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redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
- !mod post: intro mingle,
- dragon age: cole,
- expanse: alex kamal,
- far cry 5: staci pratt,
- hunger games: annie cresta,
- hunger games: finnick odair,
- izombie: drake holloway,
- mcu: peter parker,
- mortal kombat: kabal,
- original: cho takahashi,
- poison: poison,
- umbrella academy: ben hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: diego hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: eudora patch,
- umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves,
- warm bodies: julie grigio
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
no subject
"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"
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
"...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!"
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
"So these computers might all be busted, I didn't turn 'em on. Was looking for something to eat honestly." Weird how hungry being dead for 20 years makes you.
no subject
"At this point, I think I'd be more surprised if the computers weren't busted. Can't really remember the last time something went my way. But hey, who knows. Maybe this'll be the combo breaker."
That's about as positive as he's going to be about all this. Life sucks.
no subject
Inside the room is a row of computer terminals, none are on, but hey, they exist. Kabal here is a hero.
"Dunno if this room even has power." The lights aren't on and he doesn't see anything that looks like a switch. There's a metal cabinet in the back that's been cut up and wrenched open by something that suspiciously might have been a hooksword, but other than that it looks like an abandoned control room.
"If they don't work you can break 'em. At least it'll be fun."
no subject
"Breakin' them might not actually be a bad idea. I could probably pull some really good parts out of these."
He'll worry about pulling things apart if none of these work. The first puzzle seems to be figuring out how to get the goddamn lights one. Why can't these futuristic space stations just have normal ass light switches? He tries turning one of the computers on, nothing happens. HMMMM.
"Could be a... I dunno, circuit breaker tripped somewhere. Bet I could get one of these to work if I moved it to the bar."
They're probably like, huge space computers, but he could totally move one of them.
no subject
"You gonna carry this shit? Cuz I'm not." As far as the power goes he's not about to electrocute himself messing with future space circuit breakers. Being electrocuted sucks.
"This is some sort of space station right? Theres gotta be a power generator and a ... Whatever a boiler room in space is called. Maybe it got unhooked from this room somehow."
no subject
"Yeah, I think you're on the right track. It's just finding a room like that might be... Not simple. Or maybe we'll get lucky and it'll be painted on the door in huge red letters."
no subject
"We got those phones right? There a map on them? Are we making this way more complicated than it needs to be?" His previous cell phone was one of those Nokia bricks you could drop off a 10-story building and have it be okay, so he's not exactly used to smart phones. "If not this place is supposed to be designed for us or some shit, there's probably some helpful "you are here" mall directory thing."
no subject
"I do have a habit of over complicating thing sometimes, not gonna lie."
He knows what he's about. Peter pulls his communicator out and fiddles with it for a bit.
"I haven't seen any of those mall directory things, but this does have a GPS on it. I think we're in business."
no subject
"So the plan is to find a control room, push the button that says "ON" and then we're good to go? Fix the bar-bot and all this other junk?"
Priorities Kabal. Priorities.
no subject
"For all I know, the control room's gonna need some repairs too. I mean, I'd like for it to be that easy, but I'm not gonna get my hopes up."
Knowing his luck the room's gonna be like, half flooded and rusty and full of space spiders or something on top of everything being broken.
no subject
Kabal stares around himself at the clearly not going to function computers, and a bunch of broken shit he barely knows what it is. Welp, guess he's on this adventure now too.
"That's gonna be broken too, and then we're going to need to go somewhere else to get the thing to fix it, and this is going to turn into a seven day project to turn on some computers that might have some future solitaire on them."
no subject
Kabal does have a good point. Peter frowns while he considers this, but it's not enough to stop him from keeping right on with his little hunt. Mostly because he has literally nothing better to do right now and if he isn't doing something he's gonna get twitchy. Probably.
"Yeah, that's about the long and short of it. Never said it was gonna be exciting."
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