Rest, Recovery, and Revenge
Tobias Rieper’s Diary
The care here at GAMA is as good as the brochures claimed. The moment I awoke from my anesthetized slumber, my doctor, Mr Takemi Shiraishi, was standing beside my bed, watching me with something close to paternal affection. In a mellow voice that set my mind at ease, he informed me that my procedure had been a resounding success. Although my full recovery may take a few weeks, it is a great relief to know that the cardiovascular condition that has tormented me for the past two years, forcing my premature retirement from the Chicago Police Department, will never return. For the first time since my daughter, Abigail, called off her engagement to that good-for-nothing boyfriend of hers, I feel … what’s the word?
GAMA clearly spares no expense. The cuisine here is more impressive than one would find in a four-star restaurant. Unfortunately, my body chemistry is still swimming in a stew of post-operative drugs, my equilibrium is still shot, and, sadly, to me, the most delicious-looking chocolate soufflé on the menu tastes like congealed cardboard.
Despite the doctor’s honesty about the likely length of my recovery, I had hoped to feel better by now.
Never mind. Tomorrow is another day.
I’m sorry to report that all of my attempts to contact my daughter in America have been unsuccessful, thanks to freak snowstorms here in the mountains that are apparently interfering with long-distance communications.
Strange. The weather outside my window has been mild by local standards. The storms must be concentrated in the upper atmosphere, or just out of visual range, beyond the peaks upon the Western horizon.
A shame. I miss the sound of Abigail’s voice as I sit here alone in my seemingly revolving bedroom.
My sickly symptoms have not abated. My nausea persists, somehow worse than ever. And collecting my bearings enough to walk to the bathroom – let alone the winter garden or the spar – is almost more than I can bear.
The doctor continues to shower me with smiling assurances that all will soon be well, but my besieged body begs to differ.
I cannot for the life of me remember what I did yesterday. Everything after 9 a.m. is blank. I do remember getting an early-morning visit from Doctor Shiraishi, who was his usual, amiable self, and who graciously helped me walk all the way to his office for our daily physicals. And then … nothing.
I don’t mean to be a nuisance or a burden upon anyone, but I think I’ll call the doctor right now, just to make sure my recent scans came back clean.
Last night I had an unsettling dream.
Abigail came to visit me at the hospital. She arrived by cable car and greeted me in the glass foyer, throwing her slender arms around my neck and hugging me tightly. I was awash with happiness until she led me back to my room by the hand and asked me to unwrap the prettily packaged gift that she’d brought for me.
I’d expected some sort of cuddly creature, perhaps a teddy bear, or a bunny-rabbit holding a heart, embroidered with the words “World’s Best Dad” – or “World’s Baldest Dad”, which is more my daughter’s style.
But it was a gun.
Not the kind of gun I used while serving on the police force: an assassin’s weapon, with a custom-fitted silencer and peculiar markings upon the grip.
I went to pick it up … but Abigail got there first, snatched it, aimed it at my chest, her knuckles white, her blue eyes – so like my own – cold and fixed, her beloved facial features forming a cruel, unfamiliar mask.
“Time to die,” she said, without a trace of emotion.
But that wasn’t the unsettling part. The thing that really unsettled me was that …
… I didn’t feel afraid. Or betrayed.
I felt calm. At peace. My daughter was holding the weapon all wrong. Her fingertips were too tense on the trigger. She couldn’t hit me. Couldn’t kill me. She was going to miss, and when she did I would take the gun from her, and then I would …
Thankfully, I never found out what I would do. That’s where the dream ended.
This morning I felt much better. Excellent, in fact.
I considered discharging myself, but after 1 p.m. my nausea returned ten-fold, accompanied by a crippling bout of dizziness that sent me crawling back to bed.
I can’t make sense of it, and neither, apparently, can my doctor, who continues to ply me with the very best medication money can buy.
Earlier, while huddled under my covers, half awake, half asleep, someone – a nurse, I assume – nudged me on the shoulder and, in German (not English or Japanese) told me to go to the balcony for some fresh air.
I would have forgotten these words, disregarded them as idle chatter, but they were spoken quite aggressively, like a command, and repeated again and again and again until I finally gathered the energy to grunt a weary acknowledgment from beneath my sweat-soaked bedsheets.
I’m on the balcony now, as I write this, sitting propped in my chair with my laptop in front of me, struggling to see the tiny text, and I’m growing more and more convinced that the nurse who demanded I come here simply hates me, and wants to add a hefty dose pneumonia to my already crippling list of ailments.
If I were a less polite man, I might report her for harassing a paying custom–
Mr Rieper walks to the edge of the balcony, searching for the strange noise that interrupted his typing. After a few moments, he locates its source. There is a small device taped securely to the outer railing of the balcony, invisible from view. Mr Rieper retrieves said device – an unmarked cellular phone – and, warily, he answers the call.
Mr Rieper: “Hello? Who is this?”
Anonymous: "Oh, thank God! It’s you …
“Listen. Very. Carefully. The line I’m using is encrypted, but I don’t know how long that encryption will hold. I suspect no more than a few minutes–”
Mr Rieper: “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong num–”
Anonymous: “NO. I don’t. I have the right number, and everything I’m about to tell you is the truth.”
Mr Rieper: “No, I really think you have the wrong number. I have to go–”
Anonymous: “Hang up, and your daughter dies.”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anoymous: "Better. At zero-five-hundred hours on March the 11th, two weeks ago, a small team of heavily armed agents broke into your Miami apartment and used a powerful weaponized sedative to render you unconscious before you could resist.
“You were transported to Japan via a myriad of illegally owned vehicles and warehouses, and, had I not drawn upon all of my organization’s considerable resources, you would have been lost forever.”
Mr Rieper: “Who are you?”
Anonymous: “I … I can’t tell you. As much as I desperately want to.”
Mr Rieper: “Why not?”
Anoymous: “Evidently, because I’m insane. Because, according my organization’s extremely intelligent and irritating psycho-bio-something-ologist, the best and only way to reverse your brainwashing–”
Mr Rieper: “Brainwashing?”
Anonymous: “–yes, brainwashing, within the next sixty seconds is to trigger a rare cognitive effect called an SSPS … a ‘severe subconscious paradigm shift’. In other words, you’ve gone so far down the rabbit hole that you’ll reject anything I tell you, out of hand. The only chance I have to get you to accept the truth before this call is discovered and before you’re summarily drugged or killed by the bastards in that sorry excuse for a hospital is to help you help yourself.”
Mr Rieper: “I don’t understand.”
Anonymous: "Nor do I. So here goes nothing …
“When was your daughter born?”
Mr Rieper: “December 12. 1998.”
Anonymous: “What’s her full name?”
Mr Rieper: “Abigail Anette Rieper. If you hurt her–”
Anonymous: “Why Anette?”
Mr Rieper: “It was her grandmother’s name, my mother’s name.”
Anonymous: “And your mother was a florist, correct?”
Mr Rieper: “No. She was a typist … a transcriptionist.”
Anonymous: “In which field? Legal? Medical? Corporate?”
Mr Rieper: “Yes–”
Anonymous: “Which one?”
Mr Rieper: “I’m not sure. Medical.”
Anonymous: “How often did she work?”
Mr Rieper: “All the time.”
Anonymous: “How often was she at home?”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “How often, Mr Rieper?”
Mr Rieper: “Never.”
Anonymous: “So you only ever saw her at work? That’s not possible, unless you lived at your mother’s workplace. Did you?”
Mr Rieper: “No. I mean yes.”
Anonymous: “Which is it?”
Mr Rieper: “Yes.”
Anonymous: “If you lived in the office–”
Mr Rieper: “–hospital–”
Anonymous: “–in the hospital, what did you do all day?”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “Mr Rieper? Answer me.”
Mr Rieper: “Nothing.”
Aonymous: “That’s a lie. You can’t do ‘nothing’ all day. What. Did. You. Do?”
Mr Rieper: “Practice.”
Anonymous: “Practice what?”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “We’re running out of time, Mr Rieper. Practice what?!”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “PRACTICE WHAT?!”
Mr Rieper: “You know what.”
Anonymous: “And why do I know? Who am I, Mr Rieper?”
Anonymous: “Who am I? Say my name.”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “We have thirty god-damn seconds before the line goes dead. SAY MY FUCKING NAME!”
Mr Rieper: “Diana.”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “Just three more quick questions. And I only want numerical answers. Understood?”
Mr Rieper: “…”
Anonymous: “How many daughters do you have?”
Mr Rieper: “Zero.”
Anonymous: “How many of those arseholes who took you from me are going to be breathing after today?”
Mr Rieper: “Zero.”
Anonymous: “And that’s because your name is …”
Mr Rieper: “Forty-Seven.”
Diana: "You’re bloody right it is.
"The ICA can’t get close to GAMA. The security is too tight.
"But we did manage to smuggle in a little something that will get you fighting fit. You’ll find it in the garage.
“I’ve also just sent you the names and pictures of the men who abducted you, and I presume you’re already acquainted with the good doctor.”
Agent 47: “Diana … thank you.”
Diana: “You can thank me by getting out of there alive, and by making those sons of bitches suffer.”
TL:DR (for which I don’t blame you one little bit ) :
For reasons that remain unclear, Agent 47 has been targeted and abducted by a depraved doctor, who has been using highly experimental indoctrination and genetic engineering techniques to erase and replace 47’s memories and personality,
Thanks to Diana’s timely intervention, the doctor has been thwarted in gaining control of 47’s mind, but 47 is still in a sorry state, isolated, drugged, and completely at his captors’ mercy.
Your goal is to overcome physical hardship, punish those responsible for abducting and experimenting on you, and, above all, escape GAMA in one piece.
1. This must be your starting loadout.
2. You must follow the following restrictions.
3. Before starting the contract, you must go into the options menu and invert the X and Y controller axes, making them the opposite to whatever method you’re comfortable with. This will make movement more difficult for you, and is intended to simulate 47’s extreme flu-like symptoms.
This is how you use the ADRENALINE SHOT (the lethal syringe). You must find a sink – any sink – and place the vial of adrenaline next to it. This symbolizes 47 injecting himself with adrenaline. Once he has taken the adrenaline, he can RUN, CLIMB and WALK.
This is YUKI’S CONTROLLER. Yuki and her team have been hired to make sure that no naughty, independent-minded patients escape. Therefore they’ve woven micro-explosives into the fabric of said patients’ robes. These explovies can only be deactivated by using the controller in Yuki’s room (the controller is the kill list). Once you have this controller in your possession, you are allowed to change disguises. If you attempt to change disguises before getting your hands on this controller, the explosive in your robes detonates, and you die, failing the mission.
This image illustrates where the MEDICINE is located. You consume the medicine exactly the same way you take the adrenaline shot: by finding a sink – any sink – and placing said item next to the sink. Once you have consumed the medicine, you may go into the options menu and set your X and Y controller axes back to normal. The debilitating drugs that the doctor put into your system have been eradicated. Congratulations!
Yes, this contract is very challenging, and you should set aside a good amount of time to attempt it … but I assure you that it’s not as complicated as it first appears.
The general gist is that you start off extremely restricted (drugged, and wearing an explosive robe), and as you collect important items scattered around the map (adrenaline, a controller, and medicine) your restrictions are lifted, and your freedom of movement is restored to normal.
Please ask me if you have any questions.
P.S. Additional notes:
If you get into a fight before acquiring the adrenaline shot, you’ll instantly fail the mission, since you are far too ill to either run away or fight back. So be extremely cautious early on. Which leads me to my next point:
It’s extremely easy to get caught trespassing in this contract. Don’t worry if you do. Just treat it as part of the roleplaying experience. They are trying to keep you as a prisoner, after all. Getting out alive should be your priority.
And finally, one object that you will acquire in the course of the contract is very important. If you waste it, you’ll almost certainly fail, or at least end up in an epic firefight while too ill to aim straight. Not good. So consider all of your actions carefully. lol