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redshiftlogs2020-09-03 12:32 am
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-09-03 12:32 am
september 2020. welcome to the void.
Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Monthly Mingle
When: The Month of September 2020
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
What: Monthly Mingle
When: The Month of September 2020
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
a. the shuffling.
It's dark.
No, like, really dark.
Not only have the lights of the suns been extinguished, but the lights of Anchor are fading as well. It seems the skies are shifting again, and taking Anchor's solar power with them, again. The lights don't fade entirely, leaving Anchor basked in a grayish glow with shadows painting unpleasant shapes along the walls. In parts of Anchor, the emergency lights have come on, illuminating the areas around them in red.
You could be forgiven for assuming the first shadow you see moving is your imagination. But the second or third? And what's that soft moaning noise coming from some of the vents? At first, there's no answer to that question. Then they start appearing.
Zombies. It seems that the cemetery outside was occupied after all. Though not brain-eating, fast-moving zombies, they move in packs, and they're smart. The more of them in one place, the more intelligent their hunting and planning seems to be. Get cornered, and you might find yourself in pieces, in need of new limbs or, y'know, a new life...
If they get a bite in, it's not as bad as your typical zombie apocalypse, but you're in for an unpleasant ride - hallucinations of people you hate will drive you to attack anyone and anything that comes near you. Either that, or visions of people you've failed or disappointed will haunt you. These hallucinations are invisible to everyone else, and last no less than a day.
No, like, really dark.
Not only have the lights of the suns been extinguished, but the lights of Anchor are fading as well. It seems the skies are shifting again, and taking Anchor's solar power with them, again. The lights don't fade entirely, leaving Anchor basked in a grayish glow with shadows painting unpleasant shapes along the walls. In parts of Anchor, the emergency lights have come on, illuminating the areas around them in red.
You could be forgiven for assuming the first shadow you see moving is your imagination. But the second or third? And what's that soft moaning noise coming from some of the vents? At first, there's no answer to that question. Then they start appearing.
Zombies. It seems that the cemetery outside was occupied after all. Though not brain-eating, fast-moving zombies, they move in packs, and they're smart. The more of them in one place, the more intelligent their hunting and planning seems to be. Get cornered, and you might find yourself in pieces, in need of new limbs or, y'know, a new life...
If they get a bite in, it's not as bad as your typical zombie apocalypse, but you're in for an unpleasant ride - hallucinations of people you hate will drive you to attack anyone and anything that comes near you. Either that, or visions of people you've failed or disappointed will haunt you. These hallucinations are invisible to everyone else, and last no less than a day.
b. somebody to love.
Maybe the worst part of the zombie invasion, though, is that these are people you recognize. Not all of them, many of the faces of the shambling dead will be completely unfamiliar, but a lot of them are people from home. Loved ones, mortal enemies, and everyone in between. If they get close to you, their almost-familiar voices will start calling your name. Are they still in there? Is it worth finding out?
It's not just faces from home, either. The man from the welcome video shows up in zombie form frequently enough that there has to be more than one, and there's even multiple versions of Creepy Joe limping around, body unmarred by tentacles. Every now and again, pink-haired woman with a familiar voice and a long white dress will shamble out of seemingly nowhere. Endless double-faces, a city's worth of doppelgangers. Some of them seem drawn to places that were significant to them. Others wander aimlessly, making low, sad moaning sounds.
It's not just faces from home, either. The man from the welcome video shows up in zombie form frequently enough that there has to be more than one, and there's even multiple versions of Creepy Joe limping around, body unmarred by tentacles. Every now and again, pink-haired woman with a familiar voice and a long white dress will shamble out of seemingly nowhere. Endless double-faces, a city's worth of doppelgangers. Some of them seem drawn to places that were significant to them. Others wander aimlessly, making low, sad moaning sounds.
c. home sweet home.
One of the zombies has done the residents of Anchor a favor, though. It walked straight into one of the power generators and shorted it out, releasing the locks on the doors to the fancy apartments down at the base of the city, near the park.
These are multi-level condos with windows that face toward the park and gardens. Each suite has a private bathroom including a tub and shower, a miniature kitchen, and two to three bedrooms. Each one is furnished in soothing pale colors with high-quality furniture.
They're all fit to inhabit, too - if you don't mind the occasional laser scoring on the wall, or that streak of perfectly preserved dried blood. It seems even this place wasn't immune to what happened in the rest of the colony. But there's no sign of anyone being locked in, either. No bodies, no rotting smells, not even dried husks. Just colonial luxury splashed with violence. And the occasional lost zombie.
These are multi-level condos with windows that face toward the park and gardens. Each suite has a private bathroom including a tub and shower, a miniature kitchen, and two to three bedrooms. Each one is furnished in soothing pale colors with high-quality furniture.
They're all fit to inhabit, too - if you don't mind the occasional laser scoring on the wall, or that streak of perfectly preserved dried blood. It seems even this place wasn't immune to what happened in the rest of the colony. But there's no sign of anyone being locked in, either. No bodies, no rotting smells, not even dried husks. Just colonial luxury splashed with violence. And the occasional lost zombie.
d. the walking robo-dead.
Even the robots aren't immune to what's going on, it seems. Whenever one comes into contact with a zombie, it seems to short out, going offline until the offending monster has left the area. When it slowly comes back to life, it rolls about drunkenly, slamming into walls, people, and guard rails with equal lazy force. Sooner or later most of the bots in Anchor are affected, wandering aimlessly, trying to serve you sluggishly and usually doing it wrong, or - oh dear, that one's rolling to the edge of one of the upper walkways. You should probably stop it.
Unless you're Kabal or Starscream, then you can just watch it roll over the edge and smash into a million pieces at the bottom, you animal.
Unless you're Kabal or Starscream, then you can just watch it roll over the edge and smash into a million pieces at the bottom, you animal.
no subject
In the back of one of the labs, one of the grates leading up into the venting system has been ripped off the ceiling and thrown to one side. Around the opening a small group of shuffling creatures has congregating, with one of them being a zombified version of her robot.
Said robot is using an extendable arm to reach up into the vents, and as Carlisle's voice gets closer, Poison's shrieks its way out of the opening.]
Carlisle!
no subject
Poison's robot is no exception. He saw it in the message she posted to the network earlier that day — something she and Qubit had been working on, as if Anchor needed any more robots. He supposed at the time that everyone needs a hobby of some sort. That didn't mean he had meet her creation himself anytime soon.
Yet here he is, doing just that. It's not exactly the cordial introduction to her pet project he'd have anticipated; instead, the machine has its arm outstretched as it tries to get to the vents — and more notably, the person trapped there. Around it stands a number of shamblers, each of them waiting for the robot to pull Poison from her hiding place; they are gathered around the wall below the entrance to the duct, their gazes upon the opening, their exposed teeth clacking and grinding as they moan from unending, ravenous hunger. Only one of them turns as Carlisle opens the door, and in an unexpected twist, it sees him.
Carlisle hasn't met an undead in years that paid him any real mind — it's one of the few benefits of his affliction, and one that came in handy with his work in life. Even those in the Whole Foods he and Qubit explored were only aware of his presence once he took control of them. The ones that have recently made their way into the colony have been hardier, not as susceptible to his passive influence over them; he actually had to try to stop one that wandered into the field with the cattle, getting a grasp over it only seconds before Scraps tore it to shreds. These are equally hostile toward him: the one that realizes he's there lets out a guttural howl, and the rest turn his way, their milky eyes settling upon him.
They are relatively intelligent undead then, Carlisle determines. He should be afraid, given their aggressive resilience and technological companion. However, Poison's shriek rings in his ears, the sound of her voice riling his energies with determination... and vehemence. He feels cold ire rather than concern, wrath rather than worry, fury rather than fear.
As it turns out, he can be aggressive, too.
Carlisle's eyes ignite, their glow blinding as one of the undeads jerks and twists, its body no longer its own; it launches itself into the rest of the shamblers, its skeletal claws tearing into the decayed flesh of the nearest husk. The clergyman's fingers splay, stiffening as he tries to get hold over another, but the aberration fights his control. The first to be compelled is soon torn limb from limb by the others, and only a second later, another takes its place as his thrall. Rotted organs splatter on the ground, filling the air with a putrid odor; from behind Carlisle come the echoes of groans, more undead having heard the commotion and making their way down the hall.
He may have come to stage a rescue mission, but what Carlisle has instead created is a bloodbath.]
no subject
But this...
She could have said that she could never have expected it, but why would she not have? If her travels had taught her anything it was that anything could happen, and the robot she had been almost lovingly putting together over the last couple of months suddenly turning feral and trying to drag her out to be bitten by zombies should not have come as as much of a surprise as it did.
Not much time to think about that, though, as she's hiding up in the vents and wondering desperately if she might be able to find her way through to another exit while those metallic hands grasp for her. The relief she feels when she hears Carlisle's voice is immeasurable, and she doesn't for a moment think that he will fail to come through for her.
The grasping hands are pulled back down and the noises that come up from the vent entrance do very little to calm her racing heartbeat. It's only when the spot below the opening appears clear that she dares to poke her head out, her face paler than ever and her fingers scraped from her panicked prying at the grate before her egress.]
Carli-- Ugh-... [The smell hits her. She presses the back of one wrist against her nose.] Carlisle?
no subject
And amidst them stands Carlisle, the floor beneath him rusting, but his frame completely rigid, motionless. The temperature in the room has dropped considerably, the light of his eyes like white-hot fire in the cold air. All around him is a feeling that can only be perceived, it having no bearing on the physical world; it cannot be heard or smelt or seen, but it is utterly there, reaching toward every person -- current and former -- in the room, including Poison in the vent.
It's anger, ire, volatile wrath; it urges those affected to fight, to give in to a primal frenzy. You are a monster, it says without a word. You have no reason for being but this. It's clear the undead, one-by-one, are falling to this terrible influence; however, it seems Carlisle himself, may have, as well.]
o shit
She's felt it before and more than once, and the way the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rise is only half because of the chill suddenly pervading the room.
Poison drops out of the vent and grabs a wrench from one of the lab tables, holding it white-knuckled and close to her chest.]
Carlisle! [He can't hear her, she quickly realises. He can't hear her, and he-- he can't stop. He can't stop, can he? She calls out his name again, stammering over the oppressive sensation crawling over her body.
How can she make him stop? She looks down at the wrench in her hand, wondering if she could swing it with enough force, but... She doesn't want to hurt him, and if she doesn't hit him hard enough he could turn on her to.
What she does decide on is probably the most unwise course of action. She drops the wrench and runs to the revenant and collides with the side of his body, digging her fingers tightly into his robe.]
Carlisle, stop!
Things that are going well: not this
He didn't know. What he did know was that he had to do something. He couldn't let her die; he couldn't lose anyone else, couldn't bear to see her torn apart and reanimated as an undead herself, couldn't let Poison brought back like the people of Bear Den, a mere shade of who she once was. He couldn't let Anchor reanimate her the way it had Genji, either. He couldn't let her die.
Thus, he lashed out at the undeads on sight, Poison's desperate cries from the vent igniting his energies with a fervor he's been trying to avoid. It's one reason he's been hiding at the barn, why he was so insistent upon distancing himself from the rest of Anchor's populace until he could get his magic under control: he knew that should he lose his grasp over it, he may completely lose his grasp over himself, as well.
And that seems to be what has happened. Poison calls Carlisle's name again, and he doesn't react; the oppressive hostility remains in the air, forcing the undeads to turn on one another, to fight and claw and tear until there is nothing left of themselves. How dare they raise a hand against his friends? They're monsters, nothing more than horrible, vile abominations -- just like him. He let this happen to Bear Den; he cannot let it happen to her.
What humanity he has is suffocated by his Revenant nature. The noise in his head is thunderous, equal parts deafening and blinding; for a moment, he cannot recall why he came here, and all he knows is the bitterness and the rage he's impressing upon everyone and everything in the room--
Poison jars him, and there's a ripple in the icy chill of the air; Carlisle remains upright, his head canting in her direction, his eyes still ablaze, unfocused as they land on her. The two undeads in his thrall finish ripping into their latest victim, and rather than turning to the two shamblers that make their way across the shredded corpses in the doorway, they turn toward Poison, their mouths agape, dripping, hungering.]
marvellous
She could get the wrench. That would probably do it for these two. But-- Who knows how many of them he's affecting like this. For all she knows he could be pulling every one of them in the whole of Anchor into this room.
Her fingers tighten in the revenant's clothes and she gives him a little shake.]
Carlisle, snap out of of it, this isn't you.
[But--
It is, isn't it. This is what he's been worried about. This is what he tried to warn her about. This is what he can do when he lets go, loses control, and maybe she should have listened better. Taken him more seriously? Feeding into his paranoia about how he could hurt everyone here isn't something that she'd wanted to play a part in.
Those things are still closing in. She cringes, her skin crawling. No, she can't hit him with the wrench, but she can--
Poison clenches her fist and swings up with all her might, aiming for the side of Carlisle's head as she yells out.]
Stop it!
no subject
The corpses in the doorway grab his attention first, the rank odor of rotted guts and putrid organs strong enough that even he can detect it. Next to catch his eye is Poison's construct, its frame now missing a few pieces, its mechanical parts coated in blood and bile. Right, he came here to help her.
His head tilts toward Poison again, affixing on her face as he brings a hand to the side of his head. He came here to help her, and this is what happened instead. He tenses, staving off his immediate shame and guilt in favor of worry.]
Poison, are- are you all right?
no subject
I'm all right.
[Poison can assure him of that at least. She's fine thanks to him, despite the... rest of it. She sniffs, curling her fingers into the back of his robe. The fear dropping out at her leaves her knees feeling hollow.]
I am. Are you?
no subject
[He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. He came to help her, and look what he did. Though her arms are wrapped tightly around him, he keeps his own hands up, away from her.]
You shouldn't- you shouldn't touch me.
no subject
[Seeing that she could probably snap him if she held on any tighter. The room smells terrible - half rotten flesh with a sharp tinge of oil and electricity - but the safest thing within the four walls is still Carlisle.
She needs another half a minute before she feels steady enough on her feet to actually let go. The small young woman eases back, looks up, smiles wanly.]
I'm fine, see?
no subject
For now, but- but I--
[His hands shake, his entire frame quaking as he looks to the two undeads in his thrall; though they're passive now, their expressions are twisted in agony, despair.]
I don't- I want them gone. I wanted you safe, and you're not- not while they're here, and--
[He tries to pull away from her, his distress manifesting all across him as he tries to get to the undeads to dispatch them magically.]
no subject
This could have gone terribly wrong. She could be dead right now, but it isn't the first time she's been close to death and scraped by without injury.
Not that she expects that to be any comfort to him.]
I'm safe. You can get rid of them. I'll deal with... this.
[And she... she will just carefully shut down the robot she made in the meantime. It's far easier than dispatching something that was ever living.]