Entry tags:

August Event Log: Part I

Who: Everyone
When: August 9 and onward
Where: An unexpected destination
What: The newcomers go on a trip and end up far from where they expected
Warnings: Potential violence. Please label your content!

NOTE: PLEASE READ THIS OOC POST FIRST.

When the time comes for the travelers to go on the off-world trip that will help restore Thisavrou, they are not alone. Others who have settled on the planets longer and come to call them home are also prepared to travel; through the Ingress and do their part. Yet when the newcomers step through, whether they stepped through the Ingress seconds or hours apart, they will find that they have arrived at the same time, and only newcomers are in sight.

What awaits them is not a land of plenty. The land is barren, and dark storms in the sky resemble those held at bay by the Ingress complex—but much, much closer. Those who traveled on the Moira may recognize the landscape; though they have come through at a different point from the crash, they are on the Midway Hub. And there is no portal back. They are trapped.

hitting the road

Though some have been here before, the Midway Hub is not as they remember it. The storms fill the sky, leaving it dark and ominous even when they are not sweeping across the landscape—but they have clearly done so in recent times, and often. While never a lush land, large patches of ground an acre or more wide looking nothing more than utterly dead; the thistle that naturally grows is brittle, black and unable to be consumed even with the usual preparations to make it edible, and here and there animal corpses are found twisted into unnatural poses, but seemingly uninjured. These places are particularly concentrated near the broken Ingresses litter the landscape. While Midway Hub as a whole may seem naturally arid, these dead spots leave no hope that anything can possibly live there again.

The travelers have two options: stay where they are, or move on. While it might seem that they've been tricked into coming here and been left abandoned, those with the technological ability to do so may detect a sign of hope: a familiar energy source, far in the distance. Although none of the Ingresses they pass will ever work again, the faint energy shows that one still-functioning Ingress lies far in the distance, days away.

Although technological scanning or impressive memory of the landscape indicates that they are not separated from their destination by one of the gates that divide the land, they are also far from the shelter of the facility at the center of the Hub. Any attempt to travel in a direction other than that of the energy signal will result in a strange disorientation after several hours, bringing individuals back to their original path as though they've gone in circles. Meanwhile, though travelers will feel the need to slake their hunger and thirst through any natural water sources they discover, wildlife they can hunt for food and any supplies they have on them, if they don't find sustenance, they'll find that they will never pass out or reach the point of starvation. Instead, they'll be left alive and awake but feeling utterly hollow.

storm front

At regular intervals, the energy storms above descend onto the land, bringing not rain but violent clashes of negative energy and thunder so loud that nothing can be heard above it. The passing of the storms leaves some strange effects. The ground is warped and rotted by their touch, even solid stone degrading to a spongy surface. The air is tepid and oddly charged. Prolonged contact with air or ground will not supply energy, however — it drains it from organic and synthetic life alike.

Those who remember their last trip to the Hub, or simply explore in the right direction, may come across the cave complexes with their glowing surfaces and streams. The light is dimmer now, a sickly green, but drinking from the streams will still restore the energy lost, for a time. This time, however, the lethargy that inevitably follows is much more severe, and the drinkers are left with a raw, empty feeling leeching in from the wasteland around.

Those who are exposed to the storms, either by finding themselves in very close proximity or even closely observing them for too long as they approach, may lose their sight, or hearing, even much of the ability to feel touch — whatever sense they used in observation. What lingers in its place is a numbness. A hunger. And as time passes, the time between storms decreases; what seemed like hours between the storms becomes scarcely one, and their intensity grows.

wild life

Sentient beings are not the only ones affected by the storms; these creatures, attracted to sound and able to track by scent, and these panthers, which once looked normal but have been twisted by the storms into more monstrous forms, are numerous enough that travelers must be constantly alert for their presence. Though natural predators, the threat the creatures represent is not itself natural. They are also more aggressive. Some strange instinct drives them, not a need for food. While the panthers themselves can be caught and their meat cooked, it has little taste, offering nutrition but not satisfaction.

old familiar places

Although it's difficult to track the passage of time without day-night cycles, after what seems like more than a week of the travelers' unexpected trip, the storms abruptly come rushing in at the group of travelers, as if they're herding the group to move faster toward their destination and the Ingress energy that awaits them. The true nature of that destination becomes clear when debris appears on the horizon; the energy comes from the wreckage of the Moira, the interstellar ship that crashed here months ago.

Despite the trauma of impact, large sections of the ship remain surprisingly intact, though few of them are properly vertically oriented. If travelers are able to make their way inside the damaged sections of the ship, they'll find familiar territory, if they are one of those who traveled on the Moira, as well as shelter—something that's increasingly necessary as the storms seem to center over the ship, leaving little hope for survival outside. Useful items may be scavenged from the ship if they are willing to explore, but no personal items of any kind remain.

Strangely, the deeper travelers go into the crashed ship, the less familiar their surroundings will seem, regardless of their orientation. The inward-leading paths into the ship become generic metal, and as with the travel on the surface of the planet, they may find themselves back where they started. And no matter how far they go or how hard they try, they will find themselves unable to make it to the Ingress chamber itself...for now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

⋆ ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Having had an initial meeting with those from her own world not long after arriving here, Tex is determined mainly to keep tabs on her boyfriend to make sure he's safe, and to keep to herself rather than try to take charge of any particular efforts. She's discomfited that she's been tricked into arriving here, and feels it's best for everyone to pull together as equals to make it through.

Once someone has identified the signal where they all decide to begin heading, Tex begins keeping tabs on everyone she can. The landscape surrounding them is bleak. There seems to be little that they can rely on to help them through, other than those things they brought with them. Thankfully, she had been preparing for an extended mission and had brought the camping supplies that the captains of the Moira had supplied, a long time ago. Not everyone had been similarly prepared, however, and Tex knows that those who aren't wearing armor similar to what she has the fortune of being protected by are vulnerable to the storms. She tries to plan ahead when it seems a storm will be striking particularly severely, setting the pop-up tent up and offering shelter to at least 2 or 3.

"Do you have somewhere to sleep?" she'll ask someone nearby, and if the answer is no, she'll give them the opportunity to enter and rest while the storms rage. She can easily sleep in her armor outside.

⋆ SUSTENANCE

It's not lost on her that she's not eating enough. She tracks and hunts, but often offers the spoils to others to consume. It's also not lost on her, however, that she's surviving the hunger, even if it means being lethargic. She feels like an empty well, one that has been drained of all its water from beneath. It's a strange feeling, to know one is being sustained from some outward source. As they near the hull of the Moira, Tex begins to consume less and less, offering more and more portions to others. This is different from their last foray to this place—not everyone is adequately prepared.

"Are you hungry?" she says, offering a camp pot full of meat stew. "It's a little stringy, sorry about that."

⋆ FEELS LIKE HOME

Tex enters the ship with a sense of dread. This hull is more intact than she remembers. The sections inside, likewise. She wanders the halls, looking for some of her old haunts—the shooting range, the bar, the room she last shared with Ryuuzaki, before they were even calling it cohabitation. But nothing quite seems the same. In fact, the further she goes in, the less anything about the layout seems to make sense.

"I don't think this is the Moira," she finally pronounces to whoever is near.

Well before coming to this place, Rinzler was made to run on minimal power. Tested and corrected, modified to be efficient. To cut back. Cognition and improvisation, awareness and memory—all expendable under sufficient drain. Rinzler is a weapon, after all. He only needs to work enough to kill and to obey.

He doesn't want that. He never does, but especially not here, with other allies than just Clu to guard. Nihlus offers some charge from his prosthetic arm. Yori shares her battery reserves, and even persuades Rinzler to accept a few. Still, every step and point of contact with the spongy, wasted ground is pressing higher functions closer to shutdown. When the Moira's wreckage appears ahead, Rinzler doesn't wait to search.

That's where Tex will find him: in a hall off Engineering, prying open an electrical panel. This region of the ship is at a solid ninety degrees to standard orientation, but the bulky shape of a backup generator can be seen wedged further back under debris. He stiffens at the commentary—he hadn't heard Tex coming, and scans have been dead since the storms. Which has made searching out power access somewhat harder.

He won't stop working, but he does shift sideways, half-facing the user and with his back to the wall. The opaque mask turns slightly.

Why?

She'd spoken when she spotted him because if anyone would accept the evidence, she feels, it's him. When he tilts his head like that, she immediately starts to wonder if speaking to him was a mistake. That is not a warm and open posture.

"Just look around. We're living in a place where we all come from alternate universes. You really think this is the same Moira we left behind?"

She draws closer, her visor at an angle to his face mask as she gazes past him.

"I knew the parts of the ship I traveled on a daily basis, and this isn't the same one. Even accounting for it breaking in pieces, something is off."

Alternate universes. Something is off. Rinzler's own observations have been far sparser, low power limiting attention for objectives of note. Still, it took him longer than it should have to find this place.

Something is different.

He processes the possibility as he bends the latch back into place—and finally, pulls the case open. The panel inside is dim and unlit, but the frayed and damaged connections reveal a few exposed contacts. Unfortunate, that he can't detect at range which might still work. The program exhales, bracing as he reaches in to test by touch. The opaque helmet lifts a fraction, though, toward the user standing overhead.

"Empty."

The word is short and flat. Harsh, and roughly distorted: both by the enforcer's sound and by an edge intrinsic to the voice. His voice.

Though Rinzler isn't the only place Tex will have heard it.

She's never heard Rinzler speak, at least not as Rinzler. Only as his shadow. She doesn't know what would lead to him deciding to talk now, of all times. The sound of his voice should probably startle her, or concern her, or...something. Tex, who rarely laughs, chuckles, a sharp staccato sound born of disbelief.

"Did you just...?"

She can theorize about why, but she has a feeling all her thoughts on it reflect more on her own personhood issues than his. In fact, he doesn't seem to believe a program should aspire to consider itself an individual at all. She shakes her head, as she doesn't particularly need confirmation that he just spoke.

"I know it's empty. That doesn't make hallways shift positions and rooms change shape, though."

He did just. And for a change, without thinking much of it. Certainly without considering this audience's response. Rinzler stiffens at the laugh, gaze snapping up behind his helmet. He doesn't answer—especially not with the dismissal chasing right after—but there's a slight rise in the grinding scrape of mismatched code.

After a moment, the helmet dips: eyes returning to his tests. He's not sure what else he expected.

One contact. Another. Rinzler finishes the row without finding the slightest spark of stored potential. Starts on the next. His free hand curls around the edges of the box, a palpable lag before responding. Is it funny every time, or just the first?

"No. Empty.

"No trash. No belongings. Caches missing."

"True."

She says it a little more quietly. He's still speaking rather than texting. Something has changed. That's evident. She just doesn't know what, or why. She approaches, comes alongside. His posture had changed subtly when she laughed, and he seems...upset? Well, maybe. She's always had trouble reading him. She had thought they were allies, until she clarified her beliefs about her personhood—and ever since then, things have been weird. Stiff. Awkward.

She angles her head in his direction, glancing down at the work of his hands, then focusing on his helmet.

"You surprised me," she tells him. "I didn't think it was funny."

The work is simple enough. Contact. Rinzler has the back of the panel half-pulled off, exposing the raw connections to each switch, and is carefully, one by one, attempting to bridge the contacts with a hand. On the positive side, he hasn't electrocuted himself yet.

On the other? He hasn't found anything.

He doesn't acknowledge Texas' approach, but the movements slow. He doesn't look up when she speaks, but there's a marginal twitch of his black mask. Hard to say where the eyes behind are looking.

Or it would be if it mattered. Rinzler isn't meant to have a face.

A user-month ago, he wasn't meant to have a voice, either. And now that he does, he can't think of anything to say with it. Hunched shoulders twitch inwards: a small shrug.

Acknowledged.

"Okay, well."

She sighs. At least he's not throwing things in her direction or anything. She looks at what he's doing, interested.

"...What are you trying to do?"

The lag (and stare) draws out another moment. Then,

"Power."

Object, not subject. Not action. Syntax error, out of place. Rinzler shakes his head, cancelling the term.

"Searching for it."

The last word hesitates a little, but that try at least rates nearly complete.

"Oh," she says. "You know, those of us in human bodies who haven't been eating have been fine without it." Well, not fine, but she hasn't started starving. "I have this idea you'll be okay if you can't find a source."

Sound rises, helmet twitching sideways again. "Won't derezz." Regardless of the environmentals. "Run for longer. Without."

Another error. Multiple? He's losing track. Losing focus. He stares at the end of the row, all terminals dead. Closes the box, and loops the phrase twice before he allows it to output.

"I don't want to pare down."

She nods slowly. "Okay." She's never known Rinzler to use the personal pronoun. But this whole situation is weird. "I'll help."

The opaque helmet had been turning past Tex—toward the half-buried generator further down the hall. At that, though, he glances back, noise stuttering.

"Why?"

He regrets the question as soon as he asks it. Still, it's too late to recall.

Why? he asks, with a skip in his usual purr that sounds shocked. Her posture changes a little, her head cocking, arms crossing. Rinzler truly is exasperating at the best of times. She's done nothing that would make them out to be enemies, and he's the only one who's been antagonistic between them.

"If you don't think we're friends anymore, well, that's not on me," she says. Her tone is a bit forceful and rushed. "I don't want to see you uncomfortable. Okay? Tell me what you've found so far and I'll help. Otherwise, I guess I'll just leave."

She pried into his mind. She joined the glitch in taunting him. She took so much care to emphasize their differences—that she was made to be a person—after telling him they were alike. Still, Rinzler's stare doesn't source from those files.

When had Texas considered him a friend?

Is it some kind of joke? Possible, though neither nonverbals nor tone appear to match. Rinzler doesn't understand at all. The drain sapping at cognition isn't helping, but...

There's a minute, subtle shift, frame drawing closer in his hunch.

"Cached power: missing." The words are quiet. He nods down the hall, toward the debris-covered machinery. "Generator status unknown. Junction box offline, all contacts."

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

Agent Texas ⋆ OTA ⋆ Will match format

Feels like Home

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feels like home

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