June Player Plot Log

[misassembled]

Who: Everyone
When: June 4rd to June 26th
Where: Earth 91c
What: Thisavrou’s Ingress connects to an alternate, technologically advanced version of Earth.
Warnings: Murder (and mystery!), potential violence, arguably slavery(?)

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Important OOC Note: This event features NPC encounters in certain locations, with the NPCs Atarah (misassembled), Alex (outofstock), and Calla (TBA). These encounters may be used to gather information for the murder investigation, influence the world, or just to nab some interesting CR. If you are open to having your character approached by an NPC, please include the phrase “NPC-friendly” in the subject line of your top-level, or in the the heading of your preferred starter(s). Note that your chances of such an encounter may be greatly increased (or even guaranteed) by signing up for encounters on the OOC post. Have fun!

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Earth 91c

While scanning through various universes for matching signatures, Thisavrou’s Ingress technicians occasionally find different versions of a single world, not quite matching the signature of anyone’s homeworld and yet not completely alien either. On the first of June, Thisavrou’s Ingress connects to one such alternate world—specifically, an alternative version of Earth.

Labeled “Earth 91c” by Ingress personnel, life on this Earth is fundamentally different than the life Earthlings on Thisavrou may remember. It’s the year 2610 and advancements made hundreds of years in the past have revolutionized every industry on the planet, allowing for an exponential increase in the production of food, goods, and commodities, while the cost in human effort and suffering has fallen to almost null. The result is a near-utopia with surpluses in almost every resource, creating an environment where humans can stretch their creative and scientific wings skyward, where no brilliant mind must be squandered in a life spent on unfulfilling menial labor. Art and technology flourish on this world and beyond, as humans, freed from such quaint concerns as food production and resource extraction, have extended their reach to the stars, even discovering an Ingress on a distant planet and relocating it to a city on Earth.

Upon exiting the Ingress, visitors will find themselves in a vibrant center of technological and cultural exchange, in the midst of a human civilization that seems to be in the midst of its golden age. The technology that made this prosperity possible is on full display throughout Eastgate City. And some of it is very familiar…

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Welcome To Eastgate City

Once visitors arrive in Eastgate City proper, it will be very easy to see how exactly Earth 91c became the utopia it is today. Programs, AI, androids—whatever you call them, they’re known as the “Created” here and they’re out in force. They perform a variety of functions on this world, including (but not limited to) manual labor, factory work, personal and professional assistance, system organization, household drudgery, farming, construction, child care, entertainment, and companionship. A large portion of these Created are called “Programs”; they resemble humans, marked as different only by glowing markings that decorate their bodies, some simple and some so ornate and extensive, their wearers resemble walking works of art. Any who are familiar with Thisavrou's own small Program population will notice a key difference, however: the Programs of Earth 91c carry no disks on their backs. There are also AI, owned by individuals or companies, often resembling small, holographic humans who can be summoned at will by personal devices to provide information, analysis, or entertainment. Anywhere you go in the city you’ll see these Created, hurrying along to carry out their programmed functions, stationed in businesses or kiosks, or accompanying the humans (called, of course, “Creators”) who own them. To prevent any confusion between visiting and native Created, all AI characters who enter through the Ingress will be asked to wear identifying bracelets for the duration of their stay. All visitors are also referred to a message broadcast to their TABs for a list of the planet’s laws as they pertain to foreign guests, and as a means of getting in contact with Eastgate’s official ambassador, Daniel Wright.

And yet, for all the pretense of welcome, there’s a strange, tense atmosphere pervading the city. You might be able to see it in the wary glances of organic and AI alike towards more visibly foreign visitors, or hear it in the hushed whispers of a crime too terrible to imagine. Most natives you meet will be reluctant to discuss it with you, but you may be able to put together a few details: an incident occurred a couple weeks earlier in which a Created—a Program by the name of Kess—murdered two humans at a political rally for the rising political star Delilah Handler, a candidate with known ties to the “Equalist” movement—an umbrella term for activists who seek to further Created rights. No one is quite sure how such an attack was possible; the production of Created is strictly regulated so that none possess the capacity for such violence. But, speculation abounds. Some believe that it was a random, tragic glitch. Some blame the Ingress for bringing in some kind of foreign virus and fear that other Created may also become indiscriminately violent. However, the predominant theory is that Delilah somehow altered Kess’s programming and unintentionally created the glitch that caused Kess to snap. This theory is supported both by Delilah’s ties to the Equalist movement, which has been long suspected of editing Created to parrot their beliefs, and the fact that she was a former authorized programmer, meaning she might’ve had the knowledge to edit Kess. Whatever the truth, the incident has cast a pall of mistrust over the normally hospitable city. But for those willing to put up with the uneasy atmosphere, Eastgate has a number of locations available to explore.

---

The Center for Created Oversight and Affairs

One of the largest structures in the city, this sprawling facility is made up of multiple interconnected buildings and courtyards. The Center for Created Oversight and Affairs (or the CCOA) manages almost every aspect of Program and AI life, from their creation to related policy-making. Though most of the buildings are off-limits to visitors, there is a museum open to the public with exhibits that display how Programs and other AI are created and the role they play in Eastgate’s society. Simple, easy-to-understand exhibits explain that Created are coded by highly trained programmers using advanced computers, and that those meant for “outside use” are then made tangible through a complex “reverse-digitization process.” There are regular tours through the museum, delivered, of course, by beaming Created docents.

Though security in the museum is relatively light, all other areas of the facility are heavily guarded and monitored.

---

The Gardens

Marked only by a neon sign showing a flower in bloom, The Gardens is a popular, high-end entertainment venue, which includes a bar, lounge, dance floor, and casino, all connected by a verdant courtyard. As one might guess from the name, the entire venue has a botanical theme that extends not only to the interior and exterior decor, but also to the Created who work there. These Created include Programs marked by very thin, fine circuits on their faces, wrists, and ankles that are wrought in a delicate floral pattern and are named after flowers corresponding to their circuit colors. These Programs serve a variety of functions here, from running the casino games to keeping the venue clean to accommodating the requests of the venue’s various guests. There are also holographic AI, resembling foot-tall humans with insectoid wings, stationed at the bar who can help you find a place to sit, direct you to the venue’s various attractions, and place an order for drinks (though the bartender himself is human). Visitors here can drink, dance, or gamble the night away, though they should be warned: fighting and destructive behavior are not allowed on the premises and violators will be removed by the venue’s (human) security.

---

Manufacturing District

On the outskirts of Eastgate lies the center of production, a vast maze of factories and refineries that produce most of the goods consumed by the city. Here, Created outnumber humans several times over; after all, they staff all of the factories. In fact, there are some factories that operate almost entirely independent of human supervision and are only given a general inspection a few times a year. If you speak with the right people, you may even hear word of a factory that has ceased to be a factory. For those who can rub elbows with the criminal elements of Eastgate, “Rook Manufacturing” may prove a useful place for your less-than-legal needs. Here, visiting AI can get their mandatory bracelets removed free-of-charge—and any organics wanting to see how the other side lives can purchases these bracelets for themselves, if they have something worth trading. AI can also pay for illegal upgrades; even a full function change isn’t out of the question, though the side-effects would be severe to say the very least. However, even with such services available, unfamiliar guests shouldn’t expect a completely cordial experience during their visit. A certain AI is known for testing newcomers’ patience—quite literally, as it turns out. Finally, those interested in challenge rather than commerce may be interested in Rook Manufacturing’s next offering: a chance to fight with willing, combat-ready Programs looking to try out their new upgrades in the ring. All fights MUST be non-lethal. Attending the fights is the leader of this operation, a green-circuited Program by the name of Atarah. Judging by the awed hush that falls over the assembled audience when she appears, it’s no secret that she commands a great deal of respect here—from Creators and Created alike.

---

Missions Available

♖Visitors to Rook Manufacturing may hear excited rumors that Atarah is looking to recruit outsiders for a more meaningful kind of fight. There are whispers that something precious has been taken from her and her fellow Created by a faction that identifies as “Extinctionists”—a movement that opposes the very existence of Created in the outside world. And she is willing to pay any sum to anyone who is willing to get it back—if you can prove you’re worth her time.

♔ Knowledge of foreign technology, particularly as it relates to artificial intelligence, is highly valued by the CCOA. Those with expertise on such technology, whether from Thisavrou or their own world, will be paid 200 sencs for a seminar on the subject, assuming they can provide new information about technology not yet present on Earth 91c. It’s possible a charlatan might be able to give a seminar on a piece of technology that doesn’t actually exist—just hope that there’s nobody from your own world in the crowd who might be able to call you out.

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OOC: If you have any questions about the event or setting, please post them here!

Comments

June 15th

[pleasereset]

[Eastgate Entrance]

[What was meant to be quick, getaway trip to check out this technology-advanced planet quickly turns into a nightmare for Asriel. His weird, monstrous features, the glowing identity disk on his back, everything makes him look like a Created. And his visit isn't exactly welcoming.

It's only about a half-hour into his stay that he finds more and more people giving him odd and wary looks, before some people in uniform approach him with a question:

"Where is your Creator?"]

Creator...? I don't have one...

[It's not the answer they're looking for, and they start to surround Asriel.

"All programs must be accompanied by a Creator. If you don't have yours with you, we'll have to detain you until yours is found."

One of the guards reaches out, and grabs Asriel's arm, he yelps and tries to pull away.

"No bracelet either..."

One of the guards nods to the other, before the second guard pulls out an identifying bracelet. Asriel looks horrified, and his struggling to break away from them increases.]

No, stop-!!

[The bracelet is slapped on his wrist, the guards completely ignoring his protests. They look like they're about to haul him away.]

[Manufacturing District]

[This whole planet has been pretty nerve-wracking, and Asriel keeps scratching at the bracelet on his wrist. It feels awful, it doesn't really feel all the different from a metal collar around his neck. But no matter what, no one else will believe him that he's not an actual program or AI.

He catches word that there's places offering upgrades for AIs, and while Asriel isn't exactly one... maybe they could make some changes to his disk?

Maybe he could... fix some of the problems he's caused for his family.

Make a better Asriel.

He stands outside the shady-looking shop for a long time, wondering if it was worth it to go in.]

Manufacturing District

[seeingscarlet]

[Wanda's not quite sure how she ended up here. Perhaps she'd been unconsciously trying to find some respite from the steady psychic undercurrent of unease in the rest of the city. It's not actually better here, of course, although it's much quieter. Eerily so.

It's a relief to see someone she recognizes, although she's not sure why Asriel's standing outside such a sketchy-looking place. Maybe this place looks sketchy because the Created seem to have no rights at all...or maybe it actually is dangerous. She can't get a read on anyone in there, so it could really go either way.]

Asriel? What are you doing here?

Eastgate

[gainedlove]

Get away from him!

[Frisk barrels full-force into the guard currently dragging Asriel away, clawing at him to try and remove his grip.]

He's my brother, don't you touch him!

chara | open to pcs and npcs | will match formats

[inconsequence]

eastgate entrance and rook manufacturing; june 14th

All appearances and common sense to the contrary, it seems Chara has been deemed acceptable as a Creator. That is in and of itself a laugh, is it not? The entire sprawling look of the place, devoted to structure and to pointless hierarchy based on what is made and what is not, a completely arbitrary set of rules delineating what counts as a synthetic creation and what is to be labeled as some sort of deific microcosm on par with a mechanical genius.

Mettaton, they're certain, would count as a Created. Asriel does, most assuredly. Frisk possesses their identity disk, and therefore their status is called speedily into question.

The only one of the lot of them with the authority to wander as they please is, ironically, the one with the least amount of personhood; the truechara buried in the FILEs, who reaps code from fragments of content sequestered beyond prying eyes, without a second thought.

What a miserable creature.

Where Asriel was necessary in allowing Ingress travel to Aioros, it seems it is Chara's turn to chaperone him. Or at least, vouch for him and for the scant number of "programs" with which they're both familiar and willing to assist. They may even intercede on a Created's behalf simply because they can - because the promise of deception, of potentially getting underneath the skin of some sort of grander authority, is simply too prime a target for them to resist.

They have some questions to ask, in any case. For all the intermediaries had deemed them too volatile a danger to be left unchecked - who could blame him? - there remains no punishment, as far as they know, for causing trouble on other worlds.

Perhaps they're out and about to cause a little trouble - particularly for those who see fit to harass and demean those unlucky to be labeled as "Created."

Who could blame them.

gardens; june 15th

[A pleasant affair, no doubt. Neon lights and low-level lighting, nearly everything marked with a placid, rose quartz hue. Thin filigrees of circuitry resemble coiling sprouts around the legs and arms of the intelligences that staff the area, a vast assortment of vaguely bioluminescent flora and ephemera bathing the interior and exterior of the building in what one must imagine is meant to be a calming shade of pink.

They hate it.

It's too inorganic. Too deliberate. Too structured. Even the illusion of life is, in the context of what this world allows and profits from, disgusting, and even sitting in the furthest, dimmest corner imaginable does not render them immune to the prying, polite inquisitions from the meandering programs that seek to do nothing but ensure that their organic counterparts are comfortable, are well-adjusted, are settling in nicely. And all the while, the child smolders, paying barely any heed to the drink they'd more or less been forced to order or be made to vacate the premises. It, too, glows with a faint, pulsating green; a shade that renders it uniformly unappealing.

The nearest has a nameplate to match the rosy orange glow of their circuitry: BEGONIA.

The laugh peels out in a high, thin whine. Begonia indeed! How fitting, is it not?]

gardens? cw: self-harm

[pleasereset]

[Asriel can't go anywhere without Chara in this place. He's considered a Program here, and without Chara to be his "user", he'd be detained and sent back. Or worse. That being said, he's sitting in a nearby corner as Chara looks around.

It probably wasn't a good idea for him to come here. There's a metal bracelet around his wrist, feeling more like a shackle than a form of identification. Asriel's subconsciously scratched at it, leaving little claw marks on his wrist where the bracelet hides them. No one here has really looked at him as anything but another Program, asking him uncomfortable questions such as what he's used for and why did his user pick such an odd design?

It doesn't really help that the side of his face is currently missing a large patch of fur, and his left-eye is glossier than his right. He still can't see out of it, but he would... he would eventually, right?

He sips an odd, glowing drink and waits for Chara to come back, hoping no one else will bother him until they do.

Once they do, Asriel relaxes somewhat.]

Did anyone have anything interesting to say?

[Asriel's been trying to overhear conversations here and there, but he's mostly got nothing.]

Rook Manufacturing (NPC, got!)

[outofstock]

[Whatever trouble Chara might be looking for, it will, on first glance, prove elusive. The patchwork fence and warning signs offer little barrier to intruders, but Rook Manufacturing's grounds are expansive, and show few signs of life. One empty walkway gives way to another, dim light from outside revealing empty warehouses and abandoned machines, but nothing more.

It's quiet, too. Unusually so? Hard to say, in a word as well-groomed as this one, but it's not until Chara has searched for the better part of an hour that they'll hear another "human" voice at all.]

Wow. Persistent little shit, aren't you?

[The voice is female. The source, just behind. Looking back, they'll see a small green figure reclining sideways in the air above the door.]

gardens

[shiro2hero]

[At some point after losing his sweatshirt, after making a scene against the people calling him "Created" because of the arm, the laugh rings out. It's been a few days since the disaster on Aioros. He still wasn't expecting to hear them.]

[It's ingrained in him, the need to check up on people.]

[So he threads through the throngs of people toward the source of the laughter. Ducking around another who makes an attempt to snatch his arm.]

Chara?

gardens

[gainedlove]

[Frisk's state of independence in this world is easily questioned. The disk at their back denotes them so easily as a Program, but their blood is enough to prove otherwise, and easily provided. By this point Frisk only bothers with a cloth wrapping around their left hand, the palm scored through several times and too slow to heal.]

[For now, it's enough to give them their freedom. And with it Frisk explores this new world of Users and Programs and...it leaves them feeling sick. Their usual muted distrust has blossomed into a simmering suspicion, and they watch any biological that passes with a wary gaze. Programs have received, in turn, unerring trust and friendliness, even if Frisk has thrown them for a loop more than once.]

[Chara's laugh shatters through whatever had held their attention before--without a single explination they turn and hurry to the source, dodging and weaving between clumps of patrons until they find--]

Chara!

[They stumble to a halt, hands hovering nervously as they attempt to divine what is wrong.]

What's--a-are you--...d'you need somethin'?

Cayde-6 // June 5th - 6th // NPC-friendly and open in general

[deal_me_in]

     Since he'd gotten all that weird confusion of labeling sorted out, Cayde-6 has made his way to see what all the fuss is. Those monitoring the Ingress would get an unabashedly cheerful "Hey!" as he saunters on through. That Wright-guy had said he didn't need any bracelet, and frankly Cayde thought it would seriously clash with his equipment anyway.

     At least the view of the city of Eastgate that he's greeted with shuts him up for a little while.


The Gardens

     It's inevitable that the Exo would find his way to a place like this. While he wouldn't necessarily agree with the decor, he supposes every place has to have a gimmick of sorts. Was it true even back then? Probably. Details like those, he's never really managed to pull up, at least not as vividly as other memories, and those usually don't come up so conveniently.

     Earth, or some version of it. That's what this place proclaimed to be, and yet, right from the start, it had been blatantly anything but the Earth he knows as home. It's been both disappointing and yet a relief. At least it would be easier to walk away from. Well, so to speak.

     Cayde's had more than his fair share of stares ever since he'd set foot into the city. "All right, move along. Nothin' here to see," he'd said, treating the initial moment like he were some kind of celebrity. It had been enjoyable at first. But even he knew better than to buy into that.

     They don't know what to make of me. Well, that's fine, because sometimes I don't know what to make of myself either.

     "You pick up anything strange, you let me know," he says lowly, supposedly to himself as he passes the neon sign and soon finds himself surrounded by wall flora and heavy mood lighting. "That's a given," he hears the Ghost reply. Given Earth 91c's strict laws about AIs and things, both Cayde and his Ghost had decided it was probably best that the Little Light remain out of sight, merged with the Exo as he ventured into unknown territory to see the sights. He pauses to eye some of the apparent Createds, simultaneously creeped out and intrigued. It won't take him long to poke around the bar, although one can be certain he'll be swinging by the casino area in short order.


Manufacturing District

     Maybe he'd had one too many drinks, or maybe not nearly enough, but either way, Cayde at some point finds himself having wandered much farther than he may have intended. He's not nearly so far gone that he doesn't notice the difference in the populace that now surrounds him. It hasn't seemed to change too much by way of attention, but the Exo's found himself staring back a few times.

     Offers for upgrades just gets as polite a 'hell no' from him as one can expect, and eventually he decides he's had his fill of this side of town, asking his Ghost to figure out where they are and what's the best and fastest route out.

     Along the way, after hearing some raucous shouts from nearby, naturally Cayde opts to investigate, ignoring his Ghost's sigh. "It's fine, we'll be fine," he assures. He just wants to have a look, that's all! If it's a street brawl or something then things will thin out right quick, and if- ooh, no. This is something more organized. He'll admit, it's not quite his style, and if he means business, he lets his gun do the talking. But really, when's the last time he's seen ring matches? Not too bad a brawler if he says so himself. He just won't do so aloud. Here. Maybe. Okay, somewhere like this isn't exactly the best place to draw unwanted attention, but he can't help it if he's got a handsome metal mug! ...or is that not it.

manufacturing district

[mylawn]

76 isn't here for upgrades either, but he's a little hard-pressed to ignore something like a gritty underground fighting ring. He’s someone who bores easily—or at least, needs something with which to occupy himself, and the fights (theoretically) aren’t lethal. What’s the harm in tossing himself into a few, just to blow off some steam? It’s not often he gets to really let loose.

That’s what has him lingering around the ring, watching the contenders and throwing in a bit. He’s got an interest in anyone who looks undecided about the whole thing, like maybe he can convince them one way or the other. Cade in particular looks a little on the fence, though it’s the small floating object he’s talking to that has 76’s attention more than anything. Some kind of AI, maybe?

“You want to go?”

It’s not hostile, in fact, quite the opposite—76 sounds genuinely curious, like he might want to see what this guy can do.

a wild NPC appears!

[callamities]

[A glance from a Creator can mean a lot of things. For one, it’s one of the most reliable ways to get a Created’s attention in the Gardens over the booming music. Usually, it’s followed by a request, for a drink, a booth, a hand at one of the casino games, or one of the myriad amusements Creators tend to think up when they’re flush with money, drinks, or both.

But the next person who Calla catches looking his way is not any of the usual crowd. They’re not a human, for one, though that’s become mundane enough since the Ingress was brought to Eastgate. No, what throws Calla off is that they don’t look organic. Calla doesn’t see many humanoid robots at the Gardens, not least because the existence of Programs has rendered them largely obsolete on Earth, but “robot” is exactly how he’d classify the being in front of him. That would be novel enough on its own—except this robot also has no identification band around their wrist.

Calla doesn’t let the confusion show on his face. Instead, he walks over with the same cordial smile he always wears when he’s on-duty. Even if this being looks artificial, they aren’t marked as a Created. Safer to default to treating them like any other human patron than to risk causing offense, or worse, attention.]

Is there anything I can do for you—[The briefest of pauses, almost imperceptible, as he considers both “sir” and “ma’am,” and discards both.] —Creator?

EARTH 91C; they've given you a number and taken away your name | select prompts are closed

[a_perfect_end]

Week of June 6th: eastgate city

When this locale swept up on the manifest board, the idea jolted hot through the mains--not home, never home; he'd said they weren't going back--but so close. Close enough. The major continental landmasses even overlapped exactly, though the weather was artificially stabilized. No war, no famine, no pollution...There was nothing to be done about the traffic.

Fascinating in theory, in glossy example case. He'd put in the request to visit immediately. Now, standing on the concourse with only a CL4 between him and the reality...

Well. He's no stranger to extensive lists of standards, practices, and explicit provisos. He's written some excellent restrictive policy, in his day. So he listens, nodding at the correct intervals, and sticks his arm out when prompted. He makes a face, a hard sudden flicker of frames that's just as quickly a smile, easy and relaxed, and lets them slap the thing on his wrist. It has no weight of its own--marignally less than one-ninetieth of a gram--but somehow it feels bulky and finite.

An artefact of reasoning, nothing more.

He carefully does not hesitate when giving the nearest valid value for proxy; Creator is incorrect.

Creator and Created. This is Eden, and still they cling to their flowers in the wasteland. How did that old religion survive in what is obviously and self-evidently a post-scarcity civilization?

That brush with catechism aside, there is plenty here to draw the eye. Consistent, subtle, softened sixty-degree angles in gleaming glass and concrete, mercury silver in the high, soft, pervasive sun. Fountains at intervals difficult to predict but never irregular bubble their soft, lucid welcome above the bright hum of voices, soft shoes, the low maglev thrumming of clean transit--none of it's offensive, nothing with an edge, not a fault anywhere.

...It's downright comfortable.

"Please form a path to the left. Created yield left to pedestrian traffic," warbles a faceless silver vision at his left elbow, mirrored blue and white, armored in a way that murmurs parking ticket in the deep backfile.

Away he goes, toward the nearest strand of gleaming individuals with circuits like his.

Not like his. They don't stop to chat, even for polite prompts, and they never look up.

His wrist is beginning to itch.

He turns, pulls chin-out into the crowd--and walks right into you.

Week of June 12th: CCOA main floor/lecture hall

Everything can't be different. Nothing so like home could--nothing this close to Flynn's his vision could possibly factor out this way.

Maybe not here? Maybe here it's correct. At least the architecture is right--a consistent subliminal pull, the irresistible promise of balance, order, unity. A safety factor he hadn't quite tabulated was missing from his new existence until it surrounded him again.

Nothing so beautiful could be wrong.

He doesn't need the money, but the docent's been hanging on his every syllable for the last twelve micros--at last, a flicker of recognition in gentle plate-steel compound eyes.

"Sure, I can," hums Clu, literally brightening, arms waving expansively. "It's well within my authorized function scope. Teach history? Man, I was there."

There may be--some--gaps--in his knowledge base, but these suckers have never heard of Space Paranoids, either.

Have a seat; you might learn something.

Or throw vegetables. Or a chair! In this brave new world, anything is possible.

June 16 -18: Manufacturing District

The back half of Eden is stewing in kerosene soot that burns holes in the lungs of softer creatures. Here even the middle of the day is night-soft with smog and stewing in neon, and here the curves are gone: the world here is all angles, whether cord or pipe or concrete, less a lack of concession to comfort and more an embrace of how very, very clean a true line is.

If it were raining it could be home.

...He's wiped out prettier rebellions than this.

Whatever. The cache of sencs he's built up should buy him a helping hand with this glitching bracelet, at the very least. And for the interested, he's got a story, all right: it's possible to punch your Maker right in the throat and do a lot more than just live to tell about it.

All transactions in his world start with the energy drink. Unless they start with the wheels, and no way is he coughing up his.

"Not to be a tourist about it, but can I buy you a low-grade?"

June 18 - 20 or so, accounting for slight temporal overlap or mismatch: (CLOSED TO RINZLER)

Panic was too disorganized a term for the way mismatched stacks had finally latticed together, merging into one seamless certainty: he'd end his runtime right here if he couldn't get the glitching thing off.

A great big handsome-faced mint circuit with three left arms who'd made a point of getting his neck under her boots had finally snapped it for him. In exchange he'd spun her cool clear data about ecosystems with no Users and a hot story about what it was like to stand over god himself in triumph and strike up the band.

That was not at all how he felt now, pressed flat against the wall by the last location ping and knowing there were no easy doorways to duck into, not even here in the grimy workhorse underside of perfect. (Not perfect, it couldn't be; this wasn't right. Nothing that wasn't right could ever be perfect; QED.)

Rinzler knew better, in most cases, than to contact him first. And in an environment like this, Rinzler himself would only be tighter-strung, even more alert, awash in the variables that piqued and prodded the need for patrol.

This could only be some kind of emergency. He resolutely did not fiddle with the broken bits of his bracelet and settled in to wait.

June 23: (CLOSED TO ASRIEL AND FRISK)

He did it to help them. He fixed them, spared them literal shattering or worse when no one else even looked their way.

They're just betas. It's hardly fair, what he's asking, but there's no one else he trusts with the responsibility. (And no one else he has a direct transfer line with, not for such power.

He just hopes it'll be enough.)

It's not wrong for allies to assist one another. They'd have come to Rinzler's defense anyway.

At least with this, they stand a chance of winning. For that, Rinzler might even forgive him.

Rinzler needs our help.[cursor, cursor, cursor...And there's the location ping.] I've got just the thing. Wanna see something cool?

[C'mon, kids. Follow the Leader is the best game.]

[gainedlove]

[Even without subtle subroutines woven through grey matter and broken code, a call like this would have been impossible for Frisk to ignore. It's their purpose, their reason to exist--even the faintest call and they will come.]

[The only advantage is how little they question the inherent danger.]

im coming! what do you have?

[The location is a bit of a ways off, but Frisk is more than used to backtracking.]

Eastgate City

[beautifulspaceraptor]

[ It's a man Clu bumps into. Dark skin, dark hair, very, very familiar green eyes- and a distinct 'clonk' as they bounce off each other instead of the typical soft 'thud' of human flesh. ]

... You.

[ The voice doesn't flange when he speaks, but it's still distinctly familiar. And there's something like surprise written in it, accompanied by a brief widening of those eyes- before they narrow, gaze flicking around them. ]

What are you doing here?

[ Because this? Was the last place Nihlus expected to run into Clu. ]

[pleasereset]

Rinzler's in trouble??

[That's all it takes really. Asriel looks at the location, and starts in that direction.]

i'll be right there! what's the cool thing you want me to see?

manufacturing; a little birdie told me this top-level is NPC-friendly :3c

[misassembled]

[If Clu was looking to make a transaction, he didn’t approach the wrong Program—though he probably went higher up the chain of command than most would intend.

His offer at least gets a modicum of surprise if that raised eyebrow is anything to go by, plus a quick, assessing once-over from the green-circuited Program. The hush that falls over the surrounding chatter may also be a reaction worth noting.

She doesn’t smile at him. But there’s a flicker of understanding in her expression when she sees the bracelet around his wrist that modulates her severe demeanor just a shade.]

Certainly.

[When he gets around to ordering, Clu will find that the price of drinks in his vicinity has unexpectedly fallen to null.]

OTA | will match format!

[redshitlord]

GENERAL
For the last time! Dude, I'm not an AI!

[He thought coming here would be fun. That it'd be a good time, and maybe he could pick up some movies or something. Get some video games. Or drag race. Something like the Scrapyard home had been. It would have been great.]

[But then all these humans are blocking his way and yelling at him. Trying to put a bracelet on him. For starters, it's way too small, even for his wrists. And he's not a large bot by a long shot.]

I'm Cybertronian! Nobody made me! So just back off and lemme grab some movies!


MANUFACTURING
[Finally, at some point, he gets past the cluster of officials and law enforcement. But he's not in a good mood. To say the least. He's scuffing his feet as he picks his way along. Which ends up leaving furrows in the pavement.]

[Stupid world. Was this really what everything was like outside the Scrapyard? Was this why no one ever let them out to wander the city?]

[Humans sucked.]

[Or these ones did, anyway. Eventually, he'll find somewhere to do his business -- meaning, ask around for the nearest DVD shop. Easier said than done when you're towering over everyone around you.]


WILDCARD
[Hit him with anything!]

Manufacturing

[deal_me_in]

Hey! Get this big, obnoxiously red leg out of my face!

[The words lack any real heat to them, and are certainly at odds with the grin the Exo manages to effect as he stands there just to the side of the Autobot. He's looking up at Sideswipe like the bot's a big stop sign.]

OTA | will match format!

[nyx_it]

ARRIVAL
Put the bracelet on me, you lose a hand.

[She's here out of curiosity. Never seen a fully human colony, or world. Never even been close to Earth. So why not? Why not give it a look or two?]

[Apparently, being mistaken for someone's mobile AI unit is why.]

[Standing head and shoulders over a lot of humans puts her on display easily enough. She's still armored, clearly not human. Maybe that's why they're so eager to slap a cuff on her. Not that she's going to stand for it. She's staring directly at the nearest official, mandibles pulled down off her teeth, one hand almost going for her weapon.]

I don't care if you've never seen a turian before, but call me a 'Created' one more time. I dare you.


MANUFACTURING
[Now here is where she's infinitely more comfortable. Here is where there's less to worry about. This is more like Kadara. More like the seedier places in the Milky Way. Places she knows how to navigate.]

[She's weaving easily through crowds. Pausing to speak to open individuals, not really caring if they're human or not. Working with Ryder and her SAM for all this time, sort of leaves you with less of an AI bias.]

[She ends up leaning against a wall to talk to someone, casual and attentive.]

Think we can make a deal?


WILDCARD
[Open for anything!]

Arrival!

[beautifulspaceraptor]

There is nothing wrong with being a 'Created', but that's just not what our dear friend is.

[ It's a human come to her 'rescue'. Dark skin and green, green eyes, gently nudging away the hand of the person who'd been trying to slap a bracelet on Vetra. ]

That's an alien. Let's try to avoid any potential diplomatic incidents here, shall we?

[ He gives the greeter a wink and then directs them off in another direction and waits until they're out of earshot before planting his hands on his hips and turning his gaze up at Vetra. ]

You're not very well versed in arrival procedures on predominantly one-species places, are you?

OTA | all formats okay

[shiro2hero]

CITY
[The guy over the network was right. This isn't anything like the Earth he knew. Nothing like the Earth left behind. The gravity is the same. The air smells familiar. Some of the products and stores are familiar, as he walks the city streets.]

[For the most part, he's in a hoodie. In an oversized one at that, one to hide his arm as much as possible. Because who knows how anyone here would react? Who knows how other humans would take his addition? He doesn't want to find out.]

[There's a retro shop. A shop full of "old" items. Like DVDs. And that's where he's headed. He's heard his team talking. How they want something to watch on their downtime. This'll be a surprise.]

[Run into him on the street or in the shop.]


GARDENS
[How in the world did he end up here.]

[He's not entirely sure, to be honest. He'd really just stumbled onto the place, and figured maybe someone in the house would appreciate some flowers from Earth. Sadly, this is not a nursery. This is a bar and lounge and... everything.]

[At some point, the sweatshirt slips off his arm enough to allow a gleam of metal. Enough to attract attention. And someone is grasping for his shoulder, demanding to know where his creator is.]

[Needless to say, that doesn't go over well, and when he twists, to pull away from them, the concealing sweatshirt slips all the way off, and the arm is clearly visible to the entire room.]

[Oops.]



WILDCARD
[Hit me with your best shot!]

Gardens

[a_shadow]

[ Tex hears the altercation before she sees it, and nothing could get her hackles up faster than what she's hearing. Especially when she looks and recognizes the man being interrogated. She was enjoying some shots and flirting at the bar when this goes down, and she swallows back the last shot in front of her before turning and marching over to the site of the altercation. ]

What the hell do you think you're doing?

[ Tex has serious problems with the way things are conducted here, with the separation between programs and people, and she has no intention of revealing herself to be an AI. It's dangerous for her to come to Shiro's aid because of that, but she can't stand to let this go without a challenge. She pulls the man's arm away from the one who was shouting the query. ]

Don't you know an augment when you see it?

Rinzler | Mostly Open, NPC friendly | will match format

[notglitching]

June 6th, Eastgate Entrance

It's not any different.

Not the rules. Not their meaning. Maybe, a little bit, in how blatantly they're applied. Rinzler waits in line with the other imports being processed, letting his helmet hide the flicker of his gaze around the hall. A welcome video is playing on a screen, showing expansive cityscapes and too-bright fields. User security stands at the access points. It's the service desks where light-lined figures can be seen, entering data and responding to questions with a pleasant, ready smile. One program turns, and his mask twitches, lingering on the blank space in the center of her back. No disks.

...

Effective.

And fortunate (for them), that they had no plans to apply the same to him. The restrictions list is simple, and if Rinzler understands, of course, how many other laws will go unspoken, it makes a relatively basic start. No code exchange. No independent operation. No pretending, not even for a moment, to be something more than what you are.

ID: Rinzler-JA-307020. Creator: Bradley, Alan. (Alan-one.) "Good," the supervisor at the gate murmurs, glancing over the logged data. "Now hold out your right wrist." Rinzler's gaze flicks down to the decorative shackle in the man's own grip, noise rising in a harsh staccato. He hardly planned to playact user (hardly could), but this is different. There are exactly two beings that hold ownership of Rinzler, and these users have no right to mark him like he's theirs.

Less fortunate, then, that they don't seem inclined to take no for an answer. At his stillness, one of the armed users snorts derision, reaching out to grab his arm and force it up. Rinzler, naturally, goes back. His elbow collides with the guard's core, and it doubles over, wheezing. The reaction is sharp and immediate, users raising their weapons as Rinzler's left hand twitches toward his own.

Someone might want to step in.


June 8th, Pick A Rooftop

He gets past security. If not unmarked. The slim device around his wrist is simple enough, a light pressure not wholly different from the MIDs aboard the Moira. He'd hated those too—until Wash had shown him how he could use the tool to speak. Until the ship became his system, one he didn't quite mind being connected to.

That isn't going to happen here.

Ascending the spired structures is simple enough, though avoiding notice in the process takes more effort. Still, he's had a few days to track the basic filepaths. Rinzler chooses a perch with a view of the city, high enough to be unobserved by most. One with a flat, low wall to place his arm on.

Should he scout more? Yes, but this won't take long. The air around fills with a low, steady hum as Rinzler's disk activates in his left hand. A moment to align the target, another, cautious lag to modulate the power spent. The bracelet has already proven at least as durable as him, and applying too much force could prove... embarrassing, to say the least.

The blade brightens, singing sharp and high into the night... and Rinzler moves, slamming it down toward his own wrist. He isn't theirs.


June 17, Rook Manufacturing

Losing the tag might exempt him from shepherding toward his own maker, but it does very little to avoid the probing curiosity of users—or their varied and disgusting guesses as to what his strange configuration might be for. Created aren't made with the capacity for violence, they say, and the blank stupid failure to recognize a threat is enough to warrant deletion on its own.

It's frustration more than anything that drives him toward the rumors. A careful application of tracking functions that lets him trace them to their source. Rinzler is for hunting, for deletion; Rinzler is Clu's perfect weapon given form. And Rinzler is quite sure that on the Grid, every one of these hidden malware would be a target for him to destroy. But this isn't his system. Those aren't his orders. Data gathering, on the other hand, is always a useful standby.

Mostly, he watches the arena. It's a familiar ache, close enough to miss, and still too strange (too weak) to see much purpose in attempting. No killing. No point. He doesn't belong to these programs either, and sees no reason to try to tell them where they've all gone wrong. But if this is the best sample of their readiness, he doubts their revolution will get far.


June 20, Outskirts, CLOSED to: Quorra (CW: genocide references)

He hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't known that it was possible—not on the Grid, and even less so here. They're dead. Clu ordered it, and he made sure, spent hectocycles tracking down the remnants of their plague. Shattering them before the screaming crowds, slicing them to pieces in whatever backpaths and old files they tried to crawl away to hide. Cleaning the system. The proof of failure might be infuriating there, but here and now? It only brings excitement. It only brings relief.

Finally, something he can kill.

ISO. The scan-trace is strong (recent), and Rinzler wastes no time at all setting out in pursuit. Lights stay dim, noise quiet, disk in hand as he stalks around each corner, following his prey.


June 22, Not Quite Main Street, CLOSED to: Chara and Alan

He hates this system.

It isn't any different. It's the same rules, the same meaning. But he really, truly hates it, so much more than on the ship. Maybe even more than the Savrii.

Clu is still here. Alan-one. The betas. It's not time to go, not yet, but Rinzler lingers in the streets, late at night, eying the bright spires of their transport hub. Users are trickling out of the nearby bars and entertainment houses, but outside of a few derisive calls, none have bothered to pay him much notice. When one signature drifts in his direction, Rinzler's sound ramps upward towards a growl... only to quiet, mask stilling on the small figure.

Still a user. But better Chara than the rest.

let's FUCK THINGS UP

[inconsequence]

Perhaps they should not be surprised that Rinzler chose to come here. Asriel did mention that it was similar to his world, in some respects. But he is so obviously one of those "Created," one of those programs that are not to be regarded as safe, that are endlessly dangerous, that cannot be allowed to venture on their own.

A familiar set of circumstances, applied to an unfamiliar demographic.

No less twisted.

Chara slows, halting when the low growl-like sound peters into nothing. Hostile. His hackles raised, no doubt, by the nature of the world in which he walks.

"You're alone." An inane observation, spoken slowly, yet carrying the implications that there are liable to be consequences, for that. For once, perhaps, Chara will not be the vehicle for said consequences.

Rather, they would prefer the consequences be exacted on the system that enforce these rules regarding programs in the first place.

[For Calla, with possible occasional interjections from Tex]

[ryuuzaki]

Nightclubs aren't really L's scene, but he has a reason to be here. On the surface, it's accompanying Tex, who is at least a little more likely to partake of things like dancing and casino games. More deeply, after looking around Eastgate and asking a few questions, this seems like a good place to try to begin seeking out someone named for a flower. If it doesn't work, if there's no Calla here, he can always try somewhere else. Tex is accompanying him as much as he's accompanying her: if he asks the wrong person the wrong thing, she's the muscle.

So as he sits in different parts of the complex -- white button-down shirt, black pants, what qualifies as "dressed up" for him -- he nurses a series of drinks, talks to Tex when she isn't occupied, and keeps his eyes open. There's what must be Lily, then Rose -- no Calla yet.

That occasions a long, apparently mindless sip of his latest drink, which is pink, fruity, and utterly lacking in alcohol. When he looks up again, his eyes are focused on nothing in particular in a way that allows him to take in everything.

[callamities]

L won’t have to wait too long to be approached by the right Program. It happens while he’s in one of the louder sectors of the Gardens, the air thrumming with bass-heavy music, a little while after he finishes his drink. One of the Created staff approaches him with a friendly smile, a Program with white circuits that stand out against the lurid colors of the rest of the decor.

“Hello, sir.” He glances at L’s empty glass. “Can I get you another drink?”

Nihlus Kryik | Mass Effect | OTA

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Nosy Noser Nosing - The Center for Created Oversight and Affairs

There are technically no laws against a Turian posing as a human.

But there probably will be if anyone finds out.

The hologram wasn’t quite the magical wonder of Cybertronian hardlight technology, but it works well enough for him to blend in with the local population. Any sensors will just pick up your standard human biometrics and, of course, the presence of his cyborg arm.

Touching is a teeny, tiny bit of a problem. Fortunately, humans AND Programs didn’t really make it their business to grope complete strangers in broad daylight.

So. This, then, is Earth 91c.

At the base of one of the many towering skyscrapers, Nihlus is still as the crowds go by, the blend of human and program faces, the sights, the sounds. Watching the sunlight gleam off of the silvery spires above him, he closes his eyes.

It feels- almost like Cipritine. A rigid veneer of order and peace, the shining, silver capital of the Apien Crest.

And underneath it… whispers of something just a little bit less than perfect.

Pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning against, Nihlus opens his eyes again and heads into the building. First things first: sorting out just what kind of a world he was supposed to think he’d stepped into.

You’ll find a tall, dark-skinned human wandering about the museum. Maybe he’s sitting in on your technology presentation. Maybe he’s he reading up the digitization process or scrolling through the history of human and Program relations. Occasionally, he seems to stop and check the orange, glowing device on his arm.

He’s got kindly green eyes, though, and a gentle smile, the kind of face that’s very open to approach.


Nosey Noser Nosing Act II - Manufacturing District

Nihlus eases into the manufacturing district like he does an old, comfortable pair of boots. Three minutes in and he’s chatting up the nearest receptive merchant, reading their cues to a human customer, mentally turning it over. Ten minutes in and he’s mingled in with a group of workers, his eyes glowing, donning the pale blue circuitry and bracelet of a Program who’d stumbled into this strange new world.

He dredges up rumors and speculations about the murders, about all the most recent political gossips and scandals, the dirt on the Extinctionists and Equalists- and all other parties in between. In the middle of it all is Rook Manufacturing- and a name.

Two hours and many disguises later, he’s in the heart of the district, back to his default human guise, watching the ongoing match with an air of mild interest. He’s wearing armor now, however, the gray and green of an unaffiliated human mercenary, an AT12 shotgun clipped to his back.

Definitely not from around here.

You looking for a partner to roll with in the pit? Or maybe you’re looking for some information? Or, heck, maybe you just want to vent about all this weirdness to someone. This guy looks like he’d be happy to provide!

1

[indoctrinated]

"Remind me again. How did I let you talk me into this?"

Saren grimaced, disapproval and disgust marking the face of the human disguise provided by the hologram from Nihlus.

The hologram matched the image of a rather sour looking human male, donning a casual black cloak. Saren didn't stand out too much apart from the odd choice of attire and he kept his pistol concealed. The only feature that marked Saren as unnatural was the inhuman gaze of blue, cybernetic eyes, only noticed if one chose to pay attention closely enough.

While a necessary illusion, and an admittedly useful one given that no one pestered them, Saren couldn't help but voice his distaste over the whole charade at least once.

Old prejudices were hard to break, after all.

Clone Shepard | Mass Effect

[petridish]

Wildcard: Reply here :) Feel free to hit me up at pohutukaryl or on my contact post if you want to plot.

CCOA

[petridish]

[At the time of the initial invitation to Earth 91c, the idea of a planet named Earth but with AI running free had been too disgusting to consider visiting. Now, the idea of an AI killing humans is too disgusting to not visit and look into it.

[First, she needs context, and this museum seems a reasonable place to start. The offers of tours get waved off because of what's offering them. Instead, she makes her own way through the exhibits, glaring as she reads.]

'Outside use' - should've just left them on the computers where they belong.

Rook Manufacturing; closed to York

[a_shadow]

It's early on in the connection that has been made between Thisavrou and Earth91c, before Tex ever talked to Calla. So she's secure in the knowledge no one native to this place knows about her being an AI. York contacts her about hanging out while they're here, and who is she to say no? She has to convince her boyfriend it's okay for her to be on her own, especially with York by her side. Eventually she's able to make her way to meet him, though, and they decide to check out Rook Manufacturing in the underground district.

They're wandering when someone calls out to her from his booth. "Ever wondered what it's like to live the life of a Created, pretty lady?" he says, holding up one of the bracelets that would mark her as being one.

She raises an eyebrow and glances at York, smirking, amused. "Why would I want to do that?" she asks.

Re: Rook Manufacturing; closed to York

[infailtration]

Earth 91c makes York oddly nervous. He has to go for work -- escorting explorers to other worlds through the Ingress is literally his job, after all -- but he keeps Delta under wraps while he's there. Maybe he's just been running for too long, or maybe he feels like he's glimpsing a possible future that he doesn't want his little buddy to be a part of. Either way, he doesn't really like it here and doesn't know how Tex is comfortable with a world where she could be enslaved, especially since he knows she's breaking their rules... he's going to keep a very close eye on her while they're together considering where they're going. Curiosity won't be nabbing these cats.

Tex's smirk at being offered a bracelet is contagious, and York returns it. "What would your function be?" he teases, waving the vendor off. No bracelets for them, taking them on and off would be more dangerous than the outright lie she was operating under.

Manufacturing District | Closed to Alan

[themiracle]

Quorra stumbles to a slow limp, a hand pressed to her side, then comes to a stop against the smog soaked wall of a building. She's not completely sure that she's lost Rinzler yet, but she did her best to muddle her trail through the maze of streets and buildings while she was running.

If nothing else, she's given herself time to figure out what to do.

She draws her hand back just a little from her side, peering down at the jagged damage there, then closes her eyes. Inhales an unneeded breath, running Flynn's mantra through her head -- be still, be calm.

The damage is deep enough to be a problem. Not good.

Quorra replaces her hand and opens her eyes, scanning the street. If she can make it back to the Ingress, maybe they can find a way to repair her. And if she can find someone to accompany her, maybe she can stop Rinzler from finding her and finishing the job.

She spots a white-haired User walking in her direction, far enough for her to not recognize him, and waves a hand to get his attention. "Hey, please. Could you help me?"

[alan_1]

He’s in the Manufacturing District mostly by accident. Naturally, an impulse trip to see just how far the city extended would eventually lead him to the outskirts. There’s less polish here, but at least the programs he sees look marginally less constrained than those in city proper. At least, they aren’t rushing after their users or being tly ordered around. Still, they bow their heads and keep their gazes lowered when he passes; the hierarchy exists even here, it seems.

He hasn’t seen anyone for a while when a flash of movement gets his attention. Alan looks up to see a female program waving him over, one hand clutched against her side. He feels a jolt of alarm—there's no obvious source of damage, but it’s clear even from here that she’s injured. He walks over, glancing between the hand at her side and her face. He doesn't comment when he spots the metal band around her wrist.

“Of course,” he answers. “What happened?”