The Resignation

This is not what I signed up for.

You never signed up.

What?

You never signed up.

I...

Day 1

Why are you resigning?

It doesn't matter!

It matters to us.  There is much invested in this operation.

I won't cooperate, not anymore.  You will have to get by without me.

You need to understand how inconvenient this will be for everyone.

Whoever this has been convenient for, it hasn't been me!

Very well.

Just three digits?

The rest reveals itself.  

I won't be bothered anymore?  This ends it, right?

This ends our business with you.

Day 2

This... isn't my apartment.  My head is throbbing...

Good morning.

Nothing here is familiar.  Getting here was like stumbling blind through a hedge maze, but without a purpose... why did I do it?

And where the hell am I?  Row upon row of shacks, some made up like houses and shops, but all empty in their own way.  There's nothing but a number on the front to distinguish them, and I can't see the numbers until I walk up close.  However, there is one building that looks like a newsstand.

"Read all about it!  The Islander has the scoop on today's committee meeting!"

Committees!  It's all I've ever known.  The only conceivable news worth reporting about a committee would be its dissolution.  Nothing can exist without them looking coldly over every shoulder like a live-in mother-in-law.

The Islander is 20 pages of drivel, with nothing but blurbs about generic events that could happen anywhere.  I need to explore more.

It looks like one of the buildings is a bar, though it's not clear from the outside.  Inside, the place is deserted except for the bartender and a pair of roughly dressed locals in the back.  One of them wants to play table tennis with me, offering free drinks in exchange.

I don't know why I won, but I did.  Damn, this place got crowded quickly... who are all of these people?  They all look different, but somehow aren't.  The crowd is putting me on edge.

You deserve to relax for a while.

Pushing through the people to the bar is surprisingly easy, considering how densely they're packed in; they all move aside when I approach, as if they were already watching my movements.

I haven't had anything to drink yet, but the room spins like I'm four deep, and the stool feels more like a knife's edge than a cushion.  The bartender offers me a drink, but I pause before accepting, letting my eyes scan the room one more time.

Maybe I'll keep my credits.

Moving further down the road, I spot what appears to be a church.  I can't discern anything that would indicate what denomination it is, however.  I don't suppose it matters... I have no faith to speak of, but the isolation is overwhelming.  I need human contact.

I can't take it anymore, this place reeks like an empty bottle.  None of these people seem like they are actually here.  My questions are met with questions and nothing happens.

You will adjust in time.

Worst of all, it sometimes seems as if I can't control my own thoughts.  It's like being pulled by both arms in the middle of a deserted gymnasium.

I need to escape, but how?  There are more buildings here, maybe if I can find out more about the island, I will find a way off.

The story continues...