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
He tilts his head a little, curious and confused. "Shanks?" The way he's used that word for the last three years does not fit in this sentence at all. He's not sure he could stockpile friends, okay. There's something really weird about that idea.
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"You look like you might be scrappy with a weapon."
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"You found a place to live? You can take any of these rooms I guess. And if someone is living there just fight them and take it anyway."
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"I don't wanna fight someone over a living space, mate. I'll find somewhere, though." That much, at least, he's certain of.
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"Yeah plenty of it is empty. This place was made for a shitton more people than we have. Which makes me think more and more might start showing up to fill those slots."
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"Think more people being here is a good thing or a bad one?" Newt's rather undecided on the matter just yet.
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"They seem to be showing up in waves, so maybe whatever brings people here is busted. Or that's how it's supposed to work, I don't fucking know."
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"Cheer up. If we all die maybe we'll become space ghosts."