Lazarus's Price

cameraAriasDesk: false cameraDoc: false countCam: 0 friendEsther: false hasBracelet: false inviteDoc: false knowAriasComp: false knowCarciaFlaw: false knowPattern: false lookAriasDesk: false tellHMlie: false tellHMtruth: false visitInfirm: false -- You wake up on Monday morning with a strange, persistent headache pulsing behind your browbone. After a long, lingering moment you sigh and get out of bed. It's your fifth month working for the Lazarus Company--named for its founder, Edmund Lazarus--and it's not the happiest you've ever been, but this is by far the best paying job you've managed to find for yourself with half of a college degree and a lab tech's certification under your belt. You shove a muffin in your mouth, grab your messenger bag, and walk out the door into the gray pre-dawn gloom. [[It's time to head to work.]]

You arrive at the Lazarus Company around sunrise, wrapped in a fleece jacket and a raincoat. If not for the clock and the calendar telling you that, you wouldn't know; there's a thick cloud cover overhead and a fine rain misting down. Under the overhang outside the employee side door, you flip your hood down. The pain behind your forehead spikes momentarily, then recedes as you swipe your keycard and push open the door. You step inside, squinting slightly [[in the harsh fluorescent light]].

The employee mudroom is bustling but quiet; no one ever wants to make smalltalk this early in the morning. You hang your raincoat on the hook next to your locker and pull the lab gear over the rest of your clothes. You leave your fleece on underneath the long white lab coat. It’s not quite regulation, but no one will see it, and you’ve been fighting a chill that seems rooted in your bones for over a month now; you’re so tired of being cold at work. The hands of the clock turn to 7:30, and you join your coworkers in the general exodus towards the labs. Your phone and messenger bag remain in the mudroom; none of you are permitted to bring outside items (besides the clothes on your backs) into the labs. At the entrance to Laboratory 9, where you’ve been working for three months now, a security guard (presumably) peers at your face and compares it to his aggressively white-glowing screen. He must be new; you can’t recognize him, since all the guards wear the same dark visors and bulky gear and no name tags, but the usual guards know your face and where your entry is in the database—it doesn’t take them nearly this long to pull you up. Eventually the security guard gives a curt nod and presses a button on his kiosk. The lab door swings silently open, and you pull your respirator over your face before [[entering the lab]] for your morning shift.

As soon as you’re inside the lab, you go to the sink and wash your hands meticulously clean. You’ve seen coworkers fired because they didn’t keep enough outside contamination from either experimental or production materials, and you’re not keen to join those ranks. After that, you go to your workstation, tucked into the inner corner of the back row. You’re the last of the two dozen techs in Lab 9 to arrive, but the carcia crystals you were working with on Friday are still sitting innocently in their boxes, exactly where you left them. You power on the computer and pull up the list of tests that need to be run on these crystals before they can be sent to Assembly; some you’ve already done, and some you still have left to do. As you’re working on this, your supervisor enters as well, and goes to do something or other at the front of the room. The Lazarus Company makes high-end jewelry and watches, catering especially to an older demographic. Everything they make is densely set with the same beautiful, softly glowing carcia crystals that you’re handling now; their marketing materials claim that the different colors of crystals have different metaphysical healing properties, but you’ve always figured that was woo-woo nonsense to get gullible rich people to part with more of their money. Lab 9 mostly handles blue crystals, which are supposedly about helping a body maintain equilibrium—whatever that means. Since last week you’ve been working with green crystals as well, which the Lazarus Institute claims help ease a body’s aches and pains. You can’t say that you’ve noticed any changes in your body’s “equilibrium” *or* your aches and pains, but that’s not what you were hired to think about. You finish settling in at your desk, pull out the first carcia crystal box—this one full of greens—and power up the spectrimager sitting next to you for the next set of tests. In order for the crystals to be incorporated into the actual products, they need to not have any clear flaws in them, and the spectrimager will magnify any flaws so you can sort through them without squinting at each individual crystal under a microscope and light source. Once the spectrimager is ready, you carefully pluck the crystals from their box and deposit them into the machine with bare, nimble fingers. One of the stranger requirements the Lazarus Company has for its workers is that you not wear gloves while handling the carcia crystals; you don’t know *why*, since surely that means they have to be cleaned again in Assembly, but you’re not paid to ask those questions. You’re paid to do your job. The spectrimager whirls before you, green light dancing across your face. [[You settle into the morning’s routine]].

An hour or so into your workday, there’s a flash of pale, cold light and the coworker who sits next to you—you haven’t managed to learn anyone’s name, really—inhales roughly and stiffens briefly before slumping forward over her table, eyelids fluttering shut. Her skin, when you frantically reach out for her, is ice-cold. Your supervisor hurries over and, after taking in the scene, sits your coworker up and pulls the respirator from her face. Beneath it her slightly-parted lips are a dark, bruised purple-blue color. > [[Offer to help take her to the infirmary.->To the infirmary]] > [[Stay quiet.->lab post-accident]]

visitInfirm: true -- “I can help get her to the infirmary,” you say to your supervisor. The supervisor nods, laying a hand against your neighbor’s forehead, and says, “Thank you, thank you.” You and the tech on your neighbor’s other side end up carrying her out of the room together and down the hall. It would maybe be better to call EMS and leave her in the lab, but the on-site infirmary is surprisingly well-equipped and well-staffed… if you can get there, that is. The staff don’t like—or perhaps aren’t permitted—to venture out of their domain. By the time you reach the infirmary, your arms are aching and your headache has returned, an ugly bruising pain dripping down your temples. You and your coworker carry your neighbor inside—she *is* still breathing, albeit shallowly—and the nurse at the desk directs you to one of the treatment rooms and summons a doctor. “We’ll take care of her,” he says, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Thank you for bringing her over.” Your coworker leaves; you hang behind. "Actually," you say to the nurse, "I'd be more comfortable--more at ease, I guess--[[if I could stay a little while?->infirmary stay]] Just until you know if she'll be all right? It was kind of stressful, seeing her just *collapse* like that."

After half a minute of semi-frantic, quiet discussion—during which murmurs sweep over the room, slowly rising in volume—your supervisor straightens up. The whispers quiet, bringing a hushed, tense silence over the room. “I will be bringing Ms. Arias to the infirmary,” says your supervisor. “I will also contact a containment team for Ms. Arias’s workstation. The rest of you—get back to work, and do try not to have another incident before I return.” Your supervisor and the tech who works on Arias’s other side carry her out of the room together, and the room erupts into conversation as soon as the doors shut behind them. It’s clear that most people won’t be going back to work any time soon, and you’re not really friends with anyone here; no one’s paying you any mind, tucked into the corner as you are. > [[Keep your head down and get back to work.->thisisfine lab1]] > [[Get up to investigate Arias’s workstation.->Arias’s workstation]]

You stare blankly at your computer screen for several long minutes. Eventually, the chatter around you dies down enough that you remember you're supposed to be working. Hesitantly, reluctantly, you go back to your own trays of carcia crystals and get to filtering them through your spectrimager. Your neighbor will probably be fine. She'll be back soon. This is fine. Everything is fine. [[You're still cold.->post-accident back to work]]

knowCarciaFlaw: true lookAriasDesk: true -- You glance around the room again to triple-check if anyone is paying any attention to you--they're not, and most people whose workstations are near your corner have moved away somewhat. You can't blame them; coworkers suddenly collapsing, especially for unknown causes, isn't exactly comforting. After you're sure you're not being watched, you stand up and move as if to go past Arias's table. You pause, lingering, for a long moment, looking at her station out of the corner of your eye. No one may be looking at you right now, but there *are* security cameras in this room, and the footage will probably be reviewed later if only because Arias collapsed. Sitting innocently in the middle of her desk is a blue carcia crystal with a deep, cloudy crack runningthrough it. Even from standing, you can tell--Arias ought to have been able to as well--but if she were acting on autopilot, not really looking... You've never seen a carcia crystal so deeply flawed before, and you don't *know* that this was what hurt Arias, but what else could it have been? You didn't see anything else go wrong, and you thought there was nothing to the idea of the crystals having powers, but--how else can you explain-- Part of you is itching to further examine her workstation, but the cameras give you pause. > [[Go back to your own workstation.->post-accident back to work]] > [[Examine Arias's workstation more closely.->look Arias desk]]

The nurse hesitates, then sighs. "All right," he says. "Wait out here, please. You can't be in the room with her." "That's fine." He ducks back into your neighbor's room, presumably to start doing something to help her. While you wait for the doctor to arrive, you wander around the room, absentmindedly rubbing at your arms. You're cold, even in the fleece; your head hurts, and what you *really* want to do is go home and collapse into bed under a heated blanket. But that wouldn't be good for your future employment prospects at the Lazarus Company, and you don't want to lose this job--at least staying here is somewhat excusable. Dipping out to go home wouldn't be. After only a few minutes, a woman in a doctor's coat with gray-streaked dark brown hair emerges; together, she and the nurse enter your neighbor's room, and they close the door behind them. > [[Take the seat next to the door and try to eavesdrop. Something seems wrong here, and you really want to know what's going on.->infirmary eavesdropping]] > [[Take a seat across from the door. Even if something's going on, it's not any of your business; you're not paid to care about this. You're paid to do your job and not ask questions.->thisisfine infirmary1]]

[unless knowAriasComp] You make it through two more boxes of the green carcia crystals before the three-person hazmat team arrives at the lab. Your supervisor ushers them in and directs them towards your row and Arias's desk. [if knowAriasComp] You settle into your chair just as your supervisor directs the hazmat team towards Arias's desk. [continue] "All right, all right," says one of them in a gruff, low voice. "All of you out. I want this lab evacuated and the lot of you reporting to Decontamination before anything *else* happens here." "Are you sure?" asks your supervisor, sounding a bit nervous. "We're already behind schedule, and--" "You'll end up *more* behind schedule if you have another incident," says the same hazmat worker. His face isn't visible behind his mask, but he sounds annoyed. "The fastest thing right now is to send them to Decon to make sure nothing's wrong with them." "All right," says your supervisor grudgingly, which is enough for you and all your coworkers to immediately begin making your way towards the exit. While you're still edging your way past Arias's (apparently) contaminated workstation, the hazmat leader turns to you. "You were next to her, right?" he says. "Yes." "Did you notice anything when it happened? Anything unusual?" > [["I saw a flash of cold blue light."->hazmat truth]] > [["I didn't see anything, sorry."->hazmat lie]]

cameraAriasDesk: true knowAriasComp: true countCam: +1 -- You step towards Arias's desk and examine the scene more closely. There are other carcia crystals scattered across the surface, but you don't dare touch any of them at the moment. The spectrimager has a faint crack running along one of its outer glass layers. There's a flashing red alert in the bottom corner of Arias's computer screen. You hesitate for a moment, then shift position as casually as you can to hide both your actions and the computer screen from the security camera. You click on the alert. A window pops up, yellow warning triangle in the corner. ~~CARCIAN ENERGIES SPIKING~~, it says. ~~LEVELS ABOVE 9000% OF STANDARD. CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL FAILED.~~ Before you can read anything more, the doors slide open and your supervisor reenters, followed by three people in full hazmat suits. You hastily minimize the window and [[retreat to your desk->post-accident back to work]].

tellHMtruth: true -- [unless visitInfirm] The hazmat lead stops for a moment, then sighs faintly. "Damn," he mumbles. He briefly refocuses on you. "Thank you," he says. "That's... helpful to know. You're free to head up to Decon with your coworkers now." You nod and finish edging past Arias's desk and the hazmat team to hurry after the rest of your fellow lab techs, up to [[the Decontamination department]]. Your head still hurts, and you're still cold. [else] The hazmat worker sighs faintly. "Damn," he mumbles. He briefly refocuses on you. "Thank you," he says. "That's... helpful to know. You two can head up to Decontamination--we'll be sending the rest of your coworkers up too just as soon as we get in to deal with the lab." You nod, and turn to Esther, who shrugs. Together you retreat down the corridor and take the turn that will lead you up to [[the Decontamination department]]. Your head still hurts, and you're still cold.

tellHMlie: true -- [unless visitInfirm] The hazmat lead sighs faintly and shrugs. "I figured I might as well ask," he says. "Thank you anyway. You're free to head up to Decon with your coworkers now." You nod and finish edging past Arias's desk and the hazmat team to hurry after the rest of your fellow lab techs, up to [[the Decontamination department]]. Your head still hurts, and you're still cold. [else] The hazmat worker sighs faintly and shrugs. "I figured I might as well ask," he says. "Thank you anyway. You two can head up to Decontamination--we'll be sending the rest of your coworkers up too just as soon as we get in to deal with the lab." You nod, and turn to Esther, who shrugs. Together you retreat down the corridor and take the turn that will lead you up to [[the Decontamination department]]. Your head still hurts, and you're still cold.

The Decontamination department is located one floor up from the Production Labs, which are on the ground floor. [if visitInfirm] You and Esther arrive before the rest of your labmates, since you set out earlier than they did; you're hustled through a quick sequence of cleansing/analysis stations, each working with a different medium and method. By the time you're through with it, you're feeling rather rattled. It didn't do your headache any favors to be brought through that gauntlet, but on the upside there was so much movement with some of them that you're almost feeling warm! At least they let you keep your respirators on, so you didn't have to breathe in any of the decontaminant gasses. After you're done, you strip off your lab gear and change into a new set, respirator and all--the old set is sent off somewhere, possibly to be cleaned and possibly incinerated; you don't know which. "Wait here for the rest of your labmates," says a rather harried-looking operator, all but pushing the two of you into a small, austere room with maybe a dozen folding chairs in it. You each claim one, and Esther sighs. "Something seems... off, here," you say quietly. "I know," says Esther, "but if there is... what could we even do about it?" "HR wouldn't be any good," you say, and Esther snorts. "Certainly not." [else] You arrive at the tail end of your group of labmates; you're hustled through a quick sequence of cleansing/analysis stations, each working with a different medium and method. By the time you're through with it, you're feeling rather rattled. It didn't do your headache any favors to be brought through that gauntlet, but on the upside there was so much movement with some of them that you're almost feeling warm! At least they let you keep your respirator on, so you didn't have to breathe in any of the decontaminant gasses. After you're done, you strip off your lab gear and change into a new set, respirator and all--the old set is sent off somewhere, possibly to be cleaned and possibly incinerated; you don't know which. "Wait here for the results of your tests," says a rather harried-looking operator, all but pushing you into a small, austere room with maybe a dozen folding chairs in it. They're all already taken, of course, and so are most of the good places to lean against a wall, so you stand somewhat awkwardly in an empty space in the room, shifting your weight back and forth. Fortunately, the test results come back within fifteen minutes; you and your labmates are deemed to have been cleared of contamination, but are informed that Lab 9 is still being cleaned up, and are sent to the employee break room. "The lab is expected to reopen after lunch," says the same harried operator that pushed you into the room. "Don't worry, you're still being paid for your full day's work." [[Amid quiet murmurs, you and your coworkers head to the employee break room.->employee break room]]

knowPattern: true -- The door is fairly thick, but the doctor and nurse aren't whispering; if you strain your hearing, you can make out their words on the other side. "I see QC's just going to hell in a handbasket these days," the doctor says acerbically. "I told the execs last week, even--told them they had to get a damn handle on things, or we'd have more employee injuries!--but *no*, it's *not good for the bottom line* or some such--" "Shut *up*," hisses the nurse, barely loud enough for you to catch. "Alice, you shouldn't *say* things like that. Not on--" "Not on company grounds?" The doctor--Alice--sighs. "We've got another hypothermia case, I see." "I started the standard procedure. This is Igraine Arias, she's been working in Lab 9 for six months and at Lazarus for almost a year." "Good, good." A brief lull, with only the sounds of the two moving about and using equipment in the room. A sigh. "If I never see another flash-fracture case again it'll be too soon." After that, they start talking more about your neighbor--Igraine's--specific condition, and you tune them out; you don't know enough medicine to really follow that conversation, and you've got plenty to think about already. Igraine isn't the first person who's had this happen to them. It's common enough that the doctor and nurse have a standard procedure for dealing with it. You don't know what's going on, but the references to *QC* and *flash-fractures* aren't promising. In the warmth of the waiting room, you suppress a shiver that, for once, has nothing to do with you feeling cold, and [[settle in to wait->infirmary doctalk]]

You settle into a chair, and stare straight ahead, faint shivers running through you every so often. Even if something is wrong, you don't want to think about it. You don't want anything to go badly. You don't *want* anything to be wrong at the Lazarus Company. You just want to keep your head down and do your job. This is fine. Everything is fine. It was just a freak accident. Your heartbeat pulses painfully in your temples. You sit and wait for the faint murmurs on the other side of the door to quiet, and [[for the doctor and nurse to emerge to tell you how your neighbor will be.->infirmary doctalk]]

The door of the treatment room opens and the doctor and nurse emerge together. [if knowPattern; append] Alice's eyes zero in on you, sitting innocently next to the door. [else; append] The doctor's eyes zero in on you, sitting across the room. [continue; append] You look up to briefly meet her eyes, suppressing a wince as your headache spikes for the *n*th time today. "You were one of the ones who brought Igraine here," she says. "Yes." [unless knowPattern; append] You don't actually know your neighbor's name, but it's not difficult to figure out from context clues that that must be her. [continue] The doctor sighs. "She should recover," she says. "It'll take some time, but I expect her to make a full recovery." She pauses, scrutinizing you more closely. "Did you only want to know about Igraine, or was there another reason you wanted to stay here?" > [["I didn't come here for treatment--I really did come just for Igraine--but I've been having awful headaches for almost a week now. I don't usually get those."->doc truth a]] [if knowPattern] > [["I didn't come here for treatment--I really did come just for Igraine--but I've been having awful headaches for almost a week now, and I've been feeling cold for almost two months. The cold just... gradually gets worse and worse. I don't know why, I didn't used to struggle with it."->doc truth b]] [continue] > [["No, I'm fine. Thanks for letting me know about Igraine."->doc lie]]

inviteDoc: true hasBracelet: true -- The doctor raises an eyebrow. "I thought Lab 9 was all blue crystals," she murmurs, so quiet that you can tell it wasn't meant for your ears. You shift awkwardly. "I've been working with green as well as blue recently," you say, and her eyes snap to you, looking you over much more carefully. "I'm Dr. Alice Dayd," she eventually says. "And you are..." You introduce yourself, giving her your name and explaining that you've been with the Lazarus Company as a lab tech for nearly five months now. Dr. Dayd sighs at your explanation. "You should head to Decontamination," she says. "That's where the rest of your lab group went. Come back here when you're done with your shift today and I'll check in with your headache." She hesitates for a long moment, then turns to the reception desk and pulls a gray fabric band from it. "Put this around your wrist," she says. You do as she asks. Nothing changes, except now you're wearing a gray bracelet. "Keep this on today," she says. "Go off to Decon, now." You nod and head upstairs [[to the Decontamination department.->decon late arrival]]

Alice's eyebrows rise so far that they just about meet her hairline. "How long have you worked in Lab 9?" she asks. "Three months," you say. "And you've been cold for two." "Yes." "*Damn*," she says, the word a hiss under her breath. After a moment she looks at you and pastes on a strained smile. "I'm sorry," she says, "I should have introduced myself. I'm Dr. Alice Dayd." You introduce yourself in return. Dr. Dayd nods. "If possible," she says, "I'd like to run some tests on you, if you'd be amenable to that." > [["As long as they're not too intrusive, I suppose."->yes tests]] > [["I'd rather get back to work, if it's all the same to you."->no tests]]

[if knowPattern] Alice [else] The doctor [continue; append] looks at you skeptically for a long moment, like she doesn't believe you, but she eventually sighs. "Very well," she says, and peers down at her tablet for a moment before refocusing on you. "Your lab has been instructed to report to the Decontamination department before doing anything else." You nod and say, "Thank you," rising to your feet. You leave the infirmary and [[head down the halls and upstairs to get yourself decontaminated from whatever the accident in Lab 9 *really* was.->decon late arrival]]

The Decontamination department is located one floor up from the Production Labs, which are on the ground floor. It's quiet when you arrive; you're put through three different cleansing/analysis stations, each working with a different medium and method. "You're lucky," the operator remarks to you. "We had to put the rest of your group through every test, but with you we've already determined what you've been exposed to and actually needed remediation." At least they let you keep your respirator on, so you don't have to breathe in any of the decontaminant gasses. After you're done, you strip off your lab gear and change into a new set, respirator and all--the old set is sent off somewhere, possibly to be cleaned and possibly incinerated; you don't know which. "Wait here for the results of your tests," says the operator, directing you to a small, austere room with maybe a dozen folding chairs in it. You take a seat and wait impatiently, the day's events playing uncomfortably through your mind. Fortunately, the test results come back within fifteen minutes, so it's not too long of a wait; you are deemed to have been cleared of contamination, but are informed that Lab 9 is still being cleaned up, and are sent to the employee break room. "The lab is expected to reopen after lunch," says the operator that showed you the room. "Don't worry, you're still being paid for your full day's work." [[You nod politely and head to the employee break room.->employee break room]]

Dr. Dayd's tests consist of a few tests you associate with regular physicals, a lot of gentle prodding and asking questions about how that makes you feel, and scans from a mysterious electronic-packed wand that she waves over various body parts. Throughout it all, you're wearing electrodes on your temples and a strange white crown, also packed with electronics and glittering lights. Once she's done, she settles back with a sigh, looking weary far beyond the years even her gray-streaked hair indicates. "If you want my advice," she says, "you should quit your job, go home, and never come to this place again." You frown. "You know what's wrong with me, then? Can't you just tell me what's going on?" She laughs bitterly. "That's *classified*," she says. "And you're definitely not authorized to know. The best I can do is tell you to get *out* of here, as soon as you can." There's something making you sick, but the explanation is classified--not behind NDAs, not contractually secret, but *classified*. The something has to do with Lazarus--the place, the contents, maybe--and Igraine developed hypothermia in a flash today, handling blue carcia crystals. Blue, the color of equilibrium. Green, the color of easing pain. A pattern of illnesses; Dr. Dayd wants you to leave. Oh. *Oh.* You should have seen it sooner, maybe. Or maybe it's not your fault; you never would have expected anything like *this*. "The carcia crystals," you murmur, and Dr. Dayd goes still. "You handle them every day," she says, which isn't an answer but isn't *not* an answer, either. "They're advertised to help ailments." "In their final form, set into jewelry and watches. Yes." So--*not* in their raw form. In the form you handle. In the form that you're required to touch *with your bare skin*. Fuck. *Fuck.* "What kind of classified?" you ask eventually. Dr. Dayd shrugs. "Oh, you know. National security secrets, that sort of thing. Can't have another country getting their hands on these secrets, now can we?" Her tone is sharp and bleak and bitter. It's not as if the officials who keep the production process and properties of the carcia crystals secret are the ones *paying* for those properties, is it? Paying with their bodies and their blood and their *health*. Paying with their *youth*. A sick, dizzy feeling that has nothing to do with your carciagenic illness sweeps over you. You could quit--you'll find another job, even if it doesn't pay *quite* as well as this one (and you know now why this one *does* pay so well)--but-- Igraine, in the other room, far sicker than you. Your labmate, who helped carry her here. Everyone who's been struck by these illnesses, these afflictions, from working here. Yourself. Shouldn't you demand justice, for all of you? Have you the strength to do it? > [[Take Dr. Dayd's advice and quietly resign.->resignation]] > [[Something needs to be done about this.->revolution]]

inviteDoc: true -- Dr. Dayd sighs, looking like she wants to argue with you, but doesn't protest in the end. "Very well," she says. "Then you should head upstairs to Decontamination. If you decide you do want me to run tests after all, come back here after your shift and I'll do them." "All right," you say, and you [[head off for the Decontamination department.->decon late arrival]]

cameraDoc: true countCam: +1 -- "Why are you still working here?" you ask Dr. Dayd. Her answering smile is grim. "Some contracts are not so easily escaped, my friend," she says. "And I supposed that at least here I might make *some* small difference. Be able to help, in some small way." You shift your weight on the examination table, run your fingers over your tender temples where the electrodes sat a few minutes ago. "If... there was something else you could do," you say. Dr. Dayd is still for a moment; then she cuts her eyes to the camera lurking in the corner of the room. You'd almost forgotten that was there; there are cameras just about everywhere on the Lazarus Company grounds, even places where there probably shouldn't be any--like *examination rooms*, for instance. Just a random example. "There's nothing else a *medical* doctor can do," she says quietly. She sighs and stands. "Come with me to the storage section," she says. "I might have some medication that can help you." You stand and follow her out of the room, and then deeper into the infirmary section than you've ever been before and into the pharmacy storage. On the way, she calls the nurse to join the two of you--his name is Robert, apparently. Deep in the pharmacy storage room, between towering shelves, you're finally shielded from cameras and--hopefully--microphones as well. Companies aren't *supposed* to record both audio and visual at once, of course, but it's not like you're expecting Lazarus to let a little thing like *that* stop them. Dr. Dayd regards you carefully. "I am old," she says eventually, speaking so softly you have to strain to hear her even standing so close. "I am... much older than I look. I was the one who invented the carcia crystals; I was the one who discovered their tremendous power. I was the one who wrought them unto the world. "I was young and brilliant and arrogant. I did not give much thought to their implications when I showed them off to Edmund, and he did not care about their implications when he proposed the company." She's smiling again, but it's a sharp, mirthless, mocking thing. This is not a happy story. "What happened?" you ask, when the pause has dragged on long enough to become awkward. "What else?" she says. "I saw the full scope of what my creation could do, and I got cold feet. I told Edmund we had to shut it down, or I'd go to the press--he owned too much of the company for me to do that alone--and he called me a fool, and he got the government involved. Convinced them it'd be a national security risk, if the details got out. "They mostly still keep me around because sometimes they hit problems they can't solve. And I *did* invent the damn things, so." Her fingers hook on the side of her high collar, pulling it slightly away from her neck; underneath it is a fine golden choker, set densely with an array of hundreds of tiny, glittering red carcia crystals. Red carcia, for youth and vitality. "Did you make that?" you ask softly. She flat-out laughs this time. "No," she says. "It is my burden; it is my chain. With it, I am scraped thin, like butter over too much bread; without it, I would have died long ago. But I am... convenient, to keep around, and so the chain remains around my neck." Edmund Lazarus has been dead for nearly fifty years, you remember. If Dr. Dayd is at all close to his age--she must truly be an old woman by now. The carcia crystals are killing you and your brethren. Your lives and health are paid to extend and improve the lives of the rich and powerful; the government isn't necessarily *wrong* to think this would be dangerous in the hands of the wrong people. You turn to Robert. "And what about you?" you ask quietly. He shrugs. "I was Alice's assistant," he says. "Back then, I mean." He pulls back his own collar to reveal another choker, a different style to Dr. Dayd's but still covered in damning red carcia. "I don't understand it--not like she does--but I knew too much to let go, so. Here I am." You look between them, and take a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. "What if there were no carcia crystals being made anymore? No knowledge of how to make them, no machines, no data--only the final products, out in the world?" [[You might as well make the most of this terrifying discovery and breathtaking opportunity.->sabotage]]

You go from the infirmary straight to the employee mudroom and there you shed your lab gear for the last time. You collect your messenger bag and your raincoat and step out into the hazy midday light; there's still a fine rain misting down, but the clouds are no longer the uniform gray sheet they were this morning. You go home, head still aching and bones still cold, and draft your resignation email. *Effective immediately,* you write, because there's no way in hell you're going back. Days pass, and then weeks. You at least have decent savings from working at Lazarus, and it's not a bad thing to have on your resume; you'll probably find another job soon, and if this one doesn't pay as well--at least it won't be *literally* sapping your life away, this time. Just figuratively, maybe. It's not perfect, but it's better than the alternative. Your headache fades first; eventually, as the weeks blur into months, the warmth of the world slowly leaches back into your bones. It is not the same as it was before. You are no longer an employee of the Lazarus Company. You will never be the same as you were before. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

It's late in the evening now, and the Lazarus Company campus is largely deserted. The lab workers have gone home; only the security guards remain. You're dressed in a spare lab coat from Dr. Dayd's office and carrying a clipboard and temp badge as well as a cloned version of the chief security officer's access pass--Dr. Dayd has enough independent authority to give you permission to be moving around after hours, but you'd still rather not get caught. Robert has been dispatched to perform grevious sabotage on the company servers and corrupt their data beyond all possibility of recovery. Dr. Dayd has gone to yell at the CEO about the spike in injuries--this is a typical thing for her to do, she assured you earlier, and it'll keep the CEO too occupied to immediately respond himself if you or Robert are caught. You volunteered to ruin the Creation department, where the initial raw carcia crystals are fabricated, beyond repair. *"Whatever you do,"* she said to you before you left, *"don't go into the Creation Labs without full PPE on. The techs there never do, and they still have to be filtered out every couple months because it makes them sick--you do not want that kind of exposure to raw carcia."* Now, you're walking briskly down the hallways of the basement level where the Creation department is located; you've never actually been down here before, and neither Dr. Dayd nor Robert know where the Creation PPE is kept, so you'll have to find it yourself. You've just made it to the entrance hallway for Creation Lab 1 when you hear voices and the footsteps of a security guard pair walking somewhere behind you and your heart jumps into your throat. > [[Keep walking like you belong here.->keep walking clab1]] > [[Run down the hall as quietly as you can to try to escape.->run away clab1]] > [[Try to hide in Creation Lab 1.->clab 1 no ppe]]

You keep walking down the hallway. When the security guards see you, they call for you to halt. You stop and turn around. "Yes?" "This area is restricted at this time of night," says one of them. "What are you doing down here?" "Dr. Dayd gave me a temp pass," you say, fumbling in your shirt pocket for it. "Here--" They ignore your pass, and tilt their heads together briefly before turning back to you in eerie unison. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come with us," the other security guard says. You're not a fighter, and there's no one to help you down here; you can't outrun them, either. "All right," you say, and let them lead you up flight after flight of stairs and through a maze of corridors you've never traveled before. [[You've got a bad feeling about this.->CEO's office]]

You hurry down the hall, away from the footsteps of the security guards. Around a corner is an unlabeled door; you don't know what's on the other side, but the security guards are getting closer, and there's nowhere else that's good for getting out of sight. > [[Hide in the closet.]] > [[Keep running.]]

You hurry down the short hallway to the doors for Creation Lab 1, and use the chief security guard's pass to open the doors. As soon as you step across the threshold, you feel an overwhelming sense of *wrongness* sweep over you; pain, fatigue, lightheaded dizziness. When the doors slide shut behind you, the sensations intensify; you collapse to the floor, bones burning in magma and skin frigid as deep space. You will never get up again. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

The security guards take you to the CEO's office and knock sharply on the door. It's opened by his secretary; the man himself, dressed in a suit and tie with a whole rainbow of carcia crystals glittering from his hands and wrists and ears, waves a hand at the security guards. "You're dismissed," he says absently. "Go back to your rounds. As for you--enter." You step inside. The CEO turns back to Dr. Dayd, who's standing on the other side of the room, flanked by two security guards who have her by the arms, and shakes his head. "Alice," he says. "Alice, Alice, *Alice.* I thought we'd gotten things sorted out after your little stunt last time, but it seems you still don't quite understand your position." "I have no *position* at this company," says Dr. Dayd, chin up and eyes narrow. "Not as such." He laughs. "That's not what I meant," he says. "*You* might be indisposable. Your little pet--Robert, was it?--is useful enough to keep you in line, at least. But *this* one"--he gestures carelessly at you--"is of no use to anyone." "You can't," says Dr. Dayd, face paling. The CEO's smile turns wicked. "I think you'll find that I can," he says gleefully. "Who would challenge me for a bit of self-defense, after all?" Then, in one smooth motion, he pulls a pistol from somewhere in his desk, levels it at you, and pulls the trigger. You're too taken aback at this sudden turn of events to even consider dodging. Pain flares, sharp and hot, in your chest. Your knees buckle, and the world goes dim as you fall to the floor, Alice Dayd's furious voice echoing in your ears. You don't get up. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

The CSO's pass lets you through the door, which turns out to belong to a closet that's thankfully big enough for you to actually stand in. You duck in and close the door just in time for the security guards to round the corner and walk past, chatting about some irrelevant thing. A moment later, a motion-activated light comes on, and you realize that you're standing in a closet full of PPE in various sizes. It's convenient--almost *too* convenient--but you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth and accept that in this, at least, luck is on your side tonight. You dress in the unfamiliar PPE as quickly as you can--a full white suit with gloves and a hood--without messing anything up. You hope. After you're dressed, you listen carefully for any other footsteps; the hall is silent, so you exit the closet and hurry back to Creation Lab 1 before the next guard pair arrives on their rounds. You use the CSO's cloned pass to [[let you into the cavernous lab.->arson babeyyy]]

"Halt!" calls one of the security guards from behind you. You keep running, because you're already looking mighty guilty, but they're faster than you; they catch up to you and seize you by the arms. "This area is restricted at this time of night," says one of them. "What are you doing down here?" "Dr. Dayd gave me a temp pass," you say. "If you'll give me use of my arms, I can--" "And you ran from us because..." "I was in a hurry." Neither bothers to dignify that with an answer. They tilt their heads in briefly before turning their attention back to you in eerie unison. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us," one security guard says. You're not a fighter, and there's no one to help you down here; you obviously can't outrun them, either. "All right," you say, and let them march you up flight after flight of stairs and through a maze of corridors you've never traveled before. [[You've got a bad feeling about this.->CEO's office]]

The lab is cavernous, stretching deep into the distance and up to a high, vaulted ceiling. Along the walls and across the floor are rows and rows of machines that you don't recognize, and glittering everywhere the eye can see are the rawest of raw carcia crystals. Dr. Dayd told you, when you were planning this, that there isn't a real fire suppression system in these labs--not becuase there shouldn't be one, but because with the raw carcia crystals, reactions are so topsy-turvy that it's impossible to have one that wouldn't fan the flames as much as it suppressed them. Still, not even the *Lazarus Company* could get away without at least the *appearance* of having something against fire in these labs--and so there's fire extinguishers on the walls. The *actual* fire suppression plan, such as it is, is to overengineer the machines so that fires don't *start*, which is no plan at all. The thing about fresh, raw blue carcia crystals is that they react to most fire suppression attempts by bursting into flame--and *all* fresh, raw carcia crystals are highly flammable, because the cured crystals are inert to fire. You take the first fire extinguisher you see from the wall, briefly check the instructions, and find the biggest collection of blues that you can. You activate the fire extinguisher at the pile of carcia crystals, and it bursts into a white-hot, ghostly blue flames. As soon as you're sure the fire is spreading well, you cast aside your fire extinguisher and set out for the next lab. [[The night is young, and you've got more labs to burn than just this one.->regroup outside]]

You meet Dr. Dayd and Robert on the lawn outside, shaking from the adrenaline high of setting the Creation labs on fire. Robert's clothes and body are clean, but he still smells faintly of smoke; the same is true of you. Dr. Dayd watches as the smoke billows up and the flames start appearing at the base of the building with a mixture of vicious satisfaction and deep sorrow written on her face. "I never thought I'd see the day," she murmurs. She takes a deep breath. "Robert--the honors, if you will?" She hands him a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters, and he frowns. "Alice--are you sure about this?" She nods. "Sure as anything. I've lived too long already as it is--it's time for me to rest, and I'd like to make as certain as I can that my legacy dies with me. As difficult as possible for someone else to reconstruct." "Very well," says Robert after a long hesitation. Dr. Dayd turns around, and he slides the wire cutters gently underneath her choker. "Turn your face away," he says to you. As you do, he snaps the wire cutters shut and you see a great flash of light out of the corner of your eye; you feel the heat against your skin. Dr. Dayd hisses in pain. When you turn around again, you see a dark, blistering burn across her neck and back; she slips the remnants of the choker into the pocket of her coat. She and Robert share a long embrace, and then she turns to you. "Thank you," she says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "We could not have done this without you." "What are you doing now?" you ask. "Me?" She laughs, and somehow it is the freest laugh you have heard from her yet. "As I said--I'm making sure that I and my legacy die together. As for that accursed collar--well. *That* I am returning to the cursed fire whence it came." She turns from you and shares a long, meaningful look with Robert. Then she walks back into the Lazarus Company building, silhouetted tall and proud against the growing fire. Alice Dayd does not look back. Once she has gone, you and Robert exchange a glance, and wordlessly both decide to go your own ways. You may have defeated a great evil here tonight, but it would still be best not to be caught by the cops at the scene of the crime and have to explain what you were doing here after hours. [[It's time to go home.]]

There is chaos in the days following the fire that burns the Lazarus Company to ash, and it only slightly abates in the weeks and months that follow. You slowly recover as much as you are able. You'll never quite be the same again, but at least you have made certain that no one will be hurt the same way you and your coworkers were for a very long time. This is the best you could have hoped for, and it is enough. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

In the break room, you have little to do but think; you have no friends among your coworkers, so while they sit and gossip, you sit there and ponder your options. [unless knowPattern] You could tell someone in the company about this, you suppose, but you kind of doubt that it would help very much. [if knowPattern] Telling someone in the company is out of the question, except maybe the doctor--but you don't know if she can do anything; she seemed very frustrated by the situation already. [if knowCarciaFlaw] You didn't know that a flawed carcia crystal could cause so much damage--technically, you don't *know* it was the crystal, but you're still not sure what else it could be. [if knowAriasComp; append] And you know even less about what the error message was. [if knowCarciaFlaw; append] It's times like this that you almost wish you did have a friend here, just so they could help you get to the bottom of this. [if hasBracelet] Your headache is receding, you realize. You thought it had receded before, but its current further recession tells you you were wrong about that. [continue] You'll stay the rest of your shift, you decide eventually. And after that... well, you'll have a few options. Hopefully nothing else too terribly exciting will happen between now and then. > [[Hand in your resignation once the day is over. There's something fishy brewing here and you don't want to get mixed up in it, no matter how good the pay is.->resignation 2]] > [[Keep your head down and keep working. Even if there's funny business at play--it's not any of *your* business. You don't want any trouble.->thisisfine general]] [if knowCarciaFlaw] > [[Go to a reporter or government agency and tell them what's going on here. The internal systems--which never warned you of a risk like this--are clearly broken, but maybe someone external can help.->whistleblower]] [if inviteDoc] > [[Go back to the doctor and get that checkup she offered. The worst that can happen is... nothing changes. It can hardly make things worse.->later tests]]

Once the work day is over, you go straight to the employee mudroom and there you shed your lab gear for the last time. You collect your messenger bag and your raincoat and step out into the night; it's cold, but the air is crisp and above your head the stars have come out. You take a deep breath, let the scent of petrichor settle in your lungs. You go home, head still aching and bones still cold, and draft your resignation email. *Effective immediately,* you write, because there's no way in hell you're going back. Days pass, and then weeks. You at least have decent savings from working at Lazarus, and it's not a bad thing to have on your resume; you'll probably find another job soon, and if this one doesn't pay as well--at least you're no longer at Lazarus, with its incredibly dodgy safety standards and mysterious, opaque structure. It's not perfect, but it's better than the alternative. Your headache fades first; eventually, as the weeks blur into months, the warmth of the world slowly leaches back into your bones. It is not the same as it was before. You are no longer an employee of the Lazarus Company. You will never be the same as you were before. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

Once the work day is over, you go to the employee mudroom and there you shed your lab gear. You collect your messenger bag and your raincoat and step out into the night; it's cold, but the air is crisp and above your head the stars have come out. You take a deep breath, let the scent of petrichor settle in your lungs. It's probably fine, you think. It's--it'll be fine. Your neighbor will be fine. You'll be fine. Everything is *fine*. You go home. You rest. You return to work the next day. [if hasBracelet] Your headaches aren't as bad anymore, but sometimes the green carcia crystals flicker strangely near your hands. [else] Your headaches persist, and they slowly worsen. Stiffness gradually creeps into your hands. [continue] You're so, so cold. Everything is absolutely fine. Everything will always be fine. This is normal. It's okay. It's *fine*. That's what you tell yourself, at least. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

Once the work day is over, you go to the employee mudroom and there you shed your lab gear. You collect your messenger bag and your raincoat and step out into the night; it's cold, but the air is crisp and above your head the stars have come out. You take a deep breath, let the scent of petrichor settle in your lungs. You go home and draft an email to the most appropriate regulatory body you can think of. You explain about the accident at work, how no one there seemed to care much. How you all kept working in a contaminated space until the hazmat team got there. The fracture in your neighbor's crystal. [if knowAriasComp; append] The warning message on her computer, and the break in the machine. [continue] There's no real way to report anything at work, you say. Someone should look into this, you say. You sign your name to the email and send it off, and then you [[go to bed.->oops assassin]]

You're bone-tired when the work day ends, but you decided you were going to Dr. Dayd's office, and you meant it--you want to know what's wrong with you. You reach Dr. Dayd's office after the general work day has finished, but before it's late enough that most employees are expected to be out of the building. The nurse greets you quietly, and sends you back into an examination room. A few minutes later, Dr. Dayd walks in. "Are you feeling any different than you were this morning?" she asks. [if hasBracelet] "My headache's gotten a lot better," you say honestly. "Interesting," she murmurs. Then, louder, "Would you mind taking the bracelet off for the exam? It might interfere with some of the instruments." You don't know what's in it that could cause that, but she's the doctor; she knows best. You take it off. [else] "Not really," you say. "It all fluctuates, but it's stayed within the same range." She nods. "As I expected," she murmurs, and then it's on to the tests. [continue] Dr. Dayd's tests consist of a few tests you associate with regular physicals, a lot of gentle prodding and asking questions about how that makes you feel, and scans from a mysterious electronic-packed wand that she waves over various body parts. Throughout it all, you're wearing electrodes on your temples and a strange white crown, also packed with electronics and glittering lights. Once she's done, she settles back with a sigh, looking weary far beyond the years even her gray-streaked hair indicates. "If you want my advice," she says, "you should quit your job, go home, and never come to this place again." You frown. "You know what's wrong with me, then? Can't you just tell me what's going on?" She laughs bitterly. "That's *classified*," she says. "And you're definitely not authorized to know. The best I can do is tell you to get *out* of here, as soon as you can." [if knowPattern] There's something making you sick, but the explanation is classified--not behind NDAs, not contractually secret, but *classified*. The something has to do with Lazarus--the place, the contents, maybe--and Igraine developed hypothermia in a flash today, handling blue carcia crystals. Blue, the color of equilibrium. Green, the color of easing pain. A pattern of illnesses; Dr. Dayd wants you to leave. Oh. *Oh.* You should have seen it sooner, maybe. Or maybe it's not your fault; you never would have expected anything like *this*. "The carcia crystals," you murmur, and Dr. Dayd goes still. "You handle them every day," she says, which isn't an answer but isn't *not* an answer, either. "They're advertised to help ailments." "In their final form, set into jewelry and watches. Yes." So--*not* in their raw form. In the form you handle. In the form that you're required to touch *with your bare skin*. Fuck. *Fuck.* "What kind of classified?" you ask eventually. Dr. Dayd shrugs. "Oh, you know. National security secrets, that sort of thing. Can't have another country getting their hands on these secrets, now can we?" Her tone is sharp and bleak and bitter. It's not as if the officials who keep the production process and properties of the carcia crystals secret are the ones *paying* for those properties, is it? Paying with their bodies and their blood and their *health*. Paying with their *youth*. A sick, dizzy feeling that has nothing to do with your carciagenic illness sweeps over you. You could quit--you'll find another job, even if it doesn't pay *quite* as well as this one (and you know now why this one *does* pay so well)--but-- Igraine, in the other room, far sicker than you. Your labmate, who helped carry her here. Everyone who's been struck by these illnesses, these afflictions, from working here. Yourself. Shouldn't you demand justice, for all of you? Have you the strength to do it? > [[Take Dr. Dayd's advice and quietly resign.->resignation 3]] > [[Something needs to be done about this.->revolution 2]] [else] "I don't understand," you say. She sighs, and says, "I hope--for your own sake--that you never do. But I can tell you this much: as long as you work here, you will not recover. Your condition will only deteriorate further from here." [if hasBracelet && !knowPattern] "Can I keep the bracelet?" you ask. "Or do you need that back?" Dr. Dayd looks weary, but she says, "I suppose you might as well; it might even ease your recovery. I do not expect it should make it worse. Use it as sparingly as you can bear to." You nod and pick the bracelet up, tucking it into your pocket. [unless knowPattern] You decide that at this point, the best you can do for yourself is [[follow Dr. Dayd's advice.->resignation 3]]

You go from the infirmary straight to the employee mudroom and there you shed your lab gear for the last time. You collect your messenger bag and your raincoat and step out into the night; it's cold, but the air is crisp and above your head the stars have come out. You take a deep breath, let the scent of petrichor settle in your lungs. You go home, head still aching and bones still cold, and draft your resignation email. *Effective immediately,* you write, because there's no way in hell you're going back. [if knowPattern] Days pass, and then weeks. You at least have decent savings from working at Lazarus, and it's not a bad thing to have on your resume; you'll probably find another job soon, and if this one doesn't pay as well--at least it won't be *literally* sapping your life away, this time. Just figuratively, maybe. [else] Days pass, and then weeks. You at least have decent savings from working at Lazarus, and it's not a bad thing to have on your resume; you'll probably find another job soon, and if this one doesn't pay as well--at least you're no longer under whatever terrible influence Dr. Dayd feared for you. [continue] It's not perfect, but it's better than the alternative. Your headache fades first; eventually, as the weeks blur into months, the warmth of the world slowly leaches back into your bones. It is not the same as it was before. You are no longer an employee of the Lazarus Company. You will never be the same as you were before. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!

You wake suddenly in the middle of the night to the sound of someone moving about in your room. You open your eyes to see a shadowy figure leaning over you; before you can gather your wits and do anything--in your defense, you *were* asleep only moments ago--there's a sharp pinching pain in your neck and the world begins to blur. "Lazarus sends his regards," the figure murmurs. Everything goes black. You do not wake up. *** [align center] *The End* [continue] *** Thanks for playing *Lazarus's Price*! I hope you had fun--I've certainly had fun writing it. If you'd like to play again, click the ~~RESTART~~ button at the bottom right to return to the beginning. If you feel so inclined, you can go back to ao3 to leave comments and/or kudos!