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?

MONSTER FIGHTING IN OLVOSKI

[theguideless]

The next breath he took filled his lungs with a chill. It made his shoulders shake, forcing his eyes back open. Instead of the blinding Exsilium sun, the sky was grayer, the sun farther away and colder. The world was bleaker.

Realization shook him harder than the chill did.

Home...



The crunching of footsteps was very sudden, though something nagging in the back of Martin Darkov’s mind convinced him the sound was always there. He was moving, too, after all. His heart was pounding into his ears, chest aching. He was nervous. All the training in the world wasn’t going to make him brave for this.

This? This is...?

“Don’t shake so,” she chuckled. “We’re not even halfway there.”

Martin’s head swiveled, looked up. Regina was smiling down at him, warm, encouraging...a little nervous, herself. Sad, even. She’d been looking sad ever since—



“Move to mark!” Bruce called from ahead. When Martin turned to look, the others were already starting to pick up pace. He felt Regina’s hand on her shoulder give a little squeeze, then a nudge, and she, too, rushed ahead.

His heart was practically in his throat, then, frightened and...and very confused. This whole dreadful thing...He could feel the cold sweat on his back. Why? This hadn’t even been the worst part. It hurt to breathe hard when he ran to catch up. This wasn’t what he dreamed of the most. This was before—

“I got six!”

“Eleven!”

“Twelve!”

No...

“Twelve, here!”

“Bruce — twelve!”

“Agreed?”

No, this...

“Alex, get to point!”

Martin’s body began to shake and shake, run turning to a stagger. He could feel the adrenaline, feel the sweat, feel the burn in his lungs and legs, hear the...them...

“Lamyin, twelve! They’re moving!”

He heard the squelching of wet flesh, the whistle of metal and bone in the air. His arms began to lock up tight — instinct. My mark...I...

Someone let out a loud whoop. Lamyin — the beasts — they began to crow and shriek to each other. Once he staggered up the gravelly slope, he could see them. He could see the others, too, right on mark.



It was so much like a dream; Martin moved just the way he remembered to. From his hand, the lance, aimed to the ground, launching him high up, sending him wildly to the ground, all but barreling into the slavering thing. But unlike the dream, if he sat back...

“Ahh!” He rolled away from gaping, skinless jaws — jaws reeking and oozing on its stolen, decaying form. There were loud whistles, things zipping past him, grazing his hair, his ears, and the muscles woven around the monster’s muzzle were lined with needles. All shattered to bits, as Martin swung his hand forward and let loose the lance.

His sister’s laughter rang out from a distance behind, desperate and giddy. A cousin’s answered, wild and overjoyed. Jackals.

Martin scrambled to his feet, pants soaked in thick, aged blood and muck. The stink was almost staggering, but he had little time to worry. He heard another call — “Nine!” — and swung around to spot the next hazard.

Regina was rushing forward, arm cocked and needles at the knuckles. He ducked to a knee, swinging his head around and looking for the target she was aiming and —

Saw nothing.

“Wh—” He looked ahead again, could hardly shout as she threw the next volley. His way. Laughing the jackal laugh.

Fight in the Citadel

[twiceadays]

It's hot. Shepard blinks, and she finds herself with her back against a low ledge, gun in hand. It takes her a moment, but she recognizes her surroundings. It's the Citadel, inside of the Council Chambers. Everything is on fire, and the station floors vibrate beneath her feet from the force of the battle outside. Battle? Sovereign.

She drags her eyes up and sees Saren Arterius staring back down at her from his platform. On either side of her, she can hear Kaidan's heavy breathing and Wrex's low chuckle. Both of them are crouching, facing the turian with their weapons drawn and aimed at him.

That's right.

She rolls and stands up from her hiding spot, gun dropping to her side. There's not one beat that she misses as she leans in. "It's not over yet. You can still redeem yourself!"

Saren shifts, only slightly. "Good-bye, Shepard. Thank you." His arms lifts, the muzzle of his weapon pointed just under the chin.

Despite knowing it's coming, Shepard jumps at the shot, watching the spray of dark blue blood as Saren stumbles and finally falls from the platform and crashes through the plate glass below him. She stands there a moment before her body takes its familiar path to the computer. Uploading Vigil's data into the Citadel is the next step, she remembers that.

What she doesn't remember is the faint hiss of someone drawing their weapon on her. "Shepard," Kaidan says as he fires and destroys the screen, the commander rolling out of the way just in time.

Bewilderment pounds on her as she takes cover behind a piece of debris. "Shit."

[ooc: this thing here will likely show up at some point :'3

also, if you'd rather do action instead of prose, I am a-okay with this too]

Fight with Jake

[ex_bandai157]

It starts on an inhale.

There's a store, there's a street, there are people walking and talking and even if the city isn't in the best shape it's still a city. There are the sounds of footsteps, of someone's laugh a little down the way, and then -

- then, there aren't.

(Exhale.)

Even as the light filters in, it's muted, at once grayed all around and overbright where it breaks through the clouds. These clouds are dark and heavy with the the rain that's still falling - didn't you notice? your hands are getting wet and cold already - onto the ground, a ubiquitous sort of pattering that seems loud as soon as it becomes noticeable.

There's no more city, at least not visibly. Instead, there's an open-air stadium in greys and blues and greens, colors dark with water and scant light. Rising to one side is an enormous statue, dominating the view - a winged Lady Justice, all gilded, watching what is about to transpire.

(She'll be watching the show as much as anyone else.)

Barnaby walks out into the rain like he remembers, boots (boots?) making ripples in the puddles.

"Well!"

It's a familiar voice, feminine and blithely cheerful, belonging to a woman nearby. She isn't talking to him, of course, but to her animated stuffed toys recording everything.

"Thanks for waiting! A new challenger has appeared." She gestures to him before going on. "The fourth challenger in Jake's Seven Matches...the Revenge Boy looking for vengeance!"

He's not listening to her, not really, more distracted by the emptiness of the field before him because -

"Oh dear," she says in a theatrical faux concern. "What's going on? I don't see Jake anywhere..."

There's a laugh from up above that starts a chuckle and turns maniacal, and he looks up. The only other warning is the sound of fingers snapping before the barrage of attacks (flashes of light that are blinding as the explosives strike the ground around him), none of which connecting as he dodges until one does, throwing him back.

"Wow! He's staged a fabulous ambush...!"

Assault on the Capitol

[effective]

This is not the first time Katniss has relived this memory.

The ground opens up underneath her and she’s yelling at Gale to run as refugees fall into the hole, meet whatever it is that the Capitol kept under the feet of its citizens, die.

Katniss doesn’t die, though. No matter what she does in this place, she survives. She closes her eyes now, lets her body pull herself to safety as it has so many times before. She doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to relive this again, but it doesn’t seem like she has a choice.

She reaches safety, sees Gale hanging off a doorway. Lifts her gun even though she knows that rescuing him doesn’t mean safety, drills the lock until the door swings open.

The first time she did this, in real life, she felt elation. She’d saved him, they were going to be okay. Now she only watches with dead eyes as the white-gloved hands reach for her friend. He’s mouthing something at her and this time she knows what it is.

Shoot me.

And just like before, she can’t. She wants to tell herself that it’s because she knows he’s going to live, going to be okay, but that’s a lie.

She doesn’t want to be the one to kill Gale. Doesn’t want to bear the pain of that on her soul, on top of everything else.

Everything else…

There’s something else that she should be doing here, something even more important than Gale. Katniss frowns, trying to think, trying to remember.

And then the Peacekeepers release Gale. Katniss feels her mouth open, startled, not sure what words to use because this is new, she doesn’t remember this. Maybe everything will turn out okay this time? Maybe she can save everyone, even if this isn’t real, is only a dream.

And then Gale shoots at her across the gaping hole in the ground and Katniss laughs even as she avoids the shot on automatic, because she should have known better than to hope.

some bird people worship a dragon

[flightlessbird]

She knows it's a dream, because she's done with this part. She's left all of this behind and been glad for it. So if she's here again… well, it must be a dream, right?

The long and brightly colored feathered headpiece of the head priest used to fascinate Artika, but that was when she was young. She's seen it way too many times since then. Nowadays it just looks to her like the crest of one of the giant, slow-moving birds of the plains outside the jungle. She heaves a sigh and watches the crowd behind the priest instead, but they're not much relief. Everyone's wingtips are painted a bright garish blue — in honor of the blue patterns in her scales, she knows. It looks terrible on most of them. All of them, she amends, feeling vindictive. These ceremonies always make her feel petty and ill-tempered, but most of their wings are too colorful for their own good, the blue only clashes.

Artika shifts, clutching one talon against the raised wooden platform in a search for comfort. If she's going to be worshipped, she ought to ask them for pillows up here. But something catches her attention as she moves — a sharp clatter of stone on wood. Her head jerks up on its snaky neck to see where it had come from (something has landed near her, was it thrown?) and she freezes.

The faces in the crowd have changed. From distracted and rapturous to enraged. She stares in bewilderment as slender, small bodies begin scrambling toward her. Crawling over one another to reach her, even. Some of the younger ones, those still light enough to nearly fly, leap out over the crowd with their bright wings fluttering. It's like a messy flock of parrots, and she shifts nervously. What are they doing? This has never been a part of any of the ceremonies. She's never even dreamed of any ceremonies like this before.

But as a stone strikes her black flank, she decides that it doesn't matter. That hurt. Dream or no, she won't be standing for that. She snaps her head forward, jaws nipping at the arm of the first man that reaches her hard enough to draw blood, but it doesn't dissuade him at all. She knows him well, he lives not far from the village well, he says good morning to Artika sometimes. He's quiet, somewhat of a recluse. He seems to have forgotten all about that, though. He reaches out slender fingers that are curved like claws, while great red and orange wings at his back flap at the air to heft him up onto the platform with her.

That's when Artika darts off the back of it, starting up in a scrambling dash for the nook at the back of the hollow tree the ceremony is always held in. She's not sure what's going on, or why her people should have shifted from a quiet distaste of her to a killing rage, but she doesn't plan to stay and see more.

Why'd it have to be ANTS

[gorillawarfare]

Marco first realized that something was wrong when he felt his stomach start to sink. Literally. In a few seconds he had been standing, next to his nice, cozy future-tv and bam! suddenly he was outside a neighborhood house that looked way, way too familiar.

Vice principle Chapman, familiar.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the morphing process seemed to have a mind of its own. He barely had time to let out the choked sound of surprise before the ground came up to meet him. His skin hardened, extra arms grew out of his chest and stomach, and he felt his eyes grow, encompassing most of his face as pincers grew from his teeth.

Ant! Marco barely had time to register the fact that he was, yet again, transforming into the one animal he had sworn never to morph again. He was turning into a damn ant. As human sight left to be replaced with the ant's near-blindness, he caught the familiar forms of Rachel, Jake, and Cassie as they too became ants.

Z-Space. It had to be freaking Z-spa-

Food. Smelled food. Had to find it, bring it back to the colony.

Immediately, the ant instincts began to take over. The smell of a dead beetle assaulted his antenna as they flickered.

We would touch the carcass. We would judge its size. If it was too big to carry, we would hack it into smaller pieces and carry the chunks to the colony.

Or enemies would come. We would kill.

On some level, Marco remembered being Marco. He remembered this happening before, how the ant instinct had taken over and drove him forward, overwhelming all aspects of identity. He remembered scurrying around in the grass, how the mission had been to grab the transponder from Chapman's basement. How something had gone wrong. He remembered the rival ant colony appearing.

We had reached the beetle. We opened our cutting mandibles wide and bit into the carcass.

Into the tunnels the ants went.

And, as Marco went to turn, other ants began pouring out of the side tunnels. Red ants. Enemy ants.

Instantly, they descended on the four black ants. Marco came to his senses as three of them dug their pincers into his midsection, tearing at his body and trying to rip him in half.

< AHHHHHH!!! >

[ ooc: characters that enter the memory can either be themselves, ant-sized, or transformed into...ants. With the ant-morph comes a very totalitarian mindset. The ants are loyal to their hive, one gigantic "self", and initially characters will have to fight the impulses to go borg, for lack of a better word. Ants also have next to no sight, relying on smell to guide them via their antenna ]

i heard u like drawlogs...

[stonefaith]

[ ... ]

i also heard u like poorly drawn darkovs

[stonefaith]

and confusing progression and... and color??? IDK COLORS

[stonefaith]

overnight work with the team, just outside quantico virginia

[boughtabookstore]

[ It's late at night, the clock somewhere past midnight and the pizza boxes piled haphazardly on the table empty. Someone nearby laughs a little, and Roslyn stirs and opens her eyes, stretches sleepily and yawns. ]

I didn't mean to fall asleep, you should have woken me up.

[ Vaguely, somewhere deeper down, she realizes that this is a dream. Piri and Madison and Carl and Jin - they're all dead or gone or won't look at her in the hallways of headquarters - only she's not even in headquarters anymore, she lives in Exsilium these days, where there's none of them at all. So this has to be a dream, but there's still the echoing laughter of Madison with her head tipped back and that's enough for her.

Or one moment there is, and Roslyn is smiling sleepily and reaching for a folder, and the next moment Carl makes a low lunge for her, slamming her off her chair to the floor. She can feel where the bruises will form soon, the breath going out of her, and she stares up at him in bewilderment. ]

Carl? What's going --

[ She scrambles up off the floor and stares at her old team, bewildered and for the first time in a long time afraid as they line up uniformly, no familiarity in their faces. Just aggression. She's never had this nightmare before, and she doesn't want to start now. ]

ALIEN VAMPIRE ATTACK

[caligulas_aquarium]

He remembers this situation quite clearly, considering it's his last memory of home before having come here. The area's level ground for the most part, though going too far out causes it to turn really steep really quickly, which could easily lead to slipping off the edge and falling, almost like the edge of a cliff. However, the almost entirely dark setting surrounding the area was reminiscent of being in the depths of space, nowhere to go save for wandering the surface of wherever they are. It really wouldn't or shouldn't take too much observation to realize it's the top of a meteor, though air is very much present in the area, so no chance of suffocation there.

Right now, Eridan's stood upon the roof of said meteor with two other trolls either side of him, both heralds of luck and rage respectively, both trolls just like he is. Granted he isn't sure why he's back here, but the situation isn't exactly unwelcome. He'd gone into this confrontation before with the firm belief he could come out the victor, the only difference here being his weapon was even more powerful this time around. He could totally handle this. Unfortunately for Eridan, as much as he might want them to be, the two trolls standing to confront him aren't going to be his opponents. The dim setting of the meteor's rooftop is suddenly illuminated by the presence of another, silence broken by the arrival of a fourth troll behind Eridan, the source of the sudden illumination. She's unnaturally swift, going straight for the trio and kicking one of them straight off the meteor.

oh god

She once again moves to attack with her unnatural swiftness, getting up close to the only remaining troll of the original trio who isn't Eridan and punching her straight in the face, the force of which sends the target of her assault straight off her feet and sliding across the floor, yet after she slows to a stop on the ground, she shimmers out of view, leaving nothing behind of her presence. Were Eridan paying attention, he'd probably realize something was amiss there. Unfortunately, he's too busy freaking the fuck out to notice.

oh fuck

The next part of the memory was something so horrifying he'd probably never get the image out of his head. With only Eridan left, she'd turned her focus on him and snatched his wand straight out of his hand and broken it in two. At the time he was too terrified to do a single thing at that point, now defenseless and face to face with the walking undead. At that point he was pretty easy prey, so she just went ahead and finished him off, ending the standoff between the original three combatants. However, that wasn't the case this time. Instead of immediately going to disarm him, she remained still, drawing what appeared to be a tube of lipstick. It suddenly shifted into a much more deadly object however, a fully functioning chainsaw which she holds with one hand, low to the ground.

It takes him a while, but eventually he realizes he's still in one piece and not wandless.

So as opposed to dying, he instead decides to try and fight his way out this time. He grips his wand in hand, what appear to be white flames burning outwards from the object itself and flowing around him arm, before repeatedly telling himself in his mind he can do this and there's no way he's gonna die this time.

Truthfully, though, he's absolutely fucking terrified.

Takegami from a club to the police station

[onemoredeath]

mild drug use in this first part...
He didn't remember where he was. The air throbbed with sounds and lights, hot, sweating bodies pressing together and grinding along with the pulsing drums. Smoke and alcohol, silks and leathers, sweat and perfumes, his senses were going on overload and he didn't care. There was a body under him, a wet mouth and hot tongue tangling with his, and sharp nails scraping across his scalp and down his neck. He jerked his head back, gulping at the humid air and slender fingers slipped between his lips, sliding something bitter onto his tongue.

Takegami glanced at the woman, lips parted and his tongue feeling numb. The numbness spread into a tingling sensation and he actually groaned as the man he pressed into the bench reached down and squeezed. The woman tugged on his hair hard as she leaned in for a kiss. He mentally shrugged, his body growing hyper aware of every little sensation. He could always kill them after the sex after all.

But something was wrong, the throbbing turning into a scream of guitars. He tasted blood and threw himself back from the hands. A moment, and they weren't what he had seen before, the people stopping and moving in like B-grade random villains. The couple he was with produced baseball bats from the air and hit him. Hard.

...then the lights blinked out
Takegami opened his eyes. The ceiling was industrial tiling set in aluminum tracks that no doubt covered an extensive ventilation system. In opposite corners sprinklers hung down well out of the way of the recording camera. There was also a standard one-way mirror opposite of him, the low blue tinted lighting in the room making it hard to see if anyone was there.

He doubted it. For one, they had left him in this room after running him through several check points. They took his fingerprints, they tried to get him to submit a DNA test, they searched him three times, and then finally he was shoved into this chair and told to wait for questioning. How typical.

Glancing at the officer in the room with him, he calculated how easy it would be to kill him before he could even use the baton on his belt. But if he did that, he would definitely be hung and without any way to wiggle out an revenge. Escape required some more thought.

Drumming his finger against the table, he planned. Of course, that was when the door was pushed open and the two detectives launched themselves at him.

Final Battle in the Depths of Hell

[andhishat]

She's been in this place before, once in truth, and countless times after in her darkest nightmares. A lifetime ago she had stood in this place, the smell of sulfur and burning flesh staining her lungs, the sound of the wordless screams of countless throats tearing at her ears, the heat of the flames all around burning at her skin, and beyond it all was the cloak of utter and total hopelessness that fell over one the moment they stepped into this place, the fundamental knowledge that this was where all second chances ended, where all that awaited was endless agony and suffering at the hands of abominations no god had created. All about her the walls and floor pulsed and shuddered like the flesh of a massive rotted heart that refused to die, the room itself empty save for the multi-limbed statues at the center and along the walls, the unblinking eyes staring out from the walls, and those few souls who stood inside it. Here was where the weight of eternity could be known in all its vast and unimaginably terrible glory. A Hell worthy of the name.

Yet for Reya, the worst of it was not the place itself, it was the man standing in the center of the chamber she had entered, a man she had killed before over and over again, and yet who refused to cease haunting her life, to no longer steal from her everything she loved and needed, her friends, her family, her soul, not out of hatred or vengeance, but simply because to him she was nothing but a useful resource to be harvested until nothing was left and the husk could be cast aside. Even now the hatred that burned in the hollow eyes of Jon Irenicus was false, a shadow conjured up because some part of him felt it was the appropriate reaction to facing the one who had denied him his final life’s work. The monster had tortured her, murdered her friends, brutalized her sister, and he couldn’t even be bothered to show hate when she denied him his coveted godhood.

All around her she heard echoes of the past speaking, the comrades who had seen her through countless battles and losses all leading into the very pit of hell itself reaffirming one last time that they would stand by her, that their bonds would drive them to face even the likelihood of oblivion for Reya.

’No more platitudes, Irenicus. You have taken much from all of us. Now you die your final death!’

’This is the last stand, here in Hell. We fall, or we win.

’ I grow tired of shouting battle cries when fighting this mage. Boo will finish his eyeballs once and for all, so he does not rise again! Evil, meet my sword! SWORD, MEET EVIL!’

Yes, she could at least draw strength from those who surrounded her, from Mazzy the fearless Halfling warrior, Minsc the brave berserker from distant lands and his trusty hamster Boo, Keldorn the noble champion of justice, Jaheria who had become a source of guidance and care after her father’s passing, and her beloved sister Imoen who had never once let her be alone. They flanked her on either side, pillars of support that silenced the howl of her father within her and reminded her of who she truly was, that she was Reya of Candlekeep, that she fought for those who she loved, and that she was not simply some tool to be shaped by dead gods and mad sorcerers for their own ends.

Staring at the withered husk of an elf and his hoard of macabre demons, Reya felt her hand tighten around the worn wood of her staff, fear and rage gripped and shaped into power dancing across her fingertips, transforming the urges that sought to dominate her into a tool to end Irenicus’s evil once and for all.

“You couldn’t even kill me in reality,” she spoke, voice rising as she did, “You will not do so in a dream! I have had enough of living my life under the shadow of an empty shell too consumed with itself to realize when it is time to just die! This ends!”

[OOC: Comes with it’s own theme. Reya's companions will attack her just after this, possibly when another character enters]

Entering the Medium (and dying painfully)

[biwinning]

Outside Sollux's hive window, hundreds of meteors fall. The city he was raised in is on fire, his bicyclops panicking and trying to detach itself from the chain keeping it on the roof.

Sollux wakes up, the familiar feeling of his room surrounding him. The bees are buzzing in an irritating manner, but before he has a chance to buzz angrily back at them, to tell them to shut up, he feels something heavy in his mouth. Thick, sweet...

Honey. Mindhoney. How did it even-

He tries to close his eyes, tries to stop the overload in his mind, putting his hands to his head- but it's too late. He's screaming and trying to make it stop, but it's too late, white-hot energy is pouring from his eyes. He can't stop himself from absolutely flipping his lid, blasting a hole out his roof, out the roof of the whole building, killing and destroying anyone and anything in it's path. His lusus dies instantly, and Sollux collapses to the ground. It's not until another ten minutes later that he wakes again, and the reign of the meteors has spread. It's nearing the ocean by this point.

Sollux manages to drag himself to the computer, and tries to catch up on everything he's missed. Everyone but himself and that fish princess are in the Medium, and she needs to get in before he does. Another ten minutes later, she's in, but that means that the giant horrorterror of a fish is also dead- and he has about five minutes to live. He's beginning to feel dizzy, as Karkat places down the pieces of SGRUB tech he needs to work with. Four minutes now.

[healplz]

[ He hadn't stayed long in his own specially-crafted memories. Why should he? The enemies inside were no friends of his, and he was no fighter. He'd only teleported away from their attacks and began to explore, and pushing through to another world (a flash of something dark, wet, a man—and then gone again) had led him — here.

Ants. Giant-sized ants, as far as he can tell. He has no idea where he's landed himself, or how this is possible, even the monstrous ants of the Sograt Desert only came to the knee. He's not sure where he is, but, as he spins to slam the wood of his staff (no, the bone, this isn't his staff, this is the one the Initiative had given him) between the mandibles of an ant, he decides it doesn't much matter. Another place of war, another battle.

A battle between beasts, apparently. He scans the area grimly, searching for someone to help in the gloom, but all he sees is warring ants. His eyes fall on one of the black creatures, apparently in danger of death, but he does nothing. It would be one less creature for him to evade, if he saved it. ]

Battle of Denerim and the Archdemon

[ladyspitfire]

The sky is alight with fire, the dying embers of a day of ruin in the great city of Denerim. The mass of enemies lying in wait seems insurmountable as it moves, destroying anything and anyone in its path. The Darkspawn are gnarled creatures, their armor covered in caked blood, their teeth protruding from their decayed lips. They hunger for the battle, mindlessly moving at the whim of the Archdemon, their master.

Gathered in the square are those who would oppose them, people from all walks of life engaged in battle. Human nobles and their armies gather in packs, slicing through the creatures. The Dalish, elvhen born and skilled in old magic, rain arrows down on their foes. The dwarves amass in great numbers, strong and able bodies making short and vicious work of the opponents they face.

Many perish, both innocents and soldiers alike. The houses are mutilated and scorched from the Archdemon and the torches of the Darkspawn. Denerim is to be made an example of, like Lothering before it. The horde wishes only to taint and ruin what it touches.

The three remaining Grey Wardens lead the charge, all of them decorated in armor and at the front. One stays to guard the gates on his own; one leaves to engage the Archdemon alone.

Elissa is left in the massacre of their armies, her blades slicing through any creature that dares oppose her. Her armor is nearly covered in their blood as she moves through the dozens of enemies, her feet carrying her through steps she's repeated long before. She's lost her helmet, her red hair framing her face as she runs towards the castle itself. The dragon shrieks loudly above her and she pauses. Heart hammering in her chest, she hopes that this time, Riordan can stop the dragon himself...

He slices through the Archdemon's wing and plummets to his death, just as before.

Eyes stinging from the fire, the blood, and what might be held-back tears, Elissa presses on. Her companions aren't far behind her and she stops to engage in another group of enemies, making short work of them. A stray blade slices into an exposed part of her arm and she shouts, decapitating the monster. Behind her, Wynne, Sten, and Zevran finally catch up.

She turns to them, brushing her hair back. "Secure the area. Wynne, I need this--"

The Kossith shouts a battle cry in his language and lunges for her, his blade nearly connecting with her midsection. She draws aside and parries, eyes wide. "Sten, what are you doing?!" she shouts. Zevran's smaller blades come at her back and she rolls away, throwing one of her few traps at him. "Stop this! What madness has possessed you?"

She gets no word in edgewise between the three of them bearing down on her, Wynne's magic keeping both of her former companions healed. Elissa grips her blades tightly in both hands, sends a prayer to the Maker, and then launches herself at her friends with the intent to draw blood.

The Darkspawn draw ever closer, and they will not be merciful when they eventually surround the Warden.

Fun with super-villains and killer robots.

[myownbestfriend]

[OOC: Emma is from a comic book, which means her memory is available in convenient image format, featuring glorious Daniel Acuña art I've wrecked by shrinking it to less than half its intended size! 1, 2, 3, 4.]

Emma has lived this memory more than once, often enough that it's lost its sting, and she lets the betrayal play out unheeded as she searches her mind for the source of the flashback. Everything seems to be in perfect working order; it's not her own psyche doing this to her. Outside, when she extends her scan, she finds herself brought up by something unyielding.

Blocked. No one blocks her. Someone is going to pay for this.

Blast, if she can't wake up, she really ought to pay attention, because Shaw's about to--

"Selene?" he says, accepting Pierce's unecessary help and wiping at the blood Namor drew from corner of his mouth. Behind Emma, Selene raises a hand, and--

Not this time. The confused teenager of the memory has grown into the most dangerous telepath on the planet. Her blue eyes disappear behind the light as the telltale pink aura of Emma's power flares, and the other telepath drops to the floor with a strangled gasp, bleeding from her nose.

"Cow." Emma sniffs and smooths back already perfectly-arranged hair. "Namor, we need to--"

"Your time has come!" he interrupts, pointing at her, and Emma checks over her shoulder to make sure no one's sneaking up behind her.

"I beg your pardon?" It's not unusual for him to be yelling threatening but vague challenges--just not at her.

That's when Namor backhands her through the warehouse wall.

Emma comes up diamond, annoyed and shaking debris from her cape. "You're lucky you're imaginary, McKenzie."

"Prepare to die!"

"Do shut up."

[OOC: Want to fight? There's Pierce, who's a cyborg, Shaw, who absorbs kinetic energy, Namor, who's super-strong, super-tough, and super-shirtless, and a bunch of Sentinels. Relax, they're early-model and not very bright.]

[skirtcladgunner]

And along comes an absolutely confused Tori. She first looks to the troll holding the chainsaw, and then to--

Shit, had she even gotten the kid's name? She's still coming back down from the memory she had been into prior to jumping into his that she can't think about that right now. Instead, she pulls out her gun and flashes him the most encouraging grin she can.

"Looks like you could use some help~"

pls let me know if I get things wrong here

[payback]

Rin gave up on trying to reason with those fighting with her in her own memories in fairly short order, and fell into the battle instead. It was almost a relief, settling into the rhythm of hack-hack-and-slash without thinking about anything else. That was simple.

She fought and then she ran once she was clear of the fight, pursued of course, but far enough that the edges of her own memory frayed, flashed light and dark, and then - she broke through elsewhere. Cold, stinking of rot, with shouts echoing quite nearby. A fight flashed through the trees. There was no sense to be made of anything. She ran with her sword still unsheathed instead, trying not to stumble and scanning the landscape as she went. Breath tore out of her throat in long white plumes with each exhale, and she ran towards the people darting this way and that without thinking about whether it was really a good idea or not.

[flightlessbird]

[ A room she's never seen before? Well, that's no stranger than the dream she'd just left, is it? Artika slams in through a nearby doorway, four legs scrambling for purchase and claws raking the ground. There are no villagers on her trail anymore, but now there's — Ros? Bright orange eyes narrow, her head cocks, and she immediately starts for Roslyn. Something familiar in — where ever this is.

She fails to notice Roslyn's malicious friends, now headed for her instead, too busy looping about the furniture to get nearer to her. ]

[payback]

Scratched up and scared herself, if not horribly injured, Rin tore through into Eridan's memory. A glance identified the aliens around here as trolls, although she couldn't give them names - she still couldn't figure out WHAT was going on but still with sword bared Rin came closer to the trolls.

"Hey?" Uncertain. She didn't bother asking what was going on. She doubted anyone else had much more an idea than she did.

protecting his not-girlfriend!

[majoring]

It’s been a long time since Kaidan has thought about this.

It’s probably a bad thing that he remembers it so vividly, almost two decades later. He’d told Shepard he was over it, and for the most part that’s true. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t niggle at him every now and then. The first person you kill has a tendency to stick with you.

It unfolds exactly the same way it did the first time. The students are training under the watchful eye of Vyrnnus, who’s staring at them all with an expression of open dislike slapped across turian features. Rahna gets tired early on, and Kaidan wishes he could lend her some of his strength. He’s always been able to go for longer than most of the other students.

But he can’t do that, can only watch as she swipes a hand across her forehead, and then reaches for a glass of water. Something in the back of Kaidan’s mind tells him to stop her, get it for her but the memory is in full force now and he can only let it happen. Vyrnnus’ eyes zero in on the girl and biotic blue slaps the glass out of her hand. It crashes to the ground as the ex-Commander storms over in the midst of Rahna’s fearful apologies.

“Hey!” Kaidan finds himself yelling. “Hey, leave her alone!”

He’s ignored. The turian grabbed Rahna by the arm, ignoring the girl’s cry of pain.

“If you’re not using it for biotics, you don’t use it at all,” he growls. The snap of her arm breaking splits the sudden silence of the room.

White hot rage sears through Kaidan and comes out blue before he can think about it. It’s not any definable power, just a wave of energy that slams into the turian, snapping—

Except it doesn’t snap his neck, this time. And when Kaidan turns to Rahna, it’s not fear that clouds her gaze, because nothing clouds it at all. Kaidan becomes abruptly aware of the fact that every person in the room is now staring at him.

“You’re going down, Alenko!”

Rahna is the first one to attack.

UGH THESE TAGS ARE ONLY GONNA GET SHITTIER FROM MY END JSYK

[theguideless]

treading a fine line between robots and robitussin (not really)

[fe_male]

[ You know what this place needs to feel more at home? A good press conference. Studies show if there’s one thing comic book fans love to see on film, it’s a good press conference. Hope you're not afraid of public speaking.

Then again, you're not really going to be doing a whole lot of it. There happen to be a few strategically placed podiums and what look like pews maybe but totally shouldn't be unless this is some sort of quote-unquote, 'random encounter', because who puts pews in front of the audience, but what the hell ever. You know what, on second thought, maybe considering the success of the first film’s scenes of press conferences and financial analysis programs, this is actually a Senate hearing. Who knows. Who cares. You're entering the memory long after any actual talking has taken place - although really, it's not as though any of them are really saying anything all that different than what they already would have anyway, right? It actually took him a little while to notice this wasn't how these memories actually went.

What's more annoying is how little there is to work with here. Having a more passive skill is annoying sometimes, and he's taken a couple of grazing wounds to the limbs trying to reach for something that he seriously isn't sure was there a few minutes ago. As it is he's managed to cobble together a few small grenades and manhandle-danced a gun from a legal-aide-slash-newspaper-intern-what-the-other-hell-ever-who-gives-a-shit. What's way more interesting is how oddly quick he's been able to see, catalogue, and put to use all the little things around him.

But hey, all in all, it's looking like a pretty stereotypical 'clear-the-room' type set-up - which of course just serves to make it more complicated, because nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Tony. Nothing. Ever. Who knows what's on the other side of that doorway across the room, but that's what you're going to find out, right? ]