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open log » ❝ The VR Program ❞

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.

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"A wwha--I don't knoww!"

He actually gave it some thought but he isn't really sure how the whole vampire thing works for trolls, so thinking of a weakness of any sort is out of the question without just giving it a shot and hoping it works.

Weapon raised, she takes to charging both Kanji and Eridan with intent to kill, blade revving into life as she does. Eridan fires a shot or two in her direction with his wand but she manages to evade both times, rather easily at that. Considering he wasted what time he could have used to dodge firing at her, he'd only one option left, speaking in a somewhat hurried tone.

"Shit, d-can you block a fuckin' chainsaww wwith that wweapon a' yours?!"

Mami carried several memories she should have never had to bear.

An upturned, half-crushed car laying abandoned on a quiet stretch of road; broken glass, dark skidmarks across the pavement, a mother and a father that would never move again. Kyouko, her junior, turning on her out of grief and misdirected rage - a battle, the end of a friendship. A monstrous clown...worm...creature rushing in, all garish colors and grinning teeth. And then, after death, the machinations of the Queen: the Labyrinth, the twisted and ugly shades of loved ones, enough loss and confusion to make her feel like she was drowning. Yet it was none of these awful experiences that the VR had plucked out of her memories to weave into a virtual world, but a different, comparatively understated one: a school, designed all in metal and glass, where nothing scary lurked except the possibility of detention or a failing grade.

At least until each and every student, teacher and staff member turned homicidal the instant they saw Mami, rushing her with clear intent to murder. They - and this entire inexplicable situation - certainly caught her by surprise....but not entirely off-guard. For Mami had undergone something like this before, months ago, and being able to recognize that soft tingle of familiarity in the back of her skull gave her the added instant needed to duck away from the horde and transform. The next instant was full of ribbons, non-lethal but binding and incredibly fast to boot, until the way was clear. Her would-be attackers will certainly look strange by the time others stumble into this memory, wriggling there from the ceiling or in bundles on the floor like the victims of an overzealous spider, their arms and legs bound tight....but Mami didn't have the time or energy to spare a thought about appearances within a dream. Or whatever this was. It was time to see how far this rabbit hole went.

She can be found exploring the "school" and occasionally restraining new "enemies" as she seeks a way out with her usual patient, methodical composure.

It's late at night and Simon's standing in front of a door. There are tissues in his hand. No one's home. He's checked.

They did it on purpose. The only time they didn't ignore him completely was to make his life miserable. To make him not want to get out of bed in the morning. Will they ignore him completely today, or torment him? Sometimes he can't decide which is worse. But it hadn't been a mistake. He knows it. They did it on purpose to humiliate him again. Why do they do this to him?

All he ever wanted was to be their friend.

He's drank too much and he feels like he might be sick, but more than that he feels angry. Simon fumbles with the lighter, nearly dropping the paper as it ignites immediately, then through the letterbox it goes. For a split second there's almost relief at finally having done something to stand up for himself. He deserves this. Simon takes a step back as the faint scent of smoke coming from the cracks in the doorway hit his nose. The panic at realizing what he's done slowly crawls from his chest and up into his throat, with the alcohol he consumed earlier making it feel like it's not quite touching him.

And then he hears the noise coming from behind the door. It's a cat. He's forgotten that they have a cat.

The carpet is just starting to catch light and the cat is freaking out, and that panic that had been a slow crawl is now fully wrapped around his wildly thumping chest. He thinks the cat didn't bully me at school, he hasn't done anything. But there's no water anywhere to be found in reaching distance and if he leaves now the fire will only spread. So he does the only thing he can think of.

Simon opens the letterbox, pulls down his fly and starts trying to put out the fire.

All is going relatively well until he hears a car pull up. This part he remembers very clearly. There's a slam of the driver's side door, a pause, and then a woman screaming at the sight of her neighbor pissing through her letterbox as he desperately tries to zip back up as quickly as he possibly can. A string of excuses and apologies follow, but it doesn't stop her from shouting. But then there's something else - something he doesn't remember. A crash of broken glass, and the angry mewling of a cat that morphs from ear piercing yowls to something else...

"You there! Prepare to die!"

[prose or action spam!]

Edited 2012-08-06 20:25 (UTC)

She ends in a coiled crouch, watching him, before dubbing him not a threat. A threat would have attacked already. And with the others on her trail, there isn't really time for her usual game of charades. Her shape ripples, and in an instant she's in her Avian shape, crouched, naked, and looking grim.

"The others from my village are coming. They want to fight me, they might want to fight you, too." And then she's changed again, back to her reassuringly well-defended shape, and is darting forward to butt her head against his side to make him move. Whoever this guy is, she's not interested in seeing him get hurt by them.

It's a little bewildering, coming (running) out of her memory and into another one, but Snow manages. She peers around the area curiously; it doesn't look like anything she's ever seen before, but that doesn't mean it's not one of--

She spots the boy. Oh. Goodness. Slapping her hands over her mouth, she tries to stifle a giggle as someone pulls up in one of those metal contraptions. She's on the verge of stepping in to help when a cat somewhere starts screaming bloody murder. And then, quite literally, starts screaming bloody murder.

Snow blinks, speaking up for the first time. "Is that cat talking?"

[ She reacts quickly. Although it feels strange to be fighting in this shape, her moves aren't any slower. She cocks the gun and raises it in one motion, blowing a hole through the swordsman's stomach in the next.

Her skin is noticeably more pale when she spins toward Bariyan again, darting toward him. ]

It is better to run. [ When she's close enough, she grabs for his arm to pull at him. ] Come!

It's dark and raining in this city, and Katniss can only think about how appropriate that is for her mood. Over and over, all she can think about is Prim, that blank look on her little sister's face as she ran to her and--

Hit her. tried to kill her. Like she deserved.

Katniss shook her head as if to clear it, shoving her hands back over her face to slick the hair that has escaped her braid out of the way. "Not real," she murmurs to herself out loud, keeping a tight grip on her bow. She couldn't afford to fall apart now, not with Peeta around somewhere.

A moment to her left catches her attention. It's instinct to grab an arrow, draw, breathe, shoot, although she's not sure exactly what it is that she nailed. There's none of the hesitation she's had these past few weeks in Exsilium. Katniss Everdeen is back in the Games, and she doesn't want to die.

Around her, the shadows start moving. She can't say she's surprised any more, she knows how the Gamemakers minds work, but that doesn't mean she knows how to fight them any better. Cursing under her breath, she sets of at a run for the thing she killed earlier to retrieve her arrow. With as many of the creatures that are rising out of the shadows now, she's going to need them

The temperature change didn't follow as swiftly as the sights themselves, and Martin's body was left to burn in dread for a few seconds before the actual warmth set in and caused him to shudder against it. What now...?

He was convinced it was the sickness again, by then. His veins weren't aching nearly as bad, but everything and everyone around him had gone absolutely mad and—

The loud CRASH against the wall just behind him caused him to start, practically leaping across the short length of the hall, hands launching forward to palm the wall just ahead of him to keep from smacking right into it. He sucked in just a bit of breath and held it, swiveling his head around and gaping at the direction of the offending sound. What now?

His gaze shot to the break in the lengthy wall, over where a door was. Nothing good was behind it, he knew. He just knew.

Martin saw the exchange in a painful, slower sense of time, seeing his sister move in a hunt for the first time all over again. All over again and wrong. Lamyin were around and elsewhere, but she was rallying against a boy.

A boy with horns.

It wasn't clicking right away. For all he could think, Regina was accosting one of the cousins. Oddly dressed, but...

No, wait...

He bristled, forcing himself to look away from the girl and to Ico. Of all people, here and—

Martin sprang up and dashed, blowing by the trespasser and barreling into his sister, clutching her around an arm as he fell to pull her down, too. One of the rotten beasts leaped over the both of them and at Ico, claws outstretched.

Eridan's command has the opposite effect intended, naturally. Martin freezes up, eyes glued on the troll he does know until the one he doesn't, the one brandishing screaming metal, comes racing into his view. Her nauseating glow glares off the ex-lipstick and gives him a shudder and all the more reason to move. His arm dangles and levels his hand parallel to the ground.

PWOOMFCH!

The chainsaw's horizontal swipe cuts through air, and Martin, launched upward by that short-lived lance of his, flails a little before tucking himself for impact. Down, he tumbles, rolling and scrambling to his feet, now between the two trolls.

He shoots Eridan a very horrified and expectant stare. He's the only one with even an inkling of what's happening. What now?!

The Tibetan beatdown had been downright relaxing in comparison to the next bewildering change. Jericho barely has time to get his footing before the ground beneath him rattles. His arms swing out to steady himself, stepping over a mess of...something. He's not even sure what, except he's sure he just caught glimpse of a bit of keyboard over—

Over gray and black and little flecks of mustard yellow and red and white—

Jericho is across the room in an instant, laying hands on the troll he's afraid to be sure is actually the troll he's pretty sure...

Really, he ought to be used to things like that by now. Jericho blinks quite a number of times from the seconds the reptile was a girl and talking and back to reptile again. He gasps a little as he's advanced upon, staggering a step or three against the nudge.

What had she said? People out to fight? Why? He grimaces, hopping over a tree root and into a run, shooting quick, futile looks over his shoulder.

What did I wind up mixed up in now?

Darcy was pretty sure Jane was supposed to be the one driving- that's how it went, with her being the loyal navigator/commentator- but not this time. Today she was plowing along through the desert, swerving madly to avoid the hoard of other jeeps- who also shouldn't be there, thank you- while the crazy sandstorm a certain lightening god had once upon a time arrived in kept picking up at random.

She turned wide eyed to the passenger she'd only just now noticed, somehow and more squeaked than demanded:

"What is even happening. I so did not sign up for Speed II: Darcy's Reckoning, here!"

The shop was precisely how it should be. Product and stairs and scamps and random explosions everywhere. A few free samples here and there, randomly turning a tyke's hair blue or puffing a poor, younger sibling into a canary for a moment or two. It would be homey, were only the correct sibling in place to bask in it with him.

Ah, and the small matter of the customers not attempting to murder him. That may have helped. Even the fateful end of summer holiday back to school sale extravaganza hadn't wound up in the bloody students attempting murder. George hissed out a breath as he jumped over the check out desk and took cover, only managing one quick counter curse in retaliation as the hoards pressed on. Damn good thing shielding charms came in packages around here.

"Bloody hell."

The needles whistled through the air at incredible speed; it was all Koltira could do to block some of them with the broad blade of his weapon. Others pierced his shoulders and stomach, burrowing into his armor, puncturing the skin. He scowled as the wounds bled, unsure of how to retaliate. The girl moved like a whip crack, all energy and violence without a shred of restraint. But she was a child in his eyes, and she shared Martin's blood.

The ice runes inscribed on Byfrost activated, glowing a pale, bright blue that encompassed Koltira's body. The blood on his armor hardened, and frost formed along his hair and skin, protecting him from the girl's next assault.

"Martin," he said, "We must go. We must find the limit of this memory and go."

The talking cat has all of his attention until there's another unfamiliar voice coming from behind. This one is not coming from a cat, but a woman. A beautiful woman. Thankfully he's managed to compose himself (or at least finish zippering back up) to avoid further embarrassment. He blinks at her before responding, his head bobbing up and down in a bewildered nod.

"Y-Yes. I think so."

And more blinking.

"Sorry - who are you--?" And why am I here? should also be attached to that, but suddenly the rabid cat spouts another line. "It's time to say goodbye!" is all he gets before its lunging at him and digging needle sharp claws into the forearm that he throws in front of his body to defend himself.

It just sort of hangs there, clawing and biting angrily while he shakes his arm frantically.

The unseen but all-felt program ramped up as Koltira did, readjusting from the lesser strengths for the Darkov boy to those of the foreign warrior. Enough to be a challenge, not enough to put the target in dire straits. Martin didn't have extensive memory of his sister in combat — training, perhaps, but the jackal she was remained more mystery and rumor than reality. The program had to improvise.

Regina bit the medal that dangled at her neck, and Martin's own jaw clenched til it hurt.

Skiigaa—

The otherworldly snake lashed out into the world to strike, a massive and coiling mass slipping in and out of tangibility.

This was a scene she knew all too well.

Amaranthine saved, Vigil's Keep in unknown territory, they had once walked into the bowels of the earth to find the Mother. Walking here on her own, knowing where it would take her, left Elissa's heart twisted in her chest. She could even hear the song, the wretched calling that haunted her sometimes. It was faint, as before, but still reverberating around the cavern walls. It made her feel sick.

She had so many regrets. Maybe she should have saved the Architect, allowed him to help. Perhaps if she had gone back to Vigil's Keep sooner, more of her soldiers would have lived. She'd played the scenario over and over too many times to count. She didn't want to think on it any longer. And she didn't have to.

As she approached the Mother's lair, she could see her team and herself, which made her pause uncertainly. Anders suddenly attacked Nathaniel - now aged, and so she knew this must be his "dream" - and Oghren and her other self readied their weapons as well.

She wanted to hesitate. She did not.

Elissa rushed forward and past Nathaniel, drawing her blade over her shoulder. She struck 'Anders' across the face with the pommel of it, pointing her blade at him as he staggered. "Get back!" she ordered, her eyes meeting her other self's.

This was not the Fade.

Anders knew it was not the Fade, because he was conscious. Justice hadn't rushed to the forefront, hadn't forced Anders down.

It couldn't be real, though, either. Because there was Anders, himself in front of himself -- a younger Anders, Anders-that-was, a whirlwind of sleek robes and sleek ponytail and sleek scarless bare arms beneath sleek fur pauldrons. Gold glinting at his ear, gilt thread glinting from the trim of his robes. Maker, but he used to be a looker, when he put the time into it! And he was vain enough still to admire his former glory, in the split second before he realized just who this pretty past-Anders was trying to beat down with his shiny staff.

Oh.

Oh, no, you didn't.

"Knickerweasels," he mutters, and rushes to thrust his own well-worn staff between Cousland and the oncoming battle-axe wielded by a berserk Oghren.

Madoka remains where she stands in the shadow of the witches’ raised arm, crippled with fear and unable to move an inch. She tries to play it off as terrible dream, another nightmare reminding her of the promise she did not keep just like the countless ones before that had featured Mami. But she still could not convince herself to think of fighting back, because nothing could erase the knowledge that this witch had been born in the grief that engulfed the hopes and dreams of her best friend.

The witches’ cry breaks her free of her thoughts and Madoka begins to raise her arms, reacting without thought but now waiting for the weight of the sword to come down so she could once again wake up.

But it does not happen; instead she is stunned by a voice choking out her name.

“Sayaka-chan?”

Her feet start to stumble, moving as directed but looking around in a frantic manner until she sees Sayaka once again. Madoka’s mind is crippled with worry as she watches Sayaka transform, sees the sword materialize in her hand and moves into harm’s way. Right now her mind is spinning with questions, memories and most importantly: worry. She reaches out, first grasping a fistful Sayaka’s cape (the fabric felt so real) in her hand before taking her friend by the elbow (she was warm, not cold… not like that night on the train tracks) and tries to get put her thoughts in some order to say what she needed to say. But even then, just what could she say truly? How could she ever explain something like this?

“Sayaka-chan, I… I’m so…” Her words are cut off as the witch cries out again, swaying to the music as staffs of music, fashioned into familiar circular patterns, appear overhead and summon a number of turning wheels. The sight brings back memories of watching Kyouko fight, how easily she had been overwhelmed. Madoka releases her friend and moves to stand beside Sayaka as she transforms, drawing her bow upwards and firing an arrow into one of the wheels the witch has sent barreling towards them.

Even if this is a dream, even if it was not real – she was not going to let Sayaka fight alone again.

Nathaniel actually hesitates. Two Couslands; two Anders'. It takes him a moment to realize why he's seeing double, and he's grateful to see that at least these two were apparently on his side.

He ducks the dream Anders, unwilling to raise his weapon against the man, even if he is just part of Nathaniel's imagination. Instead he turns to Oghren, quickly stowing his bow onto his back. He grabs his sheathed daggers and slices them through the air towards the dwarf.

Alisha really has no choice but to run from her own memory. Everyone can simply overpower her regardless of any way she looks at it; without even a touch, she's rendered powerless. She finds herself in a memory that doesn't belong to her.

But the boy that she sees does. In another lifetime.

"Simon?" She's not quite sure if she wishes to approach him, as he - the guy in the mask, Superhoodie, the one from the future who isn't stuck here with her - tried to attack her only moments prior. Alisha's not stupid. Just because she sees Simon doesn't mean she's completely safe.

Neither is anything in this dream, it seems. A talking cat seems to be snarling at him. All that weird shit she's been ranting about is true. That can't be a cat. It has to be something mutated from the storm. "What the fuck is that?" She makes to move towards him, but her feet seem to pick up and then glue themselves to the ground. She feels fear wrapping itself around her bones and anchoring her where she is, keeping her distance from a face that she trusts more than she ever realised, even before he rescued her from a mugger.

Elissa shoots Anders - older Anders - a grateful look and a smile, disengaging herself from his past self. She turns and pulls her other blade free of its scabbard, putting herself between the other Cousland and her companions. She spares a brief look to Oghren as one of Nathaniel's blades embeds itself in his chest and she quickly turns away. Even if this isn't real, it still seems so, and Oghren is dearer to her than people know.

The other Cousland smirks and draws her own swords, launching herself at Anders. Elissa rushes over to parry the block and succeeds, though the point of one the blades still nearly reaches her mage friend.

[Madara wouldn't be trying to carve her up if it was really him, Rin is pretty sure. She doesn't protest Ashraf's analysis - which is a good thing, as now Madara is turning towards Ashraf, eyes bowing up in the same friendly smile he gave to Rin. It's at odds with his words:]

I'm going to kill you! [Before he's plunging towards Ashraf with sword raised. Rin dashes after him to make her own strike and the first slave girls appear down the hall. Some of them are emptyhanded, others bear makeshift weapons - teapots filled with boiling water, to splash dangerously and break over heads. Trays that bore food. Not quite as dangerous as Madara, but more numerous.]

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open log » ❝ The VR Program ❞

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