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

[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.]

[ In reality, it's a little of column A, a little of column B. He's missing the formative experiences that forced him to accept he can't explain everything, and he's forgotten what he was hiding about himself, and how much, and why. And he is pretty desperate for answers.

But perhaps more importantly, he's forgotten that magic is real, and therefore he expects this to have no tangible effect whatsoever. "Jarring experience," pah. He heads to the bed and sits down, brisk and businesslike, with an expression that says Let's get this over with. ]

Does it matter which hand? [ He offers both, anyway, palms down. ]

Edited 2020-07-16 05:13 (UTC)

Not at all.

[Carlisle takes his seat, his eyes on Qubit's hands, deciding which is the better one to take. He hesitates; there's an obvious tremble to his own hands, as though he's afraid to even touch the man before him. In truth, he is.

He's never healed Qubit before, and one thing he knows for certain is that Qubit is a private, often guarded individual. When inspected by a healer of Carlisle's caliber, one must unfortunately relinquish some secrets, particularly internal and anatomical differences that may be felt through magic. They cannot be hidden from the channel of energy, tucked away tidily for no one to to see. There are aspects of Qubit's history that the technomancer himself didn't want to discuss: Carlisle recalls too well the argument they had that day when the Red Shift took them into the depths of a fiery lair occupied by the skeletons of children, to a place torn straight from Qubit's memories. There had been regret, remorse, a reluctance to speak of the past and those long gone — of mistakes that could not simply be fixed.

Carlisle's never thought too hard on this before when performing an inspection, but this is someone he respects more than most — someone for whom, whether he realizes it or not, he'd do just about anything if it seemed even slightly beneficial. Qubit would have done the same to help him — he has done the same, no matter how futile an effort it was. He knew Carlisle's secrets before even Carlisle himself did, and has kept them ever since, despite the danger a Revenant with his abilities could present to the people of Anchor. It's not that he thinks Qubit could be hiding anything he could possibly detect via magical energy, but it's the principle of the matter — that Carlisle feels he's invading his privacy to some degree, that he's delving into a space where he does not belong. Unlike most people, it would matter to Qubit to have such secrets, if any, unearthed.

Ultimately, it doesn't seem to matter to the Qubit before him, who looks as though he doesn't believe this endeavor is even possible; furthermore, this could lead to some clue as to what stripped him of his memory. Swallowing down his misgivings as he convinces himself this is for the best, Carlisle takes Qubit's left hand. Though he doesn't grip hard, the leather of his gloves is pliable enough that Qubit may be able to feel his skeletal fingers within. Giving his companion a polite nod to affirm he's ready, Carlisle closes his eyes and begins channeling.

He starts with a cursory inspection, allowing his energy to seep into Qubit: it trickles through his palm, into his wrist, then flows throughout his body like water poured into vessel, bubbling upward through his chest and neck, spilling into each limb one by one. The sensation that often accompanies healing is a searing one, sometimes related to the scorch of electricity or the painful burning of fire in the veins; an inspection like this is a lesser version of the healing experience, but similarly, it is never described as particularly pleasant to endure.]

Edited 2020-07-16 13:35 (UTC)

[ Carlisle's hesitation doesn't go unnoticed, nor the trembling in his hands as they take hold of his. Is something wrong? Or is that normal for him? His grip feels odd, almost as if the gloves are padded - but they don't look padded, unless the man's hands are impossibly thin. He glances up at Carlisle's face, unsure what he's searching it for. The gauntness in his face is even more pronounced up close, and he's still not sure what to make of the eerie glow in his eyes...

Then Carlisle nods and shuts his eyes, and Qubit's palm starts to tingle.

He barely has time to be surprised, because then it spreads, intensifying as it goes, a growing heat pouring into his torso, his neck, his limbs - ]

Aaaaa-aaaaa-aaaaah-

[ He squirms, trying to pull his hand back, but Carlisle's grip only tightens. Half panicking, he grasps at the padded gloves with his other hand, trying (unsuccessfully) to free himself. ]

Carlisle, stop! That hurts!

[ It is... exactly the same reaction this process gets from most people, probably, if they don't know what to expect. ~~Don't listen to him, he's just being a baby.~~ ]

Stay still, Mister Qubit. I did warn you.

[His voice is sharp, his tone carrying an unnatural ring as he slows his channel, trying to ease Qubit's mind while focusing on maintaining his hold over his energies. A patient pulling away can result in the channel breaking, which is far worse on the healer than their ward — and knowing how much can go wrong if his energies were to suddenly snap in either direction, Carlisle does everything in his power to keep the connection stable, even if it means having a death grip on Qubit's hand. Better that than to rot his hand away entirely.

Despite the uneven flux of magic (or, perhaps, because of it), Carlisle does manage to detect something: it's not an obvious anomaly, not a broken bone or a muscle turned wrong or a long-healed scar. It's barely a ripple against his energies, only felt as he pulls them back into Qubit's arm, keeping them close so the results of any potential break would be less catastrophic. There's something there, in his wrist: a lot of little, minute somethings rather than one obvious wound.

He opens his eyes, the glow of them so vibrant that it swallows all their other features, vapors of wild magic spilling from them like steam. Casting a look to Qubit's hand in his own, he turns it over to reveal the underside of his wrist — and a word that had been hidden there, the letters only barely visible from the agitation his channel has caused.]

Vigilante?

Edited 2020-07-16 20:50 (UTC)

[ Staying still is easier said than done. This is weird and unsettling on multiple levels, and it hurts, damn it! ... Okay, maybe it doesn't hurt exactly, but it's phenomenally uncomfortable, at any rate, and that strange echo in Carlisle's voice doesn't put him more at ease. What in the hell is happening right now?!

But soon, a clearer thought emerges from amid his roiling emotions, like a signal distinct from noise. Carlisle has no reason to harm me.

He says he's a healer, after all. He just meant it in a more... direct sense. Whatever he's doing now, it's part of how he heals people. Qubit doesn't know much about Carlisle, and the little he knows, he doesn't understand - but he trusts him. He's got to trust him.

He wouldn't knowingly harm me.

Slowly, he puts his right hand down, gripping his knee with it instead. Focuses on his breathing. It's a bit easier to deal with the discomfort once it's pulled back just to his arm. A bit. He's still tense, but he'll try to hold still.

It startles him again when Carlisle opens his eyes, with the glow intensified to the point of physically overflowing, so he's just sort of boggling rudely when his friend speaks again. ]

What-?

[ "Vigilante"? He follows Carlisle's gaze to his wrist. At first he doesn't see anything unusual, but then - wait. A faint outline, a light blue tinge. The longer he squints at it, the more he can - there it is. The word "VIGILANTE", in block letters.

And that's weird enough to take his mind almost completely off everything else. ]

Good God. How long has that been there?

A while, at the very least.

[There's a more focused stinging in Qubit's wrist, Carlisle's brow tightening as he scrutinizes the tattoo from the inside out.]

No fresh scarring. There's... an internal component to it. Hm.

[He closes his eyes again, and allows his energy to seep back into Qubit's arm; he takes it slower than before, following the trail of the microscopic nanites that litter Qubit's arm — and more, it seems. He cannot discern exactly what they are — no more than he could a poison or an infection tainting the blood — but he knows there's something there, his energy butting against them, the faint ripple of his energy enough to alert him to their presence.

Qubit seemed impervious to his compulsion — said he could not be affected by such things. Are these what gives him such protection? Are they what caused his amnesia? Or did one become the other through some mishap?

He reaches up through Qubit's neck, pulling in a breath to steady himself. His aural compulsion is not something to be toyed with, not an ability to casually use upon anyone — especially not someone he cares for — as he sees fit. It's certainly more dangerous when used while he's channeling, but... they both wanted answers, and this is the best way he can observe just how Qubit's body — more specifically, those unknown contaminants within him — reacts.]

Tell me if you feel anything.

[And that's all the warning he gives before giving a command:]

Stand up, if you would.

[ So it's not on his skin, but under it? That's... very concerning. Qubit stiffens as the energy starts roving again, but it's not as sudden as before, and he's more prepared for it this time. Not completely - it still feels incredibly strange, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the current traces up his neck and into his skull. What's he doing now, a brain scan?

(An experiment, as it turns out.)

The nanites definitely react to the attempted compulsion. It's restricted to the ones in his brain, and even then it's not all of them, just a subset - but that subset goes active immediately, emitting a psionic signal that precisely cancels out the incoming one. For a moment, it's almost as if his brain goes dark. No connection is formed, no command is received.

But that's not to say Qubit doesn't notice. He isn't sure how that final sentence differs from the one before it, and he isn't sure how he can tell - and then something else pops into his awareness, almost like a push notification in his head. Not exactly a voice, but information. He nods, perplexed. ]

Yeah - yeah, I felt something.

[ { source: 'Carlisle'; type: OVERRIDE; confidence: [0.94, 0.41] } ]

What did you - [ oh wait. ] Stand up, or hold still?

[Seeing Qubit fend off his compulsion is very different from the inside than it is merely watching him refuse to comply: there's a brief flurry of activity, a ripple back, and then — nothing. Admittedly, he's never compelled someone while he was channeling into them, but Carlisle imagines it can't possibly feel like that for everyone.]

Still. Just... testing something. I don't- I don't believe those are the same as what's in your wrist.

[Though he doesn't really clarify what those are just yet. After a moment to make sure he has a strong grasp over his own energies, back down through Qubit's spine he goes, still feeling traces of the somethings throughout. He opens his eyes to peer at Qubit's hand, just to make sure he's not rotting — nope, though he suspects Qubit will probably say something if that happens.]

Hm.

[His nose wrinkles as he prods around Qubit's organs. It is likely as uncomfortable as it sounds. Carlisle's energies waver, his hand shaking; he knows he can't keep his magic reaching out for too much longer, the strain starting to take a toll on him. Better to withdraw for now than risk curdling Qubit's innards.

Once he's pulled his energy back, Carlisle releases Qubit's hand, clutching his own as he tries to quell a tremor. At least that went better than when he tries to heal, which takes a lot more effort, given healing magic directly counteracts the necrotic energies that keep him animated.]

Sorry. [He's not sure what he's apologizing for, but his very nature seems to be apologetic at times.] How do you feel?

The same what? Carlisle, what's-

[ He draws in a hiss as the sensation despends down his spinal column and starts taking a tour through his viscera. Which is an entirely new dimension of strangeness, since organs have a different kind of sensory neuron! It makes him nauseous a couple times, but not too terribly.

Finally - though it feels like it took forever - the energy withdraws back the way it came, and Carlisle lets him go. And Qubit is... none the worse for wear, apparently. Back to normal, albeit visibly rattled by the experience.

He grips both his knees tightly, letting his head sag forward while he tries to pull himself together, steady his breathing. He's fine. It's fine. His head's spinning, but the disorientation isn't physical. Psychological, certainly. Maybe even spiritual. He already had precious little foundation to build a well-ordered worldview on, and now even that feels like a lean-to being washed away in a flood.

At Carlisle's innocent question, he looks up slowly, his face lined with tired disbelief. Seriously? ]

Like a million bucks.

[ That was sarcasm. How do you think he feels, asshole? After a second, though, he sighs and straightens up, forcing his shoulders to relax. ]

... I certainly hope you got some answers out of that. All I have are more questions.

[Though Carlisle doesn't fully understand the answer he gets — a million bucks? How does feeling like an unfathomable number of deer relate to one's health? — he can tell well enough from the tone that Qubit didn't enjoy the experience. No one does, frankly.]

Some, I believe, though whether or not what I found caused your current predicament is yet to be seen.

[His gaze remains on his own hands another second as he struggles to keep them still; it shifts to Qubit in the silence that follows.]

I will presumably have an easier time answering your questions than you will mine.

Edited 2020-07-17 09:07 (UTC)

[ All right. Some. That's more than zero. Which is already a lot more than he expected. Yay...?

He lets out a long breath through his nose, resting his face on steepled fingers. ]

That's if I knew what questions to ask.

[ He's utterly lost. He doesn't understand anything, and that's even more torturous than the exam. Where does he even begin with this?

No integer values a, b, and c exist that satisfy aⁿ + bⁿ = cⁿ for any integer value of n > 2.

... Ah. Right. Math still works. He quietly starts building the curve in his head, letting the act of calculation soothe his frazzled nerves. Fermat's Last Theorem: intractable problem, difficult proof, security blanket. It gives the rest of his turbulent thoughts a moment to congeal into useful queries, and by the time he selects one, he's calmed down considerably. ]

... Carlisle, how long have we known each other?

[Carlisle's eyes finally dim to their normal illumination as he watches Qubit process his thoughts, knowing good and well the terrible feeling of utter uncertainty, the look of a man trying to find something to ground him in comforting familiarity, no matter how small. He's worn that look many times himself, especially since his arrival in Anchor. And on that topic—]

For what must be nearly a year now. Time... slips from me here, but I've known you since my second or third day. You were the first person I ever spoke to with the communicator. I assumed you'd been here much longer, but frankly, I've never thought to ask.

Edited 2020-07-17 15:33 (UTC)

[ A year. And he's been here upwards of a year. That's its own can of worms, but he files it away for now. ]

So you know me fairly well, I'd imagine.

[Now there is a question. Carlisle wants to answer immediately — yes, he knows Qubit, his ~~friend~~ associate Qubit, the man who has come to his aid when he ought not have Qubit. They've sat and chatted about magic and machines, endured a Red Shift together, are apparently each other's emergency contact.

And yet, he doesn't fully know what Qubit and Peter expected to find in the maze. He doesn't know how long Qubit has been here, what ultimately led him to being such an isolated and private man. He doesn't even know his last name, if he has one. Carlisle has never asked, and a part of him suspects Qubit wouldn't tell him even if he did.

His gaze falls back on his hands, the gloves doing little to hide the creature he is beneath his many layers. Qubit knew much about him, but Carlisle cannot say the reverse is true.]

Not as well as I'd like. To say you had your secrets would be a vast understatement, and the one person I can think of who might know more would be Peter. Or would have been, rather.

[ Qubit frowns. He has noticed his tendency to play close to the vest, and his reluctance to blurt things out when he's not sure, but... he's that secretive? Even with Carlisle? They're friends. They've known each other almost a year. It's strange that he'd trust a friend that little... ]

Hm. But...

[ He doesn't know nothing. Qubit squints, retracing his steps through their conversation. ]

You knew about my... "technomancy." You knew I had a lab, and you knew I... don't sleep enough. [ Well, that part tracks at least. ] My point is, right now, you know me better than I do. What - what impression do you have? What sort of man would you say I am?

[Carlisle chuckles nervously.]

I regret what I said earlier about having an easier time answering your questions.

[But he's going to try. First and foremost, he realizes he must be delicate about it. Sure, he could tell Qubit all he knows right then and there — that he's impossibly intelligent, always seems to have some kind of a plan, is willing to do whatever necessary to help others whether they deserve it or not... but the Qubit Carlisle knows is also a man of many regrets, the true depths of which only Qubit himself knew. He wants to fix everything. He can be volatile when the topic of his own past comes up unexpectedly. It clearly haunts him, if how its sudden appearance before them in the Shift and his immediate reaction are any indication. Qubit lied to Carlisle to keep him calm that day, not trusting he could do it on his own. He treated him less like a person and more like a dangerous creature needing to be leashed.

A part of Carlisle doesn't blame him for that, looking back; however, he was undeniably hurt by it then, and still is now, even more so knowing that Qubit would have likely kept all that from him if he could. It's not really something one brings up in casual conversation, the deaths of children and their animated skeletons, but—

Qubit could have at least mentioned his friends prior to that event, those in the Paradigm long gone. He knew Carlisle well enough by then to realize he would relate, commiserate, empathize. He knew the clergyman had lost everything and everyone who ever mattered to him... and that he blamed himself for it. Carlisle could tell that Qubit blamed himself, too — maybe not for all that happened, whatever that entails, but for being unable to fix it. Not every problem has a solution.

Perhaps we'll just ... get used to it. Qubit's words still ring in his head, and what a horrible truth it is. It's the uncertainty in such a statement that's the real torture: perhaps they'll get used to it, but without a true solution to free them of their guilt, they are damned to relive the pain over and over and over again until they are finally numb to it.

But here is Qubit, unburdened by such troubles. He will remember them later, certainly (hopefully), but for now, he is simply trying to adjust to not just everything around him, but himself, as well. He doesn't even know his own abilities, much less the people he could not save with them. To a point, Carlisle cannot help but be envious: he desperately wishes he could unsee the ravaged Bear Den, could forget what happened to the people there and what he did to them. Qubit may want to know everything, as dictated by his inquisitive personality, but Carlisle cannot do that to him. Not yet.

He must be delicate. He starts softly.]

I could tell you of every conversation we've ever had. I could- could recount the times you have dealt with me at my worst. I could tell you of your nature as I saw it... but it would be only the impression I was given by you. Perhaps it was that you you wanted me to see, or perhaps it was genuine, but either way, it would be an image of yourself from the outside looking in. Were I to give you the wrong impression, I have no doubt you would try to live up to that standard, as though acting like yourself as someone else saw you could fix the problem. Living in your own shadow, of someone you used to be is...

[He hesitates; his brow tightens, creases etching into his gaunt features as genuine injury crosses him. He bites it back, as he must.]

It is a brand of suffering I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you. Suffice to say that you are a good person, Mister Qubit. You are someone I can trust to be there when I need him to be. You might not have believed those things yourself, but- but that is the truest you I saw time and time again, and there is not a doubt in my mind that is who you still are. No loss of memory could strip you of that.

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