Annexed Mod Team (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
modaccount) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
annexedmeme2022-11-06 09:45 pm
modaccount) wrote in annexedmeme2022-11-06 09:45 pm
Entry tags:
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."
no subject
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. ]
no subject
...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.]
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
...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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
While Boba's attention shifts outward, Tech's thoughts turn inward as he tries to tease out more of these memories of the Troop. There's more to it, but to a certain point, things remain frustratingly fuzzy. Defaulting to his usual methods of information sourcing only result in things they already know or that fall in line with the earlier briefing of the situation as he consults his computer. Well of course it will, information won't be very reliable so long as it's from within this strangeness. He sighs.
The trip isn't a very long one, and even before the transport comes to a rumbling halt, they'd hear the muffled sounds of commotion from outside. There's shouting and panic, sprinkled with the sharp intermittent retort of some kind of weapons' fire. Gears whine as the transport lurches to an easy halt, the chaos from outside swelling to full as the doors open.]
cw: violence, forced infection
Rushed chatter fills the small space as the transport rolls to a halt. With no clear chain of command, it's chaos. There's a call to take as many as they can alive and another to eliminate the threat and another to simply survive. Boba does his best to block it out. Who knows if the other recruits are even real or just another part of the test? His eyes lock on Tech—who isn't guaranteed to be real either, but at the very least is more likely to be competent—and shoves his own mask aside so the other clone can hear him over the din. ]
Primary objective is to stop the spread. Taking prisoners is secondary.
[ With that, he places the mask back over his face. Somewhere within him, there is fear. It isn't spice that has driven these people mad, nor any of the same other substances that had contaminated Lenovar, but it is still a kind of mental poison—something that could turn him or anyone around him into someone else, something else. It's the same fear that had kept him up in his cell, staring at the blank ceiling on those bad nights where the switch in his head that usually numbed such emotions simply wouldn't work. He reaches for that same switch now, pictures himself flicking it off with the unthinking confidence he would any other interface in Slave I or his armor—and mercifully, this time, it works.
Just in time, too. The doors swing open to a scene of utter disarray: two groups of Humans battle outside a settlement perimeter, one bearing firearms and armor, and the other bedraggled, screaming, falling upon the first group in a furious wave. The second group holds no weapons, but their hands are stained a pale, powdery yellow and some hold clumps of indistinct organic matter in their hands—spores or fungal flesh, which they shove towards mouths, noses, eyes, any vector they can reach.
The first group may be better armed, but they're also outnumbered: perhaps three or four remain to fight off more than twice as many infected. The bodies of their compatriots are scattered around the scene—not dead, but spasming in the throes of infection, mouths stained yellow or stuffed with fungal matter.
It's a scene out of a nightmare, hellish enough to make several of the recruits in the transport freeze up entirely. Boba isn't one of them. The infected hadn't anticipated the arrival of reinforcements and, for a brief window, they're trapped between the survivors and the transport—a fleeting opportunity to strike.
Boba leaps out of the transport and swings his stun-stick at the nearest infected still turning to face the new threat, slamming it hard enough into his head that it probably would've put him down even without the electric charge. The man crumples to the ground, convulsing, and Boba's head immediately whips around to find another target before their side loses the element of surprise.
Hopefully, he'll have back-up—because as the incident during the briefing had shown, even if he can pack a punch, he can't overcome sheer numbers alone. ]
no subject
Tech himself looks deceptively calm, but then to a degree he already has by default that emotional disconnect, side-effect to the mutations that enhanced his mental processes. He's thankful he has his own weapons on him, one of the many conundrums of this situation but not one he'll question as he configures his DC-17s to stun.
His eyes widen as the scene outside is finally revealed to them for all the horror it portrays. Hearing about the ongoing is still not quite the same as seeing it for yourself. To his credit the clone is right out there with Boba. While aware the teenager hasn't had the same sort of training as other clones there's no doubt that he's had something. Tech doesn't flinch at the vicious attack that sends the first victim down, his eyes already scanning their surroundings and tracking as they come into range of the hostiles.
Blue-ringed blasts fire, picking off those obviously bearing spore-ridden packets intent on spreading the infliction. He keeps Boba in his peripheral, never lingering too long, always keeping on the move. With Boba relegated to close-quarter combat, Tech covers him, working at thinning the number of those that might otherwise overwhelm them once they get too close.]
no subject
The remaining infected have by now realized that they're fighting on two fronts and roughly half the group turns on their new prey while the remainder continues their assault on the survivors. Galvanized by the charge of the two clones in front, some of the other recruits leap from the transport as well, adding to the fray. Boba focuses on following through with the momentum of his own attack, meeting the charge of an infected woman with a low swing that smashes into her midsection. She staggers backward, coughing violently, puffs of yellow spores erupting from her mouth with every wheeze.
Boba should keep up the offensive, but for the briefest moment, the sight of the contagious clouds make him falters, stepping back from the woman—only for another infected to slam into him from the side. They both go down and in an instant, Boba's vision is filled with the man's howling face, yellow fingers clawing at his mask while the other hand fends off defensive blows from Boba's stun-stick. Somewhere beneath the layers of practiced detachment, Boba feels a dulled stab of panic. Fear is energy, his father had always said and Boba uses it now. Heedless of his lack of a true helmet, he lets his head fall back against the soil beneath him—and then slams it upward, headbutting the infected man square in his face. He feels the crunch of bone—he always had been taught to aim for the bridge of the nose—and then a sudden release of pressure as the infected reels back, clutching his face. It's enough space for Boba to finally land a blow from his stun-stick and the man falls, one hand still clamped over his face as he convulses.
Boba picks himself off the ground, wiping the infected's blood from his eyes. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to remember whether blood was an infectious agent or just the fungus. It was just the fungus—wasn't it?
There's no time to think on it further. The tide is beginning to turn against the infected, but the battle is still raging and the enemy still dangerous. Boba blinks rapidly, vision still blurred, now on the defensive. He'll have to hope his cover—from the clone and the other recruits—will hold for the moment. ]
no subject
As Boba pushes through, Tech tries to pick off some of those that resume their task in spreading the spores, at least those still within his range before he's forced to pull his focus back to the more immediate attackers. He's forced to bring his guns up, breaking off from firing as movement draws his attention to the side, his evasion a narrow one as the spore-maddened attacker sweeps past him, leaving that disturbing trail of sickly yellow hanging in the air. A shot from his pistol drops the infected man cold, Tech backing away before the spores can settle. He throws a look towards where Boba was, catching him in the process of getting to his feet. Not good...
More shots herald his approach as he fires past the staggering clone. At a glance he can't be sure whose blood paints Boba's face, but it's clear enough the teenager's still disoriented. He comes up alongside him, lowering his shoulder to ram another attacker who practically hurls himself towards them, yellow-stained limbs flailing.]
-status?
no subject
[ If he feels a bit dazed, he tells himself, it's from slamming his skull into someone else's face without a helmet. That's all. So long as he's not screaming about mushrooms and hiveminds, he must be fine. As if to prove it, he swings his stun-stick at the infected that Tech had just shoved, cutting short the man's furious attempts to rise to his feet with a blow to the head.
Pinned between two better-armed groups, the infected's numbers are fast dwindling. Those combatants with firearms or blasters pick off the stragglers and Boba occupies himself neutralizing those struggling on the ground that haven't yet had the good sense to succumb to unconsciousness. A sharp, charged jab to the solar plexus or two proves plenty effective and Boba works quickly and efficiently, uncomplaining of the grim task.
Finally, the last of the infected falls. Yet, there is no room for celebration. The newly infected from the first group of survivors still litter the ground and, with the roar of weapons' fire and maddened screams now silenced, there comes another, more disturbing layer of sound: the moans of the injured, the coughing and gagging of those who've had spores or fungus shoved down their throats, the pleas for help from both the casualties and their comrades alike.
Boba stands there for a moment, stock-still. Already, he feels the cold focus of battle receding from his mind. He doesn't like what remains. He turns away from the scene, voice terse. ]
We need restraints, [ he mutters to Tech. ] Fibercord, rope—whatever we've got.
no subject
The aftermath isn't so unusual from the end of a standard battle, but then that's what makes it so disturbing. This isn't a battlefield, these aren't soldiers or droids but unfortunate civilians and whoever had been sent out with them, conscripted into this strange service just as they had.
Tech keeps his guns in hand for a moment longer as he surveys the scene with a seemingly stoic attitude, however it's clear he's not happy about things either if one manages to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the goggles. He nods at Boba, finally tucking his weapons away to produce what he has of fibercord from one of the many pouches hanging off his gear.
He glances towards some of the others from their transport.]
If we've got them we should begin immediate administration of the cure and medical attention by whomever can offer it.