Newt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sobloodyinspired) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2019-08-17 09:28 pm
sobloodyinspired) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-08-17 09:28 pm
{This isn't the world I know
Who: Newt & YOU!
What: He's newly free, after 2wks of containment in a chromed-out medical room. He's exploring and getting familiar with the lay of the land.
When: The rest of August 2019
Where: Various places in Anchor.
Warnings: Newt comes with your usual post-Apocalyptic canon warnings like, but not limited to: Depression, anxiety, paranoia, lethal viruses, violence, government conspiracies, zombie-like creatures, etc... these are not always present, and can be avoided if necessary, but they could come up in any thread.
[First day]
Newt has spent two weeks stuck and isolated in a room by himself. If not for the talk-box, he probably wouldn't have made it this far, if he's honest. He got right and proper bored in there, especially as the clarity returned to him. That was the wildest part for him, if he's honest. He had spent his last weeks of memory deteriorating at a wildly rapid pace-- that's how The Flare worked, the more complacent you were, the slower it acted, but the Trials that WICKED had thrown them into, the panic and the action they were called to all made it advance so much quicker, suddenly-- so to say that he was somehow... treated, if not cured, just didn't make sense to him at all.
He isn't sure how to feel about it, either. If it were possible all this time, why hadn't they just done it? Treatment that has be taken every month, every week, every day is better than becoming a mindless thing that doesn't even know its own name. But then some of the people he'd talked to before said it was a different place, different world all together somehow, right? He's still not completely convinced of that, but he doesn't know what to make of anything just yet.
He wanders until he finds a room filled with strange suits and masks and tanks. He doesn't know what they're all for, but it reminds him of WICKED, the facility they'd held them in when they offered to return their memories to them. Newt stubbornly refused, and he's sure it's better that way. Not remembering the family he lost when he woke up in the Maze three years ago. Remembering would make everything worse. He stands by that choice.
From there, he wanders out and around each level of the colony just to see what all there is to offer there. He makes notes in his head about what is where, though he's sure it'll take more than a few tries to remember it all. The place is contained, but it's definitely huge, possibly bigger than the Glades, but it's hard to tell with the way Anchor is broken up, rather than one giant flat of grass. He visits each area and does some cursory exploring, but he thinks he'll leave the bulk of that to another day, when he's had time to adjust to his new-found accessibility.
He eventually finds his way to the housing area, not entirely sure where he's supposed to be, or if he's just supposed to pick a spot and call it his. He wanders a bit idly, and may look a bit confused if anyone catches him.
[The rest of the month]
Newt doesn't do well with sitting idle, and he's honestly had enough of that in the last two weeks to last awhile. This place reminds him so much of the life that had been, while a bit odd to start, so much simpler than anything in recent history. His three years in the Glade weren't perfect, but he'd found... something of a purpose there. In helping with fields and building and whatever else needed to be done about the place. He thought maybe he could just treat being here like that, find something to work on.
He mostly hangs around the agriculture area. There fences and barns and other structures were dilapidated and run-down, in major need of fixing, though it was obvious that the lot of people here had already started working on it bit by bit. More than once, he starts wandering and gathering pieces of busted wood. They may not be whole anymore, and some of them may be too weak to reuse, but he knows how to make the best of shuck resources. He's done it before. Making piles of what's around is about the best place he knows to start.
At some point, he wanders into the research and development area. He can't say he's very comfortable with what he finds there, it just smacks of WICKED again, and makes every muscle in his body tense. He keeps glancing around, like he's looking for signs of recording devices or cameras or who knew what else. Anything that looked off or weird or out of place.
His discomfort at all the computer screens and other various tools around the place distracted him, glancing over his shoulder when he thinks he heard something and he runs blindly right into something, sending pieces of who-knows-what flying and clattering to the floor. "Bollocks." He mutters to himself, kneeling to pick up what he'd knocked over.
He may also be found wandering just about anywhere within the city, but he isn't venturing outside the protective dome surrounding the colony, though. He's had more than enough adventuring for awhile.
What: He's newly free, after 2wks of containment in a chromed-out medical room. He's exploring and getting familiar with the lay of the land.
When: The rest of August 2019
Where: Various places in Anchor.
Warnings: Newt comes with your usual post-Apocalyptic canon warnings like, but not limited to: Depression, anxiety, paranoia, lethal viruses, violence, government conspiracies, zombie-like creatures, etc... these are not always present, and can be avoided if necessary, but they could come up in any thread.
[First day]
Newt has spent two weeks stuck and isolated in a room by himself. If not for the talk-box, he probably wouldn't have made it this far, if he's honest. He got right and proper bored in there, especially as the clarity returned to him. That was the wildest part for him, if he's honest. He had spent his last weeks of memory deteriorating at a wildly rapid pace-- that's how The Flare worked, the more complacent you were, the slower it acted, but the Trials that WICKED had thrown them into, the panic and the action they were called to all made it advance so much quicker, suddenly-- so to say that he was somehow... treated, if not cured, just didn't make sense to him at all.
He isn't sure how to feel about it, either. If it were possible all this time, why hadn't they just done it? Treatment that has be taken every month, every week, every day is better than becoming a mindless thing that doesn't even know its own name. But then some of the people he'd talked to before said it was a different place, different world all together somehow, right? He's still not completely convinced of that, but he doesn't know what to make of anything just yet.
He wanders until he finds a room filled with strange suits and masks and tanks. He doesn't know what they're all for, but it reminds him of WICKED, the facility they'd held them in when they offered to return their memories to them. Newt stubbornly refused, and he's sure it's better that way. Not remembering the family he lost when he woke up in the Maze three years ago. Remembering would make everything worse. He stands by that choice.
From there, he wanders out and around each level of the colony just to see what all there is to offer there. He makes notes in his head about what is where, though he's sure it'll take more than a few tries to remember it all. The place is contained, but it's definitely huge, possibly bigger than the Glades, but it's hard to tell with the way Anchor is broken up, rather than one giant flat of grass. He visits each area and does some cursory exploring, but he thinks he'll leave the bulk of that to another day, when he's had time to adjust to his new-found accessibility.
He eventually finds his way to the housing area, not entirely sure where he's supposed to be, or if he's just supposed to pick a spot and call it his. He wanders a bit idly, and may look a bit confused if anyone catches him.
[The rest of the month]
Newt doesn't do well with sitting idle, and he's honestly had enough of that in the last two weeks to last awhile. This place reminds him so much of the life that had been, while a bit odd to start, so much simpler than anything in recent history. His three years in the Glade weren't perfect, but he'd found... something of a purpose there. In helping with fields and building and whatever else needed to be done about the place. He thought maybe he could just treat being here like that, find something to work on.
He mostly hangs around the agriculture area. There fences and barns and other structures were dilapidated and run-down, in major need of fixing, though it was obvious that the lot of people here had already started working on it bit by bit. More than once, he starts wandering and gathering pieces of busted wood. They may not be whole anymore, and some of them may be too weak to reuse, but he knows how to make the best of shuck resources. He's done it before. Making piles of what's around is about the best place he knows to start.
At some point, he wanders into the research and development area. He can't say he's very comfortable with what he finds there, it just smacks of WICKED again, and makes every muscle in his body tense. He keeps glancing around, like he's looking for signs of recording devices or cameras or who knew what else. Anything that looked off or weird or out of place.
His discomfort at all the computer screens and other various tools around the place distracted him, glancing over his shoulder when he thinks he heard something and he runs blindly right into something, sending pieces of who-knows-what flying and clattering to the floor. "Bollocks." He mutters to himself, kneeling to pick up what he'd knocked over.
He may also be found wandering just about anywhere within the city, but he isn't venturing outside the protective dome surrounding the colony, though. He's had more than enough adventuring for awhile.
housing area;
She's on her way out, heading up to the agriculture level to do some more poking around, when she spots a face that's familiar.
"Newt?" While she's no stranger to people looking almost identical (Cashmere, anyone?), she can't help but blurt the name out. God, did they actually let the poor guy out of isolation after all?
"Uh, hey, wow. Did you break out?"
no subject
"No, I didn't break out. They let me out. Did some more scans and... said I was clear. Have to be back in the med wing in fifteen days for another treatment. Not sure if that means it's every two weeks or if it's once a month, but I s'pose I'll find out when I go." There's a beat and he tips his head, squinting curiously. "Do we have calendars here?"
By all accounts, he's nothing like the bloke that showed up that first day on the network. There's virtually no traces of the vehemently angry boy of those weeks ago-- almost like a complete flip to the opposite. He's calmer, more collected, if still a little hackle-raised-paranoid. People probably couldn't blame him for that last part, right? Anchor is hardly the easiest adjustment.
no subject
Julie shakes her head. "Not that I've seen. I've been keeping track of days same way as I always have. No one back where I'm from even really knows what year it is anymore."
She cracks a small smile at that, though it's a somewhat grim hint of what might have happened where she comes from. "Gets harder to keep track here when there's a shift, if it's bad."
no subject
"And what way's that? Marks on a wall or something?" That would be the default idea to him, at any rate. "How long have you been here anyway?"
He nods his understanding at that, "Yeah, I s'pose there has to be something to make life more difficult than it already is, yeah?"
no subject
There had been something very serious about the way that Newt had told them to leave him where he was. Something that Julie had thought it better not to push against, because he would know better than anyone else if he was safe or not.
"Marks on a wall is as good as anything. I've been using a notebook." But she has to think, when he asks, how long she's been here. "I think it's been... ten weeks, last count? About that. Came in here with the first group. I mean, there was no one else here when we got here, except the bots."
no subject
"Bloody hell... ten weeks?" He sighs. The more he hears, the more this place reminds him of the Glades. He's not sure that's good, even if a part of him almost longs for the days when all he had to worry about was helping in the farming or whatever else around the place needed fixing. At least then it was simple.
no subject
Another topic instead, then, and she latches onto something he says that sounds familiar. Something he was ranting about when he first got here.
"You talked about WICKED before. What are they?"
no subject
Even that explanation doesn't feel like enough to truly get across how messed up the whole thing was, but it's too much to get into the full-blown details, so it'll have to do for now. "Half of them were immune... the rest of us weren't so lucky."
no subject
"... You know, it kinda sounds like they picked the acronym first, then tried to make the name fit?" A slightly tangential comment, but it's the first thought that comes into her head when she hears it.
Julie pauses, then, as she puts a couple of pieces together.
"And you're not one of the lucky ones, huh."
no subject
"You got it." He says with a slight nod. "It was as awful as it sounds. Maybe worse." He scoffs slightly and shakes his head.
no subject
"The Flare... what is it? I mean, what does it do?"
Curious minds. What could be so bad that he'd needed to be put into isolation for so long?
no subject
He's shrunk in on himself since he started to talk about it, arms folded across his stomach, curling in on himself. He knows they-- whoever they are, that's watching all of this happen-- wouldn't have let him out if he wasn't safe, but there's a part of him that's still paranoid about it.
no subject
Sounds a lot like zombies, actually. Maybe a little slower-moving (skip the paranoia, right to the insanity) but the memory loss, the loss of everything...
It quiets Julie down for a few moments. She doesn't shrink in on herself like he does, but she looks down at her feet and frowns, and wishes very much that she didn't have to come across yet another world where most of the species has entirely lost its way.
"I mean-- Shit's like that where I come from, too. Only it's not a virus."