Test Drive Meme #3

[modaccount]

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

Comments

Questions.

[modaccount]

Boba Fett | Star Wars Legends | playing him from a weird af canonpoint, forgive me

[concord_dawned]

i. awakening

[ A young man in a gray prison uniform stands off to the side in the common room, arms crossed as he watches others fill their plates.

Boba has to admit, he's disappointed in himself for dreaming up something so... escapist in nature. The sunny dining room, the soft music, the plates full of food: all of it seems to him a sign of internal weakness, some pathetic part of him that can't handle the reality of his true circumstances. It would be embarrassing if there were actually anyone other than himself to witness it.

Needless to say, he's not going to risk losing himself to this delusion by eating the food or striking up a conversation with his non-existent compatriots. If someone does approach him, whether they speak to him or not, they'll be met with the same response:

A dubious stare as Boba wonders where exactly that corner of his subconscious mind his dream had dredged you up from. ]

ii. the mission

[ Unfortunately, the nature of the "mission" given to them does nothing to dissuade Boba that this experience is anything other than an invention of his own mind. A plague of mind-altering hallucinogens, unprovoked acts of violence from former citizens, the corrupting nature of it all—little bits and pieces of unwelcome memories, cut up and rearranged into a new shape.

As the briefing continues, a disgust so palpable it feels like nausea swells in Boba chest and it takes effort to try and force himself back into apathy. This isn't real, he reminds himself. Feeling angry about it would be just as foolish as feeling relief. Still, one sentiment remains: if this dream is going to use those memories as raw material, then he has no interest in passively following along.

Calmly and deliberately, he turns to the person next to him. Are they bigger than him? Smaller? It doesn't matter—as far as he's concerned, they aren't real. Which means that he feels no remorse throwing an unprovoked punch at their face.

Sorry, was this dream supposed to be about deranged spice attacks? Because it's about fistfights now. ]

iii. welcome to the broken world

[ When the dream finally ends, Boba is, at first, unsurprised to find himself in a cell. After all, a prison cell is where he had first fallen asleep, before the dream had started. Of course he'd wake up in the same one.

Then comes the gradual realization that this isn't the same prison cell. More than that, he realizes, this isn't even the same prison uniform he'd been wearing before. Had he been transferred? Boba frowns. The timing would make some amount of sense. The last thing he remembers before this "transfer" is speaking to a Pleader and summarily being pled unrepentant. He'd been threatened with exile or execution. But which one is he here for? And why can't he remember being transferred?

Strangely, it's the second thought that gnaws at him more as the hours tick by. From the moment he'd made the decision to kill his superior officer, he'd known that there would be a price to pay for it, whether it was imprisonment, exile, or death. But he's disturbed by the gap in his memories—at the thought of what might have put it there.

The sound of a commotion outside of his cell jars him from his thoughts. It sounds like... someone breaking in? He stands, backing away and readying himself for a fight on instinct; he can think of a lot more people who want him dead than want him rescued. But when the door finally swings open, the figure in the threshold offers forward an empty hand—and a promise of freedom. Boba's eyes flicker warily between the hand and the face of the one offering it. They'd said something about a broken world? ]

You're going to have to be more specific.

ii.

[tech_nically]

[There's something that nags at the back of his mind as Tech listens to the briefing. That vague sense of deja vu, something about the Troop. It's like he's trying to recall something from a dream, hazy, but then there've been other things that he hasn't quite been able to work out the more he starts to think about it. Normally he'll pay close attention to information for an upcoming mission, but there's just something wrong here, and it's downright distracting.

He stands in his armor, his helmet tucked under an arm. But when did he..? Then again, why shouldn't he be ready to go if there's a mission? He frowns to himself, looking around for what feels like the first time since he'd been in the room, really looking around. Something's not adding up.

Movement from beside him draws his attention rather quickly, although not nearly quick enough to completely avoid the punch thrown towards his face. He feels knuckles graze his jaw, the attack surprising him enough that he stumbles back with the blow, his helmet clattering onto the floor. Reflexes kick in, his fists up and prepared for a follow-up even as he seeks opportunity to retaliate while his mind sorts out the details.

His first thought is that the apparent fungus infection is spreading more quickly than they'd thought, his attacker gaining his full attention as he carefully works his sore jaw. Except...there's something familiar about the guy who punched him.]

-wait...

[concord_dawned]

[ The response of the dream to Boba's sudden attempt at derailment is disappointingly realistic. There's no immediate shift in the illusion, no hair-trigger disintegration into mass violence. The man staggers backward, dropping a helmet that clatters loudly to the floor, and there are gasps and shouts as others draw back from the scuffle. Boba scans the shocked faces around him, irritated at their apparent rationality, before his gaze settles once again on the man he'd struck—

—which is, he realizes belatedly, the first familiar one he's seen since this dream started.

...Well. Almost. It really must say something about his antipathy towards his cloned brethren that his dream would only include one that had been adulterated in some way. The man's face is just slightly off from template standard and his hair and skin are both paler than they should be. Even the man's armor is a bastardization of the standard clonetrooper design.

Boba doesn't particularly want to have a dream about clones either—or strange clone hybrids, for that matter—but it's still preferable to the nonsense about contagious spice-madness that had come before. Boba chooses to focus on it. ]

What are you supposed to be?

[ He steps forward, heedless of the fact that the man is fully armored while he himself has nothing but a faded prison uniform. This isn't real—and if the man does fight back, it will provide a greater distraction from the dream's original course. ]

[tech_nically]

[Tech rubs at his chin, his brow furrowing at the abrupt line of questioning. It's almost in line with what he could expect from a standard clone, even if this one looks a lot younger than most of the ones he and his brothers would get into a scuffle with in the mess.]

Shouldn't you be asking that before you start a fight?

[His voice is pitched slightly higher than the average clone, and even his accent is just a touch off, not as heavy. He doesn't quite sound upset, just annoyed. He straightens up, clearly on his guard as he's uncertain what this other man will do.]

Is this really the time for this?

[concord_dawned]

Perhaps. [ Boba's head tilts to the side, bemused at being questioned so sensibly by a character in a dream. ] But this isn't real.

[ Just the figment of a slumbering mind kept too long behind blank concrete walls and durasteel bars. Soon enough, he'll wake back in that place with its interrogations and frustrated pleaders and it will be a miracle if he remembers this dream at all.

He responds to the second question by taking another swing at the man, this one more reckless, leaving himself open. He's practically baiting the not-clone to retaliate, to give his mind something to focus on besides the past. Violence is all-consuming—that's what makes it cleansing.

There's alarmed chatter in the crowd around them. Some, like Tech, are concerned about spore infection. Others are talking about finding restraints. Boba ignores them for now—he'll give them his attention if and when they join the fray. ]

[tech_nically]

What do you mean, "not real?"

[Something strikes a chord there, resonating with the earlier feeling he's had. Boba however gives him no time to chase it.

Admittedly hand-to-hand is not Tech's particular area of expertise, but he is no stranger to a brawl. This time he's ready for the other clone's attack, sidestepping before swinging his own fist low.]

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

[concord_dawned]

[ 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. ]

X)

[tech_nically]

[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.

iii

[scarabwings]

[Layla's first thought when the door opens and she sees what's on the other side is, Shit, he's just a kid. Not the first - the Sylphid don't seem to differentiate between youths and adults when selecting their captives, assuming it's actually selection and not some big multiversal gacha machine - but it's a blow every time.

The second is that he looks rougher than some of the prisoners they've pulled out of facilities like this, like he's been here a while, or started out somewhere bad before landing here in worse.

The third is, grudgingly, Smart kid. The wariness is inconvenient to a rescue effort. It isn't, she has to admit, exactly unwarranted.]

Which part?

[concord_dawned]

[ Given the circumstances, Boba thinks a fair answer would be "all of them," but in the interest of time, he'll start small. ]

What planet are we on?

[ It's not the most pressing question on Boba's mind but it is the one that should be the quickest to answer. As for the woman's allegiances and her purpose in helping him escape, Boba will have to make do with what information he already has. She'd mentioned breaking out others. That means whatever intentions her faction has aren't for him alone. Boba supposes that's more promising than the alternative—again, he can't think of many people who would target him for rescue.

Yet, even knowing that, he hesitates to step out of his cell. The thought that he'd evade punishment for what he'd done—exile, execution, or otherwise—had never really occurred to him. He'd accepted the price he'd pay for his crime. It had been worth it to him. Now, with the door thrown open and a stranger offering him a way out, Boba finds his unsparing sense of justice warring with his will to survive. Martyrdom or cowardice—neither sounds particularly appealing to him. ]

I might deserve to be here for all you know.

[ It slips out almost like an aside. "Deserve" is a treacherous word to use, but the point still stands; whatever his own justification of his crime may be, it doesn't change the fact that he has, quite officially, been declared an unrepentant murderer. More than that: he wouldn't have it any other way. ]

[concord_dawned]

[ 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. ]

[scarabwings]

The locals actually call it the Broken World. Apparently, it used to be two planets, Heba and Tian, before a cataclysm a few million years ago.

[She doesn't expect him to recognize the names. The question's reasonable enough - and the way he asks it suggests that interplanetary travel is more than just science fiction, wherever it is he came from - but so far, anyone they've pulled out of the Sylphid facilities who hasn't been from the Broken World has been from somewhere much further removed.

One corner of her mouth quirks upward in a small, wry smile.]

And yeah, I do know you don't deserve to be here. This isn't a prison, it's a holding pen for people meant to be used as hosts for telepathic parasites. Now, let's get moving, yeah? Before anyone thinks to stop shooting and start closing off our exit route.

[tech_nically]

[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.

ayo he has a face now

[concord_dawned]

[ The planet names are indeed unfamiliar to Boba, but that's no great cause for alarm. Boba's assumption is that he's been shipped out somewhere into the far reaches of the Outer Rim, to somewhere so remote to as not be worth knowing. While not exactly welcome news, it doesn't strike him as implausible or even that shocking.

The bit about telepathic parasites? That comes as a surprise. Boba stares hard at the woman, trying to figure out if she's joking or simply mad. But the face that looks back at him appears neither amused nor insane and while that doesn't necessarily rule either out, he has a limited amount of time to make a call—

Something must explain the gap in his memories. Either something was inexplicably done to him by the Imperial or Concord Dawn authorities or, as the woman says, there's another party at play, telepathic or otherwise. If he wants to know for certain, the only sure answers lie on the other side of the door—and, if there's the slightest possibility it might be the latter, he can't afford not to know.

He steels himself briefly, then steps out of his cell to join the woman in the hall. Something in his mind shifts the second he crosses the threshold, like some long-dormant engine coming back online. For months now, his only goal has been to endure. Now, with a chance to escape lying before him, all the questions and possibilities swirling about in his mind go quiet, replaced by wide-awake focus. He looks around, alert for any incoming signs of danger and speaks to the woman without looking at her: ]

Lead the way.

[concord_dawned]

[ 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_nically]

[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.

Donatello Hamato | Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (post movie)

[purplexing]

I.

If this is a dream, it is by far one of the weirdest ones he's ever had. Donatello stands there with a tray in his hands, staring at whoever's lined up for this buffet, his brow twitching slightly. "Gotta say, if this is one of those school dreams I hear people have then I am highly disappointed." But then how's that match up with where he'd woken up? A boarding school of some kind? Psych ward? Granted his experience of school in general has been sneaking into April's high school and watching whatever fantasies popular media tends to portray school life as. Hopefully no one remembers him as the weird green guy that started screaming the moment he found himself in a room full of beds filled with strangers and not family.

Eventually he slips into line, eyeing the available food as his face shifts between expressions of confusion and disgust, although mostly the former. "It's not like I don't mind mushrooms but usually it'd be on a pizza eyew what is that."


II.

"A mission?"

The turtle teen frowns up at the nearest speaker as he listens to the briefing. "What is with the fungus angle? Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have eaten that last piece of mushroom pizza last night," he mutters under his breath. That had to be it. "Ah, a strange mesh of the recent alien incident and poor meal decisions, yes of course! Okay, it all makes sense now." He nods to himself, looking smug.

"Well, if this is the expectation of this weird dream then I guess I'll have to play along. Unless I should be trying to figure out how to wake up instead." His eyes slowly swivel back towards the speaker as he strokes his chin. The music that had been playing would definitely not have been his first choice under any given circumstances. There wasn't even a beat to dance to! Except the theory that he's being hypnotized again falls through since the music's no longer playing. He shrugs.

"Oh well. On with the mission then, I guess."


III.

"This is not what I signed up for!!" It's beyond gross and it's difficult to avoid when infected fungus people are just. Everywhere. "Nnnh, stay away!" Donatello spins his bo, fending off the more aggressive attackers, shoving them back. He leaps into the air, the back of his battle shell opening up for the rotors to activate and take him up into the air. "Hah! Can't get me here- Aah!"

He turns, swinging his staff to block-


IV.

This isn't what he'd expected to wake up to. It's much worse. His tech is gone, his bandanna is gone what kind of monsters take something like that away?! "Wha... where is this..?"

It begins to dawn on him that there's probably a lot more to worry about than the terrible clothes he's been put into, an offense to fashion if ever there was one. He presses a hand to his head, trying to push past the disorientation. Why's it so hard to think? Gradually it becomes clear that he's in some kind of prison, which is absolutely unsettling. Sure, he may have done some less than legal things in his life but he's made sure not to leave any digital trails-

"Calm down Donnie, we got this. Just blow this wall open and slip out before anyone thinks twice-"

He holds a hand out to his side and then blinks. Cold realization sets in. "...no, not again..." His mystic powers- gone?

The sound of something outside is barely registered until the door opens, and Donnie leaps back with a shout, stumbling before landing in a heap on the cell floor. He scrambles around into an upright position, hands held up defensively even as he stares wide-eyed at whoever's come through the doorway.

I.

[incinerating]

If this is a dream, it's not the absolute weirdest, but it's pretty damn close.

Waking up in what feels like the liminal space between a prison/asylum is jarring, but Lio can understand the symbolism. He spends every day fighting for freedom and sticking it to the man, only to lay awake at night wondering if the fire burning within him is a blessing or a curse. Rebel or terrorist. Special or broken.

The man-sized turtle on the other hand? Yeah. That's a new one. His subconscious deserves a gold star for creativity.

Lio watches the turtle make his way through the buffet, openly gaping. Because this is a dream, and nothing he says or does really matters, right? It's his dream and he can stare at the walking, talking man-turtle all he wants.

"I thought turtles ate everything. Aren't you scavengers? Stop being picky, you're holding up the imaginary line."

[purplexing]

With such pointed comments it's impossible to think that whoever is speaking is addressing someone else. Donatello's eyes slide slooowly in the direction of the offender before he turns his head to direct A Look at him.

"One, that is speciest, and two, an ignorant assumption as turtles do not in fact eat everything," he replies dryly. "They are scavengers only on occasion but largely feed on plants and palatable creatures. But please, if you're that eager to help yourself to the fungi feast then be my guest! I can then observe any adverse effects as you partake in said food and make note of what's actually edible and what's potentially deadly."

[concord_dawned]

[ 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_nically]

[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.

[concord_dawned]

[ 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?

[tech_nically]

[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.

[incinerating]

This dream is quickly turning from vaguely amusing to downright unsettling. It's hard to concentrate on what the man-turtle is saying when Lio is fixated on the fact he has a mouth full of teeth.

"I'll eat anything. Scavengers are survivors." He snatches a mushroom off said pizza and pops it into his mouth. Unbothered. The flavour is unusually accurate in its salty blandness. Of all the dreams Lio has dreamt, why does this one have to be the most realistic?

"Hm. Kinda greasy, but I've had worse."