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.
no subject
There's another awkward hesitation before he finally offers, "I'm Newt." No last name. Because he doesn't have one. Or at least not one he remembers.
no subject
"Hi! Or welcome, I should say!" She seems pretty amused by saying that, so shortly after being the one welcomed herself. "My name's Ami. I must have gotten here not long after you did." She follows that up with a curious tilt of her head, though. "What happened? Somebody locked you up that whole time?"
no subject
no subject
Decontamination was stressful enough - she couldn't imagine having to put in two weeks of what amounted to solitary confinement on top of it. At least it seems to have worked, though? He doesn't look sick, just vaguely deprived, though that's more his outfit than anything.
"You're okay now, though, right? You're not like, contagious or anything?" Just... just to make sure.
no subject
He nods a bit, and doesn't really look at all offended at the question; it's a sensible one, all considered. "Nope, all cleared. They did new scans and everything and gave me go ahead to... exist in the population. I've got a treatment I've got to do again soon, and on a regular basis. Or else I'll, uh--" he takes on a bit of an affected voice, obviously speaking as someone else rather than himself. "'Be neutralized as a threat'." Classic robot murder threats, no big deal, right????
no subject
no subject
"So... what've you done while you've been here, anyway?"
no subject
She shrugs. "Not a lot just yet. Looking around, getting to know people, that sort of thing. And some chores here and there. Just so I'm making myself useful, you know?"
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
(Disclaimer: That is the only French she knows, and she very much picked it up from Doctor Who.)
(Disclaimer 2: The mess hall is the other way.)
She realizes her mistake after a couple seconds, and pivots on her heels to point the other way in a much less dramatic frashion. "Allons-y this way."
AND OFF THEY GO.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"I like your accent, by the way," she says. "Are you from England?"
no subject
Only a Glader could make a question as basic as "Where are you from?" this pathetic and sad.
no subject
"How did that happen? I mean - if you remember, obviously..."
no subject
He bites his lip a little. "I definitely don't believe that any more, though. I think- I think we were all kids and we were manipulated into it."
no subject
"Holy crap... I'm so sorry," she says at last, a little quieter. Then, hesitantly, she adds, "Do - do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't."
no subject
no subject
Alright then, new topic! "Oh, hey! Speaking of moving forward, here's the Grub Zone!" she exclaims, gesturing to the mess hall they've conveniently just reached. (The sign does not say, and has never said, Grub Zone.)
no subject
no subject
The mess hall's like a cafeteria, if cafeterias were served mainly by vending machines. It's big enough to accommodate way more than the station's current population, and cavernous for just the two of them.
"Okay, so... how tech savvy would you say you are?" she asks, only just now thinking of it. How many of these modern conveniences will she need to explain?
no subject
The place is huge, bigger than anything he's really seen, outside of maybe the Crank Palace, and-- He doesn't want to think about that right now, so he pushes the thought away. "Uh-- so-so, I guess? We didn't really have that much tech in The Glades. I know how work the little-- Talk Box...thing we get when we show up here." That counts, right? Even if he calls it a Talk Box and not...what it actually is.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)