>>5349371>>5349391<span class="mu-r">I can't hold off posting forever so once I break a tie, I immediately start preparing a post. I apologise for the inconvenience.</span>
A meme is nothing more than an idea that can be transmitted from one person to another through any means of communication. Your memes are on another level though – you can implant desires with a few words and no need for persuasion. However, your mind has been shaped by them as well. It's only the plausible explanation for why you are able to learn languages so intuitively. With every step, you find yourself able to recall the techniques required to unleash your exhilarating memes.
<span class="mu-r">You have access to three memetic protocols:</span>
<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">URGE</span>: Compel a target to perform a single non-hazardous task for you.</span>
<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">FEAR</span>: Force a target to flee from the object of their fear, chosen by you.</span>
<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">WIPE</span>: The target forgets an event that happened in the past five minutes or that will happen in the next five minutes.</span>
<span class="mu-r">Using memes taxes both your body and mind. Once you have used a protocol, you will not be able to use another until I say you have recovered.</span>
You arrive at your destination. Once you have forced open the door to the quarters labelled <span class="mu-s">Inventory</span>, you make your way past rows of lockers, running your hand along them as you go. Your fingers brush a layer of dust off of the dim computer screens that decorate each cabinet, their lacklustre light serving as a sign that there's still a little power left in the bunker.
You come to a stop when one of the screen brightens at your touch and the locker door creaks open. The barbarian trailing behind you lets out of a gasp of shock – to him, there's no explanation for what just happened other than sorcery. To you, it's obviously biometric security. Your personal effects are contained inside: Undergarments, a matte black ceramic fibre jumpsuit, a survival knife with a four inch blade and a 4,6×30 submachine gun with two 30-round magazines. There's also a tablet computer but as soon as you remove it from its charging station, all that you can see on the screen is:
<span class="mu-b">2 2 2 2</span>
<span class="mu-b">2 2 2 2</span>
<span class="mu-b">2 2 2 2</span>
<span class="mu-b">2 2 2 2</span>
Useless.
You're also put off by the lack of a survival kit, but you suppose that you'll have to manage without it. Your savage companion just gawks as you shove the torch back into his hands and begin to suit up. Instead of being decent enough to look away and give you a little privacy, he tries to start a conversation.
“If this place ain't a tomb or a prison... What is it?”
“We came here to hide from danger,” you reply tersely. You're not sure how to explain the end of the world or your missing memory to him. “When it was safe, we'd wake up and come out again.”
