“Surely you’ve noticed the others acting strangely the past few days. Perhaps you have felt odd compulsions. If you haven’t, you should take a look at this.” The message cuts to a vidfeed showing the Painted Forest Playroom, where security specialists skirmish with guests, many of them
with odd wounds, terrifying grins on their faces, and tears of blood streaming down their cheeks. Silent alarms flash in the background and text scrolls across the bottom of the feed that reads, ‘Alert: unauthorized weapon discharge.’ The message shows similar incidents occurring in the Hall of Splendors and Green Fields. Romi returns. “There’s some kind of… signal coming up from the abandoned mines beneath the resort, and it is
disturbing people’s minds. Indigo-13 and I are heading down there to investigate, but we need your help. If you avoid the main rooms, you probably won’t run into any trouble. We’ve shut off the fan and opened the door. Please follow.” The communication ends abruptly.

Rhissona Avran raises her gaze from a small, bloody orb in her palm. One of her eyes is a gory socket with optic fiber dangling from it, and the other is wide and glossy black. Her face seems to ripple between pale verthani skin and dark green scales. She cries out, “It’s… it’s on the inside! Is it… inside you? Can… can I see it? I must see it!”

“I am sorry. So sorry. We… we ran across some unusual life-forms. Oozes. Highly aggressive. Indigo-13 is dead. I am trapped. I… I do not believe I will be alive when you arrive. Please, for my Indi, stop whatever is happening here. You must go deeper! Please.” A weapon discharge punctuates the end of the communication.

This room is a zone of devastation. White polycarbon plating has been twisted from the stone walls underneath, metal support pillars are buckled, and other structural elements are bent completely out of shape. Everything bends toward a point in the far end of the room. There, amid a blackened, spherical hollow, is an enormous pile of crushed and warped structural material, furniture, machinery, and a security door alongside blackened humanoid bones. Several skulls of various species stare outward, their mouths open as if silently screaming. Frost covers this pile and the concavity around it. Debris made of crumbled material is thick around the heap. Atop the pile, perhaps five feet from the ceiling and clutched in an upraised skeletal hand, is a tiny device like a personal comm unit with a single blinking light.

IX 130388
Robert W. 113706,2
Butch 131047
Racksovik 100655
Mace Windu 135179
Rick Decard 100852

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