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Maybe you can ask the people emerging speechlessly from behind a few of the desks. It's not <span class="mu-i">many</span> people— there's three, and if you squint you think there's another one or two on top of the elevated platform. All of them wear yellow bandanas. All but one are holding large, oddly shaped guns. They survey the damage, and you.
"Who—" says one, and "Holy—" another, and up on the platform someone in a yellow tee-shirt tosses their gun down and cups their hands. "EXPLOSIVES ARE AGAINST THE RULES, ASSHOLE!"
Before you have a chance to say anything, this sets the rest off. "So much for a chokepoint!" "It's Zone 2. I can't stand—" "How do you know? They're not wearing—" "WHERE'S YOUR COLORS, ASSHOLE?"
"What?" you say weakly, and flinch as something whizzes past your scalp and splatters. Flecks of something spatter your forehead, and you expect the worst until you put a finger to it and come away with smudges of paint.
"YOU HAVE TO WEAR YOUR COLORS, OR YOU—" "Don't <span class="mu-i">shoot,</span> Ray!" "Maybe they're noncombatants," somebody offers. "The <span class="mu-i">wall!</span>" "The wall." "Maybe it's a test," the same somebody says, petulantly. "Or an inspection. Hasn't it been a while since—" "Why would Management inspect <span class="mu-i">us?</span> In the middle of Deathmatch? We're the second-highest-performing—" "It doesn't have to be Management." "Who, then. Who would they let in? Who would they let explode our goddamn wall?"
Nobody appears to have an answer to that, and everybody looks back at you, guiltily. One of the people on the ground, a curly-haired man with the group's largest gun, clears his throat. "...Are you Management?"
Richard places his hand on your shoulder.
>[A1] Yes! You're Management. (They seem to find this important, and it gives you license to poke around, probably. But they're probably also going to be intimidated by you, and the actual Management is unlikely to be happy if they find out.)
>[A2] N—o. Um, you're actually two new employees! Hello! Gosh, they really need to fix the structural integrity of that wall. (Seems like a quick way to get a crash course in whatever's going on here, and it doesn't step on any toes— but you'll look suspicious if you snoop or pry.)
>[A3] Some other alibi? (Write-in.)
> Any preliminary questions for these people? (Optional. Write-in.)
>[C] Write-in.
