annexedmeme | Test Drive Meme #3

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!test drive meme

Test Drive Meme #3

Test Drive Info

⇝ Test Drive Memes take place in a virtual reality simulation occurring in characters' minds that tests them for 'fitness' before they enter the setting officially. Because it is set in a simulation created by the Sylphid, the missions, while being comparable to regular missions in the game, will be from a Sylphid perspective.
⇝ Characters will not be chipped during the simulation, and will have access to their abilities from canon, but will be chipped upon waking for the rescue.
⇝ Current characters can easily be pulled into the simulation if they are sleeping and dreaming when it's happening. The Sylphid cast a wide net with the simulation to fill it out with characters to interact with for prospective new arrivals.
⇝ Test Drive Meme threads may be considered game canon so long as all parties agree to it.
⇝ Test Drive Meme threads do count for Activity Check.

i. Awakening

It happens in a dream. You fall asleep and the next moment you feel like you're awakening again, but without any exhaustion, as if you've had a full night's sleep. You find yourself in a comfortable bed in a room full of comfortable beds, all of which contain other people waking up just the way you are. The room is large but cozy, with wide windows that are framed by light curtains, and the sun is shining in from an angle that suggests morning.

Once you're up and moving around a little, ready to explore this new place, you'll discover an open door on one of the walls in the room, through which soft strains of music can be heard, and above which there's a sign saying "Free Breakfast." Once you make your way into the room, possibly with some of the other people just waking up in this strange place, you find a buffet table loaded with breakfast foods - some familiar, and some strange, mainly featuring mushrooms and root vegetables. Quiet, soothing music is playing and there are a variety of tables with chairs available to settle down and enjoy some food.

This is just a dream, right? What could be the harm in eating a bit of food, maybe trying out some cool alien cuisine, and getting to know the other people here?

ii. The Mission: The Fungus Among Us

Once everyone has eaten their fill and gotten to know their new compatriots a little better, there is an interruption in the music playing in the room. Three musical chimes sound, and a pleasant female voice speaks.

Attention, new recruits! We have a mission for you.

The intercom goes on to explain that there is a forest of mushrooms called The Troop that borders on the northwest walls of the city, which releases spores near constantly (though more prolific in fall) that have a hallucinogenic effect on sentient beings. These spores can cause people traveling in The Troop to become disoriented and confused, experience vivid auditory and visual hallucinations, and become permanently lost. Generally, the spores aren't a problem inside the city or in the surrounding area because no one has built close enough to the Troop to suffer serious effects. However, this particular fall, the spore count has been significantly higher than previous years, and spores are making their way into the neighborhoods bordering The Troop. Even worse, the spores are having a slightly different effect on top of the usual ones.

The spores, once inhaled, are growing into microscopic fungi that populate in the brains of citizens and take over the brains of the infected. Once taken over, the citizens who are infected are servants of The Troop, and will do whatever they can to infect others by whatever means possible, whether it's by capturing spores and releasing them in people's faces or by gagging up fungi that will infect others. Beyond that, there is a kind of mania about the people who have been infected - they are wide-eyed and high-energy, they will accost random people with spores or fungi, they will chase people down on the street to infect them.

Beyond that, there's another effect. Those inflicted with fungal infection become distinctly lacking in any kind of verbal filter. They will say exactly what they're thinking, they will blurt out secrets, expose themselves emotionally, and share their innermost thoughts and dreams. After all, it's not like the individual mushrooms in The Troop keep secrets, they're all part of a larger whole, and that's how infected individuals will behave. It's as if they're sharing a consciousness, taken over by the hive mind of The Troop, and see others as simply extensions of themselves.

Will your character get infected, try to help the infected somehow, or just plain stay out of the way of all this madness?

iii. The Mission: Full Fungal Smackdown

As the infection gradually progresses, those who are infected start to become more violent, which is a big problem. The infection is slowly spreading throughout the low-income neighborhood that it initiated in and moving toward the city proper, with increasingly aggressive infected doing their best to infect others. Their methods are starting to become more aggressive as well, where before they would simply spray others with spores or present them with mushrooms, they are now altering common devices like leaf blowers to spread the spores over a broader area and violently attacking people to shove mushrooms into people's mouths, curling fingers inside their mouths to force the fungi into their victims' sinuses and infect them.

It isn't just infection techniques that are getting more aggressive. Their behavior in general is aggressive - the infected are starting fights, are attacking people, often shouting in a strange, unintelligible language. The tone of the attack is that of people defending their own territory, fighting off intruders or predators, even if the person they're attacking made no moves to strike first. Attackers may fight hand-to-hand or even employ weapons that they are familiar with to attack others, whether it's guns, knives, laser swords, or anything else they might use in their regular uninfected life. Even those who were non-combatants will use kitchen knives or other makeshift weapons to attack the uninfected.

They never attack the infected, somehow they seem to know immediately who is and who isn't part of the hivemind.

As the attacks start to really escalate and there is panic in the streets, characters will be informed that a cure for the infection has been found, and everyone who isn't infected should stop by one of the Sylphid trucks carrying syringes of the cure and load up. Anyone who's able to fight, or even who is just capable of carrying and using a syringe, is asked to take a bandeau of them and to inoculate anyone infected. Unfortunately, though, the only real way to tell if someone is infected is by that wide-eyed look, and the attack that comes out of nowhere.

iv. Welcome to the Broken World.

The simulation is over, and you don't even know how you got here from there.

All you know is that one moment you were participating in a mission to save the Sylphid children, to uphold peace talks, and then you were asleep again, after the mission was over.

You wake up in what seems like the blink of an eye, nauseous and dizzy but otherwise unscathed, possessions taken away, barefoot and dressed only in a set of plain grey clothing, like the most bland uniform ever imagined, in an empty room with empty walls and one single door with a small barred window and a single number printed just above it. The door is locked and cannot be broken by any means, you can feel your connection with any superhuman powers you had severed, leaving them just out of reach - you can feel them there, tingling at your fingertips or in the back of your brain, but you just can't get to them. There is no one to greet you or explain what's happening. You start to lose track of time, the only sound the distant ticking of what sounds like a massive clock.

Just when things seem hopeless, when you feel like you're about to go mad, there's the sound of a commotion outside your door. The sounds of a battle, or perhaps an infiltration gone just slightly wrong. Either way, when the door opens, there is a figure there with a hand outstretched.

"Welcome to the Broken World. Come on, we'll explain everything just as soon as we get you and the others out of here."

NAVIGATION

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Pain is a strange proposition in dreams. On those rare occasions that Boba can actually remember what he's dreamt about, he rarely recalls any precise sensations, even in dreams—and he's had more than a few—involving violence. Sometimes he might feel something almost like a replay of a past injury, yet even that remembered pain tends to be muted, fuzzed around the edges.

So when the half-clone finally hits back with a blow to Boba's stomach, the shock of just how bruising the impact feels causes Boba to stumble back a pace. For a moment, the expression of indifference on his face is replaced by one of genuine pain and surprise. That felt real.

And yet... ]

This is a dream, [ He's implacable as ever in that assertion, but there's a wariness that wasn't there before. This is a very vivid dream. ] I fell asleep in an Imperial prison cell. There's no way I woke up— [ He raises a hand, indicating their surroundings. ] —here.

[ In a soft bed, in a place full of soft music and free food with a mission laid out for him. But then, why does Boba need to tell the half-clone that? He isn't real, either. ]

I have no interest in playing along.

[ Saying this, Boba rounds on the man again, pushing forward while a kick flashes out to try and destabilize his legs. The other clone is taller than Boba and armored on top of it, but even after Boba's time in prison, he still has some bulk on the man. If he can leverage it correctly, he should be able to cut him down to size. ]

[There's no denying that there's some satisfaction to striking the man back, but Tech knows continuing the fight is pointless. The symptoms described over the briefing for those infected with the Troop's spores don't fit here. Indeed the clone seems very much in control of himself if he's capable of conversing. He doesn't have the wild-eyed look either.

Something is strangely wrong here.]

Imperial...

[A dream? Tech looks hard at the young man, trying to recall what he'd been doing just before...here. There aren't any Imperials- but yet the term is familiar to him despite knowing they don't exist here. He puts a hand to his head, trying to think, distracted enough when Boba comes in to press another attack.

He does indeed go down, for a split-second questioning how this could possibly be a dream as he's certainly been feeling these blows. His thoughts are scattered, dangerous, he knows, when he's in the middle of a fist-fight, but rather than angry or upset he looks more confused, his attention going back to Boba like he's a key to this, somehow.

It's here that others within the room move into action, stepping in to try restraining Boba, some jumping to the conclusion that he's already been spore-infected.

[ Left to his own devices, it's hard to say how far Boba would have gone in his attack. He's never been in the habit of harming others without reason, much less killing them. But then, none of this is real to him and he's been bottled up for far too long—kept in a cell or chained up and shuttled from interrogator to interrogator to pleader, none of whom actually listen to a word he says. Yes, I killed him. No, no one paid me to do it. No, not the Hutts or Black Sun or the Perlemian Cartel. It was my decision. No one else's.

Fortunately, the others in the room have already decided that enough is enough. There are shouts as the crowd begins to try to grab and restrain the assailant in their midst—and then louder shouts as said attacker fights back. But Boba is unarmed and outnumbered and, after a protracted struggle, is eventually overpowered. Someone turns up something like fibercord and Boba soon finds himself on the floor, wrists bound behind his back.

The crowd pulls away from him the second the restraints are in place. No one is willing to risk extended contact with someone who might be spore-infected. Already, there is muttering about what's to be done with him, where he's to be kept—and who should be responsible for keeping watch. Predictably, there are no volunteers.

Boba, meanwhile, says nothing. He's more battered than he'd been before yet the expression on his face is hardly daunted. Perhaps he'd be more impressed if the knots around his wrists hadn't been tied so gingerly or if someone had actually thought to bind his ankles as well. Yet, behind the defiance, there's a seed of doubt taking root in the back of his mind. Why hadn't he been able to derail the dream? Why does it still feel so real?

That any of these events might actually be transpiring is still beyond belief to him. But he can't deny that there's something different about this dream—and the fact that he doesn't know why is beginning to grate at him. ]

[All the while Tech is watching, neglecting to even pick himself up until a couple of people hesitantly ask if he's fine and help him to his feet. Then once again he finds himself left within Boba's orbit, still studying him like he's some puzzle rather than the clone who'd attacked him unprovoked. He finally seems to start tuning into the rest of the room as he catches the snippets of concerned talk.]

I'll do it.

[His offer is given no challenge, the others all too happy to let him handle things, and all at once the crowds begin to thin as people presumably go to get ready for the mission.

Tech watches, brow furrowing as no authorities of any sort seem to have been bothered to handle the situation. He looks back at Boba, highly doubting such binding would keep him there long, much less does he have any idea of where he's supposed to even take him. He steps closer towards him, speaking lowly.]

Come on. I'm still not sure what's going on, but you're right- we shouldn't be here.

[ Boba stares impassively back at the half-clone, studying the man's face behind his blank gaze. It really is strange to see—almost like an optical illusion. One moment, Boba swears he sees a familial resemblance. The next, the man is a stranger once again. Boba turns his head minutely to one side, trying to make sense of it.

Perhaps it's that vague familiarity that causes the man to volunteer to keep watch over him. Boba has to admit, albeit somewhat grudgingly, that he isn't surprised. It still feels wrong, assigning something like motive to a character in a dream, but given just how real this one seems, at this point it's unavoidable.

His eyes narrow at the man's words. ]

I didn't say that. [ He'd only said this was a dream. Still, he can't deny that there's something wrong here—and, if the half-clone can acknowledge that wrongness, then he may be worth sticking with for the time being. Not that Boba has much choice in the matter.

He stands up without any trouble, looking for all the world like he's merely choosing to stand with his hands clasped behind his back rather than having them tied there. A few remaining recruits bustle about them, preparing for their mission. Even now, they give Boba a wide berth. ]

I thought attacking someone would change the dream, [ Boba says, not looking at the man. ] It seems I was wrong.

[Tech leads them out of the main room, but it's more apparent that he's watching the others that rush around them with more wariness than he should likely be watching the other clone. For the most part they don't even seem to be registered aside from obstacles to avoid. Still, Tech steps into a dead-end corridor just off the main hall. He continues looking around, the frown in his brow unfaded.]

This is more powerful than a mere dream... You said you were being held in Imperial territory. This... I couldn't say how I got here. [He shakes his head, taking in a deep breath as he closes his eyes, trying to remember something.] ...I was separated from the rest of my squad. But it's been some time now.

[He opens his eyes again, still frowning.] Where was I...? This is troubling.

There's something vaguely familiar about this. I know I've heard of the Troop before as well, but something isn't matching up there.

[ Boba follows the half-clone, playing the role of acquiescent captive for those recruits still around to see it. Fortunately, the others are already swept up in preparations for their missions and pay little mind to the two men finding a place to converse in a small, dead-end hallway.

Boba listens as the half-clone speaks, an eyebrow raising as he comes to understand the implication of his words. ]

You're saying this is some kind of shared illusion. Like a simulation. [ Boba's initial reaction is skepticism, but... this does seem to be more than a dream. More than that, the half-clone seems like more than just a figment of Boba's imagination. He talks in practical terms, not in disconnected dream logic and speaks of a life outside of this place—and, most convincingly of all, seems just as confused as Boba is about how he came to be here.

A thought occurs to Boba, then, one that he has to fight not to react visibly to. ]

This "Troop"... They said it produces hallucinogens.

[ Is this what a hallucination feels like? Boba remembers a mission that had brought him to the planet Xagobah when he was younger, how the very air, thick with fungal spores, had made him see things that weren't there—how enemy combatants had seemed to grow and shrink, exploding into monstrous forms or scattering into insects. But there, the hallucinations had been nonsensical and shifting. This place feels different. Boba taps one of his feet against the smooth stone floor, searching for the reassurance of some solid sensation. Of course, it feels as real as anything.

Though, perhaps they've simply been dosed with something more potent.

He looks up at the man again, frowning. ]

You're a clone of Jango Fett. Aren't you?

[ Either that, or Boba has some long-lost biological family member he doesn't know about. ]

[Tech's brow furrows deeply behind his goggles as Boba frames the situation quite neatly.]

...possibly. I can think of no other suitable explanation otherwise, nor do I like the thought that we're being toyed with here.

But yes, the Troop. I know the name. They are indeed an overgrown species of fungus- a forest, as the briefing described. I can't discount the concern of hallucinogens, but...

I think I've been to the forest before. Yes, it was a different mission...

[Trying to remember things is like grasping at unraveling threads. He sighs, feeling it slip from him again, but the other clone's question draws his focus quite easily. It doesn't take nearly as much effort to recall things in this respect.]

That's correct. As are you, if I'm not mistaken. I'm part of an experimental squad known as Clone Force Ninety-Nine.

[ If the man has been exposed to these fungal hallucinogens on a mission, then that's potentially one-half of the mystery solved. But how could Boba have been exposed while imprisoned? The most obvious answer is that he was dosed by a third party but who and why? Who benefits from exposing two clones to hallucinogenic spores? ]

I'm... not a standard issue clonetrooper myself, [ Boba admits, the slightest grimace flashing across his features as he says it. No, he's not anything like standard issue. ] This could be someone's idea of an experiment—seeing how the two of us react to... whatever this is.

[ Hallucination, simulation... it may well be impossible to pinpoint what exactly is going on while still trapped inside of it. No matter—whatever is happening, Boba wants no part in it. ]

How do we get out?

[Well that's an interesting admission. Most clones prided themselves in being the model standard, after all.]

You look much more along the lines of "standard issue" than my brothers and I, at least. [Now he has to wonder...] ...who are you?

[Tech shakes his head then.]

I'm not sure what they would hope to accomplish with such an experiment. If they wanted to get some kind of response from us, I'm not quite sure why they would specify such details.

[How to get out, now that was a good question.]

...I am uncertain as to how that will work. If this is some sort of simulation then I assume we will have to either trigger key responses to progress to a point where we will be released...or find a way to force it.

[ There is a moment where Boba doesn't know which name to give: Boba or Jaster. During his time on Concord Dawn, he'd become accustomed to using the second—but if he gives that name now, no doubt the man will assume him to be just another rank-and-file clonetrooper. Boba can't abide that, so, after a brief pause, he answers with the truth. ]

My name is Boba Fett.

[ He wonders if the clone will recognize the name. Once upon a time, when he'd been a fugitive from the Republic, he's sure it would've gotten some sort of reaction. Now, it's hard to say. The Republic is gone. And who knows if "experimental" clones are even taught about their progenitors?

Boba supposes it's irrelevant. If this "Clone Force 99" was trained in the same way as most clones, this one might at least know something about combat sims. ]

The mission to contain the spore infection—that could be the key objective we need to complete to end this.

[ Which Boba has just made a lot more difficult by convincing half the people here that he's infected. Oops. ]

[Tech's eyes widen in clear recognition at the name. He couldn't say for sure how much regs knew or cared about their originator although he's certain they'd at least recognize the surname. Being who he is, Tech's done his research as he could.]

...you're Alpha.

[Coming across Jango Fett's son had never been a possibility in his mind. Formal reports stated that Boba had vanished right at the start of the Clone Wars. It's strange to process that this is who he's speaking to now.]

Sorry, somehow this is even more surreal than this fungus business. [He shakes his head.] I'm Tech. [May as well get that out of the way at least.

The proposition seems to have merit. It does seem the most obvious thing they're meant to do, although the complications caused by Boba's earlier actions don't go without acknowledgment.]

It seems the most likely place to see what's going on. Strangely I haven't seen anyone who appears to be in charge around here. We may be more or less on our own now that we've all received our marching orders...

[Not that that guarantees others will overlook them if they see Boba out there.]

Here.

[He moves to untie the cord binding the man's wrists, not that it's difficult to do. He'll hand off his helmet to him then.]

[ Alpha? Misgiving flashes over Boba's face at that. Is that what they're calling him now? ]

My name is Boba, [ he repeats, more forcefully this time. It does make a sort of sense; he was the first clone to be created—Alpha. Still, it disconcerts him. Forced into some incomprehensible training sim and now referred to by a name that identifies him first and foremost as a clone, it feels all too much like he's being reduced to an experiment. And why not? Tech had said that he's part of an experimental group himself. If that's the case, what better control to use than the only clone who had ever been created unaltered?

Boba shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. ]

Just as well. Perhaps they want to see how we perform without oversight.

[ A wariness enters his eyes when Tech makes to approach, but once he understands the clone's intentions, he turns slightly to let him undo the bindings around his wrists. They hadn't been that tight, but he rolls his shoulders once freed anyway out of habit.

He pauses when Tech hands his helmet to him. The only helmet he's ever worn has been his father's. Even so, he recognizes the necessity of concealing his identity given what's suspected of him... ]

I'm still wearing the same clothes, [ he points out, leaving Tech's helmet untouched. There's also the fact that his clothes happen to be quite identifiable as a prison uniform. Putting a helmet on top won't make that any less obvious. He scans their surroundings, trying to judge how large this complex might be. ] If we're lucky, there might be an armory somewhere around here...

Sorry, of course. [He doesn't question the insistence- even if Alpha is essentially a name, it's still the moniker given by the Kaminoans, an identifier.

The details aren't lost on Tech. A helmet alone would draw more attention for the mismatch. He nods.]

There should be. It would be foolish for them to expect us to go out against any threats unarmed.

[He pauses, gesturing after a couple of people hurrying along down the hall opposite others who look considerably more prepared. Stepping out just enough, Tech watches where they're going.]

If everyone's been given the notice to prepare, then maybe they'll show us where we need to be looking.

[ Boba follows Tech's gesture with his eyes, noting as well the stream of newly-equipped recruits. It's a promising sign—though inwardly, Boba wonders how much good armor could even do against airborne spores. His hadn't helped much against the hallucinogens on Xagobah.

Still, he needs a disguise—and though armor might not defend against the Troop, it might at least offer protection from those maddened by it. ]

I doubt they'll take kindly to the sight of me arming myself. [ He picks up the discarded fibercord from the floor and loops it back into place behind his back, pinching the loose end between his wrists to create the illusion that he's bound again. ] The room we woke up in should be empty now. Leave me there, then bring armor.

[ And then they'll pursue this "mission" of theirs, the apprehension of which had driven Boba to attack Tech in the first place. The irony isn't lost on him. He feels the same sense of foreboding gnawing at the back of his mind now, yet if it's the best shot they have at ending the simulation, then what choice does he have?

One thing he knows: if this is a simulation that he's been placed in against his will, then there's someone on the outside responsible. Getting out is just the first step. The next is making that someone pay. ]

[Truthfully Tech is aware of that as well. He's unsure just how far things will go in this supposed simulation and not very willing to find out how badly being actually infected by the Troop could be. Pain had felt real enough.]

...understood. [Boba's suggestion makes sense enough, so he nods, checking the hall again before gesturing for them to move. Tech falls in step beside Boba, tucking his helmet under an arm again as they start down the corridor.

Thankfully the attention they draw is minimal, people ready to tackle the actual mission, perhaps even further convinced of the situation's severity for Boba's earlier scene. The room and its rows of beds is indeed empty when they reach it.]

All right. Wait here, and I'll see what I can find.

[ Boba follows Tech through the compound, careful to avoid the gazes of the other recruits passing by. In truth, it feels good to have a plan again, to have a goal, even if it's as strange as "escape the simulation." He may not look forward to the mission itself—the threat of mind-altering substances brings to mind unwanted memories of Lenovar's final, pitiful moments—but to have objectives to focus on besides wait and endure and say nothing comes as a relief—

Though, he'll still have to wait a little longer, it seems. They enter the room they had awoken in and Boba nods once at Tech's instructions. If there's one thing the past months have taught him, it's patience. So he finds a spot at the foot of one of the beds, sits down, and, as he's done for weeks now, waits. ]

[Tech doesn't linger long once he's dropped Boba off. He slips back out and heads down the hall where he'd seen others start to go. By now there aren't many at all lingering around, just as well, he figures as it takes him a few tries with the doorways he finds until he locates the armory.

It's not exactly the sort of armory he expects, but by way of gear it still more than suffices. Tech looks things over before picking out necessities first, then additional armaments, mindful that Boba while likely older than him is still on the smaller side.]

Ah, this should work.

[He also finds some headgear, that while not fully encompassing as a helmet, there are also masks with filters that would do for disguising as well as cut down on spore exposure. Hopefully. But then the last time he'd been in the Troop he hadn't had his helmet available to him...

Pausing again, Tech shakes his head. He's been there before, he's certain of it. So what's the connection? Frowning, he settles his helmet over his head so he can gather up the gear he's picked out in both his arms, making his way back out and to the room where Boba awaits.]

Here, this is the best I could do.

[ To Tech's credit, it isn't a long wait. Boba looks up as the clone appears in the doorway, eyes immediately going to the small pile of clothing and armor in his hands. None of it is in a familiar style—neither Mandalorian nor Imperial—but that's hardly surprising. If this is a simulation, there's no reason their captors should tip their hands. Boba walks over, taking the bundle and looking it over. He makes a small noise of approval. ]

It'll do, [ he says with a nod. ] Keep watch. I won't be long.

[ With that, he closes the door again. It's a quick change; mostly, Boba is simply grateful to be out of a prison uniform for the first time in months—even if it is simulated and even if the armor isn't his. It's still something solid, a much-needed barrier between him and the rest of the world.

The mask is the last piece he puts on and the one Boba finds the most lacking. He'd much prefer complete coverage and, for a moment, he regrets not taking Tech's helmet when it was offered—but there's no use in dwelling on it. Beggars can't be choosers. He takes a deep breath and listens to the hiss of the built-in air filters. It is, at least, specialized to the task at hand.

It's not long before he emerges from the room. Even without a full helmet, the armor seems to render him a new person, larger and more imposing. Perhaps there's a slight difference in the way he carries himself, too, an ease that wasn't there before. ]

Right, [ he says as he takes his place beside Tech. He looks around, noting with satisfaction how the other recruits passing by don't pay him a second glance. ] You said you'd been on a mission to the Troop before. What was your objective there?

[ If Boba is lucky, "containing the spore threat" will mean simply neutralizing anyone infected by them—work that's simple, straightforward, and familiar. Actually finding a way to cure them... that might be a little more out of his wheelhouse. ]

[Amazing what a new change of clothes can do for a person. Tech isn't too surprised. Prison uniforms were just as much a punishment for how demeaning they were to the wearer.

Once Boba reemerges, Tech gives him a quick appraisal, nodding. He gestures with his head in the direction others are heading before starting after them.]

...it was...retrieval. We were tasked with getting samples, specimens from the Troop. Yes, I was with someone else. We were warned that to expect some retaliation and that the spores had hallucinogenic effects, but the masks we were equipped with were not very protective.

[ Boba follows alongside him, listening intently. It's not exactly encouraging to hear that their masks hadn't worked—he'd prefer if the one he was wearing now had some function aside from disguise. ]

Was anyone infected? [ he asks, eyes darting to track other recruits as they pass. Some carry what looks like medical or research equipment. Others, weapons. It seems they really are being left to their own devices. But which route ends the simulation? The lack of a clear objective grates at the back of Boba's mind. Bad enough to be unwillingly assessed by an unseen observer. Worse still not to know how he's being evaluated—or the consequences for failure. ]

There was no infection. Nothing like what's been described as happening here. [He holds tightly as he can to this train of thought, this memory, not trusting that it might slip from him again.]

To some degree, the Troop is sentient, yes, but...they didn't outright attack us in the manner this current mission is claiming them to do. This is...wrong. Something about this whole matter is still off but I'm having trouble trying to pinpoint it.

[Regardless, he knows he can't just ignore the warnings impressed upon them with the mission briefing. They're still essentially heading blind into things, simulation or not, and they had definitely not been trained to be careless.

At least there's no guesswork in where they're to go. The hall ahead of them leads out to transports loading up while others set off in groups on foot. Sounds like things have already gotten a lot worse than initially anticipated.]

If this is a simulation, then whoever programmed it wouldn't need to make it conform to reality. [ The question then becomes why. If the Troop isn't a threat in the real world, why simulate a hostile version? Is someone planning a pre-emptive strike?

Even if they were, it wouldn't fully explain Boba's presence here. Unlike the other clone, he isn't a soldier to be dispatched at will—and, given his recent conviction for killing his superior officer, he isn't sure who would want him to be.

His musings quiet themselves as the hall before them opens up to waiting transports. It seems as if they're already being deployed. Unease stirs at the back of Boba's mind, hidden behind his mask and unbroken stride. ]

If one of us were to be infected here, [ he says, voice kept carefully neutral, ] would they be able to simulate its mental effects?

[ He's not sure how they would, but again, he's not the one who's experienced simulated training before. ]

[That's an excellent question. Tech's not sure he likes the implications himself. Was this some kind of warning? Or a response...?

What awaits them? This simulation is already far too real for his liking. Boba's question is one he's been wondering himself, and not with any good answers.]

I...am uncertain. Pain has obviously been emulated successfully, but I can't say how anything else in this is manipulated without knowing exactly how we've come to be in this situation.

[ It's not exactly a satisfactory answer, but with how much information they're both lacking, that's hardly surprising. Anger, never very far beneath the surface, stirs in Boba's chest. He had been at the mercy of others in prison, but that had been a predictable sort of powerlessness. He knew why he was there. He knew, in a general sense, how others would behave and how he would be treated. But here? The lack of context robs him of even that small bit of control.

The door of a ground transport vehicle rolls open before them and they, along with several other recruits, are loaded onboard. Boba says nothing more at this point. Even if the tight space offered any privacy for conversation, he has nothing more to say. There are no answers to be had—just a task that must be completed whether he likes it or not.

He settles into one of the hardbacked seats lining the transport interior, staring straight ahead as he runs through the outcomes that might await them. Really, there are only two that matter: either they are released from the simulation or they are not. The door closes as the last recruit enters the transport and a low rumble rolls through the machine as it begins to move.

It's probably futile. But after a few moments, Boba closes his eyes and focuses on the sensations around him. He tries to feel something aside from the movement of the transport and the hard seat beneath him: wires, restraints, machinery, some clue of what's been done to him. Knowing might not change anything—but it'd at least be a start. ]

Test Drive Meme #3

feel free to use the crowd to tech's advantage here, since i assume they're on his side :,D

X)

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cw: violence, forced infection

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