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

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."

"Okay," she says, a little more subdued. "I'll look for the generator then. See if I can get it up and running. Where have you looked for it?"

A momentary hesitation... and Rinzler nods again down the hallway. There.

It's half-buried in debris, but visible—along with the conduits feeding to the junction box Rinzler was testing. He—or they—just need to clear enough half-collapsed ship to access it and get it working. Or find another source.

Rinzler steps toward the task, mask slanted just enough to watch in his periphery.

She looks, and then heads over. There's a mess in the way, and after taking some time to walk around it and observe what pieces are on top of other pieces, she starts lifting things out of the way and making a pile off to the side. It's a complex tangle, and it's slow going. But eventually, Tex clears enough debris to get to the box connectors.

"Rinzler," she calls back to him, even though she knows that he's been watching out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

Rinzler isn't far. After shifting some of the larger debris in the way of the path, he disappeared around the back of the unit, checking for leaks in the fuel tank. The low ticking rumble cam be heard echoing throughout the process, but he'll step back into sight within seconds of Tex's call.

Voice lags a moment longer.

"Damaged?"

"Mm..."

She leans in and uses her helmet's night vision to counter the low light here. The ports, which would allow someone like Rinzler to plug in and get power, are slightly askew. It appears they're all attached to one panel, and the last port was bumped by some falling debris.

"One of the ports is busted. The rest of them are off center, but I think they're okay."

She stands again and looks to him.

"You'll have to test it to be sure, though."

Rinzler doesn't argue with the assessment. Still, the lag draws out, fingers curling a little at each side. The reluctance is palpable when he eventually does nod. Texas isn't wrong. She isn't wrong, and she had helped, and however long that might last, he shouldn't waste it. He needs the power.

There's just one difficulty.

Someone like Rinzler was never meant to exist in the user world. Someone like Rinzler is a construct of electricity shaped by the rules of code, apparent physicality aside. And the entire world Rinzler comes from is designed to function across a potential difference of just a few volts.

User generators output several hundred times that.

In the user world of Inugami, Rinzler connected to a power socket once. It had been an accident, he had mostly been a user, and it had still put him badly out of commission. Rinzler strongly suspects this is going to be worse.

"...Resistor?"

The user is encased in metal. It's unlikely she has anything on hand.

"Resistor?"

She looks at him for a moment, then shakes her head.

"I don't know what we could use for that. Have you ever plugged into this generator before?"

Rinzler shakes his head, voice skipping with just a little irritation.

"Don't plug."

Program. Not robot. Rinzler eyes the port skeptically for another moment before turning back into the wreckage: yanking up the inactive power conduit to pry out one of the wires inside.

This is definitely a good idea that will not get him derezzed.

"What do you do, then?" she asks, watching, interested. She has no idea what he's doing is improvising a solution that could overwhelm his system.

Oh, that improvisation factor should become clear in short order. Namely, when Rinzler hauls a chunk of ceramic pipe out from the debris. Resistor get?

No. But it's... something.

"Charge by contact." He pulls out the length of wire and begins wrapping it in a long helix around the ceramic shape. "Can absorb energy across differential." A crouch to inspect the ports, and carefully, touching only the ceramic, Rinzler feeds one end of his exposed wire into a port.

"Liquid intake also possible in-system."

"Wait, wait, wait." She reaches out and yanks the wire out of the port. "You've never done this before, have you?"

Far be it from her to have Rinzler electrocute himself on her watch.

The words draw a look. The yank, a bristle. He'd just finished getting that into position!

"Have."

Sound skips behind the rough edge of his vocals, irritated and defensive. He wouldn't have survived a decicyle in the user world if he didn't know how to charge off their devices. Not to mention he worked on ship repair for a full year.

"Limiting voltage."

...somewhat. Enough? Maybe.

August Event Log: Part I

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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