open log » ❝ The VR Program ❞

[initiatesnpc]

Date & Time: August 5th, mid morning.
Location: Anywhere characters happen to be/the VR.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: From August 5th to August 8th, characters are plunged involuntarily into the VR Program.
Warnings: Potential violence within the threads.

When the chance arises, she's quick to take it. The programming is incomplete, she knows; the simulation isn't ready — but she's not likely to get another shot at it. And so she moves, slipping through security codes to input the command. The machines hum to life with nothing but a flicker of a green light in a dark room, and it takes only seconds to establish connections. The signal is sent out; the weapons respond.

In a single pulse, reality drops away.

There will be darkness at first as the mind realigns itself to the signals being sent it. Slowly, the darkness fades, forms take shape. People take shape. The setting is terribly familiar, plucked from the user's own mind. It might feel like a dream at first, with events playing out as if predestined, the would-be dreamer moving through a familiar and unalterable route in them. But as things begin to feel more and more realistic, as more senses more fully connect to the simulation, awareness will change. This is not a dream. This is more than a memory.

Welcome to the VR.

Only 20 minutes later, in some underground quarters, Doctor Sponde is roused from an undignified sprawl. He's hastily briefed and shuttled toward the command center, looking grim. He knows the problem demands an immediate fix, but… well, this is some complex machinery. It could take some time. It could take days. He gets to work.

Comments

THE PRISONER

[initiatesnpc]

Within the confines of the VR sits a prisoner. He's bested the challenges thrown at him already, he grimly awaits the next. Escape may be impossible, freedom is probably beyond his reach, but there's no surrender in his future.

His world is wide and dark, echoing— an antechamber? Wet stone and metal glisten in what little light there is, dark constructs loom at the edge of sight, and the sound of running water flits at the edge of hearing. There's no movement, no life, only the prisoner. This is the world between all others, this is the stolen glimpse when one reality darkens and another rises to take its place.

As you cross through this bleak place, his eyes lift. Wearied, somber, hard. You're no ghost to this scene; he sees you plain and clear.

You have only seconds to spend here, how will you use them?

[rorosa]

Corosa spends his few seconds panicking. He runs.

Too dark, too cold, too many hints of wall and ceiling for him. No light, no windows, no sign of escape for him. He feels shadows crawling down the back of his neck and he nearly shudders until he locks eyes with the prisoner. He comes to a halt.

Corosa immediately assumes that it's just a construct of the walls, something human-shaped sent to throw Corosa off guard. He draws on the man. The safety clicks off.

"What do you want?"

[initiatesnpc]

The man doesn't move to see his guest, doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Corosa's arrival is unexpected, unless he's here to kill him, but that's unlikely. He takes a moment to answer, and when he does it's a rasp of a voice, broken and disused.

"Freedom."

[rorosa]

The voice takes him by surprise. That there is a verbal response at all takes him by surprise. The house has never talked back to him before. (If he thought a little more, he'd realize that the house has never looked like this before, either, and that maybe he's not in the house at all-- but of course, Corosa's not very good at thinking right now.)

"What?" Corosa asks. "There's no way out of here?"

[boughtabookstore]

She's quiet, methodical, searching through other people's heads like an automaton. It's on her third time out of a dream and into another that she passes through his world, gun already out. She doesn't level it at him, because he's shown no signs of trying to attack her yet. And even tired as she is, that's enough to make her think he must be of some importance.

"Who are you?" It's quiet, demanding and harsh. "I don't recognize you."

[initiatesnpc]

As with Corosa, the woman evokes no fear or surprise. He only stares steadily, dark eyes flat.

"You aren't one of them. I don't know you."

[boughtabookstore]

"One of who?" Her hands are steady on the gun, but there's a tic jumping in her cheek. Tiredness and the lack of an end to this are wearing on her.

"Who else comes here?"

[uncalled_for]

With the darkness came an immediate dim light from Fiona's staff. The glow stayed small and confined as she listened about her and waited for something, anything. She was covered in sweat and blood, although luckily little of it was her own. She had managed a few moments to heal herself before the transition occurred. And when nothing moved after a moment she continued to heal her smaller wounds while she had the chance. But with the light from her spell came the sight of the man sitting in the distance. She paused her healing and her position turned defensive, her staff out and mana already collecting at the dragon headed ends.

"An Initiate member here to apologize or throw us further into hell?"

[initiatesnpc]

He's watching her, as soon as the light bobs in through the darkness of memories. He doesn't move, not when she notices him, and not when she questions him.

The smile that breaks through the crags of his face holds no humor.

"No. I don't work for those dogs."

[uncalled_for]

A good title for them. Fiona gave a short smile, "An ally then? You're another of us sent to fight their blasted war while they torture us and expect our unwavering cooperation?" If her words weren't giving away her newly built hatred then her tone most certainly was.

[payback]

[Hopping from memory to memory has made for a wildly unpleasant time. At least a stint in bird form in Colette's recollection allowed Rin to demorph and heal her injuries, so the only blood on her is old and dried.

But by now she's ready. She lifts her sword, holds it across her body defensively, glowers at the stranger. Her eyes are enormous and dark.]

Are you going to hurt me?

[initiatesnpc]

[ He watches her, considering. She's used to the tricks of this world, whatever it is that lay beyond the confines of the prisoner's cell. There's no fear of the sword, he hardly even seems to notice it. ]

No. I would free you, if you would do the same for me.

[payback]

[He's not one of the killers. Not spitting out those rote threats. That automatically makes her trust him more. Her stance relaxes, though she keeps her hands on the hilt of her blade.]

How do I free you?

[ex_bandai157]

Barnaby breaks in at a run, boots slapping jarringly against water and stone, but he skids to a stop immediately. It takes a few looks around before he sees the prisoner (with an intake of breath), looks that take in the dark, empty space, unlike any other scene he's seen so far.

(He thinks about these bastards breaking into minds and it makes his blood boil, and beneath that is an uncertainty edged with fear that he won't acknowledge, but what he really needs to do is push aside anything that won't keep him sharp, focused, and ready to deal with the situation at hand.)

He stops and stares, still breathing hard from a last encounter, keeps his stance ready for another attack.

[initiatesnpc]

The stare Barnaby receives in return is hardly so urgent, but a great deal darker, almost resigned. The hero was not the first to dash into this place.

He sits, elbows on his lap, hands folded and dangling between his knees.

"Huh. And what are you supposed to be?" The voice, deep, almost gravelly, echoes off the expanse of the unknown and distant walls in darkness.

[ex_bandai157]

His eyebrows furrow at that response, and even if he keeps the stance, some of the lines soften slightly at the fact that the other man doesn't even get up.

"Barnaby Brooks Jr. But, judging from this place, that probably doesn't mean anything to you."

Still, he prefers getting his name out there, no matter who the audience. If it ever makes him a target, then all the better.

[twiceadays]

Darkness. Shepard frowns as she takes a few cautious steps, debating whether or not a light would be useful in here. Then again, if something is waiting for her, they probably could already hear her footfalls echoing. She'd rather see the enemy than fight in the dark anyway.

The holoscreen on her omni-tool lights up her face and some of the room. Her eyes swing around until...

There.

Another person.

She smirks as she levels her assault rifle at him. Just in case. "You often go around sitting in the dark, buddy?"

[initiatesnpc]

"Well, shit," came the reply, rather on-time and twice as monotone as the jab that incited it. "Looks like my secret's out."

If he was afraid of her rifle, it didn't show on his shadowed features. He barely flinched.

[twiceadays]

The smirk tugged into a grin as she chuckled and lowered the weapon okay. "Here I thought I've seen worst kept secrets before, but you... You take the prize."

She glanced around the area before her eyes flickered back at him. "What are you doing here? Did the Initiative send you to hand out the medals for whoever did the best in surviving their memories?"

[fe_male]

He's starting to get really annoyed about how nothing he builds in one area seems to carry over with him into the next, and it takes a couple of seconds of quickly glancing around before he decides that nope he particularly dislikes wherever the hell this is.

At least there's only one person here and they don't appear exactly intent on shooting him right off the bat. He never thought he'd miss having the chance to annoy people personally before they started wanting to hit him.

'Hey! Not fair. Is this the breakroom or just a loading screen?'

[initiatesnpc]

No, no guns to fire, but certainly a glower enough to glare daggers through a person. A person who cared about such things, that is.

His mouth sets into a very impressive, unimpressed frown. The stranger does not have his warm welcome.

[fe_male]

Well that's just twelve different shades of totally fucking helpful, isn't it.

'Are you serious? This is - there's jack here, and you're going to take offense to the most, potentially only, interesting thing nearby?'

[effective]

She can't tell what's real and what isn't any more, and at this point doesn't really think it matters. Her steps are silent as she walks through this place, born of long practice hunting with Gale.

Gale, who'd attacked her. It doesn't make sense.

She's on edge, but the prisoner still looms out of the darkness at her. Maybe she'd been too lost in thought. Jumping, her reaction is instant, instinctive; it takes only half a second for her to have an arrow set to the string, but there's no counter attack forthcoming.

She meets his eyes, and her breath stills. Katniss knows that look. The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. "I can kill you." It's not a threat. It's an offer.

[initiatesnpc]

His gaze had been on Katniss from the moment she appeared, level and dark. He doesn't stir when she notches her arrow, doesn't even blink. That is, until he smiles.

"No you can't." He hears the offer, and this isn't defiance— just grim realism. That smile knows that an out won't be as easy as that. "Not from in here."

[effective]

That smile makes her uncomfortable, but she's so used to being uncomfortable at this point that she barely notices it.

"Where is here, then?" She keeps the arrow trained on him.