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Freaky chat room chicago

Had a patient the other day tried to put a knife through the back of his own hand: he'd been working around some thing that apparently gets into your bloodstream and eats you from the inside. Weirdest feeling having a cat rub hindquarters that aren't there against your shin. As a warrior type, I thought he might enjoy a board game, something that needs strategy. "We've got an active SCP somewhere in the ██████ area," she said. The Hostile Environment Protective Isolation Suits (HEPIS) are designed to give you complete protection from all threats biological, chemical, and to also do a decent job against telepathic and mundane threats as well.

At least I don't have to deal directly with any of the SCPs: my job is monitoring staff on site for signs of fatigue and PTSD, and I'm telling you, that's a full-time job. No empathy, no guilt, no feelings other than fear and anger. "We've got a mission." I gave the screaming monkey a lethal injection of adrenaline into its heart: it wasn't hard, given the fact that I'd already cracked the ribcage and laid the organ open.

He's trying to build a psychological profile of some freak bastard who apparently can't die and can make swords out of thin air. Franks tells me that ████████████████████ is dead, and now I'm in charge of his project. I managed to lure him into attacking my Bomb, blew up his Marshal. Seventy Six started them off with a five mile run, ran along next to the group… hitting the slowest guy with a rattan stick the whole time to encourage him to run faster. By the time it was over, I was nearly passed out on my feet, and then Seventy Six started having us do pushups and pullups and other exercises that I'm convinced were originally developed by the Spanish Inquisition to deal with particularly stubborn heretics. Date: October 28, ████ I wash and I wash, but I can't seem to get it out. That was the first time I met Iris, too: She was the only other one who wasn't wearing a uniform, was in fact dressed up like a video game character (whom I later found out was J███ from "██████ ████ ███ ████") She had this big camera around her neck and she was wearing a very sensible leather jacket and pants.

He then sent his Miners in to take out my Flag, but it wasn't there: I'd used the Bombs as a lure to draw him away from my left, where my Scouts and Miners were. I shoulda known something was wrong when I showed up and saw about ██ guys (and a few girls) standing around wearing tiny shorts and tank tops: none of them seemed to have an ounce of fat on their bodies, and a couple looked like they could beat the fuck out of Arnold Schwartze… So I went to bed hurting in places I didn't know I hurt, but if I thought that was pain, I was in for a treat. Seventy Six met me alone outside the testing chamber. he screamed the whole time, and by the time it was done, I was gone. Break down my defenses, make me pliable to commands, classic example of mental reprogramming. He told me to go down to the labs every day, choose a cat or a monkey or a dog - no rats or mice - and kill one every day. When I saw her, she was arranging some polaroid pictures in various pockets around her vest and pants. We piled into two vans and drove down to ██████ ████████. A lot of young people standing around wearing fancy costumes and generally having a great time in a giant three-block outdoor party.

The flashlight didn't light up the darkness enough, and my night vision didn't help either: just made things even spookier with its grainy green appearance. At least half the casualties were clearly uninfected: civilians who'd holed up in their rooms and apartments waiting to be rescued. There was this one teacher who'd barricaded the doors against the infected, had kept her kindergarten class blissfully ignorant and safe, playing games and listening to music while the monsters roamed around outside.