GREEN PLAYER:

Deep breaths.
10..
9..
8..
That question.
It brings a horrific grimace to my face.
My answer is obvious.
7..
6..
I was brought up to hate them and everything they stand for.
The kings of Valhalla.
But part of my duty is to respect them until their very last drop of blood has been split upon unholy ground.
5..
4..
It takes all of my will power to keep from telling this clown fucker to release me from this pod or I`ll rip his testicles inside out through his throat.
True story. Managed to kill a rottweiler assassin sent by Balder himself in such a way.
3..
2..
Calm.
I remain calm.
``Born ready...``

WHITE PLAYER: TUBULAR RASA

At first, your mind is blank. You don’t remember anything about your past but you know that you don’t know about your past. It is as if you are aware of something you cannot comprehend. It feels like you are being reborn from the womb of some alien mother. You know nothing of this new world save a vague feeling of familiarity. Everything has a surreal quality to it now as your eyes begin to function.

It is as if you were the chrysalis and now you cannot remember ever being the catapiller. You feel rather like something forged from previous material. Yet in all this you feel brand new. There is nothing beyond your base material assigning you as who you are other than the ever elusive situations of here and now. Both of these you are certain are happening for the first time and thus through some intuitive thinking you conclude, that you must be conscious for the first time. Like aroused from some fictitious dream, the sleeper awakens.

From a milky white wet-eyed blur you begin to pull your visual surroundings into focus. You can hear hissing all around you and you know that you are enclosed in cold metal. You can only tilt your head a few degrees in each direction and your arms and legs are strapped into place as if you were standing up straight. You feel as though you are vertical but that you had been horizontal for a long duration previous.

A small television screen sits uncomfortably close to your face. It is about half-a-foot squared with rounded edges and it is jammed up so close to your face it takes up nearly all of your immediate view. It has the intrusive quality of an aggravating conversationalist yet displays the simple phrase: “Please Stand By …”

A light static of elevator music is barely audible from its single speaker. You practically have to hold your breath to hear it. The melody is strangely recognizable and almost primordial as if it were the tune your mother would hum when you were a child. You know you were a child, but again as you try and recall your childhood, you draw a blank. There were words to this song, you remember that much. The part coming up, this is the part that you remember. The words come hauntingly each one the harbinger of the next.

“Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,' said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave!”

The speaker is playing musack of The Eagles song Hotel California. How odd, you think but the truth is you really have no idea why.

RED PLAYER: finding my way

standing up I look around the room and try to wipe the cold sweat from my face. I begin to search the room methodically heading down the hallway in search of anything that might help me get out of here. Man I need a drink I don't know what brought me here or why I have this list but I know I gotta get out of here by any means necessary.