thisavrou_log | The Demon Plot: DEATH OF GRINDING MADNESS [July Player Event]

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The Demon Plot: DEATH OF GRINDING MADNESS [July Player Event]

Who: Ensemble production, all individuals who opted in to the plot
When: July 9-21
Where: Two inhabited planets around the Ingress
What: The demon plot kicks off, in which malevolent shadow beings, copies of existing characters, begin to materialize and harass the PCs across the worlds. Plotting post is here, and a network post will go up within the next 2 days from several PCs advising on how to end the plot.
Warnings: Violence, psychological themes, possibly past trauma, etc.

Death of Grinding Madness
The Demon Plot
(mild spoilers for The Raven Cycle)

On July 9, a demon begins to make its way through the Ingress, summoned through by a shitty teenager.

July 9-12
Harrying

It's innocuous in the beginning. A movement in the corner of your eye, a shadow through a curtain-- merely a tree. But then the shadow figures begin to emerge into full being. Black-eyed wraiths that look like enemies, friends with whom you've had past conflict, or even you yourself. At first, it's merely harrying, minor harassment. Threatening gestures, broken gestures, jump scares.

Pursue them, and they disappear-- you might even catch a glimpse of how. They melt down into black slime, racing away across floors, through sewer grates, up walls, impossible to follow. By now, the worst of the climate freeze is over, but residual ice does pose a needles extra obstacle.

July 12-15
The Violence Escalates

In the days that follow, the situation only gets worse.

Sporadic harassment turns into outright attacks. The targeting is unmistakable. The shadow beings who can speak tell cruel tales of animosity, spite, even hatred. They are as deadly with their hands or strange powers as their doppelgangers are, and worse, they're functionally indestructible. Rip off one's head and it merely reforms out of sticky black ink. Limbs regenerate just as easily. The being might dispell for a few hours, but no doubt— it'll be back, if not to hurt you then someone you know.

The Savrii begin to notice. It's hard not to. While there is hardly an epidemic of panic, the disruptions are hard to miss-- broken windows, screams, random violence. Soon, the authorities begin to open safehouse facilities at which characters can seek shelter.

July 15-18
The Golem

On July 17, something horrific begins to happen— several shadow beings merge to form a massive golem in Kauto R1. It is a grotesque, horrifying spectacle, of limbs and eyes and pulsating flesh. It reaches almost sixty feet in height. Combined together, this shadow creature is considerably less intelligent than the individual beings were. However, it is also immensely strong and regenerates just like the smaller ones did.

Within the mall, hundreds of daytime shoppers are trapped within. Luckily, they have food and climate control. Perhaps you're one of them-- or perhaps you're trying to get in to provide medical care.

In the meantime, the attacks from the individual shadow beings don't stop. Despite the intelligence exhibited by some, all of them seem mindlessly bent on tormenting their targets until they are killed.

July 18-21
The Sacrifice

On the 9th day, a network post goes up (link pending, will be OOCly forward-dated to July 10th latest) revealing how to remove the invincibility of the attackers.

And by the 21st, the remaining beings utterly vanish without explanation— unless you happen to bear witness to the events that take place at St. Monmouth.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Calla feels like he’s making good progress, all things considered. He’s been taking nightly walks ever since he got here, slowly but surely venturing further each time as he familiarizes himself with this world and its intricacies. Sooner or later, he knows, he’ll have to make his way to “Region 1,” where his assigned function is waiting. But no one has made any demands yet and it couldn’t hurt to be more familiar with this world before his installation. Companionship functions should know about the local culture, after all, and he doesn’t have the benefit of pre-programmed tags for this world.

Still, Calla is a creature of habit. He tends to re-walk the same paths each night until they become familiar to him—which makes the unfamiliar stand out that much more sharply. In this case, that means a new sound: a low mechanical rumble, emanating from a corner up ahead. And yet, for all that it doesn't belong there, Calla could swear he's heard it before. He approaches cautiously, his own sound ticking away quietly as if in counterpoint—and finds himself facing a crouched figure as he peers around the corner.

He takes a startled step back, before recognizing the domed helmet of the other Created.

“Oh. It’s you,” he says, forcing the surprise out of his voice. Kneeling on the ground is the Program who had tried to frighten Calla on the network and the one who had argued with Tex. That explains where Calla had heard that sound before. But unlike what Calla had assumed over the network, the noise isn’t coming from their surroundings—it’s coming from the Created himself. Calla looks around uneasily. At least there are no Creators around to hear either of them. As to why the other Program is crouched over in an alley alone with no one else in sight, Calla isn't sure.

"What are you doing here?"

Rinzler hears the noise. It takes a shift of focus, from depth to peripheral, to ID the source, and depending on Calla's own senses, they may feel the brush of Rinzler's scan against them. It doesn't turn up much. ID and function, a mix of cobbled together code with the feel of a faulty upgrade.

Nothing, in short, that explains the sound. Mechanical and constant: conflict, corruption run in a continuous unending loop. It's grating and wrong, an auditory reek of festering, deep-seated faults. Of contradiction so implicit to a program's central nature as to break it—again, again, again, a root-deep crash that never ends. No program should be able to keep running like that.

He's the only program from his world that has.

Suffice to say that Rinzler doesn't trust the scan results completely. Certainly, he doesn't drop his guard. The black helmet slants up and back, visual verification: ID: Calla, the glitchy siren from the network call. Paranoid about users... and too stupid to take even the most basic precautions against them.

Quite possibly the last person he owes any answers to. Rinzler turns his helmet back ahead, hand extending flat across the ground. It's the work of a moment to sink his focus back into the surface, calling up traces and filtering the background buzz and hum of the station's power. Light blossoms from the corridor in faint, glowing motes: rising to show steps through the adjacent area. The majority are traced out in bright user-white, though Calla will find his own paces haloed in a slightly dimmer shade.

The other Program looks up at Calla—and then just as quickly goes back to ignoring him. Annoyance flickers across Calla’s features.

“Still keeping up the silent treatment, huh?” he mutters, watching the dark Program resume his focus on the ground beneath him. When that gets no response either, Calla considers just leaving "Rinzler" to his staring contest with no one, but before he can take a step, the alleyway is filled with light. Bright traces bloom from nowhere around both of them, resolving into what look like footprints glowing against the pavement. "What—" Calla looks around at the shapes, eyes wide. A glance back at his own path shows his steps illuminated as well, though less brilliantly than the others.

He looks back at the Program, scorn momentarily replaced by confusion. “Are you doing that?”

Definitely stupid. Rinzler twitches his mask, an irritated nod as he continues processing the data. Lights brighten and fade out, user traces filtered out in turn. Calla's tracks remain—and if he looks very closely, the other program might even find faint brightness marking his route from days before. Rinzler's own red-orange, too, wells readily in his wake: behind...

...but not ahead. No one—nothing—else with his signature has been through here recently. Which makes another failure.

How is it traveling?

The enforcer's fist closes, lights vanishing as he pushes himself back up into his usual hunch. Turning reveals a streak of damage scored along the side of his helmet—not present in their network talk before. Still, the shell is solid and uncracked, and Rinzler doesn't seem to notice, regarding the other program with an unimpressed stare.

Does he want something?

Calla continues to watch the light show, trying not to let on how intrigued he is. Is the other Program using some kind of device to do this? Or is it something inherent to his function. What kind of function would even need something like this? The only use Calla can think of is following someone—who that someone might be is less clear.

The lights vanish as the Program stands and turns, revealing a stripe of damage slashed across the side of his helmet. This time, it’s impossible for Calla not to wince.

“Did you piss off the wrong Creator or something?” The muttered question is meant to be a jab, but not completely stripped of sympathy. It’s not an uncommon experience for any Created, after all.

If it were possible for Rinzler's stare to grow more irritated? It would. That clearly being insufficient, the enforcer reaches for his TAB instead. A quick touch calls the holographic projection, red-orange characters scrolling out across the text field for Calla to read.

Wouldn't lose if I had.

Or take damage. Obviously. The cursor twitches back for a moment before stilling—the belated impulse to add another "I", overridden. No point in editing responses for this glitch.

If the message was puzzling, the method of delivery is stranger still. Calla’s glance flickers between the red-orange words and the other Program’s mask.

“I wouldn’t know. You seem to have a pretty controlling Creator."

No speech and no face? It makes Calla feel positively fortunate for his own lot in life and that’s saying a lot.

The reference isn't hard to parse. Rinzler bristles, noise rising in harsh, quick, beats. This glitch has no idea what it's talking about. Not with him, and not with Alan-one.

...or Clu.

Not how it works.

Everyone keeps saying that. [Calla sounds annoyed as well. This Program had blatantly toyed with his fear of Creators on the network. Calla hadn’t expected sympathy at all, but he’d at least expected something other than the same stubborn incomprehension he’s heard from everyone else since he got here.]

Excuse me if it’s not my first instinct to assume you’re wearing that thing out of choice.

While Rinzler and Calla have been preoccupied conversing, the shadow of Tex has been approaching, and all of Tex's irritation toward Rinzler is clenched deep inside its gut. Every time he's sniped at her for choosing the life of a 'user', as though she's betraying her essence or something, well up in its mind and the shadow, fully armored, is completely unimpeded when it chooses to race forward and catch Rinzler beneath the chin with a swing of its armored fist.

It isn't a choice. It isn't its business. The black mask tilts sharply, sound quickening to a growl as Rinzler takes a step forward—only for his gaze to snap sideways, a half-turn back as rapid steps resolve to a familiar—

*WHAM*

The blow connects with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and Rinzler turns with the force, skidding back a few steps and into a low crouch. Texas. Is he not allowed to even talk to her new pet, now? Or is she lashing out at him for something else? Some half-remembered irritation? Some problem with her day?

How like a user.

He jerks his head to the side, ignoring the geometric cracks now spiraling a little further through the filter of his mask. Paired disks undock with a sharp click, twist apart with a flare of light and a low snarl. If she wants a fight, she has one.

And she won't lay hands on him again.

[Calla sees the dark blur coming towards them before Rinzler does, taking a startled step back before he even processes what it is. Whatever it is, it slams into the other Program before he even has time to give warning and Calla instinctively flattens himself against a wall to avoid being caught in the middle. Whatever it is is humanoid and he can’t tell if—no, it must be a Creator. Whatever Tex had told him, it’s still statistically more likely.

He should run before it sees him, but as mangled as his core programming is, it’s still strong enough to root him to the spot, at least for the moment. He shouldn’t run—not from a Creator. If it takes a swing at him, he'll get out of its way as best he can, but there is no—was never a place to run. Just stay still and get through it and maybe another Creator will make it stop.

He would not be critical—or even surprised—if the other Created’s reaction was dutiful paralysis as well. But instead, the Program catches himself in a crouch and reaches for… his backup? What Calla had assumed was part of his costume detaches with a click and then effortlessly splits apart. Calla has no idea what he’s seeing right now—only that he doesn't have much other option than to watch.]

The shadow has no weapons on its person; it hangs back a bit, just sizing Rinzler up now that he's taken out his discs, fists raised.

"You think I'm going to roll over and give up because you have those?" she sneers. "For that matter—you think I'm ever going to give up on anything I want because you don't want me to do it?"

Edited 2017-07-21 04:49 (UTC)

Sneering requires a voice—or a face. Having neither, Rinzler limits his answer to a contemptuous tilt: one opaque mask to another. This user's made it more than clear enough already how little his opinion matters, nevermind that she had peered and pried it from his mind to start with. That was her right. Just like this. Just like everything.

She was made to be a person.

He was only ever made for this.

The first disk flies in a sharp, searing ricochet: digging a deep groove in the metal wall opposite Calla before aiming for the side of the user's head. It isn't charged quite high enough to cut straight through, but it could certainly do some damage to her armor if it hits.

Shut up and fight.

[As committed as Calla is to staying still and quiet and alive, his head still snaps towards the armored figure when he hears that voice. Is that…?

Tex. Her angry words at Rinzler confirm it. Calla stares in incredulity for several moments before his finds his voice.]

Tex, what are you—

[He’s cut off by a clang as the other Program throwing something against the wall and—

Wait, was that his backup?]

The shadow doesn't respond to Calla. It sees the disc coming and does a backflip, timed just right to avoid the potential hit. After this it bounds forward, running at Rinzler, preparing to catch him with a dive forward right at his middle.

Definitely his backup. Or rather, one of two. The second flares brighter in the red-lit program's grasp, slashing a bright arc toward his attacker's midsection as he shifts to the side, eeling neatly out of the path of Texas' dive. Direct and sloppy, charging head-on without so much as a weapon. The dark helmet inclines scornfully: a mute rejoinder coupled with the blow. Did she really think she was going to hit him like that?

He's faster than any user. And however much more choice she might have, she wasted that deciding to be weak.

The shadow takes the hit squarely, but instead of coming away with a bright slash of blood such as would be expected, the figure doubles over, oozing black sludge from the place it was hit. It collapses to the ground, momentarily formless around the waist, then solidifies without a blemish and leaps to its feet.

"You fucker," the shadow hisses. Rinzler definitely has an advantage because of having a ranged weapon, but the shadow has power and strength on its side. The shadow runs in Rinzler's direction again, ready to react to any telegraphing of his expected reaction.

Armor shears, the disk in his hand slicing through to the weak shell beneath, and the user—

[~~User~~]

...oh.

Shadow gouts out where flesh and blood should be, shapes dissolve and reform, and Rinzler takes a step back, reaching by reflex to catch his second disk as it returns. Threat. [Threat.] Not a user after all—not Texas, except, perhaps, by origin. System advisories had publicly flagged the corrupted copies for deletion. Fortunate, that he had no need to hold back.

Less so, that he wasn't sure what would kill it.

Analysis will have to come with execution—the threat is on its feet again, and lunging at him. He steps to the side, scything one blade in a defensive parry while his second stabs out, testing for openings.

But the shadow is cautious now to avoid the blades and dodges easily. It lunges out of the way, ending up in a partial backbend, but tries to catch Rinzler's arm at the wrist and holds his arm with the blade of the disc bent away from its body. Now as the shadow continues to move with its momentum, it will attempt to throw Rinzler over its shoulder and flip onto its feet.

Edited 2017-07-28 15:30 (UTC)

Fingers around his wrist. A strong grip yanking, to capture and direct. It's a blow to his stability in more than one way, and it's hard not to falter, not to flinch at the onslaught—twist and throw, the immobilizing slam of the ground against his dock, and the sight of [gold] lights, crashing down—

It doesn't matter. This isn't Clu, that isn't now and Rinzler forces the file back, kicking off to launch his body along the vector of her pull. The trapped wrist twists, blade curving in an attempt to sever the arm grabbing him. The rest of Rinzler? Is perfectly willing to travel over Texas. That offers a much better opening, after all: for his second disk to slam straight towards her spine.

The middle of the shadow's back is protected by an armor plate, but that doesn't prevent Rinzler from being successful as he contorts to hit it. The armor seems to melt where it's struck, though the shadow doesn't seem much affected. Still, it lets go of Rinzler's wrist to allow him to tumble over it, and it scrambles to move away.

Distance might be in his favor, considering the reach offered by weapons. Still, she attacked him. She grabbed him. He's not letting her escape.

As soon as he touches ground, Rinzler lunges after, dual blades scything in from either side. The target: that melted region in her back. The goal? To dig in, charge up, and slice her frame in half.

His strike is true, leading to the shadow contorting wildly to try to get away. Instead, it melts into a heap of black goo, moves a small distance away, and starts to reform.

There's a vicious growl of satisfaction as it comes apart beneath his disks. A wary shift as the darkness flows back. It's viral, wrong, and he doesn't want to touch the liquid... but when it starts to prop itself back up, black slick, dulling to black armor, Rinzler freezes.

How the glitch is it supposed to die?

No time to process. He lunges back in, disks slashing out: one-two from right to left. If he can destroy it before it reforms, then maybe...

The Demon Plot: DEATH OF GRINDING MADNESS [July Player Event]

july 14th; thread for rinzler and !tex encounters

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