redshiftlogs | [open, backdated to May] like i'm losing my mind

Entry tags:

[open, backdated to May] like i'm losing my mind

Who: Qubit, open
What: ~~Belated~~ amnesia shenanigans! Watch Qubit steadily grow more and more frustrated-
When: month of May 2020
Where: around Anchor
Warnings: TBD

01 | try { qubit = new Identity(); }

[ So, Qubit's behavior has taken a turn for the weird.

For one thing, residents get to see a lot more of him over the month of May, because he's started living out of an actual dorm instead of his lab. The more astute may notice what he's not doing. He's not performing maintenance, or doing lab experiments... or showing up for meals reliably.

His ability to sit still already wasn't stellar, but now it's more pronounced. You might catch him coming and going at odd hours, or pacing the halls muttering to himself, or taking notes on a pad of paper with a pen.

He even looks slightly different. His hair, for one - there was already some variation in his signature quiff from day to day, but now they're not as tall, the styling is a little more experimental, and whatever kind of product he's using doesn't hold quite as well.

But perhaps the most obvious indicator something's wrong: he's occasionally wearing colors other than green. ]

02 | while (true) { read(); }

[ One place he ends up pretty regularly, though, is the library. He's found he hates the feeling of not knowing things, and this leads him to devour pretty much any book he can find that has to do with science. Physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, anything. He piles them high and reads them quickly, impatient to get to the next one.

They're somewhat advanced texts - university level, certainly - but not advanced enough that they'd be useful to him under normal circumstances. Even then, he's not finding it easy to focus. It's like his mind wants to absorb information faster than his eyes can serve it up, and because of that, it's latching on to every distraction it can find. Even if you think you're being quiet, anyone who dawdles more than a minute or two will be getting an irritated glare and a stern reprimand. ]

Would it kill you to keep it down?

03 | catch GatewayFailedException e { Gateway.lockdown(); }

[ Inevitably, though, he eventually finds his way back to R&D. He may poke around in unlocked areas to get a feel for the place, but his primary target is one lab in particular: the one that he's determined is his.

He thought it would be relatively simple. Sure, he can't remember any of his passcodes, but his biometrics haven't changed. Of course, nothing can ever be that easy - the thumbprint scanner works, but the keypad locks him out after a few random passcode attempts, prompting a sigh and some more self-directed muttering. ]

Suppose I should've expected that. Fine, Plan B it is.

[ It's an electronic lock, after all. He may not be clear on how to create anything with this power of his, but he's remarkably good at breaking shit, and for once that may actually come in handy. A moment's concentration, a wave of his hand, a brief cascade of blue light, and the mechanism comes away from the door in pieces, which clatter onto the floor as he releases them.

Did it work? He actually looks hopeful for a second... until the door emits a quick series of loud ker-thunks, and he realizes with sudden dismay that that's the sound of more locks engaging. ]

A fail-safe...?!

[ He might need some help. ]

[ OR: PM or hit me up on Discord (Kae#6067) for plotting or another prompt! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The slightest tremor runs through Carlisle, his hand shaking as his fingers tighten on the strap of his satchel. Being forgotten and having to reintroduce himself and the horror he is would be one thing, but this is Qubit, one of the few people Carlisle truly trusts, with whom he can generally be honest, who understands his predicament, who is trying to help him gain control over it—

His hurt gives way to denial as he fights for any scrap of hope he can cling to.]

You must remember something. You recall your own name, don't you? Where you are? Your technomancy? How to work your communicator? You must have recalled that last one, since you contacted me.

[ Qubit's eyes open, but remain downcast. It's not quite sadness he's feeling, it's... shame? Whether or not this is his own fault (although signs point to "probably"), he can't stand the sorry state he's in. He doesn't feel like himself - even if he knew what that meant. ]

[ He offers an uncertain shrug. ] I figured it out. The interface was pretty straightforward.

[ But... as an afterthought, he'll answer for the other three questions as well, since he has a point, none of that can be assumed. ]

I do remember my name, yes. "Qubit." Not sure it's my real name, but it'll do. And this - [ waves his hand at their surroundings generally ] - this derelict, or whatever, is Anchor. The robot gave us some information, but I don't know how much of it I can trust.

[ Whaaat, Scaramouche, not totally on the level? Say it ain't so. ]

But... "technomancy," I can't say I know what that term refers to.

[ He has a hunch. ]

[Carlisle visibly grimaces at the mention of a robot, the bridge of his nose wrinkling just above his mask. That's... something. He knows his name. It's a start.

The rest is a lot harder to explain, especially for Carlisle, a man so unfamiliar with technology that he's been using a smartphone as a paperweight for the past several months.]

Your technomancy. That- your- cisth, what did you call them? Psionics?

[Carlisle asks that as though he'd remember before realizing what an asinine idea that is. Also, it doesn't really explain what Qubit's technomancy does.]

You reshape machines through some kind of transfiguration. It's not magic, but it might as well be.

Edited 2020-07-06 21:26 (UTC)

[ Yeah, "psionics" doesn't ring a bell either, so the extra detail was a good idea. Unfortunately, all it does is leave him more confused.

He what? "Reshapes machines"? What does that mean? Reshape them into what? What's the process? The description's too vague, he can't picture it at all. He's not convinced there's nothing to it, given his... odd experiences in the last 24 hours... but some kind of magical power? That's a bit much, isn't it? ]

Could you be more specific? Saying it's "like magic" [ a little derisively, with air quotes ] - that doesn't tell me anything.

[He snorts behind his mask.]

I don't know how it works, or I would tell you. I've only seen you do it a handful of times, and we never could get past that it was something akin to, but different from magic. That it was consistent and verifiable, and magic somehow isn't. You- you insisted that was why it was difficult for you to help me in any capacity.

[And that seems to be a part of where this hurt stems from; it makes him feel that much further from a solution.]

Help you? Help you with what?

[It's Carlisle's turn to look ashamed; the fact only half his face is visible does little to hide it from his eyes, his gaze cast down upon his hands. Qubit doesn't understand magic, acts again like it does not exist; he doesn't even understand his own powers, the terminology now foreign to him. How would he take Carlisle's very existence? What would be Qubit's reaction to discovering he's little more than a monster beneath his many layers?

There's an ache in Carlisle's chest, one painfully drawn out; it cannot be his unbeating heart, and so he assumes it to be some agitation in his energies.]

It matters not. We will find a way to restore your memory, and then I will have never needed waste our time on long-winded explanations to answers you already know. That you of the past and the one we have yet to reach in the future will thank me for that.

[He just hopes those two people end up being the same person, unlike the previous Carlisle that some in Anchor met in another world. And speaking of Carlisles—]

My name is Carlisle Longinmouth. Just 'Carlisle,' if you would.

Carlisle.

[ And it's Longin-mouth. Whoops.

Qubit doesn't miss the plural there. "We will find a way." Carlisle's not just willing to help, he's volunteering. Granted, he may have some skin in the game - whatever help he was expecting, it's certainly beyond Qubit's capabilities now - but they can cross that bridge when they come to it. For now... ]

... Thank you.

[ It's a huge relief, he finds. That he doesn't have to figure it out on his own. He has at least one friend in this bizarre alien wasteland.

Even if he is pretty weird. But then, Qubit's beginning to think he may not be one to talk himself. ]

Edited 2020-07-07 17:43 (UTC)

[That genuine gratitude hits Carlisle hard; he pushes a quiet sigh from his nose, the air rattling in his throat.]

You may not know this now, but I haven't a doubt in my mind that you would have done the same for me, were I the one in need. You have not hesitated to come to my aid in the past, however poor an idea it was. There must be something we can do.

[He sets his satchel on the nearby desk and goes digging for his journal. The leather tome has seen better days if the wearing along the spine is any indication. He unties it and pulls off his work gloves before flipping through the pages, his notes all hand-written in ink. In case Qubit needed any more evidence that his friend is odd, he's wearing a second pair of gloves — ones that match the leather of the rest of his outfit — under the first.]

Edited 2020-07-07 18:46 (UTC)

[ Qubit nods. Carlisle's right - something caused this, and something must be able to reverse it. And he won't accept otherwise so long as any other option remains. They'll put their heads together, and they'll figure it out.

He joins Carlisle at the desk, looking over his shoulder. He does raise an eyebrow at the double gloves - yeah, that is pretty strange - but the leather-bound journal soon draws his attention away. Carlisle's flipping through it too quickly for him to read the tiny handwriting, but he keeps glimpsing these odd geometric forms - circles and inscribed polygons, mostly. Graph theory?

It's not exactly relevant right this second, but he makes a mental note to ask about it. For now, he just waits for Carlisle to find whatever it is he's looking for. ]

[Carlisle stops on a loose page toward the middle of the book, the later signatures not yet filled with the same script and drawings as before.]

You and Peter had been in the maze before, but you didn't tell me how far in you went that time. I tried to convince you not to go, but it's not as though you've ever listened to me. [He pauses, knowing that's not a fair assessment.] Well... not about things like this.

[He runs his finger down the page, trying to quickly find the relevant information. There's one name that pops out almost instantly: SINI.]

And it's not as though you and Peter haven't gone throwing yourselves into danger before, but there's got to— [He looks up having a sudden though.] PETER. Where is he? What does he remember? Does he remember Poison?

[ So they went in there willingly, Qubit notes. But why? It's full of elaborate death traps, which he and Peter must have known, if they've been inside before. And apparently at least part of it is a contamination area (which he suspects may be what put them in this state). So what about that maze was worth risking their lives over? What were they hoping to find at the other end?

... Oh, right, Peter. ]

I don't know where he is right now, but he did come back with me. Whatever happened hit both of us, he remembers about as much as I do. [ But speaking of contamination... ] What's this about a poison?

Edited 2020-07-11 11:58 (UTC)

Not a poison. Poison. [And with that clarifying approximately nothing, he continues to elaborate after a beat.] They are courting.

[And he's apparently invested enough in that fact to bring it up — that, or he cares immensely about either Peter or Poison's well-being and how it may be tied to the notion of forgetting or being forgotten by a loved one. No points for guessing which one it is.

Carlisle sighs, scanning the page before him as though it could tell him what to do. It doesn't, and so he resolves to call her later, just to make sure she is aware of what's happened — perhaps after he has some idea himself.]

I suppose it matters not for the time being. All the more reason to find a solution. You said it was dangerous down there, that there were traps and other perils. [He glances Qubit's way.] You don't look as though you've taken a blow to the head, so unless you met another healer down there or saw your way to the medical ward, perhaps it's something else.

Edited 2020-07-11 16:42 (UTC)

[ Okay, that still didn't clarify much. "Poison" is someone's name? And Peter's dating them? ... Qubit doesn't envy the kid that conversation, tell you that for free.

Anyway. He folds his arms, recalling yesterday's events. ]

No, I'm pretty sure it wasn't head trauma. We came to in the middle of... decontamination. The decontamination process.

[ Naked and afraid, basically. He pauses for a moment, then decides another detail might worth including, too. ]

I think... we must have had some warning. Not enough, obviously, but I don't believe it was instantaneous.

[Carlisle pulls out the relevant pages, tucking the rest of his journal away for the time being.]

And why is that? Did you write yourself a warning, by chance?

[ Qubit shakes his head. ] Nothing so concrete. Just a ... subjective impression I had.

[ He looks askance, uncomfortable. ]

... The first thing I do remember ... is actively reminding myself of my own name. Why else would I have been doing that? I must have realized what was happening to us.

[ There's the existential terror, too, but that's harder to put into words. He remembers only the tail end of it, when he'd already forgotten what caused it, and even that was almost physically painful at first. ]

[It may be hard to put that terror into words, but it's one Carlisle can relate to, in a roundabout way. He knows what it's like to wake up with no clue as to what he'd been doing, what he'd done. Even before his death, there were gaps in time he lost, hours and days where he couldn't place himself. He'd have to remind himself when waking from a nightmare that he was alive, he was here rather than somewhere else.

It's a unique kind of horror; he tries not to give Qubit a pitying look, knowing he probably wouldn't appreciate it.]

You are no doubt quick and clever enough to have realized something was immediately amiss, but perhaps there was no time for an elegant solution, and reminding yourself of your name was all you could manage.

[But what was it that would have stolen his memory? A poison? Magic? Something technological? Magic leaves traces, can be detected by someone who knows what they're looking for; a wound or something otherwise physiological could be seen, as well. The hardest part is generally convincing someone as private as Qubit to allow an inspection.

Then again, that's how Qubit used to be. There's no telling exactly how he is now. Carlisle's eyes flick Qubit's way.]

I... could take a look, if you like. See if I can find anything that may have caused this. My energy can be channeled in such a way to detect internal anomalies.

[ Maybe it was. He doesn't comment further on that experience, though, for now. It's sort of surreal, feeling empathy for himself.

He meets Carlisle's gaze with a raised eyebrow. (Yeesh, the glowing eyes are still kind of disturbing.) He did say "another" healer a second ago, come to think of it, but Qubit can't help feeling intensely skeptical. ]

Your "energy"? What does that mean?

[ 'Cause it sounds like some woo hippie bullshit, if he's honest. Not that he knows what a hippie is. ]

[Ah, there's that vaguely doubtful look again.]

My energy. Magic. I'm— cisth, of course you don't remember. I'm a healer by trade. Look, you don't recall, but we've been over this already.

[Or some variation of it involving glyphs. Details.]

Well, humor me, then!

[ The whole point is that he doesn't recall! Come on. He sighs, rubbing his forehead for a second. No need to snap at the man, he's going out of his way for you as it is. ]

Listen, Carlisle - I appreciate that you're trying to help. I do. But this isn't something we can fix just by - [ vague handwaving ] - by laying hands on it, or whatever.

I'm not saying I can fix it. I'm saying I might be able to detect any internal abnormalities that may be causing it. I can't do it any way other than with my hands.

[He apparently took that laying hands comment very literally.]

It's an expression. [ Don't ask where he got it from, he doesn't know. How is he supposed to express what it is he's so leery of, though? Without being disrespectful? He doesn't have the same vocabulary to draw on, just vaguely recalled examples of practices he knows are bunk. ]

I just mean - it's - I didn't lose my memory because of imbalanced humours, or misaligned vertebrae, or - or vibrations in the ether. There's bound to be a logical explanation.

[Carlisle stares at Qubit flatly.]

Mister Qubit, we are in a colony where people have been captured from all different times and worlds. There are individuals here who met me elsewhere, who know of a me I have never been. This horrible place has sapient constructs, shapeshifters, former undead, and current undead. The logical explanation you're looking for is "It could be caused by magical means I do not yet fully understand, but here, I have a fellow who does understand them, and he wants to help me in any way I can. Perhaps I should let him do that."

[ Qubit pauses, his brow wrinkling. Most of that is new information, and all of it is "citation needed." Captured how? By whom? "A me I've never been"? Undead? His gut reaction is to push back against all of it with overwhelming skepticism. And yet -

What if?

After all, he has less than twenty-four hours of life experience to draw from. In a sense, he literally was born yesterday. And he's already witnessed a lot of things he can't explain. At the same time, nothing about Carlisle screams "charlatan."

Not to say he's convinced, but... what's the harm. He sighs and lets his hands fall. ]

Fine. Fine. Go ahead, if it makes you feel better. What do you need me to do?

[Carlisle seems genuinely surprised; that took a lot less argument than he was expecting from the intensely skeptical Qubit, but given he's lost his memories, perhaps he's lost some of what made him so obstinate in the first place. Either that, or he's just as desperate for answers as Carlisle is to give them to him.]

Right. I'll need your hand — and we might want to have a seat. Having energy channeled through you can be a rather jarring experience.

[He gestures to the bed, taking the chair from the desk and dragging it over.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject