Post by Liar Game on Oct 22, 2011 1:49:03 GMT
Holding your glossy black invite in hand, you wait anxiously for the chaperone to arrive. You dressed in your best outfit, dug out from some black-tie event you went to a few years ago. As you wonder whether you forgot anything, a black limousine turns the corner and parks outside your home. A man in a simple white mask steps out of the driver's seat and addresses you:
"Ah, I take it you are ready? Excellent," he speaks calmly, professionally, opening the back door of the car. "Please take a seat inside once you are ready to leave. Make yourself comfortable."
As you step inside the spacious vehicle, the car pulls away smoothly, and you watch the familiar homes dissolve into nothingness as the car journeys away. It stops at a set of traffic lights, and for the first time, the attendant addresses you over the intercom:
"Are you comfortable there?"
You are. The interior is soft and comfortable, and they have even provided a TV for you. On your murmur of assent, you hear a click, and suddenly two black boxes slide out from beneath the driver's and passenger's seats respectively.
"Please pick up these boxes and open them," the driver says.
You open them up and discover a mask inside each one.
"You have until we arrive at our destination to choose one of the masks," the driver explains as the traffic lights turn green. "Your mask is unique, and will be of great importance when we arrive at the venue."
You look at the two masks as their blank eyeholes gaze back at you. You're reminded of the dealers, of the officers, of the very driver escorting you to your next challenge. You wonder what they have in store for you.
It is dark when you arrive at the destination: an old ancient-looking manor house. There appear to be night lights on the lawn, a gazebo erected for a party of some sort. Your driver turns off the ignition and addresses you.
"We have arrived. Please put on your chosen mask and keep it on at all times. The hosts of the Masquerade Ball request your face is covered at all times," he explains, before apologetically offering an addenum: "It's nothing personal. We just don't want to see your face. Value your anonymity."
The door opens, and you step out, looking around at your surroundings as you walk the illuminated pathway. Everyone is in tuxedos and ball gowns. Masks cover the guests faces; antiquated masks mingling with modern ones, simple designs and elaborate patterns glistening in the moonlight.
Suddenly, it occurs to you how many people are here. It's way more than you anticipated. You count fifteen heads, including yourself. No, sixteen; another black limousine has arrived after you and a new guest is coming down the path. Then seventeen, then twenty...
What is going on?
As the crowd swells, you're forced to realise you don't know who most of these people are. Resisting temptation to yell your identity at the top of your lungs, you instead take your driver's advice and keep your head down and mingle anonymously, listening to the string quartet (all wearing matching harlequin masks) play a slow, morose tune that matches the dimly-lit lawn gathering, the undercurrents of tension.
Soon, a Dealer stands behind a lectern and addresses you all. A hush falls over the crowd as the masked mass of anonymous guests listen to their anonymous host.
All of a sudden, you realise this evening is going to take a dramatic turn for the worse.
"Ah, I take it you are ready? Excellent," he speaks calmly, professionally, opening the back door of the car. "Please take a seat inside once you are ready to leave. Make yourself comfortable."
As you step inside the spacious vehicle, the car pulls away smoothly, and you watch the familiar homes dissolve into nothingness as the car journeys away. It stops at a set of traffic lights, and for the first time, the attendant addresses you over the intercom:
"Are you comfortable there?"
You are. The interior is soft and comfortable, and they have even provided a TV for you. On your murmur of assent, you hear a click, and suddenly two black boxes slide out from beneath the driver's and passenger's seats respectively.
"Please pick up these boxes and open them," the driver says.
You open them up and discover a mask inside each one.
"You have until we arrive at our destination to choose one of the masks," the driver explains as the traffic lights turn green. "Your mask is unique, and will be of great importance when we arrive at the venue."
You look at the two masks as their blank eyeholes gaze back at you. You're reminded of the dealers, of the officers, of the very driver escorting you to your next challenge. You wonder what they have in store for you.
It is dark when you arrive at the destination: an old ancient-looking manor house. There appear to be night lights on the lawn, a gazebo erected for a party of some sort. Your driver turns off the ignition and addresses you.
"We have arrived. Please put on your chosen mask and keep it on at all times. The hosts of the Masquerade Ball request your face is covered at all times," he explains, before apologetically offering an addenum: "It's nothing personal. We just don't want to see your face. Value your anonymity."
The door opens, and you step out, looking around at your surroundings as you walk the illuminated pathway. Everyone is in tuxedos and ball gowns. Masks cover the guests faces; antiquated masks mingling with modern ones, simple designs and elaborate patterns glistening in the moonlight.
Suddenly, it occurs to you how many people are here. It's way more than you anticipated. You count fifteen heads, including yourself. No, sixteen; another black limousine has arrived after you and a new guest is coming down the path. Then seventeen, then twenty...
What is going on?
As the crowd swells, you're forced to realise you don't know who most of these people are. Resisting temptation to yell your identity at the top of your lungs, you instead take your driver's advice and keep your head down and mingle anonymously, listening to the string quartet (all wearing matching harlequin masks) play a slow, morose tune that matches the dimly-lit lawn gathering, the undercurrents of tension.
Soon, a Dealer stands behind a lectern and addresses you all. A hush falls over the crowd as the masked mass of anonymous guests listen to their anonymous host.
All of a sudden, you realise this evening is going to take a dramatic turn for the worse.