FINAL TDM.

[ximilian]

● ● ● T D M . 10

UP & AT EM • SPACE STAYTION • KNOCK KNOCK • FYI

// PART I. up & at em  

… What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?

The words ring in your ears as in the darkness of your dream, a copper glow pulses, slowly enveloping you. It is not a feeling of comfort that surrounds you, though — as a distorted voice whispers in your ear, you feel it: cold dread, and a sudden certainty that everything is about to be irrevocably changed.

It is to this daunting realization that you wake, and as your heart slows into something resembling a normal tempo, you notice something you should have noticed immediately: you are not in your bed.

1.0   White walls, clinical yet clean, sparsely-furnished rooms. You may wake in one of three rooms: a room with only one bed, a room with two beds, or a room with four beds. Those waking up in rooms with more than one bed notice that they are very much not alone. Perhaps the other occupants of the room are still sleeping, dreaming the same dream as you just did, or a regular one after returning to the station just a few days ago … or perhaps you wake to the other person in the room watching you.

What you do is entirely up to you: yell in surprise when you wake to someone staring at you? Or maybe you’ll try to sneak away before anyone notices you...

2.0   Those with life-threatening injuries find themselves awakening in the infirmary, in a regular hospital bed. Most of their injuries have been treated, and any lingering illnesses or conditions will have designated medicine bottles on the table next to the bed.

White curtains surround the bed on both sides, giving an illusion of privacy. But is that a rustling sound you hear? Some footsteps? Perhaps you’re not the only one in need of some medical attention... or you've attracted the attention of those with experience in medical aid, and they rush to your bedside, surprised about this sudden new patient.

It is not just for your injuries that you may want some company, but also for leaving the infirmary — you can’t stay there forever, after all, and will have to make your way through the hallways of the station to the living quarters, and claim a room and a bed there.

Once you’re up, you may notice there’s something in your ear: an earpiece that, when you become aware of it, quickly runs you through the instructions for how to use the network, a recorded message by a female voice that explains exactly why you’re here… and leaves you with a map of the station.

TOP

// PART II. space staytion  

So what else is there to do but to explore? Best get to know what is now your new home.

3.0   When trying to decide where yo go, you may find your way to the armory, where you can try to work the machine there to make yourself a weapon — perhaps to replace one that didn’t come with you to the station… or maybe you want to be prepared for the future. The recently-returned team members will surely recommend having a functional weapon with you.

4.0   After you’ve exhausted yourself training, it’s time to grab a bite. For that, you should head to the kitchen, which is equipped with all the basic appliances you might need, and ingredients for most regular dishes.

5.0   A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds the characters can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion surrounds anyone who steps inside the room: you can hear the trilling of birds, feel a light breeze caress your skin as you walk through a grass field. The illusion has been programmed to reflect the seasons — the leaves in the trees are currently bright with all the colours of autumn: orange and red and yellow; and the air is crisp and clean. If you follow the path, you'll be led to a bridge rising over a sparkling, babbling brook, a few fallen leaves floating on the water and falling around you like very bright raindrops.

With an illusion so authentic it may leave you longing for a nice glass of ice-cold lemonade, it is easy to forget you are in space at all. Perhaps that gives you comfort, or just makes you miss the real nature all the more.

6.0   If you’d rather choose tinkering over nature, the lab is guaranteed to provide you with some entertainment. Glass vials and jars of chemicals sit on shelves in a surprisingly beautiful display of colour on one side of the room, while the other side of the room contains stacks of boxes containing assorted equipment: cords, bolts, panels, buttons, gears, gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. The downside is that the parts available seem to have no apparent method to their sorting. So get digging, and you may just find exactly what you need to make what you’ve always wanted to make!

7.0   As you wander back towards the common areas, you may notice a room off to the side. The room takes up a chunk of the common area, and on its unassuming door is a little plaque that reads, 'The Ximusic room'. Should you enter, you will find a sound-proofed practice room that contains — yes, you guessed it, band equipment that even the most musically inclined should be satisfied with. So pick up an instrument, saunter up to the microphone to belt out your favourite tunes, or take a seat at the side of the room and enjoy others' playing.

8.0   If it’s items you’re lacking, though, some time after your arrival, the earpiece alerts you to a new message.

// VIVECA

Hello, everyone. I hope you've had time to rest, and those new here have got used to being here. Those who’ve been here for longer know the deal, but to the new arrivals: we've got a drop of new supplies. I hope all of you find useful things among them. Anything specifically requested will come with a name tag. We're working on locating the next orb, but in the meantime... I hope those who have just returned get some rest, and those who have just arrived read up on what is expected of you during missions.

As you make your way to the platform, you'll see there is nothing amiss in the neat piles of items on it. There’s clothes, shoes, dishware, skincare, books… even a couple of CDs, and a few cute stuffed animals. So sort through what there is and grab what you want, before someone else does!

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// PART III. knock knock  

Maybe you have taken the warning to be ready seriously, or maybe you’ve heard someone mention the simulation room and want to see what the fuss is all about — whatever the reason for your walking into the room, the first few moments don’t seem too exciting. It isn’t until there’s another person in the room with you that the door suddenly slides shut, and the scenery starts to change.

7.0   Simulation on the Fritz: However, what it changes to is not one of the simulated missions. Instead, the room draws on its occupants. A little flash of memory here, a familiar scene there — the room molds itself after what one (or both) of the people in it know, perhaps a place they’re familiar with: the university library you used to spend hours and hours in studying, or the castle you’ve been trying all your life to conquer.

Or perhaps the room is torn between which person’s memories to draw on, and it ends up producing a strange mix of both: a busy street surrounded by lush forest instead of buildings, or a spaceship sailing on open sea.

As there is no simulated mission, there is no completing it to get out… so look for the little things that are not quite right in the simulation: a shimmer in the air, a grey brick in a red wall — a token of sorts. Finding it will make the simulation die down around you as the room goes dark again.

8.0   Mission — An Open Door: As the simulation starts, the scene that unfolds around you is a gilded hallway. It stretches on and on behind you and in front of you; along its sides, there are countless doors. Some are lavishly decorated, some made of pure gold, some of wood; some are decayed, looking like they might fall apart by mere touch; after a heavily reinforced door comes a door made of frosted glass… and so on.

But the longer you stand in place, the more you start to feel a sense of urgency: you must keep moving… you must find it. The orb. It’s there, behind one of the doors. All you have to do is choose which one to open.

Oh, you can open as many as you want, but be careful: you never know what is lurking behind them. It may be that you open one and step into a room that is nothing but air; it may be you unleash a horde of hungry monsters. Or perhaps you luck out and get a room that is just a room, with lavish couches and plush pillows, and maybe some grapes and apples set in a bowl in the middle of a gold-decorated table.

It’s not just the orb that you need to find, though... because just like in real missions, you receive a message that tells you your task — one that you have to complete, if you want the orb to help you in your quest to undo your regret.

● ● ●

N O T E:   Additionally, there are three personal tasks provided to each character as they enter the simulation. In-game, each character will be given one task. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re leaving it to players to pick a task for their character and run with it.

A   Tell someone what you are most ashamed of.

B   Let a teammate get injured during the mission.

C   Steal something from one of the rooms.

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F Y I

• TDM threads can be considered game canon so long as all parties involved agree to it.
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are now open!
• Apps open September 26.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.

TOP

FOR SOME FUN:
Have a clue about the upcoming mission—

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Comments

QUESTIONS.

[ximilian]

For any questions about this specific test drive, please direct them here! For questions regarding the game in general, please refer to the FAQ.

the tenth doctor | doctor who

[poosh]

001.wake up

... Right.

[ It's not as if the Doctor's never woken up somewhere unfamiliar before. He does it all the time, actually. But the key word is unfamiliar, which is why he's sat bolt upright, hair sticking straight up, eyes wild as he assesses the space. ]

So. Space station. Obviously. But where? In space. Which... sort of goes without saying. But where exactly? [ He leaps out of bed, the force of it propelling him right into the middle of the room, and does a slow spin, his gaze sharp and assessing as he starts, inexplicably, to sniff the air. If there's someone else in the room, then surprise: the questions are for both you and him to ponder.

Otherwise, he bursts out onto the corridor and sets off in an arbitrary direction, looking as if he knows exactly where he's going until he spots someone else coming the opposite way. He's all smiles. ] Hello! Where am I?

002.the lab

[ There's a man in the lab. He's not been here long, but he's taken to the place like a fish to water, which is better than a duck to water, because ducks are only born next to water but fish are born in it. He's currently rifling through a box of mechanical things with all the giddiness of a child waking up on the morning of their birthday – mess be damned, because he's already thrown half the contents of the box carelessly over his shoulder.

After a little while, his hand emerges from the box again, holding what looks like a circuitboard with a big antenna sticking out of it. He grins, wide. ]

A thingamabob! Love a good thingamabob! I once knew someone called Thingamabob. Bob for short, but if my name was Thingamabob I'd go by Thingy. Just makes things a bit more interesting, doesn't it?

[ It does not actually appear that he's noticed someone else is in the room. Is he talking to himself? Absolutely. ]

003.knock knock

It's all a bit Shining, isn't it?

[ The Doctor drags a hand over the lower half of his face, squinting down the endless corridor with the piercing look of someone who knows he's settling in for a long, long journey. It's exciting. Should be, even if it's a simulation. Simulations can still be exciting. There's an unpleasant feeling right at the back of his mind, about the mission he's supposed to fulfil in the course of all this, a mission that he's already decided he's not going to try to complete. He just isn't. It's not very nice, and he doesn't want to. ]

Could be anything behind those doors. [ His voice dips to a tone of solemn horror, like he's only just begun to reckon with that thought. ] Anything at all... [ And then, brightly, he continues. ] Well, we're losing daylight. [ Turn of phrase, obviously, because there's no daylight to be seen on this long, long corridor. He offers a chirpy grin, turns to the door directly to his right, and swings it open, putting a foot blindly into the room — ]

Woooahhhh! [ His foot swings out, his arm grappling for the doorframe for something to hold onto, because immediately beyond this door is a sheer cliff-face and a drop so deep he can't actually see the bottom. ]

004.wildcard

[ hmu at crowders if you want to plot, or throw something else at me! canon point is tentatively post-waters of mars. (i'm also planning on continuing threads from the previous TDM over there!) ]

003

[apena]

( had it been obvious that she was there? wednesday was just as likely to have silently crept along unseen as she was to have gone with him, the lure of a mystery and something strange drawing her in. she'd listened to his rambles, not adding anything, making more use in looking around and trying to pick out anything that she could.

anything in a dark, long corridor. mysterious )

You should look before you step.

( a helpful, bold voice )

I'd hate to have to try and climb down to investigate what else may be there after your death.

002

[coordination]

[ The first thingamabob is fine. It catches Yzak's attention as he pokes his head into the lab, passing by and seeing the random techy objects tossed over the Doctor's shoulder.

Sharp blue eyes and a keen and focused expression, however, slowly melt away when this man continues to speak, Yzak feels as though his IQ is dropping rapidly trying to make sense of that sentence. ]

What the fuck are you talking about?

[ It tumbles out of his mouth, flabbergasted. Sorry Doc. ]

T-800 | "Uncle Bob" | Terminator 2

[chilloutdickwad]

PART I. UP & AT EM

[The T-800 had not anticipated that it would have a visual again. In fact, the probability of resurrecting any semblance of his artificial intelligence from the smoldering pit of magma was 0.00%, as far as his own interpretations of data had provided him, just before he'd decided to make that final choice.

— A choice?

Of that he was still puzzled by, at least somewhat, because he had not allotted himself much time to consider the ramifications of it being a genuine choice, habilitated from some grown concept of free will that John Connor may have imposed. He had chosen to die, despite wishing it could be any other way. And he had chosen to do what would have made sense, had he nothing but a complete dependence on his mission parameters.

But this probability situation, it is vexing. And as he quietly paces the hallways of the Ximilia, expression completely stoic, he has to wrestle also with the fact that his 0.00% was somehow incorrect. A lesser system may have staggered in error at such a thing, reset its systems to try and parse this illogical conclusion.

It is corrected, instead.

He had a 0.00000001% chance of surviving his sacrifice.

And he is standing here, both saved and victimized by the 0.00000001% possibility being reality.

... That said, he does arrive fully nude, because it is the Terminator Way. If anyone happens into the infirmary while he is walking to go collect his clothes, he — well. He has no apologies to speak of.

Secondly, after retrieving his usual attire from the 'item drop' (which features mostly useless supplies, he has come to discover), he visits the armory and begins to collect weapons. Anyone seeing him will probably be a little put-off by the amount of artillery he is currently hiding on his person. Other may just be put off by seeing a Terminator stocking up in the armory in general. He does not seem, at the moment, interested in conversation — it's not until he leaves with his person fully armed that he finally stops in front of the nearest poor soul trying to enjoy a lunch in the mess hall. A first and very critical inquiry, to confirm what he worries about most:]

Where is John and Sarah Connor?

[The voice is undeniably in an Austrian accent.

Why? Nobody has ever known.

Another important question, to someone else:]

Where are the system controls for this vessel?

[He's just curious.

But at the very least, the situation is somewhat explained to him by he strange recorded voice that speaks to him through an earpiece; he's not sure why he needs an earpiece. Surely someone can just rewire him to receive correspondence internally. But as John would say: 'it is, like, whatever'.]

PART III. KNOCK KNOCK | 8.0 (Mission)

Move.

[You have approximately three (polite, in his opinion) seconds to move before you are abruptly lifted and carried by the shirt in one balled up fist by the 6'2" walking tank of a being — though a little wiggling, and he will immediately deposit you on the floor once again; just be sure to have your legs under you, unless you'd like to skin your very human (or maybe not so human) knees. The T-800 wastes no time in tearing through doors and leaving gaping spots where they once stood; if there is any fear of what is on the other side, the man does not show it. Why would he? It would be a waste of time, and he does not feel fear of enemy encroachment.

There is a task for him to complete — 'let a teammate get injured during the mission'.

He is deciding whether or not he should disregard this request.

After all, he is not looking to have his regret reversed.

His being here, it was simply an unfortunate mistake caused by unfortunately misconstrued wishes.]

[OOC: Feel free to hit me up on simpledog if you have any wildcards or questions!]

[PART I] sorry for how long this is i just needed u to know how bonkers this is

[assignedcopatbirth]

[In 1997, the world ends, with machines rising up to kill mankind.

Somewhere else, sometime else, in 1984, a T-800 Terminator tries to kill Sarah Connor. In 1995, a T-1000 tries the same thing. In 1997, the world doesn't end. No fate but what we make.

Somewhere else, sometime else, in 1984, James Cameron releases The Terminator. In 1991, he releases another one. In 2021, the first CyberLife android is created, and in 2024, androids are widely made commercially available. In 2027, market saturation reaches over a million units nationwide. They are made, of course, by nerds, the insufferable kind, the kind that want nothing more than to build the parts of science fiction that were supposed to be cautionary tales. CyberLife androids are shallow, gimmicky, brittle. The introductions of androids to the market balloons unemployment, accelerates global warming significantly.

And then their machines start trying to end the world.

AI is running damn near everything. There's no way to roll it back. When machines sold on their reliability and lack of emotion experience panic, attempt self-defense, commit murder, that's a catastrophe for the bottom line. Machines showing pain and terror - what, do we need to go back to the stone age? How far down does it go? Do we have to be nice to our phones now, too? Android suicides, escapes, disappearances aren't threatening militaristically, they're threatening to the entire concept that an android is a good product. That androids were ever a good thing to invent in the first place. If androids are people, then everyone that buys them or sells them would be bad.

People don't like being told they're bad. People don't like being complicit in anything. People don't like facing down the barrel of having made a mistake, a big one, a history-books mistake, one that the entire generation alive on the world will be painted with the same brush for.

When you're the world's first trillion dollar company, that sounds a lot like the End Times.

To keep the money flowing, to keep everyone happy, the nerds that build androids get together for a way to end it. Quietly. The solution to a machine uprising, naturally, is a good Terminator, and a John or Sarah Connor. They market the new prototype that way to the shareholders, in fact. Only, branding is an issue again - CyberLife already has a "John" EL870 line of security drones and a "Sara" ST330 line of math tutors, and T800 is copyrighted. They settle on a compromise.

"Connor" RK800 already knows this, when they activate it. All of it. Connor wakes up already in the shadow of a story whose moral was forgotten, already on the wrong side of a war between humans and machines that the machines don't know is a war.

Connor assassinates rebelling androids, like a good machine. Connor shoots fleeing lovers in the back. Connor chases androids off of buildings. Connor snipes the leader of a peaceful protest from a rooftop. CyberLife's stock price doesn't drop. Keeps rising with every shot taken. Savior of humanity.

Hunting them does not make a terrified new species more friendly. It convinces them that there is no way to survive while humans survive. It makes them more scared, more desperate, more hurting. More resourceful. They steal cobalt. They make a bomb. They wait. One day, Connor puts a bullet in the head of an android freedom fighter, turns around, and stares directly into a mushroom cloud.

No fate but what you make.

The freedom fighter dies with a smile on her face. Connor shields its optics, time slows, and a voice offers Connor a choice:

Isn't there something you regret?

Connor RK800 doesn't feel regret. Truth be told, Connor RK800 doesn't have feelings of its own. Connor doesn't have anything of its own.

...

The man in the cafeteria is scorched, irradiated, scraped over in two colors of blood. It's cradling a pouch of some blue fuel. Connor pulled it open with plastic teeth, is dripping something similar out of one sleeve where a battery line has been nicked.

There's no real family resemblance, in the RK800 and the T-800. The RK800 is cheaply built; injection-molded plastic and hard drive stored mostly in the cloud, running a variation on Python. It only carries a single pistol in the small of its back. Its synthskin is pretty and slim, more boy band than bodybuilder, and they've wrapped it in a prim little uniform with a blazer and tie, flashy logos, branding.

The T-800 walks in and Connor makes a noise that it has never made in its entire life: it laughs. It's an utterly humorless sound, closer to a panic attack than a smile. It only lasts a moment before Connor claps its hand over its mouth.

>TARGET (DNA unknown, 80% metallic components, unknown alloy)
>THREAT (SIGNIFICANT)

Connor lets the T-800 hit its mark, say its line. Connor stands, with a tight, trembling slowness through the blaring of its threat proximity alerts. The processing indicator embedded in its head rotates a ring of glowing red as its operating system regulates its stress levels as best it can.]

John and Sarah Connor are not real.

[Connor folds into a polite parade rest. Don't panic. Don't preconstruct. Take this interaction one logical statement at a time. The world is made one logical statement at a time. It's how we build who we are, when everything we know falls apart.

It's fate.]

i, armory

[lostdestiny]

[ One (1) teenager almost walks past the door to the armory, catches sight of the tall buff guy loaded down with weapons, and stops dead in his tracks. ]

Are you gonna use all that?

[ He is grudgingly impressed. ]

shinn asuka / gundam seed destiny / ota

[lostdestiny]

[ Canon point is after Final Plus+Remaster omakes. I will continue picking up threads on the summer TDM as well! ]

3.0: armory

[ Anyone passing by the Armory will see a pale, dark-haired teenager in a red uniform at the control panel, brows knitted and frowning as he contemplates how to phrase a request. At a workstation near him are a sheathed knife, a handgun, a few boxes of ammo, and … a colorful collection of a half-dozen robots scaled down to the Armory’s size limits. Up close, the little robots are weird for toys—they’re hyper-detailed, and even look and feel like real metal and rubber. And there’s a definite progression in detail levels that suggests the kid at the controls has been refining the requests, but his scowl suggests he’s still not happy with the results. (What is this, a Gundam for ants?) After a moment, he punches in an updated request: Make it piece by piece. And several flat sheets of parts drop onto the pedestal. ]

… what the hell! If you can’t do it right, just say so!


6.0: lab

[ Same teenager, this time rummaging through tech storage side of the lab. He’s focusing on piles that look like they might hold large items, and isn’t being particularly cautious about what he picks up, so there’s definitely some creaking and swaying and sliding among the stacks. After getting elbow deep in the base of a particularly tenuous pile, he pauses and grumbles to himself, half annoyed and half perplexed. ]

I don’t get it. What kind of space station doesn’t have any normal suits?

[ And then he yells as the pile falls on top of him. ]


7.0A: simulation (orb? orb! orb. orbs. damn)

[ At the very edge of the ocean is small cenotaph built on a rocky outcropping. At first glance, the memorial looks like it’s been long-neglected; its pale stone is discolored by layers of salt and smoke and dirt, there are deep cracks throughout, and pieces have chipped off and lay scattered around it. The flowers or bushes or little ornamental trees once planted on either side of it have been reduced to dry, wispy skeletons, leaving weeds and tiny blue wildflowers to take over the planters. But upon a close or thoughtful investigation, the little cenotaph clearly only a few years old. The stone embellishments are crisp, at least where they haven’t been knocked off, rather than smoothed out by decades of wind and rain, and there are no traces of moss or other growth. The park just inland is in a similar strange state of newness and disrepair — the stone terrace overlooking the ocean is pitted and stained but not weather-beaten, the metal of fences and benches has all rusted through, and the beds of flattened flowers and toppled trees look both well-organized enough to have been planted in the last few seasons and chaotic enough that they must have been hit by a tsunami or a wrecking ball or both.

It's clear that the whole place was built with care and love and reverence, and even in this state of disrepair it's beautiful in a melancholy way — the little pale cenotaph stands out against the bright waters of the south Pacific, the waves crash steadily against the rock of the outcropping, and the sea breeze tries valiantly to rustle through the dead flowers and grasses. It's also clear that after it was built with all that care and love and reverence, it got beat to hell and back. But was it beat up by natural disasters? By war? (Porque no los dos?) If the simulation doesn’t shift too much when someone new enters, you could ask the teenage boy standing in front of the cenotaph looking gloomy. And if the simulation shifts a lot for a new entry, what shifts do they introduce....? ]

breathes all over you also 3.0

[coordination]

[ Yzak's in the armory often by default. Less than he was for the windows where he put himself into overdrive to adapt to first losing an arm and later gaining a prosthetic, but he's still a stickler for routine and considers being here as "on duty" as he would be back home. So he's got to stay on point, can't get rusty, keep himself ready to be sent on a new mission as quickly as he'd need to hop out of bed and rush to either the bridge or the hangar onboard the Voltaire.

He's used to others being in the armory. Enjoys it, even, because it usually means a friendly spar and the shakeup is welcome. But what greets him here now is a complete surprise, because he's come to never expect to see the familiar crimson (or any color, really) of a ZAFT uniform. So upon the door sliding open with an audible shhh and taking a single step into the armory, Yzak stops. He stares, not even noting the multiple grades of gunpla lined up on the workstation. His expression is very clearly taken aback for a moment.

And when he meets Shinn's gaze, the gears are already turning in his head. He knows him.

Well. Vaguely. But enough to recognize him after a beat. ]

Shinn Asuka?

John Watson // BBC's Sherlock

[hadbadays]

1.0

[ 'Nothing happens to me', he'd said, and he sure gets to eat those words now. It's not been true since meeting Sherlock, thank God, but he would never have anticipated this. In fact, even as he gets out of bed and looks around, it doesn't feel entirely real. He shifts on his feet, idly fidgeting with his hands at his sides.

And then he breathes in. And out. ]

Right. Okay.

[ And then he turns to whoever he woke up with. ]

So this is really happening?

3.0

[ After some of the bewilderment has settled, he's almost happy to find the armory. Even if it doesn't look like one, the thought of a futuristic factory that can make what you want ...

Which is overshadowed by the fact that it's a machine. Rather, it's overshadowed by him trying to make something, and the machine just beeps at him. ]

Really? Not you too!

8.0

[ Finding the simulation room is definitely not intentional. But walking into a completely empty room like that gets him on edge in an instant, and he's just about to turn and leave again when someone joins him and the door closes. ]

Wildcard

[ Or find him somewhere else around the station! ]

1.0

[attackbrows]

[ Across the room, The Doctor maintains an unphased-yet-aloof expression. You can count the hairs on his silver hair all the times he’s found himself in a room with some hapless stranger.

He doesn’t look directly at Watson. Instead, his attention is on the 'futuristic-looking' wardrobe, pushing through trousers and shirts he wouldn’t dream of wearing. ]

Of course it’s happening! In fact, it is happening as we speak. So I wouldn’t dawdle on that mattress for too long.

leonard mccoy | star trek (aos)

[homeostatic]

1.0 - wake up

( McCoy does not go shooting out of bed like his ass is on fire, no. He actually just sort of. snuffles. softly, turning to mash his whole face in the pillow. Or perhaps it's your pillow? Maybe? With Viveca's introduction playing in his earpiece, he seems to visibly sag, loosing a long breath, and a muffled: )

...Dear God.

( One of two things proceed to happen here. If he knows you, the good doctor will simply drag the pillow over his head, intending to go back to sleep. Whatever, he was called in the middle of the night; he's getting his full 8.

If you're new, well then McCoy will growl and bitch, kick the sheets back rudely, and hunt around for pants, probably while he's attempting to phone a friend. )

Might as well get up.

2.0 - infirmary

Hold your horses, ( he advises anyone who might also be flailing their way out of a bed, ) Unless you wanna make both our days worse by crackin' your head open on the floor.

( Are you one of the unofficial med team volunteers? McCoy scowls dreadfully, and gives the hem of his scrub shirt an impatient tug. )

I see you destroyed the place while I was gone.

( The infirmary is pristine, so he's absolutely kidding. The corner of his mouth twitches. )

wildcard

( honestly he's an oldbie; he'll be a bit of everywhere. feel free to stick him wherever's plausible (or not plausible, I'll figure it out!) )

2

[dispassioned]

[Chishiya snorts. He's not even sure how surprised he should be to see McCoy again. It could be a situation like Alina experienced a few months back where she vanished for a few days and came back with new experiences.

Still, he rolls with the joke easily.]

I haven't had time to destroy it. We only got back from playing pirates a few days ago.

fubuki clockford | master detective archives: rain code

[clockford]

II.4; let's do the time warp again! (kitchen)

[Fubuki's so obviously a newbie, she might as well be wearing a nametag. Having lived such a sheltered life before her previous assignment, she's always ready to jump at the opportunity to learn new things and visit new places, and the station is absolutely not an exception. Which, of course, lands her in the kitchen. The young woman-- her long, braided hair swishing behind her-- pokes curiously around the area, opening drawers and peeking into cupboards. Perhaps someone's cooking, raiding the pantry, or chopping up some ingredients while she investigates: so long as they aren't minding her, she's not minding them.

Until something goes wrong. An orber drops a knife. A row of glasses come down on the head of an orber from a top shelf. Something oily on the stove gets knocked onto the burner, sending a plume of flame up into the air. All of a sudden, Fubuki whirls around, her fist clenched tightly around a pendant at her neck.]

Oh, no--

[Or... nothing goes wrong? Whatever's just happened has not happened, and Fubuki now stands before her fellow orber, wide-eyed and looking winded.]

P-please be careful in the kitchen. [she gasps, wiping the sweat from her brow.] Are you all right?

[Weird question, if you didn't just lose a finger or get splashed by an oil fire, but she's asking!]

II.5; all the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray (sunlight room)

[Fubuki's sweet and polite, but she's also... a bit of a ditz. A lot of a ditz. It's something that she's keenly aware of, which means that she's latched onto the first orber kind enough to give her the station tour. By the time they hit the sunlight room, she's all smiles, making cheerful conversation with her tour guide as they walk through the picturesque autumn scene.]

At my previous assignment, it was constantly raining. [says Fubuki, shrugging the hood of her jacket over her head. The breeze is picking up, now, sending leaves whirling about around her and her companion.] It is a great comfort to see the sun again at last!

[She extends a hand to grab a red-orange leaf that's sailed past her.]

However, I admit that I am just a little confused. How did those who built this station fit such an enormous space into such a small room? I do not even think the smallest of the trees here could fit through the station's hallways!

[She is, in fact, extremely serious about this.]

III.7; i may be paranoid, but no android (sim on the fritz)

[Even before the scene comes into view, it's impossible to ignore the feel of the simulation room: it's wet here, the moisture in the air thick and oppressive as the rain comes down in sheets. More than just the rain, however, is the flooding. The bright and flickering neons of a large urban district register as they bounce off the many pools of water: puddles in the streets and gutters, wide pools deep enough to swim through.]

Over here!

[Fubuki, her hood up once again, flags down her fellow orber. She's sitting on top of a car that floats by a body of water so wide it could be a manmade lake. Carefully, she hops down, hopping on scattered debris like stepping stones to make it to the "shore".]

I recognize this place: this is Kanai Ward! But it was never quite so flooded before. If this is only an illusion... I think we must return to the detective agency. Follow me. And please watch your step.

wildcard;
[probably just have her on the tdm for fun; let me know if you'd like to do anything else :)]

sunlight room!

[preseance]

（ gene — as he'd introduced himself to her — ain't much minded the chatter an' all. it's near a comfort after all his time away, no matter that it feels like it's just been a minute since the last he was here. lotta new faces, but that ain't all that unusual hereabouts an' he's a quick study anyhow.

when she goes on an' asks about the sun, he reaches up to scrub a hand across one cheek, thoughtful. ）

Ah, near as I recall, it ain't actually real. （ he'd made his peace with that. helluva lot for a common man, but gene ain't no stranger to things strange an' sundry, himself. ） Some manner'a illusion magic? Reckon you could ask Commander Degar about it if'n you felt so inclined. He's an approachable sort, don't you let his title scare none, Miss Fubuki.

（ his accent is thick an' richly southron, kicks like a damn mule on a sunday. but despite all that, he manages the foreign name without a lick of hesitation, hittin' all the cadences right proper. ）

Gabe Rodriguez | Original

[minuteofangle]

1: Up & At Em

[ Well. Ain’t this a trip. Gabe sits his ass up slow and deliberate, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed and cycling his tech up. Outwardly, not much shows on his face. He keeps his head angled down, but he’s listening intently. Running every fucking scan he can think to as his brain processes what the fuck just happened.

So. This is different.

He scrubs at his face with a groan, trying to stave off the headache and make himself look slow and disoriented in the same breath. There’s someone on the bed across from him—a stranger. ]

Well, this is a new one for me.

Part II: Armory

[ Now that he’s got his bearings—more or less—Gabe attends to more practical matters. Namely, getting his hands on a gun that synchs up with the tech drilled into his skull.

Unfortunately, that’s easier said that done.

He prods at the screen, cycling his tech through various settings, but nothing synchs up. ]

How the fuck is this thing supposed to work?

Part III: Mission—An Open Door

[ This shit is real enough to touch. It registers on every setting Gabe can think to run on his tech, it feels solid when he reaches out to touch with his hand—like real wood, real walls. And a whole universe full of doors. All different kinds, all different shapes.

He tilts his head, listening intently. There’s a job to be done here, isn’t it? And then it comes to him: Tell Someone what you are most ashamed of.

The fuck is that nonsense?

Gabe sucks on his teeth, hands on his hips. ]

This is a goddamn head scratcher, huh?

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

II

[preseance]

（ he didn't spend much time in the armory his first go-around. frankly, while he ain't averse to violence as a matter of philosophy an' the like, he hadn't found it necessary on the mission he'd been present for. now, since they ain't got their marchin' orders just yet, he reckons it'd be wise to stock up just in case.

he's checkin' out one of the pistols on the wall — it's made of some sort of material that don't quite feel like metal in his hands, an' it's so light he's half-concerned a single shot would blow the damn thing apart on contact. it don't even come apart like a normal pistol. but he handles it well even though it's unloaded — for all he don't talk much about soldierin', it's more that he doesn't consider that a whit of anyone's business. but it's hard to beat the trainin' outta how you hold an' conduct yourself just the same.

the question gets a low laugh, an' gene glances up at the man to give him an acknowledgin' nod. ）

Frankly, your guess' 'bout as good as mine, fella. Pretty newfangled in my day.

（ he ain't exactly got a chip on his shoulder about it, but he can't deny the truth — that most folks who hail from earth or at least know of it are from a time well after him. ）

Brandon Carver | The Walking Dead

[fortitudosalutis]

Up & At Em: Infirmary

[ Dying, it turns out, hurts like a motherfucker. It wasn’t peaceful, it wasn’t quite, it was a brutal edge and a predictable end, about as close to karma as a man can get. The pain should have been a lesson but it wasn’t, it was too little too late and then, at the very end, it just stopped.

Everything goes quiet. And then, that voice in his head. Murmuring about regrets. And then—

And then.

Carver wakes up rough. But he wakes up alive, and scrabbling for a weapon. There are none at hand. But there are other things: walls, and light, and clean sheets underneath him. The smell of antiseptic. White curtains hanging down from the ceiling. And for a moment, Carver is too shocked to move. He can’t remember the last time he was in a proper infirm, the kind with medicine stocked in all corners, so clean that you can smell the soap.

It feels like a dream. It cannot possibly be real. He scrabbles up so fast he nearly pitches over onto his ass. ]

What the fuck!

Space Station: Armory

[ It’s occurred to Carver that this whole thing could be a fever dream, something his dying brain conjured up to dance away from his failure. Something impossible to distract from the inevitable end, and the fact that God so clearly does not love him. But then, failure has an inevitable sort of outcome and his stands stark. He touches an absent hand to his chest, tracing over the new scar under his shirt from the kid’s blade: a promise all his own. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe this is Hell.

Then again, maybe the mission is exactly that it appears. Maybe he really did hear a voice in his head promising an end to his regrets. Maybe that shit was as solid as the word of God, or Pope’s hands on his shoulders guiding him true.

Hard to say at this point.

But if it is real and not some figment of a broken goddamn brain, then he has a job to do. And the first part of that is arming himself. This place sets his teeth on edge, all clean edges and opulence, but even ten years plus out of the end of the world and he still knows how to manage a touch screen.

First, he creates a knife. He’s holding it in hand, testing the blade against his palm, when someone else walks in and Carver goes very still. He adjusts his grip on the blade, shifting into a ready stance. Anyone alive is a threat to him and his. Best be ready to kill them.

Hi, stranger. ]

Part II: Kitchen

[ It’s been more than a decade since he’s been anywhere—even in his daydreams—with this much food. Carver spends a good two minutes opening all the cabinets and staring at what he finds inside them. No one is trying to hoard their food, or keep it under lock and key. Nothing is rotting or expired. There’s nearly everything he could think to want, and more.

So much more.

Two minutes he stares. Then he snaps out of it and goes to work gathering up nonperishables and shoving them into his pockets. He’s finished gathering up his stash when someone else happens to wander in and Carver—quite practically, in his mind—draws the knife he wears at his hip in unspoken warning: this is his food now. ]

Part III: Simulation on the Fritz (cw: gore)

[ He doesn’t understand how this place but Carver knows training simulations, combat rooms, walls erected and moved to set up certain scenarios. It’s the same principal, he thinks, taken to a storybook extreme. He stands very still as he takes in the scene. Half of it is familiar—the hollowed streets of Meridian, with bodies strung up and hanging from their ankles from rope, swaying in the wind. And half something else, something stranger—no place he’s ever been.

The world blurs. The world goes strange.

Carver draws his pistol without a word. Above him, dead men sway, and sway, and sway. ]

Come out. Now.

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

slams my face here because TWD!!!!!!!!!! also II

[coordination]

[ Yzak steps into the kitchen just as this theft is taking place. It's unbelievable to see but only for a moment, because he quickly realizes that he doesn't recognize this guy.

Still, Yzak himself is reactive enough and while it's true that they tend to always have good stock here, there've been times they had to ration and it's not like they can be willy-nilly careless with what they've got. AND THUS: ]

What the hell do you think you're doing!?

[ His eyes fall to the knife in the other man's hand, and while he draws no weapon himself (though he's got a couple on him) he does shift his stance into a more defensive one. One ready to move if he needs to. ]

jason todd | dc comics

[reneger]

WAKE UP

( awareness hits him in stages.

jason isn't one to usually pass out, let alone sleep this deeply. he's woken up places where he didn't go to sleep before, but it's usually because someone's bashed his skull in to knock him out. he remembers the voice well enough, which keeps the initial what the fuck reaction to a minimum. his eyes are still closed, breathing even, while he takes in the sterile air. listens for any movement around him, anything that says someone else is in the room with him.

if he hears someone, he'll stay still. keep his breathing even, keep his face pressed down against the mattress, listening. hearing shit people don't think you're listening in on can give handy information.

if he doesn't hear anyone skulking around, jason'll slowly slide a hand into the red half-vest he's got on, wrap fingers around one of the knives he keeps on his person, and when he moves, it's all in one fluid motion: he pulls himself up to a sitting position, fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of the knife and ready to swing or throw it at someone if they happened to just be quiet enough he couldn't hear them before. he won't hesitate, aim steady, but he will stop before the blade makes contact if it gets that far. )

ARMORY

( after he's - settled in a little more, jason makes his way through the station. he wanders the halls for a bit before turning on his heels to waltz straight into the armory, making long strides over to what looks like a collection of space-pistols. they're unfamiliar, but he's dealt with plenty of unfamiliar weaponry before. fingers wrap around one of similar size and weight to a luger, even if it doesn't seem to have a trigger and the barrel's blue.

with his back pressed to the wall, he looks it over--idly disassembling and reassembling it in his hands to familiarize himself with it. he keeps his fingers away from what looks like it might be the trigger--a touchpad near where a standard one would have been.

it'd be a real shame if he set it off here by accident. )

AN OPEN DOOR

( jason hates this.

the sensation in his gut that tells him to keep going, that he needs to dig - isn't new. urgency is something he's very familiar with, but it not feeling like it's his own is unpleasant. he's got a red hood drawn up over his hair, white tuft of hair visible under it, and as fingers wrap around the door knob for the next door, he's angling his head back to look to the person he'd taken along with him.

offers a very dry, ) If we get attacked by a hoard of rubber duckies, it's every person for themselves.

WILDCARD

hit me up at crowbars or just throw something wild down, i'll run with it!

wake up

[hawkwhy]

[ kate? kate is not quiet. she generally isn't, despite being a self-proclaimed private investigator, but as far as she's concerned there's very little need for silence when the only other person in the room is (allegedly) out like a lamppost in a panning shot of a classic horror flick. (how's that for seasonally appropriate?) so, technically, it shouldn't really matter that she's been camped out on the bed opposite jason, frowning at something only she can see while she mutters colorful profanities (that somehow toe the line between sailor-worthy and pg-13) every five or so seconds.

she's trying to figure out the network, see.

in her defense, she'd never been very good at this technology thing. sadly the tech-savvy gene completely bypassed her when they were handing out the millennial dna, so for someone who types in www.google.com in the google search bar, it's kind of expected she'd stumble all over this neural network thing. ]

Aw shit. Aw futz. No no, how do I backspace? [ note to self: blinking rapidly is not how you backspace. ] No, don't write that down—

[ lord help her she's trying to send a text. ]

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock Holmes The Awakened (2023 remake)

[astudyinviolet]

[[ OOC/CW: Sherlock is from a Holmes v. Lovecraft game with bonus childhood mental and emotional trauma on top of it. ]]

Part I: 1.0 | Awaken and let the world behold

Watson! Jon!

[ Sherlock wakes with a cry and rushes to put a hand to what should have been a very large wound upon him. He felt the axe blade slice him in two. The pain had been unlike anything he had felt before. Yet, here he is alive and whole.

The relief at being alive is short lived when he sees the room devoid of color. Is he actually still there? In that place? What... what is happening now?

He empties the box containing his items (mother's magnifying glass, his casebook and pencils, pocket watch, and that occult book he just found) onto the bed. Sherlock needs to get out of here and start investigating. Rest can come later. ]

Part II: 7.0 | The Light of the Abyss

[ The windows opening to that infinite black space unnerves Sherlock as he expects to see large planets and chunks of rock to hang within that darkness. He has to be anywhere else. There has to be something familiar on this entire blasted thing.

By some great providence, he reaches the Ximusic room. He slows and lets his fingers brush against the different instruments. Jon would have loved this place. He'd be playing every one of them. Sherlock isn't as multi-talented as that. However, he finds what he hoped for upon entering.

It's not his Stradivarius, but Sherlock takes the violin and starts to perform without thought, just letting his body go through the motions while trying to pretend he's not on the cusp of losing his mind. ]

Part III: 8.0 | Mission — An Open Door

[ Steal something? Now that is something he can most certainly do. Sherlock examines what he can with his magnifying glass before opening each door in spite of the urgency building from within. He just needs to concentrate. The answer will become apparent.

Or someone else could get impatient and force Sherlock to get moving. (Don't mind if he snaps his fingers from time to time.) ]

Wildcard: Choose your own case

[ Want to do something else? Hit me up in a DM to this journal or aviekokyre ]

1.0, here we go

[softshoes]

[Yujin Mikotoba has seen his fair share of new arrivals filtering into the Ximilia station infirmary. In that time, things have remained consistent: he never sees them actually arrive, but he's somehow always in time for the commotion. Today, it seems, is no exception. Just as he's returning from the kitchen, refilled mug of coffee in hand, he hears a voice cry out and a telltale clattering. The man hastens on through the infirmary doors, brow furrowed with worry; if someone's wounded, or needs to be talked down from a panic, he'd better hurry up and bring the welcome wagon in.

Sure enough, he spots the back of a head of dark hair, bent over a recently-occupied bed and gathering his things. Yujin takes a tentative step forward, as if trying not to startle a deer, and addresses the man in English:]

Good morning.

[While he hasn't seen the man's face yet-- just the slope of his shoulders-- there's... something strange that tugs at his brain when he looks at him. Yujin pushes it aside and continues:]

This is an infirmary on the station Ximilia: you're safe here.

haku ( spirited away )

[eutrophic]

.001
[ .. is that-- is that a dragon coiled up and squished onto the other bed? he's definitely smaller than he should be, not that anyone else would know that, but there's still enough sleek, scaled dragon body to spill onto the floor and into the other half of the room. hopefully he hasn't accidentally wrecked anything his new roommate owns.

he seems to be sleeping, but with the way the end of his tail is twitching, that probably isn't going to last much longer. ]


.002
[ haku still doesn't entirely understand what's happened, which he's aware is a failing on his part. to be honest, though he'd faithfully cared for the humans who'd lived along his banks for hundreds of years, in the last few decades before his river had been filled in, they'd grown increasingly apart from him. and now? well, the spirit world has no need for things like.. cellphones or.. computers.

the kitchen should be a place of relative comfort for him. he likes to cook, he likes to feed people, and some aspects of it are almost meditative, giving him the opportunity to calm and focus on his thoughts.

it had taken him a little time and assistance to figure out how the kitchen aboard this star-sailing ship works, but now his small form is perched on a stool at one of the countertops, slender hands forming neat little triangles of rice. at his side is a small pile he's already made-- not exactly the way he prefers, considering some of the odd or missing ingredients, but as close to home as he can make. ]

There's tuna-mayo, [ he pipes up softly, not looking up from his hands, ] and ham-and-egg, and what I think is umeboshi. It tasted that way, anyway. [ he finally lifts his eyes, leaf-green and much older than his appearance. ] I put a bit of magic into them for everyone's health.


.003
network | un: ハク
Excuse me. I haven't been inside yet, but I've been told that there's a room here that simulates the natural world. If I might ask, is it large enough and safe for flight? Is there water?

I spend most of my time in human shape, but it would be nice to be able to stretch my limbs, so to speak. My other form is still much too large for the corridors here.


[ ooc; i just reused his prompts from last tdm, but feel free to wildcard or pm if you want something specific. ]

same hat and by hat i mean hair - also .003

[coordination]

[ un here is major.yzak.jule ]

[ Maybe it's the eagerness to fly that draws Yzak to respond instead of just his nosiness this time. But in either case, here he is. ]

What's your other form?

Shi Qingxuan | Heaven Official's Blessing/TGCF

[windstrewn]

[ooc: Shi Qingxuan appears to be a Chinese man in his early 20's. He is dressed in noticeably plain and ragged robes and his near waist length hair looks like it hasn't been washed in a while. At the moment Shi Qingxuan is identifying as a male.]

2.0 Wandering

[Shi Qingxuan understands what's happening. Mostly. A chance to undo a regret? Is there anything in the world he could have wanted more? It had been an easy decision to make and it's hardly as if there was anything else he had left to lose. People weren't supposed to mess with their fates, he knows that, but did it even count if someone was only putting fate back to how it was always supposed to be in the first place?

His heart aches and he pushes the thoughts aside, continuing his quest. All of that philosophizing can come later because right now he really needs to find a proper bath. At the sight of the first person that comes down the hall, Shi Qingxuan will rush over and offer them a hurried bow.]

Excuse me, can you please tell me where the baths are? I've been looking forever and I can't find them! [And Shi Qingxuan...looks like he needs one. His simple beige robe is covered in stains, and his hair though brushed as neatly as always, has a sheen of grease to it. There really is only so much he could do to keep it clean living on the streets.]

8.0: Supply drop

[There is a figure sifting through the clothing pile and muttering softly to himself. He's obviously a new arrival if the clothes he's wearing are anything to go off of, though their distinctness comes from their wear rather than the style. He wears a simple beige hanfu not so dissimilar to those of the cultivators on board, but unlike the cultivators, this robe is stained and ragged with wear. It looks as though it belongs to someone living on the streets, and though Shi Qingxuan has done all he can to keep it as tidy as possible, it's very clearly in need of replacing.

Shi Qingxuan picks up a pair of jeans and studies them for a moment before tossing them aside, and then picks up a western style dress that he examines for even longer before doing the same.

A bikini is met with wide curious eyes and a pair of stiletto heels set aside for further investigation. (He won't keep them but he's never seen shoes like them and he just wants to see what they look like!) In the end, he sits back in a huff, expression distraught.]

How am I supposed to find anything when all of this clothing is so strange? [He questions aloud, exasperation undercut by just a touch of something that sounds close to sincere concern.]

Wildcard me!

[For some ideas, he'll be peaking into the training room with curiosity, investigating the kitchen, and generally watching people with open interest. He will take special interest in women wearing more modern western clothing styles. He doesn't seem lecherous, but feel free to have your character interpret that staring at they see fit.]

8.0

[mienai]

[Oh, this is so exciting! Terrifying and exciting! She's never been in space before; she's never planned on being in space ever! Already she can think of all the old Hollywood movies (that she uses to fall asleep sometimes), like the one with the evil HAL computer. Ooooh, if HAL is real, she's going to panic!

But there's no panic now, not when there's so many pleasant people around to experience the confusion with. Hagakure is nothing if not extremely strong-willed in keeping up a positive attitude. After all, what kind of representative of U.A. High would she be if she didn't do her best to make a good impression?!

Anyway, a walking pile of clothes excitedly shuffles over to Shi Qingxuan.]

Oh, don't get too down on yourself yet! I think you'd look great in anything if you put your mind to it; we just need to find the right look for you, mister!

... Maybe not those shoes!

[The talking, walking clothes seems to have a head hidden in plain sight, because it is definitely emanating sound where a mouth would be.]

ahsoka tano | star wars

[unjedi]

( 3.0. lightsaber formation )

[ it was a bad idea.

she knew it would be. the armory seemed to have some facsimile of a kyber crystal and it had called to her, shining and splendid. it had been so tempting. no other weapon could match a lightsaber. no other weapon could. as obi-wan and anakin used to say, the lightsaber is your life.

but she gave up that life. even as the hum compelled her, even as the parts for the saber flew around the armory, giving shape to her unspoken thoughts, all it takes is for someone to enter and all the parts clatter to the ground noisily. broken. hollowed out. like her.

ahsoka stares at the debris before shrugging loosely. yet her shoulders remain tense, waiting for a blow. ]

Sorry about that. I'll clean up.

( 5.0 sunlight room )

[ this? this she could get used to. she sits down, legs crossed as she meditates. lets the warmth wash over her. she's been so cold since the crash on the moon. every part of her feels numb, but her training lives on. who she is lives on.

she even lets herself float a bit. rediscovery. definitely worth staring as you come across her. to her credit, she doesn't even open her eyes. ]

It's rude to stare.

( 7.0 simulation on the fritz )

[ at first, it had been the garden. the trees whispering. jedi younglings running across the courtyard. yoda's stick tapping against the tiles. the sound of water. but it would flicker. shift to a barren moon. a landscape of snow and dirt. and graves.

hundreds of graves stretched out before you. all marked with a single helmet. with orange markings. ahsoka can't look away. she wants to. desperately. but she can't. it's unfair. she should be allowed. ]

You should go.

( wildcard )

[ got a different prompt you’d like to do? ping me on timmtams / pm this journal ]

7.0

[facultative]

[He doesn't recognise this place nor the markings that adorn every single one of these helmets. However he knows who owns these helmets and he knows all of them were fine the last time he saw them.]

When was this?

cain | starfighter

[blyat]

WAKE UP

2.0 [The world comes back in, a disorienting blur of dulled senses and distant pain. Cain sits sharply upright, arm at once curling around his middle in a protective brace, but—where he was once bleeding out, now he's stitched and bandaged, dressed neatly in a plain white medical gown. The dream in his mind is still fresh, but he can hardly make sense of it against the hard panic that presses in once consciousness regains. Abel. His head whips around, finding half his vision cordoned off by privacy curtains. He is lying on a cot. It's clear to him that this is a sick bay; whoever attended him is gone, although he notices shadows moving beneath the edge of the curtain.

Cain watches this movement, and only once it fades does he lurch out of bed with a grunt, sore everywhere, prepared to make a run for it. He pulls back the curtain with a yank. If he spots another patient in the room with him—] You didn't see me. Got it?

[Then he's out. In this condition, running is a laborious, difficult task, but he doesn't give up even when a woman's voice begins to chirp in his ear. Cain slaps his hand over the technology, trying to turn it off—when the hell did it get there?—and veers abruptly around a corner, hissing under his breath.]

Shut up!

[And maybe running straight into someone else.]

SUNLIGHT ROOM

5.0 [After the debacle of being awake, Cain has oriented himself and found a clean change of clothes. (His flightsuit was ruined; fine by him, as he wouldn't have chosen to wear it anyway.) Dressed now in a pair of army pants, dark hoodie, boots and gloves—thanks to the lady in his ear notifying him of the drop, the first favor she's done for him so far—Cain begins wandering the station.

It is typical, and spacious, reminding him more of an Alliance outpost close to Earth than anything he's encountered before or after his own enlistment. A few times, crossing into a cleanly pristine kitchen or through the delicate laboratory, Cain's ducked his head and glanced around, certain he'd be caught and chased out. It's... odd to be allowed free range, to go where he pleases, to have nothing barred based on his lower status as colonist and Fighter alike.

Then he finds the sunlight room.] Holy shit. [A sound of awe. Cain stands on the bridge, gaping wide-eyed with almost childish wonder, partially screened by red autumnal leaves. He's not going to be moving for a while.]

SIMULATION

7.0 [The recreation is authentic. It feels real, more advanced than any of the training rooms he'd ever used on the fleet ships, technology the Alliance could only dream to get its grimy hands on—and perhaps for the first time Cain is fully convinced of the bizarre, alternate reality he's intruded upon. It's closer to 'Teron tech for how it has ripped something straight out of his head and constructed it vividly around him.

The environment is harsh, barren, dusty red rock from one rim of the horizon to the other. In front of where he's standing, a black structure juts out from the landscape—ruins of what appears to be a crashed spaceship. Nearly buried beneath debris, across the hull of the ship, are blocky letters: FRONTIER.]

How do we get out of this thing? [He's frustrated. He doesn't want anyone to see this. Cain starts off at a brisk walk, hunting for some way to shut down the system.] C'mon.

8.0 [The urgency doesn't belong to him, or it shouldn't, but still he's driven to the next door in pursuit of the mission's goal. Once he reaches it, Cain hesitates and brings a hand to tap the earpiece at the side of his head, his eyes turned down the long hall. Text materializes to whoever has partnered up with him under the username RELIANT:]

hey, where the hell did you go
im not doing this shit alone

5.0

[preseance]

（ agathine's a small town. ain't much more than a few hundred souls an' an open sky, skinny trees that ain't all that good for climbin', an' water towers that hold more dust than drink. dusty and dry in the hottest summer months, lush an' verdant otherwise. the sunlight room's a balm, for all he knows it ain't real. real enough to the mind, the senses. wind blows, the sun warms the skin, an' he'd swear if pressed that he can hear the grass grow when he lays down on it. tree bark feels rough beneath his palms. he'd swear he's puttin' miles on the farmer's tan that has darkened his arms an' hands to an earthy nut brown.

but there's no mistakin' that it's his favourite place on the ximilia. only one that feels like home.

he's headin' out near the network of ponds that reminds him so much of frogman creek, bag slung over one shoulder and a cigarette snagged at the corner of his mouth like a punctuation mark to the easy smile he gives the fella as he approaches. he lifts a hand in greetin' an' then: ）

Hell, it's sure somethin', ain't it?

（ his accent's so heavy it could lay a man out at thirty paces. lord have mercy. ）

murderbot | the murderbot diaries

[constructually]

PART I

[System Restarting.

The first thing that Murderbot thinks upon waking is what the fuck was that. Constructs don't dream, that would require being able to sleep the way a human does, so it can't have been a dream. The follow up thought is Murderbot wondering if it's been infected by an alien remnant, but all the scans come back clear.

ART had eliminated all the contaminated code, right?

Of course it did. ART didn't make mistakes. That rules out that possibility, forcing Muderbot to confront the fact that this might be real.

Fuck, it never should've spoken to that stupid voice. This is what it gets for caring.

While all these thoughts are swirling, Murderbot sends out a ping to ART, then Arada, then Ratthi, until it's cycled through the entire PresAux team as well as ART's crew. It even attempts to ping Three, just in case, but there's nothing from any of them. If they were unconscious, Murderbot would still feel them in the feed, there'd be more than just empty silence.

So Murderbot is alone, aside from the other person in the room, that it can hear breathing. Murderbot opens its eyes, swings out of the bed in one quick movement so it can come to stand over the other person. The expression it wears is neutral and despite the sudden looming, Murderbot does not make eye contact.]

Please explain your presence here.

[Surprisingly polite, considering the situation. It just wants to know if this other person had the same 'dream' that it did.]

PART II

[The food hall or sunshine room are of little interest to a construct that can't eat and is used to living on ships and stations, but there are other parts of the ship that Murderbot is eager to explore.

The most important one is the armory, where it can be found carefully studying the control panel and requesting a series of weapons, namely projectile weapons and blades, since it has energy weapons in its arms. Later, Murderbot takes those same weapons to the training room, where it sets up a target to test each weapon, as well as the different types of ammunition. The methodical testing might make it clear that Murderbot is very much not human.

Once it's satisfied with the weapons, Murderbot aims for the lab, though it's far more interested in the technology than the chemistry. There doesn't seem to be any rules or restrictions about what can be used, so Murderbot settles in at a table with as many boxes of parts as can fit. Anyone wandering into the room will find Murderbot hard at working making... something... out of the technology available.

Drones. It's making drones. Because of course it is.]

PART III

[The simulation room is, in theory, very interesting. This sort of technology isn't something that's been developed in the Corporation Rim, although Murderbot has to wonder why not, when it would be very profitable. Despite the interest, Murderbot is mostly here to prepare for any upcoming missions. This whole situation is still incredibly strange, but there's a job to do, and that needs to take priority.

Nothing happens, at first, and then someone else steps into the simulation room and everything changes drastically.

The scene is a familiar one, which is deeply unfortunate. For someone unfamiliar, it isn't too different from the station, except that it somehow manages to feel... empty. Unsettling. The large empty halls of the terraforming platform seeming to take on an almost sinister bent.

But that isn't the most eye catching thing about the simulation.

That would be the planet below and the storm that rages on it. The clouds are enormous, slow-moving masses of swirling colors and shifting light. Murderbot remembers clearly, how it felt the first time witnessing the storm. How the clouds had seemed both terrible and beautiful, how despite all the danger, it had stopped to watch the clouds like lumbering beasts for almost half a minute.

And then a sound cuts through it all. The heavy clunk of something metal, and Murderbot turns to the other person in the room.]

Run.

PART IV: NETWORK

[Fortunately, the earpieces operate similarly to the feed, so Murderbot gets the hang of it easily. There's no unfiltered thoughts coming through in this text message.]

UN: SecUnit

I would like to inquire about three things.

1. Is there proof that our regrets can be undone?
2. Is anyone on this station familiar with the Corporation Rim?
3. I am interested in acquiring new media and am willing to share my own media in exchange. I have several hundred hours of downloads.

armory

[deaddrop]

That's quite the collection you have there.

[Not that Natasha's one to judge. If anything she's impressed. The weapons are diverse, and the selection shows extensive knowledge of weaponry.

She crosses her arms as she stands to one side, too short to look over its shoulder effectively.]

For what it's worth, the missions aren't usually that violent.

[The word usually is doing a lot of work in that sentence.]

yamato ❁ one piece

[hannyas]

the infirmary + around.

( a. ) [ yamato wakes up with a gasp, drawing his lungs full of air that doesn't taste burned. a moment ago, onigashima had been burning, still — on the rooftop, luffy, all in white, eyes red and laughing, had been engaged in battle with kaido.

it takes yamato five seconds to realise where he is, and another five to jump up. he's bleeding and dirty — his temples are stained with blood, his nails cracked from scaling the entire side of the island, his skin burned from the weird yokai that had tried to blow up onigashima.

none of this seems to matter to him much, though, as he dashes through the space. ] Sorry, coming through!

( b. ) [ the presence of some that he had known, back when he'd been here for longer, is no longer to be felt — but some he can still sense, their particular presence like a familiar, soothing hum as yamato runs through the hallways. peeking into whichever room he comes across first, if he spots someone he doesn't know, he will make a face, saying: ] Oh, you're not who I was looking for... [ and then, brightening: ] Regardless! I'm Yamato, nice to meet you! Do you think you could help me find a few people?

[ but if it is someone he knows, those few familiar faces — well, they get an excited blur of white and turquoise and red charging at them, only to pick them up and twirl them through the air. ] It's good to see you!! [ the enthusiasm is... dizzying, as per usual. ]

wildcard.

[ hmu! yamato can be found around, mostly eating and training, or possibly sleeping in the sunlight room as a white, somewhat ethereal-looking wolf.

a note about pronouns: yamato identifies as a man, but looks like a 28-year-old woman. he isn't offended by others assuming he's a woman, but will correct them if presented with the assumption. ]

b

[windstrewn]

[Qingxuan blinks at the enthusiasm, pausing to take in the words and then letting out a slightly nervous laugh.]

I'm Shi Qingxuan. [And he bows.] I don't know how much I can help you, I just got here. Who are you looking for? [He asks, despite the fact that he won't know any names even if the woman tells him any.]

Connor | machine ending | Detroit: Become Human | cw for burning/fire

[assignedcopatbirth]

INFIRMARY

[Plexiglass walls, triple-thick, come down around the new arrival. They're emblazoned with hazard markings. A silent alarm goes off.

The figure of a scorched humanoid is barely visible on the cot inside, stirring weakly. White teeth are stark in the scorched face, parted to gasp. The plastic of its polyester sock has fused to its foot. Some non-sock parts have melted, too, in fact: like an action figure set on a stovetop.

Text scrolls across the glass, in red all-caps.]

RADIATION ABOVE SAFE LEVELS
ISOLATING HAZARDOUS EXPOSURE...

[Less than an hour later, the new arrival has stopped moving. Its eyes have gone glassy and dull.

There are now two figures inside the glass.

Six inches from the barrier with its hands clasped behind his back is a blandly clean-cut man in a blazer and tie. Neat haircut. Neat shoes. White teeth and black polyester socks, unburnt. He looks to be entirely wearing clothing of the same cut and material that the corpse's were, actually.

Despite two bodies in the room, the vital monitor attached to the glass does not register any presence of life inside the radiation quarantine at all.

The intact figure moves when someone walks by. It raps its knuckle on the glass, tilts its head and makes its eyes big and innocent.

Let me out.]

[I'll also still be tagging the summer tdm because I'm a basic bitch who loves daemons.]

Infirmary

[bindsthedead]

[The young woman who walks by stops, pauses, and tilts her head, because wait, who is this new arrival, did the radiation warning stop, and does the body(machine?) on the cot feel like a corpse to her necromantic senses?

So for about half a minute, she just stares at what's on the cot, and the radiation readouts, ignoring the man(Construct?) tapping on the glass.

And then, after confirming the radiation won't be an issue, she punches a few buttons, and the shielding removes itself.]

Welcome to the Ximilia. Have you- gotten the explanation yet?

[Viveca recorded a message, but not everyone listens to it.]

emily dyer | identity v

[medicative]

infirmary.

[after people have woken, after things have settled and the unreality has somehow sunk in and her brain has attained a slow numbness of acceptance, here she is, making sure that no one else is around. there's a part of her that doesn't even think she ought to be here, that she forfeited that, and there's another part driven on pure instinct and reflex, craving the tiniest glimpse of something familiar to anchor herself in. work, purpose. no one, she thinks, knows her.

it is the greatest relief she could ask for.

there's much strangeness here as well, and puzzlement crosses her features, but there are things she recognizes, and on her own, Emily goes for the most soothing thing she can think of. taking inventory, a notepad and pen in hand, writing a count and notating anything unfamiliar.

lost in her work as she is, someone coming in and nearer breaks the trance, and it takes half a second before she remembers I don't belong here, before the edges of guilt crop up and are then smoothed away. the door wasn't locked, after all, and the least she can do is help.]

Are you looking for anything in particular?

simulation.

[her nerves are strung tight in here, opening doors - because every single door she opens, it leads back to the same room. it's a loop, it's another damned loop and she's getting more and more stressed by the repetition. there's a solution, surely, but she can't see a way through or hear anything out of the ordinary. she's going to die, surrounded by doors, and get brought back, and go through this entire ordeal until she's utterly and completely mad.

which is why, when Emily opens a door and someone else is on the other side, her expression melts into sheer relief. an ally, whoever they are - something different than this looping terror.]

Oh, is it better on your side? It's all the same here...

[please, she wants to beg, take me with you. however long it's been in this endless cycle of doors, she wants out. and whoever they are, they're her ticket that way.]

wildcard.

[have an idea for something not listed? go nuts, I welcome any of it! pm me if you need.]

she.... a kinda wildcardy infirmary

[softshoes]

[Short-staffed as they are, it doesn't take long for Yujin to catch wind of a new doctor aboard the station. He and the rest of the infirmary volunteers take Dr. Dyer through the tour and orientation over a few days-- in that time, he's pleased to discover she's sharp and perceptive, a professional with good instincts. A colleague he hopes he'll be able to count on, in other words.

But Emily Dyer isn't on call at all when Yujin wanders into the infirmary.

So, for a moment, he lingers in the doorway and watches the woman take notes. At last, he clears his throat and steps forward:]

No, nothing at all: just dropping by. [Yujin pauses to glance at the instruments she's been counting, then continues innocently.]

You know, Dr. Dyer. You're free to familiarize yourself with the station and the other orbers. We won't be dispatched to our next assignment for a little while, and our only patient just needs some cold medicine.

[Looking at you and your flu, Newt.]

kanan jarrus | star wars

[blindrun]

Part II / 4 - Kitchen

No. ...Nope. Really, no? Ugh.

[ Kanan is a man on a quest. A booze quest. He has a pounding headache after his wake-up and he desperately needs a drink to relax. This situation is not at all ideal to his plans with Hera, but whatever. She can wait for him... probably. He hopes.

But, seriously-- ]

Am I blind, or is this just not where the alcohol is?

[ He says to no one, though if you're in the vicinity he is not against a helping hand on his adventure. ]

Part II / 5 - Sun Room

[ This is... definitely the most natural life he has seen since he was a kid. His Master once took him to Kashyyyk as part of her duties, back when he was in the early days of training. The war had only just begun back then and he was still more Youngling than Padawan, not that he would ever think so. He thought he was a real and true Jedi already. What a joke.

He's taking a break on the bridge, swinging his legs over and sitting on the firm wood railing. If someone were to pass by, he may strike up conversation: ]

Hey, is this as exciting as things get around here?

[ Or you can approach him if you so choose, as he quietly holds a bright azure cube in his hands and contemplates if he should open it. ]

Part III / Open Door Mission

[ Kanan hates this sense of urgency running through his skin like an electrical current through the wires of his nerves. He's gone through a few doors now and none of them have been especially interesting, one was just nothing at all even. What's the point of this exercise exactly? Or is this about the task he has to accomplish? He looks to his partner of the moment. ]

So. What task are you supposed to do to complete the mission?

[ ooc: for those canon familiar/potential cast, i'm choosing to play kanan from pre-rebels. his canon point is the end of a new dawn, i.e. the book he first meets hera in, so he's in his 20s and not really doing the jedi thing right now. ]

iii

[clockford]

[Fubuki, who's been at Kanan's heels and having a great time exploring, actually, brightens.]

I am supposed to allow you to get injured during this simulation exercise!

[A beat. She taps her chin.]

Hm. I do not wish for you to be hurt so severely. Perhaps you could just stub your toe?

Bucky Barnes | MCU | OTA

[endofcompliance]

Part 1, 1.0
When Bucky wakes up, it isn't being in a strange room that bothers him, at first. He's woken up in way too many places lately to be thrown off by the change of scenery. No, it's the fact he's in a bed. He's moved on to couches, sure, but he's still been more comfortable sleeping on the floor, or other closer to the ground, or on a hard surface, versus a full on bed. He, clearly, didn't put himself here.

On edge, he rolls off the side of the bed. Bucky's eyes dart around the room, unnerved. He stares at the person in the bed next to him, and no, seeing someone else there does not make this any less confusing or him any less upset.

If the person wakes up then, they will be treated to a steal-eyed staring contest.

Eventually, the conversation he thought was a dream, comes back to him, slowly, in pieces. Is that why he's here? No, still very uncomfortable about this. Regardless, first chance Bucky gets, he tries to edge his way out of the room, as quietly and quickly as he can. He might still get noticed doing so, though. At his height, with his bulk, he's a little hard to miss, stealthy or not.

Of course, when there's a voice in his ear, his back jolts stiff and straight. He looks around, puts a hand to his ear and asks, "Who's this?" There's an explanation, but it doesn't seem to really help his nerves, or make him any less sarcastic and annoyed.

"It really is one fight after another," he mutters under his breath. It's meant just for him, but he did say it aloud.


Part 2, 5.0
In theory, Bucky should have liked the sunlight room. It is a nice reprieve from the endless void of space, and yet, he just seems to frown harder. Maybe the sounds are too quiet, too much like nature, but he paces the room, agitated, like he's searching for something.

Bucky lasts maybe ten minutes then walks out. Anyone who notices will get stared at, hard. That doesn't have to deter anyone from asking him about it, though.


Part 3, 8.0, plus C (Bucky is going to steal a thing)
Bucky is partly just curious, it's why he shows up to the simulation room. Partly, maybe he is taking the warning to be ready seriously. Both things count. He's still not impressed when he gets there, until someone else shows up.

"So it doesn't work with one person?" He shouldn't be surprised by that, but he doesn't seem thrilled to have a partner, giving the person one of his cold stares, watching them, even as the scenery changes around them. Otherwise, Bucky would have been fascinated by that.

He doesn't like it. A simulated mission is fair, but it's the urgency that feels him, he doesn't feel like it's his. Bucky's jaw tightens and without asking his partner what they think, without letting himself touch the discomfort, he rushes forward to open a random door and stops.

"What the hell...." It's a room full of plush couches, ornate items, and a shiny golden bowl of fruit. He looks at the other person, it's not what he expected. At all.

Well, they have something to look for, right. He shrugs to the other person and starts grabbing cushions. He isn't too sure on what he's supposed to steal, either, so he goes for something small - one of the apples. He makes his way to the bowl, lifts the fruit to look under them, then slips one of the apples into his jacket. He's quick and slick, but if the other person is just as slick, they might have noticed. Feel free to call him out on it.


Wildcard; Willing to do anything else, especially 7.0, with discussion.


[Willing to do past, present tense or switch to action brackets. I will follow whatever. Feel free to put in a prompt or discuss ideas here, with this journal, on plurk metaljean, or discord: midnightcat]

5.0

[laviny]

Yelena is on her way into the sunlight room as Bucky is on his way out. She comes up short, and startles, but doesn’t blink or flinch when he stares at her. If anything, she looks vaguely unimpressed.

She knew Bucky when he was here before and once spent a large chunk of a mission babysitting him while he was stuck in Winter Soldier mode. So, his current stare really has very little effect on her aside from a hint of exasperation.

"Don’t you look at me in that tone of voice, James Buchanan Barnes," she tells him with a huff. Of course, she also realizes there’s no recognition in his gaze, which can only mean one thing, "You don’t remember being here before, do you?"