Mana Ira - Dining Room

[Admin]

You awake to the sounds of the undead. You have trained yourself to react to those noises, to defend yourself, but you are unable to move. The restraints bind your wrists, ankles and neck, keeping you prone upon what feels like a wooden surface. A tabletop, if you are not mistaken. Above, a chandelier hangs, dark, the upper reaches of the room in shadow. You hear the crackle of a fire, the loud ticking of a grandfather clock, and the incessant moan of the zombies.

You glance left and right, taking in more details. The creatures in question are strapped into chairs on all sides, guests at a formal banquet dressed in expensive evening wear. Their places have been set with compulsive precision. They are agitated by the smell of your flesh. Some of them have already injured themselves trying to break free from their bonds.

In your left hand is a trigger, stamped with the word “Release”. You cannot tell if it refers to you or the zombies, or both. Your right hand rests upon a card that has been stamped with the words: “There is nothing left for you.”

[Ghetto Blasphemer]

Nothing said you were bamboozled like waking up to the sound of moaning ghilan.

"!אה, לזיין אותי"
"Oh, fuck me!"

Mana Ira could not react. She could not lift herself up from where she was laying. Something had restrained her neck, wrist, and ankles to their place. It left her pretty vulnerable to attack from the undead in the room. Yet, none of them attacked.

The Israeli turned her head as much as she could to see why. It seemed that the agitated ghilan themselves were restrained to chairs. It was the only thing that kept her from becoming Mana à la carte. The Israeli wonder why her captor (or captors, she did not know which) could sow their mouths shut instead of dressing them in fancy outfits.

She could not believe it. Mana understood that shit situations were an occupational hazard. It was all part of the job. This, however, was absurd. If "between a rock and a hard place" was ever an understatement, this would be it.

It was then when Mana realized there was something in both of her hands. The object in her right felt like paper and was sturdy. Mana moved her neck enough to get a look. It was white and had only one sentence.

"There is nothing left for you." That puzzled her. She was not sure what it exactly meant. It only assured that whoever caught her at least understood English.

Mana's attention went to the object in her left hand. It was circular and it felt like plastic. Only one word was on it, and she did not like it. What would it "release" exactly? Would she be let go or become dinner for the guests? She could wait for some living being to stumble into the room and then try to get out. Hopefully, before she went insane from the moans and ticking noises from the grandfather clock.

"...אה, לעזאזל עם זה! אני סובל אם אני עושה, לעזאזל, אם אני לא"
"Aw, fuck it! I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't..."

Mana a couple deep breaths. She did as much as she could to ready herself for what would happen next. Brown eyes looked back at the trigger once more before she pressed it.

[Admin]

You take a gamble and push the button. To your surprise, the straps holding you down to the table retract, leaving you to sit and take stock unobstructed. The zombies, in another surprising turn, remain bound. Their agitation grows with your release, however, and now they are lunging left and right, trying desperately to sink their teeth into your flesh. They form a ring around the table from which there is no easy escape.

You stand to see the floor around the table and realise very quickly that the trap you are in is more involved than you first thought. The floor is riddled with seismic sensors, designed to detect any increase of weight. Those sensors are linked to the zombies’ chairs.

If you step down, they will be released. Even if you manage to escape the circle, they will be on you a moment later. And if someone else enters the room, you’ll be caught right in the middle of them.

There are two doors, one a double at the top of the room, and a single, on the same wall as the incessantly ticking grandfather clock. And whoever is keeping you here hasn’t given you a weapon.

[Ghetto Blasphemer]

The restraints released her. With her new-found freedom, Mana moved her limbs away from the table's edges and sat up. Quick glances of the ghilan showed her that they were fervent, but bound to their chairs. Mana inhaled deeply and sighed. At least she was not becoming her namesake for the moment.

Mana placed the trigger in her lap. It left that hand free to unbutton one of the breast pockets on her jacket. She looked back at the card once more. That one sentence irked her, but this was not the time or place for pondering such matters. It was put in there and the pocket was buttoned back up.

She looked down at the trigger again. Someone else in her situation would have threw it away by now. Mana knew better. No matter how useless it looked, it may become useful down the road. She picked it up once again and shoved it into her fatigue jacket.

The vantage point from where the Israeli sat was average at best. Mana spotted double doors on the top floor, a lit chandelier attached to the ceiling, and painted portraits hanging on the walls. Brown eyes also seen another door near the grandfather clock that continued to tick with no issue. Everything from the bottom half of the clock down was difficult to see due to the ghilan's constant movements and positions they were placed. She could not help to emit a frustrated huff.

This inability in getting a decent view of the floor did not help at all. It only exaberated that unnerving gut feeling. She wanted out of there as soon as possible, but did not want to attempt those next actions blind. It's just a surefire way for her to leave there in a body bag. Getting that view, however, was as risky.

The Israeli started to shift to her side. The damn ghilan looked as disgusting as they smelled. Whoever they were in life was completely gone in their undeath. It was not how she wanted to end up in death, but that was an occupational hazard. Mana continued to move until her face felt the wooden surface.

Hands went flat on the table's surface before she lifted up her upper body. Her knees moved closer to her body before a swift movement left Mana squatting on her feet. The old woman lost a bit of her balance before catching herself. She slowly stood up.

When Mana finally sees the floor, brown eyes squinted and she bit her lower lip. She would stomp on the table in frustration if footing was not an issue. Random wires leading to the table were attached to sensors scattered across the floor. Bets were going on that if she stepped on them, it would release the dinner party to grab their meal.

"רק שלי מזיין את המזל ..."
"Just my fucking luck..."

Take the jump? She only had a few seconds before they were leased and swarmed her. The door on the ground floor was closest and the one on the balcony was the safest. Getting to the latter would be a challenge in of itself.

Try to kill the ghilan? There was nothing in arms' reach that the Israeli could use for an improvised weapon. Even then, it would be a fool's errand. She would tire out and be left to whoever decided to walk in and step on the sensors.

Mana did not want to think about waiting. Patience was a virtue, but not in this situation. The ghilan were not a great audience and would have been very bad house guest if they barged into her home.

She started to ponder on plans and tactics of getting out of this debacle. It took her a few to judge what would be good, bad, stupid, or smart. Mana had her plan.

"מנאע מצבה ... לא היום."
"Mana a la mode... Not today."

The Israeli faced the direction of the ground floor door. Mana took a couple steps back before dashing forward. The leap over the ghul was clean, but her landing was noted by an audible click coming from one of the chairs.

"תזדיין!"
"FUCK!"

[Admin]

There is a chorus of metallic snaps as the braces holding the zombies to their seats are released all at once. They move ponderously, but with eternal patience, rising to their feet as was their preference in life. These men and women are new dead, still retaining what little remains of their human side, recalling that they were bipedal in life.

They begin to stagger and shuffle in your direction, bumping into one another, the walls, the furniture, in their muted haste to sink their teeth into your flesh. Their progress is slow - normal for the undead - but inexorable. If their chairs hadn't been bolted to the table, they might make passable weapons. Instead, they are fixed in place, leaving you incapable of defending yourself.

To make matters worse, your gamble has proven that you are playing with loaded dice. The zombies have crowded the door in the room's far corner, an unforeseen side effect to their placing around the table. Your only option, therefore, are the double doors, wherever they might lead.

The zombies come closer, rigor stiffened hands clutching at air, simply waiting for you to fall into their grasp.