conversations: human
conversations:  A mere hour ago, a man in a white suit came to your cell.  You vaguely recognize him as one of the doctors, one you haven't seen since you were admitted.  He opens the door, and two of the guards come into the room and put you into a jacket you have became all too accustomed to.   They drag you into a room where some others are already strapped down to tables.
  
  As soon as the last man is strapped in, they begin injecting you with various liquids, most of which you do not recognize.  You begin to feel faint.  You pass out mere moments later.
  
  A white rabbit in a suit coat flashes across your vision.
  
  A door slams.
  
  A sneeze echos on for hours.
  
  A bell rings.
  
  You wake up, still hooked onto the table by thick leather straps.  There is a hole in the ceiling, a canon ball lodged into the wall.  Shouts and gunshots echo through the building, you see smoke rising outside.  You look around to the others around you, wondering what you are going to do next.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  If everyone could post out of character remarks in spoilers, I would appreciate it.  The same goes for any rolls you make for skill checks.
   
conversations: JackTR69:
conversations: human
conversations:  Geoffrey strains against the straps and looks around and groans. He flops back down on the table and lies still.  "Oh God. I'm locked to a table and they're probably going to come and kill us. Well, let 'em, I say." 
conversations: Xsesiv:
conversations: human
conversations:  Emilio 
  
  The slight boy with the blond hair takes the prospect of being in a combat zone in a less accepting manner.
  
   "HERR DOCTOR! HERR DOCTOR!,"  he shouts. His bare arm whips against the restraint of the chord.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  Strength check against the straps:  (1d10+1)[ 2 ] 
   
conversations: GrassyGnoll:
conversations: human
conversations:  The gaunt red haired child leans forward a bit, looking at the hole, the cannonball. His eyes have an alien look to them, a deep, bright green, perk and alert, and his mouth gapes slightly. He says nothing, and doesn't bother to try the restraints.
conversations: Gorgondantess:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Sir Knight? Sir Knight!"  a voice rang out in despair. He'd been complaining about that rotten pepper grinder for months on end now, and had eventually resolved to paint one of his hands black with soot, having conversations with that instead of the kitchen implement. The leather straps held back the softly twitching hand, far out of sight of Edward's eyes. Sure, it was his hand, and he should have been able to know if it was there, but what he was worried about was the knight, not the hand.
  
  The fingers flapped together a couple of times like a little mouth, and Edward seemed to calm down. Not a word had been spoken, but perhaps in Edward's mind there had been an entire speech.
  
  After Edward had fully calmed down he adjusted his head and looked around.
   "It seems there is a breakout in the process. Arkham Asylum is like a revolving door" 
  Edward's muscles strained and tested the strength of the straps.
  
  Reposting character sheet:
   
   Spoiler 
   From the casefiles of Dr. Hieronymous Q. Wilson 
   Subject:  Edward Night
   Age:  23 going on 24 soon
   History:  When a restaurant downtown, The White Horse, closed without giving any notion for several days some of the people who had reservations there made complaints to the police. The case, not being of a high priority, was handled only three weeks later. Upon entering the building the police discovered a truely gruesome scene. In the kitchen there was a large fat woman, later identified as the cook, impaled upon a rotissery. The kitchen's tiled floor was an ocean of blood. The woman had suffered several knife cuts and jabs, even after her immediate death when the rotissery stake cut through her heart. This, however, was not what frightened the officers involved most. More worrying was the basement, which was a stockpile of dead children. Urchins and street rats, taken in by the woman, only to be slaughtered and subsequently served in the restaurant as stew, or meat pies, or suckling pig. Several of the officers had dined in The White Horse before. The most startling discovery of all though, was to find a little boy there, about twelve years old. The police decided that he'd probably been one of the cook's victims, and he'd fought back. The doors, however, had been locked, and the poor kid had been locked in with the corpses for over three weeks. When the officers discovered the boy was talking to a large black pepper grinder, which he had pilfered from the kitchen and referred to as 'Sir Knight', they realised the strain had been too much for the boy and he was sent down to the asylum.
  
  Off course, they hadn't been able to properly evaluate the gravity of the situation by then. Further research and tenuous interviews with the boy made it apparent that he hadn't been just another street urchin. He'd been seen in the restaurant occasionally, and the waiters testified that he was the cook's son. The cook had apparently had the habit to take in men late at night for fornication. One of these nights resulted in the boy, but having a kid didn't stop her habits. Whenever one of her late nigth friends came over she'd lock up the boy in the basement, the very basement where she'd killed all those children, or "the place with the mice and the rats and the bugs and the shuffling sounds in the dark" as the boy would describe it. Edward is scared stiff when we put the lights out at night or when he finds a spider in his room.
  
  The leading cause for his trouble also seems to be the only thing that kept him on his feet all those years. Comics. That's right, those little rags they sell at the newspaper stand next to the tabloids and the pornography. The only charitable thing his mother ever did for him was give him comics. One every week, to read by the dwindling light of a candle as he was locked up in the cellar. Each and every one of these comics was an issue of the Batman, with in the back a crossword. He managed to identify, during this period, with not one, but two of the characters from it's pages. One a minor villain, the other the main hero. In daily life Edward is obsessed with puzzles and wordplay, but on rare occasions he resorts to a more heroic self. He becomes his imaginary friend, 'Sir Knight', the dark pepper grinder. It was the knight who 'slayed' his mother, not Edward. Edward was locked in the basement all that time, in the dark...
  
  Not included in original document:
   Psychiatric Condition:  Dissociative Identity Disorder, Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (causing, amongst others, flashbacks), Phobias (concerning anything that reminds him of the basement), obsession with riddles &amp; puzzles.
  
   Stats: 
  Strength: 2
  Dexterity: 3
  Endurance: 2
  Willpower: 1
  Intelligence: 5
  Charisma: 1
  
  As his alter ego, the knight:
  Strength: 4
  Dexterity: 3
  Endurance: 3
  Willpower: 1
  Intelligence: 2
  Charisma: 1
  
   Skills: 
  Acrobatics: 2
  Ambiguity: Regular: 2, Knight: 1
  Athletics: 2
  Awareness: Regular: 3, Knight: 1
  Deception: Regular: 3, Knight: 1
  Dodge: 3
  Extraordinary Weapons: Regular: 1 , Knight: 6
  Honesty: 1
  Medicine: 1
  Ordinary Weapons: Regular: 1 , Knight: 5
  Riding: Regular: 1 , Knight: 3
  Running: Regular: 3, Knight: 1
  Sleight of Hand: Regular: 2, Knight: 1
  Sneak: Regular: 4, Knight: 1
  Swimming: 1
   
conversations: MrEdwardNigma:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler 
  Looking around:
  Awareness check:  (1d10+3)[ 8 ] 
  Testing straps:
  Athletics or Strength check:  (1d10+2)[ 4 ] 
   
conversations: MrEdwardNigma:
conversations: human
conversations:  None of your attempts seem to break the bonds.
  
  Glancing around the room, Edward sees something glint on the floor.  Light reflects of a sharp kitchen knife.  It is sitting in the middle of the room, and equal distance from all the patients, who form a semicircle around it.
   
   Spoiler 
  Note that this is not Arkham Asylum.  It is also one week after D-Day, so American soldiers are getting close.
   
conversations: JackTR69:
conversations: human
conversations:  A knife! Interesting, I could use it to cut my bonds. If only I could reach it, but no, in order to reach it I'd have to free myself from my bonds, for which I'd need the knife. A classic red herring. No, no, it has to be something else...  
  
  Edward's fingers slipped across the leather straps, slowly checking them for weaknesses, tears or buckles, while his head tilted back and his eyes focused on the cannonball.   Mere distraction?   he wondered.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  I realise quite well this isn't Arkham. For anyone having delusions that they're a fictional character residing in that very place the difference may be harder to make out though, especially considering they're bat crazy. I, on the other hand, know fully well this is actually Hopsydaisy's Home for the Mentally Deficient.
  That last bit was a joke.
   
conversations: MrEdwardNigma: