exsiliumlogs | Mission: Bad Science Saves the Day

Mission: Bad Science Saves the Day

Date & Time: Mid-Day, 3310 | Present Day June 14th-16th
Location: Andersfeld, in the (far former) state of Alaska. (Also known at one time as Anchorage, Alaska.) | Back in Exsilium, those manning the Transport Pads, or working on developing the antibiotics and administering them to the ill throughout the city. Yet others will need to hop-scotch through time gathering sufficient supplies to save lives.
Characters: Volunteers to alter medical research, people working on antiobiotic cures, people distributing appropriate cures, and those who are doing minor missions into the past to retrieve adequate supplies to treat the sick in the present.
Summary: Transports are asked to help save tens of thousands of lives, first by traveling two years into the past and altering scientific research. Second, by helping with the manufacture and development of antibiotics or other cures, once the mission is complete. Third, by distributing the cure to the affected parties. Fourth, by going on pointed supply missions solo, or with up to two other people, in order to get enough supplies to save people in the present.

Whatever your character decides to do, the weight of saving lives is on their shoulders, unasked, and perhaps unwelcome. What will they do when faced with this decision?

Warnings: Illness. Freezing cold. Possible death. Drunken scientists.

In Andersfeld, the snow falls in thick, fat flakes, winds blowing in gusts up to 60 kph. Everyone is bundled up against the weather. Spirits are generally low, if not outright alcoholic. Safety lines and lights guide those brave enough to venture outdoors from building to building.

For the Transports with a six hour window to alter a future that will kill over a hundred thousand people in three weeks, it's a dangerous and necessary bravery.

In Exsilium, the success of the mission to Andersfeld is felt as soon as scientists notice the virus responding to antibiotic treatments. It becomes a race to finding the most effective means of combating the now bacterial infection, and of mass producing any working cure for distribution.

Some help with the production.

Others hurry to cart the supply out to the places hit most heavily. Yet others work directly with administering the antibiotics, in most cases, via an IV line. Those less heavily affected will be granted ridiculously large antibiotic pills, needing to be coaxed down spasming throats.

Those who need action, or who are no good with the sick, are asked to make countless small trips through time to secure the supplies needed to produce enough of the cure to save the tens of thousands who are ill but not yet deceased.

And for those too ill to assist, now is the time to rest, heal, and get better. In a world like this, one never knows what surprise might next lie in wait. The Transports and the Initiative have thwarted total disaster for now.

Mostly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Stanley hadn't exactly volunteered for the mission, and he wasn't thrilled to be there. But now that he was, he might as well walk around and try to look busy or something. It was fucking cold, after all. And the suit was stupid and uncomfortable. And he was hungover already. Maybe he could find a corner somewhere and sit down for a while.

He might have too, if he hadn't seen the dude standing just down the corridor from him, looking distressed even through the stupid helmet. Eh, why not? He shuffled over slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements.

"Alright dude?"

Meanwhile Gilbert is standing here trying to stare down this flash drive like it'll just answer him and tell him what he needs to do with it. There's a row of computers inside the room that he's standing close to. He knows what those are called even if he has no idea what they do. He knows he's supposed to use this tiny thing to talk to those big things, but the explanation that he got wouldn't have made sense even if he hadn't woken with a fever.

He glances down to the kid's face, still holding the flash drive up in awkward confusion. And really, he's not sure if he has an answer.

"This thing...um."

Let's start with something a little simpler.

"You were sent by the Initiative, too?"

"Yeah." Replies Stanley, as he reaches over uninvited to touch the flash drive. It looks pretty normal to him, not cool and mission impossible-esque. That's a bummer. It would've been more interesting if they at least got crazy technology to play around with.

He lets go and glances up a bit, trying to figure out what the problem is here. There's a flash drive, and the next room over is full of computers. It looks like this guy found his mark. So why is he standing in the hallway looking miserable instead?

"Then, do you know how this is...supposed to work?"

His voice goes a little weaker on the last few words, though it could just be muffled by this ridiculous hazmat suit. One that is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, Gilbert is slowly realizing. But as long as he can finish this task and the next, he'll be able to return back to Oz's side without feeling like he'd been entirely useless to him.

Wait, did he hear that right? Stan blinks, a little surprised. "The...?" Okay. That explains why the dude is just standing there.

He nods, then regrets the movement and puts a hand up to his head, though it doesn't do much good through the suit anyway. Ugh. Still, at least this other problem is something he can fix. "Yeah, got it. Uploading or downloading?"

That's probably a good question! Alas, Gilbert doesn't know the answer. He's not even sure that they're speaking the same language anymore, actually.

"Up...loading?"

Maybe it's that one.

Cool. That should make it easier. He'd hate to dig through billions of file names. Stan glances at the computers, and hopes there's a good intranet or whatever in place do they don't have to seek out any specific console.

He doesn't acknowledge that, because it hurts to nod his head at the moment, but he does step through the doorway to where the computers are and gesture for the other guy to follow.

As he follows along, it occurs to him that he should probably own up to being completely unsure of what's going on. If he messes this up, they might make things worse, and he won't even realize it when it happens.

"They said something about a virus, but on the machine," he says with a weak, dry sounding cough. "It's supposed to plug in somewhere? I think."

It's easy enough to find the receptacle. Stanley grabs the jump drive without going to the trouble of politely asking, and matches up the female end with the male connection. Then he taps the trackpad to wake the screen and waits for the drive to register with the os.

"Any instructions or was it just 'here's a thing, go team?'l

"They said..."

He's struggling to remember the words that they'd used, like trying to remember something that you'd only learned to recite in another language without actually learning the meaning behind the words.

"'Lead the virus on each computer'."

He probably means 'load'.

"Separately?"

Yep, that's a hint of dismay that you hear. With an eye roll, he gets to work on this first computer. Click, click, boom. Not exactly rocket science, but still not something he wants to do like fifty more times.

"Unless you know of a different way."

Which for all he knows is either entirely possible or an impossible dream altogether. He sways a little on his feet and ends up leaning over to rest his hands on the table as he watches what Stanley does to the machine. Wait, that was too fast he didn't catch any of that.

"Wait, how did you-?" he asks, pointing at the screen with a clumsy, gloved finger.

Oh, jeez. This guy really did need the help. But even more concerning was that wobble. Stan really didn't want to drag this dude back. He was pretty big.

"...Hey, you mind being lookout instead?"

Lookout? Was he really that useless in this situation...?

Of course the answer is yes.

He sighs and stands up straight, attempting to rub the back of his neck before realizing that it's covered with this stupid suit. It's getting too hot in this thing, but he'd been warned about taking it off, so he does little else except grasp it awkwardly in his closed fist and turn to walk to the door.

"Sure."

And suddenly he becomes a glorified babysitter. Excellent.

Baby gets busy, meanwhile, attempting to find a cloud or an intranet or a local network or anything. Computers aren't really his thing, but he at least has a better idea what he's looking for than Curly over there.

"I'm putting in a request for better directions next time."

He turns away from the door to peer back at the kid. As if he understands just what it is he's looking at here.

"Why? Is it not working right?"

He's pretty sure that's all the instructions that they gave him, but it's not exactly like he had time to write them all down.

Stan replies to that with an oh so reassuring shrug. Look, dude, he's not even supposed to be here today. He clicks around a few more minutes, and just when he's starting to get a sinking feeling that he'll have to repeat this process a few hundred more times...score! There's a main network and it's got a ton of users. If that's not every computer in the compound it's at least all of the official ones.

"Oh, thank fuck."

Stan, we need to work on our communication.

"Huh - what? What happened? Is it working?" he calls out from where he's still standing in the doorway, stifling another cough inside of his ridiculous suit.

Is it working? That's a tough question. He can't get it to upload to the whole network with an administrator password. Stan slumps unhappily again and bangs a fist on the table half heartedly.

There aren't any convenient labeled portraits of loved ones or cute dogs around like in the movies, either. The password could be anything.

"We're so screwed."

"We're what?!"

Okay screw being the lookout. He hurries back over to the computer, staring down at the screen as though he understands what's going on with it.

"They said it would be easy!"

"Easy if you like repetitive tasks I guess." Stan grumbles. He yanks the jump drive out a little more roughly than strictly necessary, but not hard enough to actually damage anything. He's ill and cranky, but he's not stupid. At least not that stupid. "Without a password its gotta be done like a hundred times."

"Password..."

He glances around the room and clears his throat to keep from coughing.

"But we just need to put this device into every machine and it will still work, right?"

Clearly this is a guy who doesn't mind repetitive tasks. It doesn't sound like a problem to him, he's just still completely unsure if it's worked yet or not. Talk to him like he's 5, Stan.

It's funny that as soon as he states the problem out loud, he's somehow sure that he can solve it. Confused, but far more willing to give it a second try than to give up and do things the hard way, Stan sits down at the next kiosk and repeats the process again. This time, he types in what somehow feels right as the password, even though it's absurd.

...And it works. They're in. Network connection is go. "Holy shit. It worked."

He could have said it worked or it was still broken and Gilbert, sadly, wouldn't have known the difference. He still doesn't, so for all he knows this kid is lying outright to him.

"It worked? How? Are you sure?"

"Figured out the password." Stan clarified as he continued taping and typing, making sure the content got uploaded and opened to the entire network.

aaaaaaaaaaaa

AAAAAAA

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