causing! Your morally superior chaos!

Hubbard wants you to run away with the painting. Agent Spooky thinks you should handle this directly with the intruder, violently or not. And the prisoner… the prisoner weeps because you’re ignoring him. You’ll keep doing that. But what else?! Your options are limited!

From what you hear, the old guard is not in the best track to stop the interference. Very diplomatic old man, not very effective! Gotta think fast!

<span class="mu-s">What’s the plan now?!</span>

>You think diplomacy is failing because you’re not in charge. Talk to the Intruder, negotiate. You’re both intruders, you’re bound to have something in common.
>Break the wall, and jump out of here with the painting in hand. Climb to the nearest window, the closest to the locker room where Aurora is waiting.
>Even if you are unsure that the intruder is coming into this cell, prepare for a sneak attack in case it happens.
>Write In.

There is a saying that when you have a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. As sayings go, this one too can be interpreted in various ways, some of which seem deeper or more insightful than others. In one of the more obvious views it illustrates propensity of someone who has gained a new instrument developing an inkling to put it to use even in circumstances where a different approach would be preferable. The metaphor could easily be stretched even further, to include not only tangible tools, but also formal or informal authority, or perhaps distinctive paradigms and frames of mind.

Of course by that point the original metaphor becomes stretched and diluted to the point where one could be better served by finding a different one. Perhaps this is a point where we’ve placed the metaphor into position of the hammer.

Be that as it may, there is going to be a lot of hammers laying around this construction site, yourself being one of them.

This is story of the space archaeologist and freelancer Henri Ford and his valiant crew – Tufferson Kris, a fellow xenoarcaheologist, Lea’Fari nar Namek, a maiden undergoing her rite of passage, and Eve Ferrum, a woman built to be able to get where she is not supposed to go.

Presently, you are <span class="mu-b">Eve Ferrum</span>, an explorer, a friend, a seeker – and a machine. Synthetic woman tracing your heritage from Systems Alliance secret projects through reverse engineered Reaper technology, Cerberus perfidy and once again desperate Alliance scramble to adapt and perfect every resource at its disposal.

A lot had happened in the brief time between your first activation and the present day. After a brief period you could with some imagination call your childhood in a secret Alliance lab on Tyr you were thrust directly into the thick of the fighting against the Reapers in a desperate struggle for survival.

Even though you had honestly not expected to outlast them, fighting at the side of your makers gave you a sense of purpose, that had gradually developed into something more than just desire to see your primary objective fulfilled. You’ve learned of the dreams and hopes your fighting comrades kept carrying despite all odds stacked against them, sometimes to the bitter end; you’ve learned of the bonds they formed among each other, and even against the backdrop of your primary functionalities you’ve come to adopt something from that time into your core.

And it was a good thing that you did, as when the Reapers have been eradicated by the ever mysterious superweapon devised across multiple extinction cycles in a manner that skirted realm of mysticism, it was those fragments of your self that kept you alive.