redshiftlogs | july 2019. welcome to the void.

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july 2019. welcome to the void.

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: First Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of July 2019
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. bot party.

A few hours after the first arrivals, odd noises start to filter up from the pavilion and park at the base of the city. Limp whistles, the gunfire pop of small fireworks, and music from what sounds like a broken kazoo. It seems as though the still-functioning robots of Anchor are trying to welcome their new human overlords, based on programming that hasn't been exercised in... uh, shall we say "a while"?

Three of them have formed a tiny off-key band playing unfamiliar tunes from crackling speakers. One of the three punctuates the music at odd moments by smashing together a pair of cymbals that seem to have been constructed from a flattened pot and a trash can lid. Two others man the refreshments table. Some of the food looks downright inedible, but there are piles of wild berries from the upper floors. Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Apples and cherries. Fruits that shouldn't be in season together but somehow still are. There's a strange and vaguely triangular pastry that tastes like hot cinnamon candy. There are piles of vegetables, too, though the only preparation they've had is to be washed and dumped in baskets.

One of the chef bots has put some work in, though, and there are a couple of stews and soups available for the adventurous. All of them are made with the raw ingredients available to eat on the tables. One of them even has meat in it, though that's best consumed by people with very hardy stomachs.

At the end of the refreshment table is a cluster of fresh-pressed juices and unlabeled alcohol bottles, with uneven stacks of cups stationed around them. (Careful, some of the cups are cracked.) Even the good old bar bot is doing his part, pouring out glasses of orange juice and straight shots of tequila. A very generous compromise in place of his usual tequila sunrises. Right? Right.

The most conspicuous robot is the one setting off fireworks. It’s already blown off one six-fingered hand, but by god that hasn’t stopped it. With every small cluster of colorful explosives, the thing throws back its chunky head and gives a sound that can only be described as a metallic cackle.

Might want to watch that guy.

b. life signs in the wasteland.

In the wee hours of the morning after the robots' attempted welcome, the impacts against the dome overhead start. Meteorites, some of them as large as a person's head, bombard the shield and the area around for miles. The alarms that start throughout the colony are enough to wake anyone up, if the thunderous noise of the cosmic storm wasn't enough to do it.

And the alarms aren't for the meteorites. The red shift is rising up around the colony, that phenomenon that no one from the past had the foresight to give more than vague warnings about. New residents who have done some digging will know exactly what’s going on, but for those who’ve avoided even thinking about what’s happened to them, well. It could be a nasty surprise.

Anyone sensible would stay inside with all of that going on, but there's something else: life signs. The communication devices given to residents on arrival light up, indicating the presence of no less than five flecks of life out there in the wastes. Odds are good that at least a few of them are monsters from other worlds, or twisted radioactive creatures warped by the planet itself. But one of them is very human, and has been here for a very long time.

Should residents venture out to investigate these life signs, they’ll find the farthest one to be a man in protective gear, flickering like a badly received signal. As the red shift starts to fade, he solidifies, and as the shift finally dies away, he wrenches off his helmet with one hand and falls to his knees. He's as twisted as the creatures the planet has corrupted, one eye socket nothing but a depression sealed by flesh. His lips on that side curves sharply upward, barely hiding teeth too sharp and long for a human mouth. It's clear now while he pulled off his helmet with one hand--the other is a wreck, a blackened stony mass sealed to the cuff of his radiation suit.

He can hear you coming, if you're brave enough to approach. He can hear you coming, and will turn his one orange-irised eye to watch you until you speak.

c. hairy repairs.

Welcome to Anchor, where sometimes you're the only thing between you and the catastrophic failure of life support systems. After the red shift ends, the radioactivity warning alarms will at least fall silent. The cosmic storm has passed, and for a little while there's quiet under the dome.

But those exploring the upper reaches of the city might hear new alarms, much softer and less insistent than the radiation alarms. They're coming from one of the survey rooms near the garage and the exits to the surface. It might take a little doing to pull up the screens triggering the alarms, but you'll be glad you put in the work. It turns out, those meteorites damaged several of the exterior sensors and one of the major radiation and light transfer panels that help keep anchor supplied with energy--and help keep the shield dome in good working order.

While the damage is easy to see and isn't too hard to fix for those with some technical know-how, there are life signs moving slowly closer to the colony. It's quite possible to fix the damage and get back inside before those life signs arrive, but there's also the risk of being caught in the open and facing down some of the planet's native creatures.

In this case, they're large, furry millipede-like creatures no less than seven feet long. They're perfectly harmless, if you don't count the fact that they seem intent on trying to eat the protective gear and tools you've brought out onto the surface with you. It's not their fault that your arms are inside those delicious radiation suits.

d. shadows of the past.

A few days of genuine quiet follow the fixing of the exterior damage. Time to explore, to get lost, to drink more than your doctor might recommend at the colony's only serviceable bar. Enough time to feel the weight of Anchor's emptiness.

The next time you walk into the bar, there's a see-through stranger at the pool table, smiling warmly in welcome. "Want a game?"

Get too close, and he disappears. But he was there--he was clearly there. The cue he was holding clatters to the ground and rolls over to rest at your feet.

Down in the pavilion, there are children playing in the park. Throwing balls, playing tag, their laughs echoing somehow in the open air. Invisible parents call for them to be careful or slow down. Now and then one of them will vanish midstep, only to appear again back where they were ten minutes ago and start their run through the park all over again. They can see you. One or two might even invite you to join their games, taking your hand in their own, leading you toward their fellows. And when they do, you can hear their parents' voices exclaiming in shock. A rush of shadows scoop up these phantom children and whisk them away into some invisible world where you can't follow, only hear the children crying in fear.

All around the colony, shades appear and vanish, some solid enough to touch, some just barely visible. Some are inexplicably aggressive, attacking anyone who tries to talk to them or get too close. Just as many run screaming or sobbing at the sight of you.

But there are others, too, who seem to recognize you. One of these is a young woman holding a gun like she has no idea how to use it. When approached, she almost starts to cry. "Oh, thank god. We have to get the kids to quarantine. We have to get them into lockdown. Those bastards-- Those sons of bitches-- The kids should at least have a chance."

She starts to turn, and a laser blast rips through her, lancing across the wall right where a deep score mark still exists, not in the least ghostly or unreal. If you touch it now, it feels warm.

e. ping from the rubble.

As though the presence of past residents sets it off, a persistent signal begins to broadcast from the collapsed library. It turns out there's a section not buried quite as deeply as the rest. A row of broken terminals, ending with the one sending the signal. A warning signal about the structural integrity of the library complex and the need to back up crucial data. Too little, too late, but with time and patience some of the partial files on the terminal could be reconstructed....

For those less versed in computers, there's a mysterious door just past the terminals, partially blocked off by rubble. If that can be cleared, the door leads into a dusty room with more broken terminals, but beyond that, there's a small library of real hardcover and paperback books, with comfortable chairs (some of them needing TLC), low tables, and lights (currently broken). The books are in a variety of languages, both Earth-based and alien. A flickering "skylight" at the top of the room shows a blue sky flanked by swaying trees, or a thunderstorm, or other, stranger but still friendly skies. It blinks off, sometimes, but seems determined to keep playing its peaceful scenes for those below. With some cleaning up, this could be a good retreat from the sometimes oppressive emptiness of Anchor.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Peter has absolutely been watching this weird ass pool game, because who the hell wouldn't. Just sitting at the bar, sipping on some orange juice, and wondering just what the shit he's even looking at. Ghost? Hologram? A shared hallucination he's having with this mask dude?

Whatever it is, it's creepy. He's about to just turn around and pretend nothing about this is weird at all, but then mask dude speaks up.

"No, there's definitely a guy there. Sort of. He's not there now- Oh! There he is!" THE GUY'S BACK, Peter points right at him. Hello, pool man.

The guy is indeed back and Kabal whacks him with the pool cue to test a theory. That sure looked and felt like it connected and the ... whatever he is - looks angrily annoyed before he fizzles out. This time the pool cue goes through thin air. He's definitely not there anymore.

Sighing, Kabal tosses the cue onto the table, messing up the game but he doesn't really care as he puts two hands on the edge of the green velvet lining and hunches over. He's wearing his half mask, something with too many teeth that would be way too long to fit in anyone's mouth, only because his normal one restricts his peripheral vision too much and random-ass shadows keep appearing all over the place.

He wants to be ready if they attack. Or even if they don't. Pre-emptive strike.

Eyes darting over to the kid at the bar, "You actually drinking one of those badly prepped tequila sunrises?"

His mystery pool partner reappears and tries to continue the game, lining up a shot before vanishing. "Yeah we're calling this a win for me. So you owe me twenty bucks."

Flickering Freddy's money is probably just as likely to start blinking in and out of existence as he is. Still, he seems pretty solid when this mask dude whacks him, which kind of tosses Peter's hologram theory out the window. And the ghost theory. Unless ghosts can be solid? What are the ghost rules?

"Yeah, good luck collecting from that guy. And ah, nah, it's just juice. I'm not 21 yet."

There probably isn't a single person here that would even give enough of a shit to enforce drinking laws, but if anyone was going to be That Guy, it would probably be Peter Parker.

"Seriously?" Wow okay. Boyscout over here is abiding by rules that no one cares about even when they're not on the space station of the damned. Or whatever this is.

"No time better to start breaking some laws then the present. Sure T-lamethousand over there only knows how to do one drink and do it badly, but there's a whole lot of bottles back there for you to start on the road to some petty rule infractions."

And who better to guide him on this journey than Kabal, the murdering mercenary who will do anything for money and would sell his grandmother to Satan for a corn chip.

Yeah, that's about the long and short of it. Peter just shrugs and takes a sip of his perfectly innocent orange juice.

"Any more of this weird stuff starts happening, I might consider it." He probably won't, but you never know. He nods in the gestures in the direction of where the ghostly pool buddy had been. "You think that's something to be worried about? Because I'm kind of worried about it."

"Probably." He swishes his hand through where the guy had just been standing. "But I'm not sure what they're gonna do if they can't stay solid long enough to take a fucking shot and finish a game."

But that isn't to rule out the fact they could do something. It was gonna be a little hard to attack someone that suddenly wasn't there. Hm. "How many of these flickery bastards have you seen so far?"

"So far? Just this guy." He takes a quick look around the bar, hopping down from his stool after confirming that nobody else seems to be getting all flickery, and makes his way over to the pool table. Ghost buddy isn't there anymore so inspecting this whole thing might be difficult, but that's not going to stop Peter from looking around under the table and stuff for some sort of projector. You just never know, man.

"Yeah, I don't... there's nothing here. Okay, uh... This is kinda freaking me out a little. Not the weirdest thing I've ever seen, but I don't really wanna deal with ghosts right now. I can't punch a ghost if it tries to start something.

"Maybe don't piss it off then." Says the guy who just smacked one it a pool cue. Also he's smirking behind the mask at the thought of this little twerp punching anyone. He's never wanted to beat someone up for their lunch money as much as he does right now.

But he resists.

"You think it's a ghost? Seemed kinda solid when I hit it." He pulls one of the hook swords off his back. "Look, when it shows back up I'll slice it in half and then we don't have to worry about it."

Please don't beat Peter up for his lunch money, he has no lunch money.

Not finding any immediate explanations for any of this weird shit, Peter dusts himself off and leans against the pool table. Then this dude just whips out a sword. Yikes. He's just gonna put his hands up and try to maybe talk this guy out of chopping dudes.

"Okay, I think cutting a dude in half is a bit excessive. There's a smarter way to approach this, we just have to find it."

He has no idea if this guy is even being serious or not, but after some of the shit he's seen and the people he's met, he wouldn't be too surprised if this wasn't a goof.

"It's a ghost. Or a hologram. Who the fuck cares?" Leave it to this boy scout to get all squeamish at the thought of some good old violence.

"Alright smart guy, what's your plan then? Because if it's to sit around drinking juice until they go away that's a pretty dumb plan."

He's not putting the sword away, twirling it in his hand and waiting for his game buddy to reappear. Sure is taking a while, maybe he's not eager to show up again, can't imagine why.

"Yeah I don't actually think it's a ghost or a hologram. It was a solid dude for a minute, you literally whacked him." Peter the fuck cares, that's who the fuck cares.

Dude has a good point, though. Peter huffs and rolls his eyes in that teenagery sort of way, crossing his arms. The attitude moment passes pretty quickly though, since now he has A Plan to devise.

"Well, this place has been around for a long time, right? Looks that way, at least. If this is something that's happened before, then whoever was here before us would have to have documented it. So... we just need to figure out how to access that information and uh. Go from there."

It's not the best plan, but eh.

Its a good thing he's wearing the half mask because the disbelieving stare he's giving Peter would have melted his normal one.

"Is your plan to go find a library? Are you seriously suggesting we go look up what to do in a book?"

Peter looks at this dude like he's just grown a dick out of his forehead.

"Do you come from one of those planets that don't have computers? Like, no, dude, I'm gonna see what I can find in the data storage. If you have any better ideas that don't involve stabbing, I'm all ears"

Okay thats a better idea, but still not great.

"Stabbing is a solid plan. But fine, let's go see if we can get future internet to work in a place that barely has functioning doors."

But there's other things tech is good for, admittedly maybe not as pressing as the question of what the hell is going on, but still. "I've been dead for 20 years, you know how much TV I've missed?"

Peter's expression changes from one of 'wow this guy is weird' to 'OH NO I'M AN ASSHOLE NOW' in like a split second.

Shit.

Fuck what do you even say to that? Why are so many people so dead anyway?

"Oh-- my God, I'm sorry." Wow this got awkward real fast, didn't it. "B-but, um, y-yeah. I, uh, I think I can get this place running again, future internet and all. Right now we just need a computer that still works."

Wow.

"It's alright. I mean I'm not dead anymore, so that's cool. What's not cool is that I've missed twenty years of pop culture. You know how bad the wifi is in the Netherrealm? Bad."

Please tell him about Netflix and Minecraft and share some dank memes. He is missing so many references.

"Oh. There's a computer in one of the other rooms. Dunno if it works but its there."

Look that's just how he do ok.

"Is that like Hell? Because that's kinda givin' me some Hell vibes, and you just reminded me that I'm about a year behind on my pop culture. Oh my God, this is weird."

It's not as bad as twenty years, but he's a kid okay give him a break. But anyway, there are some actually probably important things happening, so the pop culture shock is going to have to wait.

"Uh. Computer, right Which room?"

"Pretty close yeah. I was undead, and kind of grey and all crackly and had to serve this absolutely annoying as fuck sorcerer who talks even more than I do." It hadn't been a good time and the less he had to remember about it the better.

"Someone is going to make so many reference we don't get, it's gonna be a fucking nightmare."

Which is obviously the most pressing issue here.

"Right." He heads out motioning Peter to follow as he tries to remember exactly where he'd seen that row of computers. "One sec."

Hopefully Peter didn't have any follow-up to that because Kabal straight up disappears. He shows up about 20 feet away checking that room. Nope that's not right. Disappears again and reappears in front of another, and he'll repeat this scooby-doo scenario until he finds the right one.

"Over here. Knew I saw one of these."

"I swear to God, if someone spoils the next Star Wars for me, I'm gonna lose it."

Being annoyed about missing out on memes and movies is way less creepy than thinking about Hell zombies or whatever. It' also way less creepy than watching this goddamn dude FUCKING DISAPPEAR and then like teleport??? It would be super cool if not for the fact that they just sat here and watched a probably-ghost do something pretty similar. Peter kind of looks like he's about to jump right out of his skin, and just points right at Kabal.

"Okay. Cool, you found it. How did you do that?"

"There's new Star Wars movies? When the fuck did that happen?" He doesn't even know about Phantom Menace. He's that far behind.

"What? This?" And just like that he's next to Peter again, bursting out of some purplish cloud of energy generated by him running so fast. "I'm fast. It's what I do."

Peter stumbles back a couple of steps, bumping into the pool table while instinctively raising a web shooter. He stops himself from actually shooting webs at the dude, but damn. This place already has his twitchy enough but now here's this guy who can do that thing. It's kind of awesome. But also kind of alarming.

"...Yeah, you know what, we'll talk about Star Wars later. That's just you going fast? That's-- So, what, that's just a thing you can do? That's awesome!"

"Yeah, that's just a thing I do." Gotta go fast and all that. Honestly he'd sort of forgotten that it freaked people out when he did that. Mostly because he never noticed because he didn't care.

The best part of all this is that this kid raised an arm like he was going to ... shoot him or something. Which is incredibly amusing. He's got spunk anyway.

"It's kinda my thing." And being enhanced with Outworld magic certainly hadn't hurt anything. "And your thing. I'm hoping. is making all the computers work and reprogramming the bartender to make good drinks right?"

Peter tries to maybe tone down how impressed he looks by this badass GO FAST power and crosses his arms again. All casual like. He's so chill right now you guys.

"I can make the computers work for sure, but I might need help trying to reprogram the robot. I mean, I've got the tech part down, but I don't actually know anything about. Y'know. Alcohol." Sssshruuuug? Anyway it's time to start heading on over to that computer room. Sooo he does that.

Yeah that's super convincing buddy. There's some toddlers somewhere who totally bought that casual act.

"Don't worry kid, I'll teach ya." He is capable of actually walking like a normal person, so he does that as to not leave Peter in the dust. "Name's Kabal. You know since we're doing some sort of espionage together."

Shhh just let him have this okay. And yes, teach him how to make all the booze drinks. He'll probably never drink a single one, but mmmmaybe it'll be good knowledge to have down the line? who even knows.

"Peter. I don't know if this counts as espionage, we're just trying to figure out whats up with the maybe-ghost problem. Ghost busting?"

D

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