Morgan accepts that she's going to die, presses the button that will make it happen, and... wakes up in a bed.
So far, so nauseatingly familiar, but for a number of glaring details. Her surroundings are out-of-date and unrecognisable, for one. But on top of that, she feels heavy and slow, and it doesn't shake off the way that the grogginess of sleep might; the sensation of her own stretching muscles as she sits up makes her stomach recoil. And the world is silent in a way that has nothing to do with sound; it's as if her mind has a face and someone's holding a pillow over it.
She reaches instinctively for her powers, or for the whisper of coral, and finds nothing. As if the null wave did what Alex said it would and burnt everything alien out of her. As if she was wrong about him at the end. As if everything is suddenly so, so, so much worse than it already was.
Morgan is struck by a sense of loss so deep and vicious that, with no idea that she's about to be someone's least favourite alarm clock, she opens her mouth and screams.
ii. fucking around
Later that same morning, Morgan is outside smashing windows. The process is simple and efficient: smash, stare through the hole as if expecting to see something she didn't see through the glass, and move on. Non-windows aren't safe: she's also hitting several walls.
It's not difficult to source a simple arsenal from a 60s suburban home. A hammer and a steak knife form the backbone of Morgan's melee options, and she brandishes a lawn dart with intent. She's walked as far as her patience could stand without hitting an invisible wall, and now it's time to call Alex's bluff, and pray that it's still his bluff.
Even if you don't stop her for a nice chat, you may enjoy the sounds of scared and affronted locals in her wake. Or you may witness, in short order, an angry-looking Morgan getting very swiftly arrested. She demands to see Alex as if the cops should know who that is, and, because she's made a grave miscalculation, she doesn't resist arrest until she's long out of sight.
iii. finding out
It's no longer the same day, though the controlled burn has not yet begun, and someone is trying to get through your front door. Yes yours!
Judging by their uncoordinated noises, this would-be home invader's heart isn't really in it. Before long there's a jangle of keys being dropped on the ground (stupid bastard things wouldn't fit in the lock how come it keeps moving about), followed by the thump of something much heavier also being dropped on the ground.
Act fast, because Morgan is fucked up on TV and haloperidol and she's like 30 seconds away from taking a big nap right here on your doorstep.
Morgan Yu | Prey (2017 game) | OTA
Morgan accepts that she's going to die, presses the button that will make it happen, and... wakes up in a bed.
So far, so nauseatingly familiar, but for a number of glaring details. Her surroundings are out-of-date and unrecognisable, for one. But on top of that, she feels heavy and slow, and it doesn't shake off the way that the grogginess of sleep might; the sensation of her own stretching muscles as she sits up makes her stomach recoil. And the world is silent in a way that has nothing to do with sound; it's as if her mind has a face and someone's holding a pillow over it.
She reaches instinctively for her powers, or for the whisper of coral, and finds nothing. As if the null wave did what Alex said it would and burnt everything alien out of her. As if she was wrong about him at the end. As if everything is suddenly so, so, so much worse than it already was.
Morgan is struck by a sense of loss so deep and vicious that, with no idea that she's about to be someone's least favourite alarm clock, she opens her mouth and screams.
ii. fucking around
Later that same morning, Morgan is outside smashing windows. The process is simple and efficient: smash, stare through the hole as if expecting to see something she didn't see through the glass, and move on. Non-windows aren't safe: she's also hitting several walls.
It's not difficult to source a simple arsenal from a 60s suburban home. A hammer and a steak knife form the backbone of Morgan's melee options, and she brandishes a lawn dart with intent. She's walked as far as her patience could stand without hitting an invisible wall, and now it's time to call Alex's bluff, and pray that it's still his bluff.
Even if you don't stop her for a nice chat, you may enjoy the sounds of scared and affronted locals in her wake. Or you may witness, in short order, an angry-looking Morgan getting very swiftly arrested. She demands to see Alex as if the cops should know who that is, and, because she's made a grave miscalculation, she doesn't resist arrest until she's long out of sight.
iii. finding out
It's no longer the same day, though the controlled burn has not yet begun, and someone is trying to get through your front door. Yes yours!
Judging by their uncoordinated noises, this would-be home invader's heart isn't really in it. Before long there's a jangle of keys being dropped on the ground (stupid bastard things wouldn't fit in the lock how come it keeps moving about), followed by the thump of something much heavier also being dropped on the ground.
Act fast, because Morgan is fucked up on TV and haloperidol and she's like 30 seconds away from taking a big nap right here on your doorstep.