Play@YSDC

Daniel Carter sits in his office on the 14th floor of Ophidian Enterprise's Headquaters in Berlin, staring over old files he's too tired to read. Light slants it sideways through the venetian blinds that cover the large windows behind him, falling like bars of light across the carpet, the desk, the walls and door in front. The computer screen gazes at him with a blank glare. There is something eerily familiar about this.

OOC: Please describe your office. Note, your character can't read anything because this is a dream sequence covering events that occurred in the past few months and people can't literally read in dreams.

[OOC: Really? I'm sure I've read stuff in dreams before, but I'm weird. ]



Daniel Carter has a corner office, with a magnificent view of downtown Berlin out of tall windows on the rear and left walls. The right wall is taken up by bookshelves, containing volumes about accounting and finance, media relations - and some books from his native Ireland. These include Ulysses by James Joyce and a few books of poetry, among others. The desk which he sits behind is clean and orderly, and has all of the usual things one could find on a desk: a calendar, phone, in and out boxes (the former usually empty or nearly so, as he works quickly to clear any backlog before it can build up to unmanageable levels), and of course his computer. Ophdiian had spared no expense on this powerful desktop model that excelled at number-crunching, and the 22 inch widescreen flat panel monitor is sleek and elegant. One of the perks of being partly in charge of the company's finances is that he can afford what he needs. There is almost nothing on the desk that isn't work-related, and he does not have any executive toys that are commonplace in corporate offices. The only thing out of place is a book of matches resting on the corner of the desk, near his right hand.

[OOC: I believe it refers to actually being able to read the lines - the symbols of words. Theoretically, you could gaze at a book and 'read', though maybe you're weird enough to actually put the letters together. Lucid dreamers might be able to do it too.]

There's a faint buzzing on his intercom, as though from the reception room outside of his door, but no one speaks over it. His receptionist has long gone home. It's late but he has to check over the Ixion Construction Company's ... what? Perhaps he's just so tired that he can't remember exactly what it is he should check.

The door between here and the reception room is thick and made of reinforced steel. He had it installed, lying about threats on his life from certain angry parties he had dealt with, when in reality it had been installed because of what he had seen when he had lit that place on fire.

A series of paintings on the wall to his left, that his eyes drift over, seems to capture the essence of that situation. They seem unfamiliar, as though they weren't hung on his wall previously (OOC: They're not there in waking reality) but it hardly catches his eye. Most of those memories are hazy, hidden from recollection.

Daniel pushes the button on his intercom to speak and answers it. "Hello?" he says.

He can hear a few seconds of heavy breathing in response and then the sound of something heavy being sliding over wood and then falling to the carpet.

There is another button under his desk that opens the door between the two rooms.

Something is very wrong, thinks Daniel. There's no way in hell I'm opening the door when I don't know who - or what - is out there. Instead he picks up the phone and calls the extension for security.

"Ophidian security, how may I help you, Mr. Carter?" says a calm woman's voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, my receptionist has gone home for the day, but there's someone in my outer office," says Daniel. "Whoever it was buzzed my intercom, but when I spoke they didn't say a word. All I heard was heavy breathing and something heavy being slid off of a wooden surface and onto the carpet."

"Very well, I'll come up and take a look," says the woman cheerily. "Don't worry, Mr. Carter, it is probably one of the maids having fallen over. Besides, no one could get through that door without a nuclear missile handy." She hangs up before he can respond.

Unless I were foolish enough to open it, thinks Daniel, hanging up. I'm not worried. I know nobody can get through that door unless I let them in. That's what I had in mind when I had it installed. It would be easier to bust through the wall. He (i) listens carefully to what's going on in the outer room over the intercom.

Unless someone in the other room presses the button, he can't hear anything. There is a window next to the door, covered with a deep red curtain. He could pull it sideways and attempt to peer through the pane of bullet proof glass.

Daniel walks over to the door, parts the curtain slightly, and peers out through the bulletproof window.

The elevator bank can be glimpsed down the corridor directly opposite the window, leading away from the reception room. The reception room itself has a very inviting, modern red-topped desk with a light blue base, that is the very peak or organization: a computer as expensive as Carter's, a printer, a rollodex, a telephone and a small stack of books. The sleak black seat is swiveling slightly as though it had been recently bothered. The row of chairs on the wall facing the desk can just be seen - they are comfortable, deep blue and of ergonomic design. The walls are a light blue. The thick carpet is a blue-and-black diamond pattern.

Daniel can see two stockinged feet in red high heels poking out from behind the reception desk. One things for sure, he hasn't seen no maid wear shoes like that and his personal assistant liked wearing flats for comfort and style. He (i) can't see anything else about the heels or the legs wearing them.

Daniel returns to the phone and calls security back. "I just looked out my office window," he says, "and I saw a woman lying on the floor behind the desk out there with her legs sticking out and red high heels on. I don't know who she is, but she's obviously not the maid, and those aren't my assistant's shoes either."

There is no response to his words though someone - or some machine - answers the phone to let him speak. Perhaps security is already on its way?

Daniel shrugs, hangs up the phone, and returns to the window to watch the outer office. I'd better wait for security to get here, he thinks. Whoever is responsible could still be out there, leaning against the wall just waiting for me to open the door. If she's hurt, they're trained to help her and I'm not, though I don't see any blood. And if she's...already dead, then there's nothing anyone can do for her. All opening the door will get me is either killed or in trouble. In spite of my sterling reputation, someone might think I did it. If that door stays closed until security gets here, though, the security logs will prove it wasn't opened and I was in here the whole time.

Taking up a new position, he (i) can now see her right leg is twitching and a rivulet of blood comes into view. One of her hands reaches out over the other side of the desk. It runs thick with crimson that ebbs from her torn wrists. The hand seems to be clutching a piece of paper.

Daniel races back to the phone and calls security again. "You'd better hurry, that woman is bleeding badly!" he says. "She needs help, but I can't be sure it's safe to open the door and I don't know if there's anything I can do for her. I'm probably closer, but someone from security should be here any second now. Tell me if you want me to go out there and do what I can."

As he finishes speaking, he hears over the crackling intercom, a (i)somewhat familiar voice that he recognises as being a member of the staff: "C-Carter...?" Then silence.

Daniel answers the intercom. "Yes, I'm here!" he says. "Security's on the way and should be here any second. Who did this to you?"