september 2019. welcome to the void.

[modblob]

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Third Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of September 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. turrets.

That power surge kicked off some sh... stuff, all right. It took a while for the systems to cycle back on, but two new areas of Anchor are now accessible and usable. One of them is nice and relaxing and safe, and we'll get to that one in a minute. The other one, addressed first, is not very nice and not very relaxing and definitely not safe.

The internal defense systems on the upper levels have come to life, and have targeted anyone within their range as a hostile entity. Get ready to run the gauntlet if you want to turn them off - you'll have to dodge lasers, bullets, and aggressive defense bots (that can be rewired and/or rebooted to assist characters instead of trying to murder them). The reward? Getting to the heavily protected (think many many murderbots and lasers) security control room. If you can make it, you'll be able to reboot the internal defenses, turning off the aggressive targeting and having access for the first time to surveillance of almost all of Anchor. Those areas your characters didn't know were there? Revealed. Those dense patches of jungle-like growth in the agricultural center? You've got a spotlight into their heart.

Though, huh, not all the cameras seem to be working. What's with those screens that show up from time to time that are nothing but static?

Oh well, doesn't really matter, does it?

b. hot springs episode.

One of the areas adjacent to the bar and intimacy lounge has been sputtering on and off ever since the power surge. One evening, with a loud crack and a humming sound that slowly dissipates, the lights come on and water starts flowing down the artificial waterfall into the fountain out front. The spa is back online!

The lobby is inviting and zen, with holographic walls that depict scenic locations (some of them very unlike Earth), with fountains splashing delicately on either side of the door. The attendants are slightly malfunctioning bots, but the most harm they'll do is bring you six towels when you ask for one, or a bucket of massage oil to work on those knots in your back with.

There are three areas in the spa, each of them fully-outfitted with towels, robes of all sizes, fuzzy slippers, the works. One has all the amenities of a Turkish bath, right down to the fantastically arched roofs and mosaics of Istanbul. One is designed not unlike a Japanese hot spring, though the spring is heated artificially rather than naturally. The springs are large enough to be communal in some areas and small enough to be private in others, varying in depth from deep enough to swim on one end and shallow enough to sit on the bottom on the other. All hot springs have a stone shelf around the edges where those who don't want to swim can sit. The last area is more Western, with steam rooms, saunas, massage tables, and mud baths for the adventurous.

One thing all of these areas have in common: the settings on virtually everything can be adjusted to taste. Not in the traditional way, either. The steams and waters can be tweaked to be soporific, can serve as muscle relaxants, can ease anxiety, and can even bolster moods. None of these effects are involuntary, and none of them are brought on by drugs - it's more an advanced mix of pheromones and harmless compounds that can affect a single person or a given pool or room. Also, the baths and hot springs have adjustable bubble settings. The water colors can change, some of them even allowing characters to dye their hair the color that's been selected for the tub without staining their skin. Bubbles of all kinds can rise up out of the water, from the foamy comfort of childhood bubble baths to hovering golden bubbles that chime when you pop them. Characters can choose from a variety of bath salts, scents, and oils - the spas were designed not just for relaxation, but for pure and simple fun.

c. joe's dirt.

So you've survived the security malfunction. You've washed off the dirt and anxiety at the spa. But the newly reactivated security stations throughout Anchor have revealed something odd. There's a blip in the power systems in one area of the agricultural level, like something is siphoning off power from the main lines. Tracking down the source in the deep tangle of underbrush won't be easy, and there may be a few mutated, fanged, clawed cattle that maneuver shockingly well between the trees, but eventually you'll come to a breach in Anchor's wall. At first it just looks like a crack, but it's large enough to squeeze through and there's the darkness of an open space behind it. A tunnel, leading down into the earth outside, well below surface level and thus largely safe.
Wires run along the roof and floor, though the tunnel itself is dark. Walk long enough and you'll come to a wider space, open enough for two or three people to move around comfortably at the same time. It's still dark, lit only by screens that show the same security feeds that are available at the stations throughout the city. And others. Angles on the surface that show Anchor from a distance, and other visuals that don't show Anchor at all, trained instead on massive structures or formations or lakes out on the surface somewhere. But there's something more disturbing: there are cameras set to record some people's rooms. And the only rooms that are shown are occupied.

Someone has been here, recently enough to track where new people have moved in.

On the floor in one corner, there's a crumpled photograph of a man some might recognize as Creepy Joe, happy and whole, with a little girl sitting on his shoulder. It looks like it's been stamped into the dirt.

Navigation.

Comments

[sleepyhollowed]

[Kieran knows.]

[Deep down inside, he knows.]

[He knows that he didn’t deserve any of the treatment he’d received from the stable owners. The O’Driscolls. The Van der Lindes. Any of them. He knows that there’s something inherently unfair about the way life’s unfolded for him and the decisions he’s made because of the winding, murky paths laid before his inexperienced feet. But it’s easier—so much easier—to believe otherwise. It’s easier to believe that his maltreatment is because of something he must have done horribly wrong. Because to believe otherwise would mean he’d have to face the harsh realities of human cruelty. He’d have to face that people are capable of random acts of horror and that their victims didn’t have to do anything inherently awful to land on the receiving end. He’d have to face that sometimes the world didn’t deliver justice to those who truly needed it, and that there was no rhyme or reason behind the fates of all the folks who seemed to die around him, leaving him alone to deal with the next tragedy.]

[Pretending it all didn’t matter, that the past was exactly that: the past, helped. It helped protect his all-too-gentle soul against the monolith of dread that towered over exploring such difficult, conflicting feelings. Pretending it all didn’t matter meant he didn’t have to peel back layers of the callous formed carefully around his memories and expose him to the slop of iniquity that had disguised itself as an unfettered freedom—the kind of freedom that he, like so many others in his precarious situation, had been told he should love and be grateful for by the very men who sought the same unmitigated power as the high-society elites they disparaged, yet mimicked in all but their methodology. The freedom that civilization, mired in politicians and lawmen and the true criminals who dealt in shady back alley deals, would love nothing more than to steal from him. The freedom that came from open plains, sleeping under the stars, and holding a gun to some poor bastard’s head simply because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong amount of cash in his wallet.]

[If none of that mattered, then people like Kieran, in search of a better life and failing spectacularly at that desperate struggle, wouldn’t have to look back at their own actions and how everything they’ve done—no matter how ‘right’ or ‘wrong’—had landed them in dire straights. He wouldn’t have to confront the fact that no matter what the intent was behind a decision, sometimes the end result would simply be bad. By whose standards, he couldn’t say for sure, but he’s certain that the things he thought were ‘bad’ prior to his life as an outlaw are looking pretty good. He’d been told that civilization was nothing more than its own special kind of evil designed to enslave people like him, and that to submit to its demands was a fate worse than death… but as someone who’s experienced all of the above, he knows which path he’d pick, if he were given the chance again. It’s the path that doesn’t involve him shouting at a rival gang member to leave him alone or he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. It’s the path that wouldn’t force him to make good on that promise… or at least half of it. He wasn’t exactly known for his swift trigger finger.]

[If Kieran could do it all over again, he would never consider the outlaw life. It only led to broken promises that no level of camaraderie built upon flimsy rules disguised as reverent codes of honor could offset. Sure, some of his happiest memories could be found singing around a campfire with people he hoped would have his back during spots of potentially deadly trouble, but it paled in comparison to the days lived in terror of the bullet with your name on it. Or, in his case, the knife meant for your throat.]

[It’s that terror that awaits him if he were to try and dig through the emotions that surrounds his past. That tempest of fear and anger and shame that he keeps bottled up and locked down deep in his gut where nobody, himself included, could find them. Uncovering that would only lead to a deluge of negative emotion that has no outlet. It’s not like any of the people who’ve caused that pain (whether physical or emotional) are here to shout and scream at, nor can he can drop to his hands and knees and beg the forgiveness of the people he’d hurt—sometimes killed—in return, regardless of how much they ‘deserved’ it. No, the only person here who can shoulder the blame for that storm brewing inside of him is Kieran Duffy.]

[And, frankly, that guy’s had his ass handed to him enough already.]

[Kieran’s eyes, usually bright and vibrant green, are dull and hollow when they meet Ben’s. He nods, absorbing affirmations hat he doesn’t doubt are genuine and heart-felt. The kind of affirmations that his validation-seeking heart chased and cherished whenever the opportunity arose. It’s just nice to have someone tell him that they care, that he matters, that maybe he could handle book-learning, that there’s a possibility that he deserves better (even if he’d vehemently deny that). Scary, in its own way, but nice.]

[He smiles, and the life returns to his visage, although his voice is quiet and thick with emotion.]

Thank you.

[Kieran clears his throat.]

Fer—fer everythin’, I mean. Really. Thank you.

[The smile turns into a chuckle, half-hearted and sardonic, but meant to bring a smidgeon of levity to a heavy conversation.]

A-As far that offer, I believe ya. I’ve known plenty of fellers that don’t seem all that intimidatin’ until you cross ‘em. Then, uh, you learn real quick not to make ‘em mad ever again.

[Assuming you lived through that kind of confrontation. Not everyone did.]

Let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that, though.

[Because even if he wouldn’t think less of Ben for letting his less-than-nice side show, he knows that if that were to ever happen, it’s entirely possible that Ben would think less of himself. That’s just how good people work.]

[benhargreeves]

Let's hope.

[ And now that he's heard Kieran's story and has a little more context of the way he's been treated and the kind of thing he might believe is not only possible but also not unlikely from the people around him, but meets his eyes and reassures, gravely: ]

You don't ever have to worry about - crossing me, or making me mad. Klaus makes me mad every single day but I love him, and I'd never. Ever. Ever hurt him.

[ Okay look Ben HAS punched Klaus once or twice but they're siblings and that hardly counts - plus they were in very extreme moments. Ben had never tried to frighten Klaus, never used his fears or secrets against him, never turned on him, never abandoned him, never wanted harm to come to him.

Ben explains, a little more concretely: ]

You'd only ever have to worry about... how intimidating I can be, if you started going around just hurting people around here, and weren't willing to talk it through or stop. And I can't be completely sure, obviously, but... former outlaw or not, I don't think you're gonna just start viciously attacking folks for no reason. That's not you.

[ He exhales slowly, finally picking his fork back up and digging in, glad for the company, glad today has happened, glad that he is alive again so he can have conversations like this one, even with the flaws and misunderstandings. ]