Qubit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
superposition) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2020-07-01 01:14 am
superposition) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-07-01 01:14 am
[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
[ OR: PM or hit me up on Discord (Kae#6067) for plotting or another prompt! ]
What:
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. ]
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?
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. ]
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! ]
for Carlisle again hi bro
He never comes empty-handed, at least. He's been bringing along the results of his research, or whatever scientific text has grabbed his interest, or else new observations regarding himself, his powers, or Anchor. He even asked Carlisle to perform another diagnostic exam, once, trying to turn up more details about the pervasive mystery contaminant in his tissue. (And then complained about it afterward, even though he literally asked for it.)
But days turn to weeks, and they still don't have a solution. And it's pretty clearly taking a toll on Qubit. With every visit, his appearance grows a little more haggard, his behavior a little more erratic. His determination to fix things hasn't waned - if anything, it's growing stronger by the day. But it's starting to cross the line into desperate obsession.
He wants to go back into the maze. No, not wants to - he feels he has to. Nothing else is working. He's told Carlisle as much, several times, and so far his friend's managed to talk him out of it. It's too dangerous. You're not ready. And he's right, damn him, but -
- but Qubit can't let it go. To the point where it's a problem for him, too.
So one night - or morning, technically, it's about half three - he finds himself back in the A.Z. "If you need anything, you can come to me," Carlisle said. And Qubit knows he needs something, right now, even if he can't put words to it. He raps sharply, urgently, on the door of the tiny house. ]
Carlisle, are you up? It's Qubit.
well look what the Qubit dragged in (himself, apparently)
So when Qubit comes around again, even at half three, he's quick to open the door, as though Qubit might wander off into the maze if he left him waiting. The time of night does bring a change to his wardrobe: though he's still wearing the padded outfit normally hidden by his long coat — complete with mask and veil — it's all tucked neatly beneath a fluffy bathrobe, as though that'd somehow make him feel more relaxed when at home if he somewhat looked the part. As it is, the robe is clearly a couple of sizes too big for his frame, his gloved hands barely making it to the ends of the sleeves. He's surprised to see Qubit at this time of night, but perhaps less alarmed by his frazzled appearance than he ought to be. As they were often his natural states in life, he's well aware what stress, frustration, anxiety, and exhaustion will do to a person.]
Of course, of course.
[He steps aside to let Qubit in. What was clearly one of the buildings for the farm has been rearranged entirely to become a makeshift house: a table sits in the center of the space, the two well-worn chairs where they usually sit during Qubit's visits; his bed on the farm wall is always made, and rarely seems to see use. As the weeks have passed, the little shrine he's built for himself atop a small table in the corner seems to have taken shape, as have the shelves on the walls, each one lined with knickknacks and trinkets picked up from around Anchor, arranged with no obvious rhyme or reason.
Carlisle shoves the papers on the table to one side, trying to stack them up — more glyphs, as usual, as well as some rudimentary illustrations of how they would be constructed around what appears to be his home. He glances Qubit's way, looking him over as he taps the papers into a neat pile.]
You look unwell.
[At least he's honest about that.]
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He enters the little house, but doesn't sit down. He's far too restless for that. Instead he stands and fidgets, shifting his weight or repositioning his hands every few seconds. He should have brought something to occupy them. Isn't there some saying about idle hands...? ]
[ Flatly- ] Thanks. Don't worry, I feel worse than I look.
[ No, he didn't misspeak, don't parse that, he doesn't want to talk about it. His eyes land on the stack of papers, and he leans (maybe excessively) over the table for a better look, planting one hand on its surface. ]
What are you working on? More of those glyphs? I see "abjuration" there. [ pointing to one of the symbols. ] Where's this one going?
[ At least he's enthusiastic? Maybe a little too enthusiastic. Aggressively enthusiastic. ]
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Abjuration, yes. [He's privately pleased Qubit recognized the sigil, and worried all the same for the day Qubit can immediately determine what kind of glyphs he's making at a glance.] I'm devising a way to protect this area, should there be a sudden infestation of destructive energies or magic.
[He obviously doesn't want to discuss it though, as he rounds back to Qubit's initial statement, his eyes on the technomancer's restless behavior.]
But surely you didn't come here just to see what I was doing in the dead of the night. You ought be asleep.
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[ He shakes his head impatiently. ] Can't sleep anyway. Is that a likely scenario? I thought you were the only wiz- magician. Only magician in Anchor.
[ He shakes it again, this time trying to clear it, then squeezes his eyes shut and rubs them heavily with one hand. Yeeeeeah, if you two could just stop itching and focus properly, that'd be greeeeeat. ]
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Or maybe he will return, like Genji, uncertain if he's the same person he was before. Carlisle isn't sure which is worse.]
Luck favors the prepared, Mister Qubit. Sit, please.
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[ Reluctantly, Qubit pulls out one of the chairs and takes a seat - but sideways, as if he may need to get up again at any moment. His leg bounces agitatedly under the table. ]
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['Simple' being relative, if all his glyph experimentation and theory is any indication. He goes about preparing some tea for both of them, getting his familiar, grey mug from the shelf, along with an emerald green one that he's privately designated as Qubit's. Maybe something to drink will help calm Qubit's nerves — and if it doesn't, he'll find something that will, as it's clear what a part of the problem is.]
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[ As usual, Qubit watches the tea-making process intently. They've spoken about it several times already, but he still finds it fascinating. Creating water out of thin air? Heating it instantaneously? It's absolutely wild. ]
I still can't get over how easily you do that. [ He gestures toward the mugs. ] You know how much energy it takes to heat eight ounces of water to a boil? Seventy-eight thousand, three hundred seventy-four joules. What's the mass of that mug, about four hundred grams? As kinetic energy, that'd be enough for a velocity of six hundred twenty-six meters per second. Over fourteen hundred miles per hour.
[ He pretty much says all that in one breath. ]
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Then comes the water, the glyph, the magic and whatnot. He brings them to the sitting table to steep, apparently not worried about the heat as he picks up the mugs by their sides.]
It's no wonder you can't sleep. Cisth, and I thought my mind was an insufferable thing.
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He sighs impatiently, leaning in to rub his eyes again. ]
I can't help it. It's like there's a goddamn motor running it. Just constantly go, go, go. [ snap, snap, snap. ] I can't -
[ He can't sit still, apparently. He gets up and starts pacing the rough-hewn floor. ]
I have to go back in, Carlisle. Everything comes back to that. There's no other way. I don't know how else to get it out of my head...!
[ His tone has less of his usual determination, though, and more distress. He's already lost his memory, his resources, his skills - and now it feels like he's losing control of his mind. ]
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[His tone is soft, but firm, his eyes aglow as always as he lays them upon his companion and eases into the chair, watching as Qubit paces once more.]
I would assume this is simply your usual manner of working, but... have you considered there may be something more to this? That the maze is trying to draw you back?
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... That doesn't make sense. You think it's got some kind of consciousness?
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[He pauses with a stifled sigh, uncertain if he should keep going. There are some things he hasn't brought up with Qubit before his amnesia, and bringing them up with a Qubit who is struggling to resist his worse impulses might be asking for trouble. Still, Carlisle cannot help but feel they could be related. He tries again, and while he starts the same, he is clearly keeping something to himself, guilt lacing itself into his brow as it so often does.]
There are many things in this place that do not make sense, Mister Qubit. What's one more?
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What kind of man would you say I am? ]
... You know something.
[ Not something he wants to say. But definitely something. Qubit faces him, his face suddenly lined with suspicion. ]
You know something, don't you? What aren't you telling me?
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[Yes, absolutely. Or maybe it's that he's only now put together that two somethings could be the same something. He shakes his head, his eyes flicking Qubit's way.]
It- it likely isn't related. Or I didn't think it would be. It's not in the maze.
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But Qubit is not in a very logical frame of mind. He's exhausted and desperate and half delirious and now Carlisle's been holding out on him. His expression darkens even further. What if this is the key they need? What if they could have ended this humiliating debacle weeks ago?! ]
Out with it.
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But this really was an accident, his avoidance of the subject unrelated to Qubit's memory loss. Carlisle had known Qubit would want to investigate himself if he knew the room existed, and so he hadn't brought it up to him before, staying silent about the white room he and Kabal discovered in the depths of Anchor. Surely it's not related; surely Qubit and Peter didn't somehow stumble upon it in the maze, or find some remnant of it that had escaped when the room had been opened.
But Carlisle can't be certain, and he certainly can't avoid talking about it now, not when Qubit is boring a hole into him with his eyes alone. He stiffens in his chair, his fingers curling against the table's surface.]
There- there is a room in this place, down in the flooded tunnels. V- vaults of some kind. One of- one of them is home to a terrifying presence I cannot explain. It isn't in the maze. It cannot be related. We sealed it in there!
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[ He can't believe this. That's not Carlisle's call to make! And what for? Because it was scary? Qubit strides up to the table, fire in his eyes, his voice rising in volume. ]
We need any lead we can get right now, Carlisle! No matter how unlikely you think it is, we need to rule it out definitively! You know that!!
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I- I know that, I do, but you didn't know about it before, so—
[So why does it matter now? Carlisle doesn't need for Qubit to answer that question, as his own panic does it for him: if Qubit had known about the white room before, perhaps he'd have been better prepared for similar threats. What if there are more rooms in the depths of Anchor, more unexplainable, malicious presences? What if he and Kabal freed that one?]
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Said the kettle.]Do you even know whether it's still in there? How can you be sure you sealed it when you don't know what it is?! [ He grabs both lapels of that stupid, absurd-looking bathrobe and shakes him harshly. ] Carlisle, HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?!!
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And yet, there's no circle of decay around him, no aura of the necrotic as an immediate reaction. His energies are riled, certainly, though not from anger and bitterness, nor from revulsion or rage, but fear. It's the same fear that colors his tone and works its way into his every visible feature, from his stance to his expression. He can marvel at the peculiarities of his reaction when he's not terrified beyond all reason.]
I don't know! I don't know, Qubit, I- I don't know! [He shuts his eyes; the glow of them is vibrant enough to seep through the crack in his eyelids.] I don't know, I'm sorry, I don't- I don't know if it's- if it's there or what it is or what it- what it could be, b-b-but please, don't- please don't—
[... don't what? Just what would an enraged Qubit do? And is that a question he really wants answered?]
1/2
(Not today, at least.)
Up until now, his rage has been a self-sustaining reaction, feeding back into itself, a critical mass on the verge of meltdown. But Carlisle cowering away from him, begging for mercy, it's -
No. No, this - this is wrong.
That realization hits him like a bank of control rods. All the color drains from his face in an instant. His hands fall slack, and he stumbles back, stunned.
What have I done?
It's all wrong. His mind races faster than ever, but now with its barbs turned inward. He's your friend. He's shown you nothing but kindness, and this is how you repay him? Look! You're terrorizing the poor man! How could you? How dare you?! ]
I- I'm sorry.
[ There's no force to his voice anymore. He can barely croak out the apology, even as weak and meaningless as it is. ]
I don't know what - [ He takes another step back, his leg bumping the other chair. ] I didn't mean - I -
2/2
But he doesn't. He can't. The door's three feet away, but it might as well be three lightyears. He sits down heavily, as if his legs are giving out, and buries his face in his hands.
And for a long moment, he stays like that, not moving, but ... definitely trembling. ]
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His eyes affix themselves on Qubit, their illumination bright as they focus on him. The apology is warranted, but is it necessary? Carlisle can't help but think now that he might be somewhat to blame for Qubit's condition by withholding knowledge of the white room, but at the same time, such a volatile reaction was unexpected — and despite how quick he is to blame himself in most situations, even Carlisle realizes it was, perhaps, undeserved.
But where had it come from? Was that outburst the result of a mere lack of sleep? Qubit's frustration with his circumstances? His memory loss and the overbearing, obsessive drive to return to the maze? Some combination thereof? Or has Qubit's temper always been lying just beneath his surface, a terrifying beast caged only by the veneer of self-control?
As a man who so often wore that same mask in life, that's an answer Carlisle does know. Moreover, he recalls far too well the barely contained ire he saw manifesting in Qubit in the red shift. There was the manipulation rather than trust when faced with a room full of skeletons, the aggression when Carlisle wanted to address the obvious connection between Qubit and the volcanic lair. Every moment, he saw flashes of a man he didn't know as well as he'd thought.
Those are contemplations for another time, Carlisle manages to convince himself as he watches Qubit tremble in the chair, his face buried in his hands in an open, earnest expression of true regret. Much like he's not used to Qubit's wrath, Carlisle isn't accustomed to such visible remorse from him, either. He witnessed that in the red shift too, Qubit's tears more humanizing than any facade of composure. He takes a step forward, willing his legs to move.]
I know you didn't, Mister Qubit. It's—
[He pulls in a breath, trying to figure out what to say; his inhale is as shaky as the rest of him. When he finds his voice again, it's soft, timid... and sorrowful.]
I suppose that sometimes... our true nature gets the better of us, no matter how much we may fight against it.
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