Who: Everyone
When: August 26 through September 9(ish). Begins directly after the simulation ends.
Where: Region 6
What: The simulation ends.
Warnings: Potential violence, mental manipulation and fallout. Label your content!

wake up

Consciousness returns slowly, stray visions sifting through your mind. A meeting. A quest. Betrayal and abandonment, days spent wandering a terrifying wasteland before finding shelter. What a strange dream! It has to be a dream, because you're safe. You're comfortable, and happy. You're just now waking up to greet the day.

But this isn't your bed.

Liquid surrounds you. Lights glow a clean electric blue on either side. You sit up, sputtering your way to full awareness as reality: past and present, fully sets in. You remember the Savrii's trick. You remember the storms. The simulation, crafted by the intermediaries and hijacked by one of their own to convey their own warning. But that nightmare is over. You've woken up. And you can see where you are now.

The stasis unit holding you sits in the middle of a small room that is decorated extremely simply, but functionally: a cushioned bed, lighting, a closet-sized bathroom. Your belongings don't seem to be present, aside from the TAB that sits nearby—and apart from the soaked clothing you wear, nothing you own is on your person. Some characters may feel an odd numbness in their minds—and find, on testing, that any superhuman capabilities they had appear to be suppressed. Several changes of simple clothes in approximately your size can be found nearby. The only exit is a single door.

Surprisingly to some, when you try it? It opens.

Others are emerging from their rooms as well, entering a long hall lined with similar doorways. This area seems to be nothing but housing, but the far end of the hall leads to a centralized room. A column stands in the middle, display screens facing out to all four sides. Projected on each is the same face: a woman, dressed in the garb of the intermediaries. She offers a small, sad smile, and speaks.

"We wish it hadn't come to this.

"For centuries on centuries, our means of conflict resolution have been unique. We do not kill. We do not imprison." She shakes her head, a troubled expression crossing her face. "We speak. Those of Thisavrou believe in trust and community. That any problem can be overcome through understanding: of oneself, and one another.

"But you have breached that trust too many times.

"You were meant to be escorted gently from our worlds. Without opportunity to do harm to others, but with no constraints on your own lives. Given a chance to live, in peace or war, where you desired. Where your violence, your chaos, would not bring ruin and murder to our streets. Where you would not risk the fate of all worlds.

"That opportunity has been taken. Through Siddony's betrayal. And through one of your own. For the third time in two cycles, the Ingress has been tampered with. All attempts to remove you and yours from Thisavrou have failed."

She shakes her head, breathing a soft sigh. Frustration. No—disappointment. "This isn't a punishment. We cannot allow you to bring harm to our people any longer, but neither are we cruel enough to make you live your lives out in a cage. We mediators are discussing more permanent solutions now—methods to bring your way of life in line with ours. But if you truly do wish to leave this... internment, of your own accord? Seek out your saboteur."

A quiet look at the display. "And if you are capable, reflect on your own deeds."

look around

The message ends, and loops back to the beginning. No contact method is given, and no response will be accepted. Further exploration of the facility you're in produces very little: more rooms, more hallways. Close examination might find signs of recent construction—clearly, this housing was put together in a hurry.

Those who exit the building might be able to piece together why.

The sun shines clearly over verdant grasslands and jungle. It sparkles brightly off the sea. It also glints off metal frameworks and construction that some of Thisavrou's older "new arrivals" might find familiar. Not long after the refugees from the Midway Hub came to these planets, a call went out from businessman John Hammond, offering work for any willing to help him build his own unique theme park: as Thisavrou's new Region 6. Less public was the news of his death, just a few months after, that brought a rapid halt to the project.

Still, it appears someone else has put the space to use.

The facility you woke in was converted from the storage units—and remains one of the only structures operational. All the more so, now that the electronics and advanced machine parts have been gutted from the place. Still, if the Savrii aren't willing to allow technology to their "detainees", they certainly don't seem to be skimping on space. Between the empty enclosures, the nonfunctional EN-line tracks, and the half-constructed arena, the site has plenty of interest to explore.

About a mile out from the center where you woke, wanderers will reach a boundary—water on three sides, as the land is a peninsula, and the solid bubble of a force field all around. The landward site holds a gated checkpoint, usually closed, where Savrii (escorted by intermediaries) will pass through daily to deliver food and necessary supplies.

Those who approach this group, or attempt to force their way through the checkpoint, will find themselves subject to a strange effect: an active sapping of any violent or aggressive intent. Characters may speak with the intermediaries, but at this point, will find themselves unable to choose to harm anyone while in their presence.

look closer

The detention center is spacious enough, and the Savrii, for all their hostility, will not allow anyone to starve or die. Although they take care to limit options for escape, those with more specific survival requirements will be accommodated. Really, there's nothing left to do but self-examine. Sit in your room, consider the magnitude of your crimes....

...not your thing? Weird. Well, there are other sorts of trouble.

On the Horizon:
The sky over Thisavrou has always been a glimpse of chaos: the bright light of the Ingress, contrasted against the dark surging of the storms around. Siddony's warning and the simulation, however, might prompt a little more attention to the clouds. Or, perhaps, they're just more impressive now than usually. Those keeping an eye upward will find a roiling sea of darkness, red lines flashing intermittantly against the black... less like lightning, and a little more like cracks, pressing closer as every day gives way to night. In the darkest shadows, some watchers might almost make out faces, peering down at you. How imaginative!

...right?
Perchance To Dream:
While the effect will vary by individual, spending two weeks sharing a psychic vision doesn't pass without effect. You might find yourself finishing your friends' sentences, or having a more intuitive grasp of their mood. And particularly in sleep, the mind's connections will prove difficult to close.

For a full week after waking, all player characters will be prone to strangely vivid dreams. And even more strangely, not alone. Fantasy or nightmare, they may find their unconscious journeys joined by their friends—or by strangers they have never met. On waking, all such dreams can be recalled with perfect clarity: no different to the mind than if you had lived through them.
Dig Deeper:
Rushed as they were, the Savrii were very careful in their efforts to prepare this place. Providing rooms... ensuring safeguards. And clearing out all technology or dangerous objects from Hammond's half-constructed park.

The Savrii missed something.

Deep in the tunnels below the unfinished research lab, a single room holds a stash of cryo-frozen eggs. Inside, are the genetically modified versions of four different species found on certain Earth-adjacent worlds: Sinornithosaurus, Yutyrannus huali, Kulindadromeus, and Triceratops. Imported for planned release in the park, these species will grow to adulthood inside two weeks, and form a parental bond with the first person they see on emerging from an egg. Without extensive skill and training, bonding is no guarantee on obedience, howevever. And some lessons (say, "don't eat my friends") may prove a little counterintuitive.

Still, what's the worst that could happen?

[Check out the OOC post here for more information! As this log will stretch into the beginning of September, it can also be used for introducing new characters if their players so choose.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wash has noticed him. Noticed him for real. And just as he feels that, he sees Maine's desperate look and the mark at his neck. He sees him recoil, and he pulls off his helmet immediately, looking to Wash where he stands and trying to latch onto that. Fuck their feud, fuck their pain. They're losing him.

"Wash, you've gotta help him, he needs us." The look in his own eyes is burning determination and intensity. It radiates from him like the glow of a heat lamp. "We can't give up on him."

For a moment, all he can see is the Meta lunging at him, bloodied armour, guttural growl. A monster hell bent on regaining its lost power, on taking Epsilon.

But it's not. It has it's helmet off and that- that's Maine. His friend. His partner.

His breath is stuck in his throat, a knot of it that threatens to choke him. He can hear North, can see him through the snow. Part of him wants to refuse out of spite. How dare North tell him what to do? He's dealt with the Meta before. He can do it again.

But it's Maine. North is determined to help him. And Wash doesn't want to lose his friend again. Not when he could change things.

"Maine!" he calls out, taking a stumbling step through the snow towards him. "Maine! it's me."

It's Wash. Wash, older and tired and beaten down by life. It hurts to look at him. To see all that's happened to him. But it's still Wash. Still his best friend.

So, he ignores the pain. He pushes aside the warmth that he knows could ease it, and he looks his friend full in his war-weary eyes.

A wet, gurgling wheeze fights its way past the ruin of Maine's throat.

Breathing. He's breathing again.

Fuck, it hurts.

He pulls in another breath in spite of the pain. Feels himself shaking with the effort. Does it again. Keeps his eyes locked on Wash, because he has to be here. He has to be here for his friend.

Big, blood-splattered hands fumble in the snow. Scrambling for purple armor that held him together, when everything inside of him wanted to tear itself apart.

North hears that wheeze and it's like a defibrillator, starting a heart he hadn't realized had stopped dead in his chest. He looks between the two men almost frantically and starts waving Wash closer. He can put aside their differences, for Maine. Neither of them ever want to see him going through this again; North knows they can find common ground there.

Scrambling hands will find an armored arm to grab onto, and tight grips in turn. He'll keep him steady, if he wants to stay on the ground or stand.

"Maine, we're here. Neither of us is gonna leave you, buddy."

He meets Maine's eyes, and it's Maine. It is him. Wash's chest hurts to see him like this, and he wonders if this is what it was like, Maine's last gasp before he became the Meta.

That wet breath prompts him to move faster, jogging the rest of the way up to him and then going to his knees in the snow in front of him. He reaches out, pulls back, unsure of what he should be doing, and then reaches out again to touch Maine's face. His fingers curl, unknowingly against the tattoo at the back of his neck.

"It's me. I'm not going anywhere. Just... breathe."

Contact. Support. Warmth, stemming from something other than the flames licking the inside of his skull. Maine squeezes North's hands in turn. Leans into Wash's touch. Draws in another painful, shuddering breath.

Memories bloom around them. Quick things lasting no more than a second, leaving little more than impressions in their wake. Thumps to his armor; arms slung over his shoulders; hands ruffling his hair, attached to grinning faces high above. Shouts of laughter and victory and joy. Strength. Courage. Sacrifice.

Brothers. Friends. Family. Team.

The distinct impression that, for Maine, they're all the same thing.

The great rend in his throat slowly begins to stitch itself shut. Each gasp draws in a little more air. At the back of his head, where Wash's fingers are curled, the symbol begins to fade.

Finally, Maine is able to choke out half a question. His eyes dart from Wash's to the cliff's edge, then back.

"Caro—...?"

The rest is lost in a wet cough. He squeezes North's hands tighter. Tries to focus on breathing. Thinks of Carolina's body. Tries to breathe, anyway.

There's a rush of relief as things warm around them, as Wash relents and joins the effort in earnest. North squeezes Maine's hands right back to steady him, ignores the intense pressure of the man's grip, and he tries his best to follow whatever Maine is feeling.

"She's fine," is the first thing he reassures, and he gives off a sense of finality with the statement. Carolina is fine. The Carolina he knows in this city is years past a simple fall from a cliff. She's fine. She lived, and she grew stronger. She's fine.

Wash doesn't look away. He won't. he can't. Not now. Not when they're so close. He knows they're close with that weird certainty that comes with dreams. Just like he knows that if he lets go now, he'll lose Maine and be left with just the Meta once more. He'll be left alone.

"You know Carolina," he says quietly, "a little fall has never stopped her."

The dream fills his words with a certainty that he wouldn't quite feel if he was awake. But here? Yeah, it's true. Carolina can survive anything.

Conviction fills their words. They believe it. They believe that Carolina is okay. That she survived what he did to her. They believe it, and Maine trusts them.

Wash and North. His teammates. His friends.

Maine's free hand rises to curls around Wash's arm. His eyes flick to North. He holds onto them both, and the remnants of the symbol vanishes. He nods, accepting their truth, and the body of their leader disappears. He breathes in again, and he doesn't choke on his own blood.

Around them, the snow melts away. There comes a sense of warmth. Security. Solidarity. Purpose.

He didn't kill his friend. He didn't destroy his team. They're cracked, but they're not broken. He has them, Wash and North, right here. No raised weapons. No division. Teammates. The way it should be.

He nods again. Smiles, just a little.

"Thanks."

They've got his back.

The lingering flames in Maine's mind wither to ash.

Back to Reality: Post-Event Plot Log

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