Test Drive Meme #1

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Test Drive Info

⇝ Test Drive Memes usually take place in a virtual reality simulation occurring in characters' minds that tests them for 'fitness' before they enter the setting officially. However, for the first TDM, it will be set in the real world and centered around the arrival of the first crop of extra-universal "recruits."
⇝ 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.

Welcome to the Broken World.

You can't even remember how you got here.

All you know is that one moment you were in a world you were used to, comfortable in. It might have been a regular day or the most important day of your life, in the middle of a meal or brushing your teeth or the battle to save the world or the moment of your death. Whoever took you didn't seem to care what you were doing when you were taken, and now that you're here, they still don't seem to care.

You wake up after 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."

i. The Rescue

The moment of peace and freedom doesn't last for long.

Even while you're still disoriented from everything that's happened in the past few hours, the person who's just freed you pushes a gun into your hands. If you're familiar with guns, it's simple enough to use, with a recognizable safety and trigger, a magazine of bullets attached to the bottom. If you're not familiar with guns, well...the person who just rescued you will give you a minute-long introduction to it. Press this button, click this hammer back, pull the trigger to shoot. Nothing fancy, but enough that you won't hurt yourself or anyone else you're not supposed to be hurting. Probably.

After being handed the gun, the person rescuing you looks at you not unkindly and gestures for you to follow, leads you through a maze of concrete corridors to the entrance of the building. There, you'll find something of a small warzone, a battle in progress though almost completed, in the parking and courtyard area between several small, squat concrete buildings. There, huddled in the safety of the building's entryway, the person who just rescued you will point across the courtyard toward an encroaching patch of jungle and quickly explain the situation - you've been brought to this place by the Sylphid, long-standing enemies who will "eat your soul" and replace you if they catch you, and the person rescuing you is part of a resistance army intending to overthrow them. You're to make your way across the courtyard and into the jungle, where you'll find someone named Brycen, a blue-skinned man who will get you out of here even as the battle rages on.

The courtyard is mainly open, with a few benches and trees that can be used as cover, and there is a small group of Sylphid - the enemy, the people who took you and are now shooting at you, but who look like average everyday people - who are taking potshots at whoever crosses the courtyard even as they engage with the rebels. You'll be provided with suppressive fire from those same rebels while you cross the courtyard, but other than that, you're on your own unless you want to take the run with whoever else just got rescued.

ii. Race Through The Jungle

Once you make your way across the courtyard and into the jungle, you'll find Brycen waiting for you about a 10 minute walk in. The moment he sees you, he gestures you over and leads you a few feet further into the underbrush where there are a few All-Terain Vehicles parked in a small clearing. Shooting you a little grin, Brycen spreads his arms to present the vehicles, then heads over to the closest one. What follows is a quick explanation of how to use the ATV, a small hovercraft that can seat two. Brycen points out another ATV that is driven by a member of the resistance, and tells you that this person will guide you to the Witches Camp, where you'll be living from now on. But it's on you to pilot the ATV from here to there.

Well, you and your new friend.

See, there are half as many ATVs as there are people, and each one does seat two. Brycen gestures at the nearest extra-universal arrival and tells both of you to hop on. Now, you're both bound for the Witches Camp together, for better or worse. It's a long walk, so don't piss off your pilot!

Or overturn the ATV or crash it, because the path from the clearing to the Witches Camp is rough, without many trails or paths that have been carved out of the underbrush, something the revolutionaries have done to avoid being tracked back to their home. The ride will be bumpy, hover-vehicle or not, with a lot of swerving to avoid obstacles and dodging to avoid branches. Hopefully, you won't have a run-in with any of the local jungle wildlife, which can range from small, relatively harmless animals to lizards the size of small dinosaurs and wild cats.

It's a wild ride, but eventually you make it to the Witches Camp, a sprawling maze of low-to-the-ground buildings and markets interspersed with jungle for cover, and the rebel leading you keeps doing so until you pull up in front of Central Command. This building is one of the nicer ones in the area, and houses the Witch herself as well as the seat of the revolution. This is where all of the rebel plans are made and where new arrivals are put up.

iii. Welcome Home

Once you enter Central Command, you'll find that they've prepared space for you. First, you'll be led to the residential area of the large building and given the keycard to your new apartment, a small furnished studio apartment with a main living/sleeping area, a desk, kitchenette, bathroom with shower stall, and a walk-in closet for storage. Once you've been oriented to your new apartment, you'll be taken to pick your network device from an array of devices ranging from ultra-modern tablets that can fold into the shape of a phone to an equivalent of regular modern-day cell phones to magical tablets or books that can be interacted with by characters unfamiliar with technology. They'll also offer to alter your own phone or device to access the network, if you prefer that.

After that, you will be guided to one of the big board rooms in the Central Command, where you'll find a large spread of food on the table, ready to be dug into - all the staff at Central Command have brought food from home to share with the new arrivals. You'll also find notebooks and pens to take notes, because this is the official orientation, and you'll come out of it having learned pretty much everything about the rebellion, the Sylphid, how the rebellion originated and most importantly, how you got here and how you can go home.

This is where the rebels point out that helping them is helping yourself, because the only way to send you home is to commandeer the device that brought you here in the first place, and the only way to do that is to overthrow the Sylphid overlords.

After this presentation, no matter how accepting or skeptical you are, you'll be given a small stipend and set free to explore the city, linger around and chat over the potluck leftovers, go back to your apartment, make a network entry to meet other people, or whatever else you'd like to do. Want some new clothes? They can direct you to the markets. Looking to start learning magic? They can direct you to the Mage's Sector where you can find a teacher. Looking to dance your cares away in the wake of this terrible upheaval? They can direct you to a club in The Electric Heart that sells cocktails that'll erase all your pain for the evening.

Go wild. The Witches Camp is your new home. What will you make of it?

iv. Network

Once you've settled into your apartment in the evening, you're free to browse the internet and intranet on your new network device. Care to make an entry and meet the others in your same situation?

NAVIGATION

Comments

Bucky Barnes aka Winter Soldier | MCU

[worthallthis]

I. Rescue

For the first time since he woke up back in a cell and sat silently waiting for whatever punishment fell (back with HYDRA, or maybe the US government which would mean HYDRA in the end, or even the Avengers wanting revenge for almost killing their leader, it's all back, back, back--), he feels like he knows what to do. There's a gun in his hands and there are enemies and he can take them out.

So what if he's not as strong as he used to be. So what if his whole left side is on fire every time he moves his arm. So what if he doesn't know what the hell is going on. He has a gun, and a mission. He doesn't need anything else.

He fires on one of the Sylphid, hits a shoulder, scowls at the inferior weapon's poor sighting capabilities, then adjusts his aim and fires again. Headshot. Better. "Stay behind me," he tells the other escapees, voice flat. Once he has someone to protect, he curls the metal arm around them as a shield, and runs, firing as he goes, taking out enemies but mostly covering for their escape.

Then once across the courtyard, he stops, turns, and fires some more. Somebody drag him with you, or he's going to keep making runs to get prisoners out, all by himself. This is what he's for, after all.


II. Race

He lets whoever's shoved into the ATV with him drive. He keeps both their guns, to cover their retreat and handle any wildlife that might be a threat.

He's oddly silent as he clings to the seat through the bumps and jostles, and he has yet once to look at his driver. He's watching the trees for trouble, and his expression is non-existent but for a set jaw and the occasional tightness around the eyes that suggests he's in pain.

If you want conversation on this ride, you might have to start it yourself.


III. Orientation - cw some PTSD reactions

Now the mission is over. But there's no cryo. There's no maintenance. There's no orders. There's something like a debrief, but no one even asks him for his report, they just want to tell him about Sylphids and history and geography he's never heard of. He listens, and he waits, but they don't tell him what to do next.

He's not sure whether he wants them to or not.

Anyone sitting nearby him for the orientation will be treated to him picking at the offered food but not actually eating much of it, staring fixedly into the middle distance rather than focusing on anyone's face, gripping his notebook as if he thinks it might get taken away, and flinching just a little if anyone gets too close. Oh, and his arm is buzzing noisily. Sorry about that.


IV. Shopping - cw more PTSD reactions

He falls into long-trained patterns: he's in hostile territory and he needs intel. He can be found prowling the city, hands shoved in his pockets, one of them curled around a knife that's more for peace of mind than real safety. He does need to purchase new clothes, because the provided clothes are awful, they're like paper, no protection at all. But he's not sure how. There's a mission skill for this, surely. Why can't he remember it?

Find him staring at a clothing store, or a grocery, or a cobbler, but not quite making himself go inside. Or find him perched on a roof staring down at something with an expression of mild confusion. Or find him wedged into an alleyway hyperventilating because everything is just too much.

iv

[one_note]

Someone comes across him in the alleyway, eventually. He can hear footsteps at the alley mouth, feel eyes on him, weighing the sight and what to do.

In the end, the steps don't approach him further; instead a lot of the light from the main thoroughfare's blocked off. If he looks up, there's a tall broad-shouldered figure, still in Sylphid prison greys, standing straight-backed in the alley mouth itself. His back is turned to Bucky.

Lan Wangji is a man who finds the chaos, known for cutting down evil, but directly comforting someone having a personal crisis is, shall we say, not his strong suit. He can at least give him the semblance of a quiet private space until he can breathe again, though.

[worthallthis]

And the former fist of HYDRA is not a man who knows how to accept comfort, anyway, so we're all messes here. He registers Lan Wangji's presence immediately, and swallows hard, forcing himself to get back under control. This much emotion isn't allowed. He knew it, he knows it. As long as he'd been unobserved he could skirt the rule, but now someone's found him.

There are a few more shuddering breaths, then he has at least the appearance of calm, and pushes himself fully up from the wall he'd been huddling on.

He stares awkwardly at Lan Wangji's back, not sure what to say, or do. This isn't a handler to apologize to, and anyway, that never worked. There's a person-thing he's probably supposed to say, but he's not sure what it would be.

Finally he comes up with a soft, "Hi."

[one_note]

"Hello."

His head dips slightly when he answers, an acknowledgement of the address; the light catches gold in his eyes, for a moment, when he turns. The lookover Bucky's getting from them isn't unkind, just professional, checking to see if he's actually calmed or not. Lan Wangji's seen his share of distressed people in his life, though a lot more of that has to do with being possessed by ghosts or unwilling to confront ghosts than what Bucky's been through.

Are you all right? most people would say here. Or, What's got you freaked out so bad?

Lan Wangji is not most people, so what he says instead is steady but a little stiff. It's possible to interpret it as judgemental; even when he's trying to be otherwise, he has resting judgement tone.

"Is company objectionable?"

iii

[bandit_of_ryloth]

A Jedi helps, whenever they can. And this one wears his hurt where everyone can see.

She slides, slowly and obviously, into the seat next to him, speaking quietly so nobody else can hear.

"Concentrate on your breathing," she said, softly. "Taking deep breaths can help. I can listen, tell me what you need to say."

[worthallthis]

Listen? What would he even have to say? But he does know how to force his breathing back under control, at least, that's a long-practiced and often-necessary skill. So he does that, taking a minute to get it back to baseline.

It helps the arm, too, to focus. The plates stop vibrating under the awful gray clothes. There's only a hint of grinding gears, not the deep buzzing it had been before.

He looks sidelong at her. What is he supposed to say now?

He goes with: "Sorry." He was being distracting, after all. Having a goddamn emotional reaction where everyone can see.

[bandit_of_ryloth]

"It's alright," she replied, "we're all reeling...it's harder for some than others. It's a valid reaction to a stressful and absurd situation."

"I'm Vol'tha," she adds, not offering a hand. She's willing to bet touch is a big thing, with this one. "Vol'tha Doneeta. Who are you?"

iii.

[grindset]

Viktor noticed the buzzing. Of course he did. How could he not? But he waits until the orientation has ended to address it, dips out in anticipation of intercepting those broad nervous shoulders in the hallway.

Success: he approaches from the side, clears his throat softly. Gets close, but not too close. This is less a lean in than it is a hunch—it's a hesitant shape, an interested shape, and the man who makes it is pale as plaster, thin as a rope, frail in a way that might be nostalgic if Bucky could remember much of anything at all.

"Sir," he says, "did you need some help with your arm?"

His is a low voice, gentle, with an accent comparable to some flavour of Slavic. And the stage whisper—that's in similar spirit to asking a teenaged girl whether she needs, you know, supplies.

This fellow is clearly having some kind of day. No need to embarrass him.

[worthallthis]

Some kind of day, all right. And now's the part where he kind of wants to flee and go hide in his new cell. Apartment. Whatever.

At first he doesn't even think the voice is for him. He keeps walking until he notes the eyes on him, and then he... slows. Looks over his shoulder, not making eye contact. Lucky for Viktor, one of the very few handful of memories he has does include one of a skinny, sickly Steve, so the familiarity is there.

It doesn't make him turn around completely, but.... "It's fine. I'll make it stop."

just pullin things out of thin air, lmk if it's totally wrong

[grindset]

There is, potentially, a great difference between making it stop and solving the issue—not that it's a given Viktor would be able to solve it himself. That appendage looks advanced. Advanced-advanced, like the hovering vehicles, like things they passed outside, even some of the articles in the studio he was shown. Like the keycard to said studio, and the folding tablet, streamlined objects weighing down the pocket of his scrubs. But he could try.

He could also flee, and lie down, and rather looks like he should. He's rumpled and scuffed, and his hair is doing something creative, complete with one little piece of a fern's pinnate leaf, dried papery brown. Hasn't cleaned up at all since the escape. He isn't the only one looking rough, of course—they're all having their respective days.

"Are you sure? Not to press, but it," he begins to point, seems to think better of it, "it sounds like it's coming from the back—possibly the back of the shoulder. Potentially difficult to reach on your own. So... you may want to see a technician."

I

[learnedfool]

Being a soldier had never been one of Penric's life's ambitions, even before acquiring a demon made it... theological fraught. And while he is fine at aiming with a bow, adjusting to the metal device shoved in his hands (a gun, they called it) was going to take more than a hurried tutorial.

So he was willing to follow someone who clearly knew what he was doing, and hold off on shooting unless he could be sure that he'd do more harm than good. Until they made it out, and his fellow captive (clearly, from the prison garb), was turning to go back in. "If we're the targets for this rescue, best not to go back in."

[worthallthis]

"There are other prisoners," he says, voice curiously flat, pausing more to check the number of bullets left in his gun-- not very many, but the rebels on the far end of the courtyard can surely get him more-- more than to talk. "I can get them out here."

[learnedfool]

"But who is going to get you out of here?" Penric asked.

II

[scarabwings]

It's not the worst division of responsibilities. While Layla is more than a little reluctant to give up her gun, to leave herself unarmed in a war zone and trust her safety to a complete stranger, she'd glimpsed the man in action during the mad flight across the courtyard and--

She's a good shot. He's better, by an order of magnitude. Her ego's healthy enough to make that admission, and it leaves her with precious few arguments against handing over her weapon, letting him stand as gunner while she pilots the vehicle.

The controls are just unfamiliar enough that it takes most of her attention at first to maintain speed through the rough terrain of the jungle, skipping the hovercraft over thick undergrowth and fallen trees. Eventually, pursuit falls off, either discouraged or opting to aim for easier prey. She doesn't relax, coiled tense behind the wheel, but it's enough for her to retreat from her near-complete focus on escape, to notice the tension in his expression and interpret it through a very familiar lens.

"Are you hit?" she asks.

[worthallthis]

He's shot a couple pursuers. And one very large bird that swooped past the roof of the vehicle. It's been quiet for about half a mile, by his judge of distance, but he doesn't relax his vigilance, just in case. It's not like they showed them a map, he has no idea how much further they have to go.

The question gets his face to half-turn in her direction, though his eyes don't land on her for more than a split second. "Graze on one leg. Minimal damage, easily ignorable." No, it's something else. A deep burning pain all along his left side.

It's familiar. He knows it. But it doesn't normally last this long, and that's... kind of disturbing.

[scarabwings]

She gives him a sharp look - and a brief one. The trees are close, and what passes for a path is barely more than a game trail. Looking away from the road for more than a second or two would probably mean hitting something, and then they'd be stuck hiking through the jungle, hoping they can find the correct path before something pops up to shoot at them.

"You're not supposed to ignore bullet wounds. There's got to be a first aid kit in here somewhere - whoever these people actually are, they came equipped."

iv

[stargazed]

While Mikumo's lived experience with the world is somewhat limited, she has at least done her own shopping without her handlers hawking over her shoulder about it, so finding new clothes is very high on the list of priorities after the orientation ends. She assumes it's going to be the same for anyone else here who doesn't like feeling like a number, but what she isn't quite expecting is to find someone outside a clothes shop and simply staring at it.

Something about his bearing strikes her as familiar - something she's seen in soldiers who have been at it for too long, ones who don't quite remember how to be at peace. But the person it reminds her of most strongly has been gone for some time, and the memory of him may just be what makes her approach the man, making sure she does it from an easily visible angle.

"Has it been a while since you've had to do this?" she asks, tone light and calm, not specifically trying to soothe but not judging either. It seems, at the very least, like she's familiar with behaviours like this.

[worthallthis]

He's silent for a long moment, but finally he nods. "Outfitting was handled by the technicians," he says, voice so low she might have trouble hearing it.

He's stolen and scavenged for clothing in the days since the helicarriers, but for some reason that was easier than staring at a whole damn store full of options.

[stargazed]

Mikumo would have an easier time hearing it if her enhancements were still intact, but as it is she still manages to pick up on it. At the very least, even if she's been returned to normal human hearing levels, she doesn't have any additional ear damage to account for.

A difficult-to-read expression crosses her face momentarily at the mention of "technicians", though. She had handlers, of a sort, and even though they didn't handle her clothes shopping for the most part, she's familiar with how it can detach someone from doing things themselves.

"If you'd like a second opinion, I was planning to go in there myself. I may not be an expert, but I'm sure I know enough to help you find something," she offers, that airy neutrality to her words lingering. She might not be the most emotive person ever, but an offer is an offer.

III

[consider8]

The rough man with a fierce countenance was enough to make Eight nervous. Were it not for one thing, she would just hold her head down and kept quiet. It was the sound of the buzz that caught her attention. That arm... was mechanical?

Fascinating. Such devices would have been very inconvenient for octolings or inklings. But for beings with more rigid body structure that was a rather clever replacement for what would be a serious impediment.

She leans forward, her voice soft with the slight sound of talking underwater. "Excuse me... is your arm supposed to be doing that...?" That seemed very inconvenient.

oh hi there :3

[worthallthis]

His eyes slide sideways in her direction, though he doesn't look directly at her. And the plates ripple, visible under the torn left sleeve of his prison garb, clicking up and then down in a wave-like motion.

Then they quiet down. "Sorry. It gets. Agitated. It's fine."

;3 harru~~~

[consider8]

A psychophysiological response? Wow, that thing must be really well incorporated into his nervous system. That sort of device would never work with her physiology.

It does open a question but she seems hesitant to ask. So she doesn't! Only... well...

Bucky may find that she's getting curious glances at him and his arm throughout the orientation. Should she catch his attention, she'll avert his gaze hurriedly by burying her face into the notebook they gave her.

II

[anewhero]

Marcus pushes himself into the ATV somewhat familiar with the sort of ride the other Resistance back home had and kept his hands on the wheel while the strange man on top is shooting and the cyborg kept to himself, instead trying to focus on the road.

[worthallthis]

This is an amenable situation. He can focus on defense and his driver can focus on the road and he won't have to make conversation. Or introduce himself. He still has no idea what to say if asked for a name.

Marcus will notice pretty quickly, though, that he's not the only cyborg on this car. His current partner's left sleeve has been shredded by gunfire and the shifting of plates, revealing metal all the way up his bicep.

[anewhero]

Marcus raised an eyebrow swerving a bit while avoiding a few bumps and lumps on the road.

He looked over at the other man joining him and raised an eyebrow "Wait, you are a cyborg too?"