goneawaymod: (Default)
Piper 90: Mods ([personal profile] goneawaymod) wrote in [community profile] goneawaymemes2020-09-09 08:52 pm
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TDM #2


TEST DRIVE #1


So it's your first day at your new job! Welcome to the Jorgmund Family™! It's time to settle into your new workplace on the Piper 90 rig, the coziest place of employment this side of the Livable Zone. A leader in its industry, Jorgmund is excited to have you join them in enthusiastically envisioneering team-driven paradigms.

The Piper 90 rig's mission is not only an impressive undertaking in terms of impactful customer-oriented deliverables, it's providing a vital backbone to the Livable Zone by creating a safe region for citizens to live, work, and play. Jorgmund's "outside the box" thinking means they understand the importance of wisely investing in their human capital - you! You'll soon find that you'll take pride in this vital work - and the benefits can't be beat.

Rest assured, Jorgmund's multidisciplinary approach to our world's period of recovery means we know how to keep it real when facing this opportunity for restructuring and growth. Jorgmund: Even if most of the world has gone away, we can make a world of difference!

Synergy!

USEFUL LINKS
It is recommended you check out the following links first for info on the rig, rig conditions, game mechanics, and the intro and slideshow your characters would have to endure that takes place chronologically before the Test Drive Meme:

Welcome/Arrival | Rig Weather & Hazards | Rig Setting Page | Game Mechanics


SCENARIO #1 - MOVE-IN?! MOVE OUT!

Well, hell, that was fast. Basically as soon as orientation's over, everyone gets shuffled into armored vehicles and a few boxes of gear are tossed in after them. Motion detectors, flimsy medical face masks, and... guns. Guns with flamethrowers. Even for the old hands at this, that's a new attachment, but the boxes all of the gear is in has electronic locks that refuse to open.

Before anyone gets any ideas, the doors are closing. The last view they get inside the Rig is a pair of medical workers dragging someone out of the 'interview' room, a tall muscular man in mismatched combat fatigues. Even without the twitching, the way he hangs limply in their arms leaves little doubt that whoever he was, he won't be joining them for cake. One of them carries his removed helmet, the other carries a removed body armor. On the chestplate a skull and crossbones can be seen, on the backplate are the words "contents under pressure."

When one of them sees them staring, she says, "Epilepsy, it seems, no doubt aggravated by Stuff exposure. We'll be taking good care of him."

Right, because the military lets epileptics in all the time, don't they.

They will never see him again. If asked about him later, they'll say he was transported to the Livable Zone, for the very best care in a proper hospital. Of course they wouldn't hire someome with health issues for a potentially stressful job like theirs, they aren't monsters.

The truth is he will get more coherent later and start complaining of a stomach ache, scans will verify something alarming, and he will be quietly killed with sedatives and quickly incinerated.

Before it's too late.

a) TAKEN FOR A RIDE
They're left to get to know each other, with the driver (in a separate compartment) informing them that they'll be at their destination in about four hours.

Meanwhile, for their viewing pleasure, there's a marathon of The Nutshack. Working media in the Gone-Away World is sometimes...lacking.

b) A LATE EASTER
...Blissfully, it's interrupted some three hours later. The boxes all click, allowing the unfortunates to grab the gear, and the Nutshack ends abruptly as the face of a harried middle manager takes up the screen, people walking back and forth behind her with the faked urgency of people who know the boss is watching. "All right, New Hires. I know some of you have just been hired, but we here in Jorgmund like our people to be able to hit the ground running." She smiles blandly, in that corporate way where no muscle above her nose so much as twitches. "This mission should be a milk run for you, though, a good way to stretch your legs and show what you're made of. It's just a bit of a delivery job, that's all. You'll be making your way to the old Pilton town, recently the site of an Incursion. To go with the milk, you're grabbing us some eggs."

Suddenly, her image contracts to the lower left corner of the screen. The main screen is filled with a single image, rotating slowly. "Our resident biology experts think that the life forms that hatch from these will be very useful in advancing various areas of science, plus they might be able to resist Stuff storms. We want an unhatched egg, drone footage shows that there's a good number of them are already empty."

Another image, this time of some kind of glowing box. "The engineers say that this will keep the eggs, and their cargo, in a kind of stasis. Just get one in there and it's mission accomplished. Easy, right? Makes me wonder why we even hauled you guys out of orientation for it." She shrugs, tossing a folder aside and glancing at a paper someone's just passed her. "Oh, right. Pilton's a write-off. They rejected our offers of help with this whole mess when it started up, so they're probably all infected with Stuff or some shit anyway, so safeties off and fire is free. Don't kill each other but anyone else is fair game. You're probably doing them a favor somehow anyway, we don't need mutants mucking up the place."

She sets everything down and leans in, filling the screen again. "Yeah, and just so you newbies know the drill, don't run. You remember what it felt like during orientation." They've already felt the first bite of the nanochains. "We got trackers in you and we don't appreciate it when our boys go AWOL after we go through all of the trouble of saving their lives from the Wilds." The transmission ends and all that's left is a map of Pilton displaying, with the cartoon's audio still playing in the background.

The vehicles all clank to a stop and open the doors. Pilton looks to be a mid-sized town, might've been home to a few tens of thousands of people once. Curiously, a tall, thick wall surrounds much of it, but something's knocked holes in it. It's in front of one of these gaps that the trucks have stopped. Inside, a thick mist obscures all but the tallest buildings, half-ruined by some disaster. Lots of shorter, squatter buildings just barely poke over the top. But some of them seem to have some sort of newer additions, a black, shiny, organic support for a few buildings. Hard to see details, though, because of heavy mist obscuring vision. The map suggests that there's a subway system... or possibly just an oversized sewer. It's hard to tell, but the way the drivers honk, so they can leave, they're not giving any more time to decide.

Motion detectors on? Locked and loaded? It's time to go. Just ignore the feeling that you're being watched.

c) THIS WAY FOR SENSITIVITY TRAINING
Well, it turns out that those eggs? They hatch sometimes! If you're lucky, this side will be all that you see. If not, well...

The radios crackle and the manager's voice comes back on, for everyone. "We're seeing some funky bio readings. Yeah, the Science department thought that one or two of you might get jumped. It's fine, just don't lose whoever that is. Pop your stasis box around them, it'll expand, and drag them back to the trucks. You can try pulling them off, I guess, but they want to see what happens when someone gets up close and personal."

There's a pause.

"Oh, uh. Don't try to pull them off. Got a report from another crew that it'll tear and dribble acid over everything. Well, we at Jorgmund appreciate the lengths you all are willing to go for the company and it'll reflect in your quarterly performance reviews." That's small comfort for anyone who's at risk of being down a man.

Then again, at the noise, there are moans from the walls and ceilings. There's a few people stuck in there, some with those creepy things wrapped tight around their necks and faces... some with with them lying dead at their feet. Some of them aren't making so much noise on account of the massive, gaping hole in their chests.

Something's hissing and writhing around your ankles, by the way.

About to spring.

d) YOU DONE KNOCKED OVER THE ANT HILL
Did you get lost? Not to worry, if those motion detector pings are anything to judge by, you're about to have lots of company! They're big! They're fast! They're black, shiny, and can climb on the walls!

Oh, and these guys bleed acid too.

The manager's voice on the radio blares out loudly. Too loudly. "By the way, it sounds like you guys have company! Did we mention that Jorgmund has excellent medical benefits and a highly trained staff with the latest equipment? Don't be afraid to get into a bit of a scrap! And remember, teamwork makes the dream work! So fire up those flamethrowers and show them how Jorgmund takes care of the competition!"

As bad as everything is, at least you can hide from them for a bit. And, hey, that civilian stickied to the wall who got all chummy with the alien babies? The one you might not have managed to seal into the box correctly? They're waking up now! An extra hand to fight these guys off will be handy! Especially since the monsters seem to be trying to guide you away from the exits, pushing you further into the hive.

e) MEET THE NEW BOSS, SAME AS THE OLD BOSS
So, a heartless, soulless, people-eating monster who doesn't care who suffers as long as the numbers go up? Boy, that sure sounds familiar.

Whether it was a tactical withdrawal, a blind rush, went in to rescue a pal, or you were dragged into a lower chamber after being snatched up by a batch of drones, you're now in a vast chamber filled with eggs. And there's the Queen hissing her displeasure at your company. And you thought the regular guys were huge.

She's lounging on the wall, attached to a pulsating ovipositor that stretches the length of this massive room, surrounded by smaller drones caring for her and the eggs surrounding her. But, luckily, it looks like before the bugs... adapted this whole mess to suit themselves, it was a construction site, and the hive resin hasn't quite covered some of the equipment.

Or some of the barrels with explosive warnings written on them.

Whatever you're going to do, think fast. This lady's no pushover, and she's the kind of boss who likes to get her hands dirty to show the troops that she still has what it takes.

Due to Stuff shenanigans reality will glitch, making this fight one that must be accomplished possibly quite a few times before reality allows her to be dead.

Because she doesn't believe she would die that easily.

Every time she dies, she'll come just a little closer to being gone for good.

f) HOMECOMING KING
Maybe you were there for all that. Maybe you missed it. Maybe you actually did your job. Somebody must have, because you're out there in the open air. The wind is sweeping through the ruins of Pilton, a refreshing rain washing away all of the evil that's been committed there. Even the manager's voice, congratulating everyone on a successful mission complete, ordering everyone back to the armored vehicles, seems upbeat and chipper.

Gather your wounded. Pick up your trophies. Usher civilians you may have saved against orders into the transports. It's time to go home. Your team's about halfway there when thunder booms menacingly in the background. Seems to be a messy storm coming, so it'll be a relief to be inside.

...Funny, that thunder just now. Thunder's supposed to come after lightning not-ah. There it is. Maybe it was an echo of a flash you didn't notice.

But don't echoes get quieter?

That's when a big fella comes around the corner. It turns its head, looking dead at your group, and the hiss it makes is a nightmarish mingling of a bull crocodile and one of the drones from inside. And then it roars, charging towards your group, massive tail smashing part of a building to rubble as it goes.

Bullets aren't going to be enough for this tyrant.

Even worse: the ground suddenly shudders even more, rumbling and shaking in a great cacophonous outpouring of sound...

And you see that the smaller version of the creatures aren't the only ones that travel in packs.

g) ON THE ROAD AGAIN
That was awful. But it's over now. The ride home is quiet, with the dulcet tones of Bob Ross filling the air on the way back. Rest, relax, drink some water, have some rations, and check up on your friends. Because after an experience like that, what else can they be?

If any New Hires have saved a civilian against orders, hopefully you're not in one of the unlucky trucks where they're starting to groan and clutch at their chest, face contorting in agony. Hopefully that's not a fellow passenger for you, and you can just ride home.


OOC DETAILS

Feel free to play around with powers. If your character has powers from canon you want to play around with, go for it. If you'd like to test out possibilities for game powers, also go for it. Feel free to change it up from thread to thread if you need to. This can be handwaved as exposure to Stuff making characters' powers shift a few times before settling.

Potential players may use test drive threads as their log samples. However, at least one post in their thread must fit the requirements for apps, both in length (200 words) and in quality. If you do plan on using a thread as a sample, please make sure the writing throughout your threads is a good example of your writing skills and has some solid examples of the character's voice.

Players can eventually count TDMs towards AC. They can only count towards comment-based AC proofs.

Potential players can opt to keep these threads as game canon when they app in, or start over fresh, based on preference. The Stuff bringing them to the game universe can fog their memories, if players don't want their character to remember TDM threads when introing into the game.

The game is invite-only. Players without invites are allowed to tdm since some of them may know someone in game to ask for one, and since some people enjoy TDMs just for fun in games they don't plan to app into. But an invite is required during the apping process.

The game is at a starting cap at 30 players. Apps are rolling apps that have a wait queue if the cap has been exceeded. Currently the cap is 23 of 30 players.

comebewe: (Neutral 10)

[personal profile] comebewe 2020-09-19 06:37 am (UTC)(link)
Matthew shrugs. "I know magic when I see it." He wouldn't be worth his salt as a sorcerer if he couldn't.

Speaking of which, the moment Donnie looks though the goggles at Matthew, he'll be able to tell that Matthew reads as magic as hell. He's a sorcerer for one, which means he lives and breathes magic. And then there's them.

Them, aka the Blue Electric Angels, aka a magical entity usually described as being somewhere between angel, devil, and god. They're in here too - though whether Donnie's goggles are able tell the difference between their magic and Matthew's will depend on exactly how fine-tuned those goggles are.
parannoyed: (006)

[personal profile] parannoyed 2020-09-19 06:46 am (UTC)(link)
[Wash wishes he could be in between jobs. But until he wiggles out of this situation - and then imprisonment back home - he has a feeling he'll be on the hook to get his hands dirty for a good while.]

I'm starting to believe it.

For instance, did you recognize the Aliens back there? Because it seems like a few people didn't.
hot_dad: (pic#14236872)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-09-19 06:56 am (UTC)(link)
[There's an odd twist to his lips, some mix of realization and amusement and exasperation.]

I thought I might have seen a movie like that once...

[Maybe he wasn't imagining that after all. Huh.]

That doesn't necessarily disprove my point, though. Someone could have had an encounter with something they didn't understand and used it as inspiration. I mean, humans thought vampires were just stories until the 1960s.
typicaleverydayhuman: (judging you)

[personal profile] typicaleverydayhuman 2020-09-19 07:08 am (UTC)(link)
Donnie's goggles are unfortunately not that subtle: it's either dark, boring grey tones for the mundane, and searing yellow for magic. So there's no differentiation whatsoever in Matthew and the Angels, and he pushes his goggles back up with both hands. Then uses one to gesture up and down at Matthew's... everything.

"So you're... what, some kind of wizard?"
comebewe: (Neutral 4)

[personal profile] comebewe 2020-09-19 07:34 am (UTC)(link)
"Something like that," Matthew says, deliberately vague. "So why the grudge against teleporting swords and other magics? You talk like they've personally offended you."
parannoyed: (001)

[personal profile] parannoyed 2020-09-19 09:15 am (UTC)(link)
[Wash opens his mouth and then closes it.]

See, I was going to point out that not everyone recognized them as from the movies, which suggests they don't have the movies in their world.

[He points at Rune.]

But you sort of just proved my point.

Vampires?
Edited 2020-09-19 09:15 (UTC)
hot_dad: (pic#14236864)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-09-19 09:23 am (UTC)(link)
[He practically mirrors Wash, mouth opening for a moment and then shutting, brows drawing together.]

...Alright, maybe there is some merit to the "alternate worlds" thing.

[Either that or they're really out of the loop out in space.]
humandroid: (pic#9121063)

[personal profile] humandroid 2020-09-19 10:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ Score one for the benefits of creativity. One might say Data can take a break from nerding out, but the secret of any Starfleet official serving on the Enterprise is that they are in a constant state of nerding out. It simply hovers at a lower level for a while.

He's reminded of the way scientific endeavors tend to play out when he collaborates with Geordi. Intriguing, intuitive concepts, arm in arm with the precise scientific processing required to nudge them towards becoming reality.

A potential sociological pattern across realities and timelines?

Fellow scientifically-aligned life forms conscripted, lending credibility to Jorgmund's claim of an interest in scientific study and preservation of humanity? ]


I am an android. [ Straightforward is as straightforward does. ] I have never been exhausted.
shutuprattrap: (Gun)

B

[personal profile] shutuprattrap 2020-09-19 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Yep, we're all gonna die.

[Rattrap's tone isn't a fearful one, just one of utter resignation. Still, the weird looking little robot readies his blaster. Whatever is coming will have to try very hard to kill him.]

Ya think we can get away with telling Jorgmund we couldn't find any eggs?
zerofield: (045)

[personal profile] zerofield 2020-09-19 05:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She nods. Not much apparent emotion in it; it isn't to say she's not displeased by the shock implant, but she's not a stranger to such violations, and this one is at least a bit less intrusive than an IV in her arm. ]

The first person I saw - remember seeing, at least - made a bit of noise about my age, but they didn't seem inclined to let that stop them, either.

[ Something about how they couldn't let a young lady be adrift in a dangerous world like this one, how she'd be properly supervised in Jorgmund's care. "Proper" supervision, however, apparently didn't extend to leaving her back at the safehouse.

It felt a bit too much like listening to the negotiations at the trade conference, when the foreign leaders had been giving some lip service to how concerning it was that Crossbell wasn't up to the challenge of national security, as if everyone in the room wasn't completely aware that it was entirely because of limitations those very nations had imposed. A display to make the appearance of doing this for your own good, really, without actually being committed to anything of the sort.

Tio's seen plenty of the fake sort of concern in her life, and plenty of the real kind. It's not difficult in the least to tell the two apart, even before factoring in the bit where they dumped her straight on the transport with a few other ill-prepared conscripts and a crate full of firearms.

0/10, not impressed. ]
hot_dad: (pic#14236864)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-09-19 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[He's been functioning as a pseudoparent just long enough that he smothers a curse despite it being a perfectly reasonable reaction at the moment. The swear jar may be packed full pretty much all the time, but that's most Brand and Anna's fault.]

It's like they're trying to be as comically evil as possible.

[He scowls and shoves the gun into a pocket. Agitated, he goes through the motions of checking over his standard gear – fingers brushing across rings in what could be mistaken for an idle or restless fashion.]
googledox: (123)

[personal profile] googledox 2020-09-20 10:55 am (UTC)(link)
I suspected you might be a synthetic life form. Aside from the lack of exhaustion after such an ordeal it's...in the way you carry yourself. In my universe, we have a species of synthetics and it takes time for machine learning to allow new AI to eventually emulate smoother moments with their mechforms.

[Querl tilts his head with an abrupt bird-like movement, now more interested, paying closer attention.]

And your skin... a bioplastic, I assume? That would be my first choice if attempting to emulate organic skin short of using actual flash-cloned cutaneous tissue.

[That it might be rude to ask personal questions doesn't occur to Brainy. That's what happens when someone is raised by unfeeling non-sentient robots. The social skills are...not there.]
uselessdadjokes: (Default)

[personal profile] uselessdadjokes 2020-09-20 11:12 am (UTC)(link)
[Father doesn't need to search hard for his own anxiety although he prefers "concern." It isn't about the mission however. He has left his children alone.

Still, he smiles at Data though it doesn't reach his eyes, then again it never really does.
]

I am Father. It is nice to meet you, Data, even if the circumstances are not ideal.

[He pauses. Data isn't wrong that entertainment is frivolous at the moment... but he just can't restrain himself.]

I have been programmed with jokes. I have had a limited audience but my some of of my children found them very entertaining.

[They were like four at the time.]
humandroid: (pic#9129112)

[personal profile] humandroid 2020-09-20 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Data's silent for a moment. Running through calculations and all that.

"I am not certain they can be helped," he concedes. "By the same measure, however, I cannot be certain they are beyond help. If the possibility exists, then I must attempt to pursue it."

Jorgmund is tasked with the operation of the Rig, which is itself intended to build the pipeline, which is itself intended to preserve a livable zone for humanity. Ergo, the preservation of humanity as a species. And these are humans. That should be all the reasoning required.

To that end, though, he has to account for the briefing: 'Pilton's a write-off... safeties off and fire is free.' With that in play, she's made a fair point. The chances of Jorgmund readily offering help are less than optimal. That these are humans, or sentient life forms at all, is not enough for them.

(There are personal risks of punishment associated with stepping away from instructions, here. Data disregards them almost immediately.)

"I am willing to seek retroactive absolution from the corporation in place of requesting the clearance to act."

He sounds like he's very positive about that being the way the saying goes. Data, always generating Relatable Human Content.
zerofield: (025)

[personal profile] zerofield 2020-09-20 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)
They're still falling a little short. I wonder if they can do anything right.

[ Not that they aren't doing a pretty decent job of being comically evil, but Tio's seen worse. Second place is just first loser! ]
humandroid: (pic#9149789)

[personal profile] humandroid 2020-09-20 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[ If people want broadly acceptable levels of social skill, they'll have to turn to... well, there must be one person in this truck who has them. Data falls more towards Brainy's end of this particular scale.

His android business has been out in the street since the moment Starfleet first reactivated him. ]


You are correct; my skin was made with bioplast sheeting. [ Credit where cybernetic skills credit is due. It's rare to be recognized as exactly what he is, beyond simply being registered for what he's not. Even rarer for someone to ask about something as relatively mundane as his skin before anything else.

This conversation has rapidly climbed its way towards top priority. Data perks up, much as he ever tends to. ]


Can you tell me about the synthetic species you referred to? Would you consider yourself familiar with them, or is their learning process simply common knowledge in your universe? Are they constructed with flash-cloned cutaneous tissue?

[ Asking only the most important questions. All of them. They are all important questions. ]
credit_not_blame: (Default)

A

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-09-21 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Of course not. That would be convenient, and that certainly isn't allowed!

[The teenage girl to whom the voice belongs definitely isn't dressed for anything more dangerous than a regular school day: low wedges and a flower-patterned romper are cute, but not practical.]

Might be a blessing in disguise though. It means we'll have that much time to sleep off whatever horrible thing happens when we get where we're going.
fuckcable: (Default)

Julio Richter (Rictor) | Marvel Comics

[personal profile] fuckcable 2020-09-21 01:44 am (UTC)(link)

B. An egg. This is all for an egg? This is is all for an egg, and he’s being press ganged into doing some company’s grocery shopping. Fuck that. “I’m not getting them their breakfast.”

He’s also not saying that too loudly, keeping it so low that only someone sitting beside him would hear. Rictor doesn’t know who or what these people, no matter how many PowerPoint slides he pretended to be bored with while trying to memorize everything, but he saw the state of the guy getting carted around and drew his own conclusions. He knows that this Jorgmund doesn’t play.

We don’t need mutants mucking up the place.

Ric’s left eye twitches, and it has nothing to do with shocks he’d been given at orientation. Shocks, plural. He should keep his mouth shut - he knows that nothing good will come out of arguing with her, but if her only concern with saving the townspeople is that they might have mutated... “No, we couldn’t have a mutant mucking up the place. They might get their filthy mutant genes all over the humvee.”

He feigns a look of muted surprise, but he’s so flat in delivery that it’s not convincing or funny. From where he’s sitting, they already know he’s a mutant. That’s why he’s here with a collar implanted in his neck.

“Oh, no. There’s a mutant here already.” Ric fingered the top of his issued jumpsuit. “I guess Jorgmund doesn’t mind the stench so much when we’re useful. I’m gonna enjoy it when ▪︎-|A|-▪︎ finds out about you.”

He wants to test their ability to track, despite (more like because of) her reminder not to, but he abandons any such thoughts when the vehicles draw up on Pilton. Something hit that wall hard, but that’s not what unnerves him. Maybe it’s the mist, or the lack of people for a place this size, or the buildings, but Ric suddenly and belatedly finds the flamethrower gun much more interesting. It never hurts to have three different ways to hit something.

From a distance.
credit_not_blame: the new moon at night (new moon)

E

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-09-21 01:51 am (UTC)(link)
A long hairy arm with taloned fingers reaches out and wraps around his waist, hauling him backward. Less than a breath later, a rock smashes down on the spot he'd been standing.

"Hrroon?"

The arm turns him loose and if he looks around, he'll find himself face to quizzical face with an enormous bipedal wolf-creature with brown and gray fur.
credit_not_blame: (Scorn)

g

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-09-21 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
Pretty much!

[That's about all the warning he gets before the teenage girl who'd spoken wedges herself under his arm -- the one that isn't responsible for the sippy cup.]

I mean, I guess it could be worse, if there'd been eldritch horrors from beyond space and time, but at this point, who the fuck is splitting hairs?

[She's not dressed for night time in the desert, not in a cute little flowered romper that leaves her arms and legs bare. Probably why she's attempting to leech his body heat. She's also absolutely not dressed for the mission they were all just on, so: what the fuck?]
fuckcable: (Default)

D

[personal profile] fuckcable 2020-09-21 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ric is having a similar pep talk, but he manages to keep it in his head. It goes something like this:

They’re just demons. Or gene constructs. Or aliens. Doesn’t matter, you’ve fought them before - Jesus Christ, the tail just stabbed 18 inches into the wall where you were standing a heartbeat ago. Why didn’t you pay more attention during that movie marathon?

He shoots it in the little head and risks just enough powers usage to hopefully scramble its brains permanently. A bit of debris shakes loose from the ceiling, just a palm-sized piece of debris, but it underscores that that he can’t go harder. He can’t risk squishing them - including the alien, because it’d release a squirt of acid if the roof came down on it.

He has definitely noticed that his impromptu partner in this fight is exceedingly competent - that’s why Ric’s fallen in lockstep with him. A certain amount of ruthless efficiency is reassuring.

Glancing at the exit, Ric groans and levels the flamethrower towards the door, where he can see slithering blackness on the other side.
]

Have you seen the exit? That doesn’t look defensible. That looks like their reinforcements.
walkingballpit: (21)

G

[personal profile] walkingballpit 2020-09-21 03:04 am (UTC)(link)
[ Robbie is bone tired and bloody, and he just wants to slump against the wall of the vehicle and let everybody’s friend Bob quietly hypnotize him into a puddle of soft mental goo. Just wipe away all that adrenaline and grotesque memories with a fan brush, Mr. Ross.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want to talk about art. Under normal circumstances, Robbie would be totally onboard, but he’s finding it hard to follow the pale dude when his brain keeps overlapping the guy with Eldritch horrors.

He tries, though, because he’s absolutely desperate for anything to distract himself until the intrusive thoughts fade. Robbie waves a hand at Data.
]

You’re over-analyzing the magic of Bob Ross. He’s the Sears of oil painting. He made it accessible and quick and friendly, and he did it without any of Kinkade’s painter of light sanctimony because he’s Bob Ross; therefore awesome, Q.E.D.

[ He has no idea who Fragonard is, but apparently he’s faded into obscurity anyway. ]

It doesn’t matter what technique he uses; he makes people feel good with that voice and that oh-here’s-a-baby-squirrel downhome charm. He makes them feel safe. That’s why they’re playing his show.
wheyoftheadept: (Default)

[personal profile] wheyoftheadept 2020-09-21 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
"The odds of gettin' it ain't high." Saturday pauses, sitting back on her haunches and peering up at him. "My money's on you gettin' zapped and the poor bastards gettin' turned into lab rats - 'less ya also remember to grab some eggs. Then they'll give you a commendation for acquiring extra research materials. They wanna see what happens when it gets "up close and personal," remember? I'm not sure we can even trust 'em to help one of us, if we get got - "

Which is when the creature skittering around their feet makes a jump for Saturday's warm, moist, living-thing respiration, aiming sure as an arrow - or tries, anyway, before she snatches it out of the air and stomps it. Its carapace cracks, and she dances away, shaking her foot to get the acid off before it eats through too badly.

"Motherfuck - you know, kinda fucking like that."
googledox: (089)

[personal profile] googledox 2020-09-21 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
They are called the Roboticans. They don't bother with emulating organic skin tissue. I was simply ruminating on the possibilities. Flash-cloning in my universe allows for the creation of organs without the sentient rights violation of obtaining organs from a fully grown clone. We are able to flash clone sheets of skin; it's usually our method for creating skin for grafts.

[He had once required extensive grafts himself.]

I am responsible for the creation of the Roboticans. I created an AI named Computo. Initially, I did not respect his capacity for sentience. I refused to accept that I had created a life, that I was his father. My species unfortunately was deeply robophobic and I had adopted those beliefs.

He grew destructive and created the Roboticans to wage war against organic life. Initially they were controlled by a slave chip. I realized the harm I had caused by not accepting him as a living thing, as my son. Using a mode of evolution created by a supervillain, I...helped him grow. Evolve to a new level of existence. He surpassed the need for a physical form and became a being of pure energy and information. I knew if I helped him, he would evolve emotionally, morally, philosophically, and I was right.

He stopped waging war against organics and freed the Roboticans. They started to self-govern and petitioned to join the United Planets. They are a constantly evolving, self-propagating species, just like the organic species of our galaxy.

Due to my role in creating sentient inorganic life, they once considered me a god but I was...uncomfortable with such a distinction. So now...they see me more as something like a parent.

[He nods happily.]

They are always very generous on my birthday. I keep a wide range of "dad" mugs in constant rotation.
Edited 2020-09-21 03:49 (UTC)
comebewe: (Unsettled 1)

[personal profile] comebewe 2020-09-21 10:51 am (UTC)(link)
He lets out a undignified yelp as she grabs him, and for a moment all he can think is oh god they're going to eat me. But then his feet is back on solid ground, and he realises that this is an ally, not an enemy.

"Thanks," he says, his head still spinning a little. They try to peer through the smoke and flames of the wreckage they just wrought, scanning of the queen. "Did we get her?"

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