redmarsshit | redshift: tdm #4

redshift: tdm #4

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

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a. the red shit.

There are rumblings in the deepest, most overgrown part of the agricultural area, where until very recently there was a lingering pocket of red algae. The good news is, the red algae is gone! The bad news is, it all got eaten by a mutated bear-thing with giant antlers. The algae did a number on the poor thing, doping it up and confusing it to the point where everything is an enemy.

What’s worse? The algae has adapted, colonizing the creature’s entire body. The algae has mutated in the process, releasing a protective cloud of toxins that causes severe hallucinations, as well as some of the protective and euphoric qualities that the red algae originally possessed. Which means the mutated, antlered, bear-thing is accompanied by a small army of other creatures, from large to small, who are all very invested in its survival and also are being driven crazy by its presence.

Prepare yourselves for one hell of a hunt. These animals can pop up almost everywhere in the agricultural zones, and when they do show their paws it’s to go on a rampage.

b. fashionista.

It wouldn’t be Anchor if the bots weren’t fucking shit up.

This time, the spa bots have gone full stylist coach, chasing down residents and trying to do their hair, nails, makeup, or change their clothes. In some cases, they're literally sweeping people off their feet and carrying them to the hot springs, massage rooms, and spa areas to be pampered. Too bad most of their cosmetics are fifty years out of date and the closests they’ve raided either had another resident’s clothes or moth-eaten dust-covered rags.

Is that the jacket Idris Elba was wearing in the introductory video? It kinda looks like it.

But it’s not all bad! The bots actually give great massages and fantastic mani-pedis. They also have a small stash of fresh cosmetics and clean clothes that got left behind in the spas. They might not fit great, but they look pretty good!

If your character doesn’t practice proper self-care, well. They’d better watch out. These bots have a particular eye for the sad, the filthy, the tired, and they’re going to make sure you get some damn fine pampering.

c. whole foods: 2.0.

Remember that whole Whole Foods grocery store thing that happened? Well, the grocery store and the zombies are still there. Only now there are more zombies, and two giant supply trucks have shown up, one behind and one in front of the store.

The one at the rear of the store can be accessed fairly easily. It’s painted to look like a giant United States flag, with a dramatic crying eagle emblazoned across the back doors. Inside, there is beer. Lots and lots of beer, and a bunch of semiautomatic rifles. Also some skeletons. Seems like the guns and booze didn’t help them.

The one in front of the store is thickly surrounded, the creatures clawing at the plain white sides of the semi like there’s something precious inside.

If Anchorites can make it through, if they can fend off the monsters and keep from getting torn to pieces by a hoard of bloodthirsty beasts, they’ll find out what that precious truck contains.

It’s twinkies. A semi full of twinkies. We hope you’ve got a sweet tooth, Anchor.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Carlisle eyes the truck, uncertain of what -- if any -- supplies it could possibly contain that would make it worth risking a trek through the irradiated wasteland to the undead-infested store, but he assumes Qubit knows something about it that he doesn't. He's more familiar with the Whole Foods itself, after all.]

Hideous. [His sneer is practically palpable, even through his rad suit.] Birds do not cry like that. And if we open this thing and there are birds in there, I'm going home.

Edited 2019-09-27 03:07 (UTC)

[ uh carlisle some of us need food to survive okay ]

Hm. Well, no ventilation, so if there are, they'd be dead by now.

[ Wait, would that make it better or worse? Way worse? Let's change the subject. ]

I doubt it, though. The flag and eagle are just national symbols. American companies will plaster them onto practically anything.

[Better, unless the birds then rise as undead birds. No, Carlisle does not want to think about that any longer than he has to.

At least the explanation of what the flag and bird are for make sense. More than "we put a crying bird on the side of our trailer for aesthetic purposes." He moves a little closer, the posse behind him -- three strong now -- staying back.]

Right. Next question: how do we get in there?

[ Counterpoint: Zombieagles. Just think how useful they'd be! You could use them as aerial scouts, or chasing off geese from a safe distance... Sigh, maybe someday. ]

Simple. You just - [ Qubit goes to unlatch the door, and discovers a complication in the form of a big, heavy-duty padlock. He sighs, irritated. ]

Of course it's locked. Say, you don't happen to have some bolt cutters handy, do you?

[ Rhetorical question, he knows the answer's no. Well, shit, what now? ... Without warning, he starts off toward the cab, walking with purpose. There's got to be something he can use in there. ]

[Qubit may hear Carlisle murmur What are bolt cutters? to himself as he heads for the cab. He eyes the lock for a second himself, considering if he could construct a glyph to melt it, before deciding it's best he stay focused on maintaining his control over the group of undead following him around.

He beelines for the other side of the cab, pulling himself up the side by the handles until he can peer into the window. There's a skeleton in there, his hands both still on the wheel.]

What a terrifying contraption. People willingly get into these things?

[ Qubit climbs up his side the same way, so that they're briefly talking through the broken windows on opposite sides of the cab. ]

Oh, this is nothing. Wait until you hear about amusement parks.

[ He reaches through the passenger-side window to manually pop the lock, opens the door, and climbs in, checking under the seats and in the console. ]

There's probably a tool chest in here somewhere. Or, if we're lucky, we might even find the keys. [ He checks the ignition as he says that; sadly, they're not there. ]

[Carlisle gets the distinct feeling he wouldn't find an 'amusement park' to be very amusing, if Qubit's tone says anything about them. He watches his companion climb right in as if it's no worry at all, checking all around the skeleton for... well, whatever it is he's looking for.

Tool chest or keys. Got it. Carlisle doesn't open the door, but takes to looking himself, his glowing eyes turning over the entire cabin. Did the finger of that skeleton twitch just now? Surely not.]

I have been considering how we will transport the goods within back to Anchor, assuming we can get inside.

[ Not finding anything in the front, Qubit crawls through to the back of the cab, where it's got a small, uncomfortable bed and stuff. He notices nothing whatsoever from the skeleton. ]

Well, depending on how much is usable, we should be able to bring one of the ground vehicles out and load it up. That's what I wound up doing last time. [ Y'know, offscreen. He checks under the bed, and finds - ] Ah! Here we are.

[ It's a black plastic toolbox, medium-sized. He flips it open and starts looking through, muttering to himself. ] Hm. Socket wrench, pliers, reflectors... All automotive. Guess I should've expected that. [ And he closes it up. He'll take it back to Anchor anyway, of course - one can never have too many sockets. ]

[Finally mustering up the nerve, Carlisle pulls the door on his side open, only for the skeleton in the driver's seat to look his way. It spooks him, causing him to lose his balance and fall right off the cabin. In good news, his little crew of zombies (4) are there to catch his fall. They don't seem too bothered by being knocked over, given their mindlessness.]

I'm fine!

[You know, in case Qubit was wondering, which Carlisle assumes he wasn't. The skeleton, trucker's hat and all, comes tumbling on top of him, only to fall to pieces upon impact.

Thanks, he hates this. He calls to Qubit in the truck.]

You find anything?

[ Qubit's just latching the toolbox when he hears a commotion and clatter up front. He hurries to investigate, but Carlisle answers his question before he has a chance to ask it. He doesn't have to ask what happened, either; clearly, Carlisle just slipped and accidentally pulled the skeleton out of the truck. And since he's fine, well - I mean, it is a little funny, if you don't think too hard about the very real human remains involved...

Mm, yeah, he'd better not laugh. He leans over the now-vacant driver's seat to hand the toolbox down to Carlisle. ]

Just automotive tools. Nothing that'll help us with a stainless steel padlock. Careful, it's heavy.

[ ... This leaves him with a dilemma. The truck's got electrical systems that he can use as materials, so it'll be child's play to whip up a machine to solve this problem. The question is, can he do it without unduly taxing himself? He thinks so - power tools are pretty simple, and a handheld dremel should be more than adequate. But he can't help second-guessing himself every time he has to make that kind of judgment call, despite all his experiments. ]

Sit tight for a second. I've got another idea.

[ Hey Carlisle, you wanna see something cool? ]

[Carlisle shoves the skeleton to the side, getting back to his feet so he can take the toolbox; the undeads around him slowly get to their feet, relatively undisturbed by the fact their animator fell right on top of them. The pile of bones rattles, slowly pulling itself together.

He cradles the toolbox with both arms, as though it were a delicate find. He caused enough trouble out here last time, and would prefer to be more helpful than not, especially considering Qubit volunteered to put up with him a second time.]

I would prefer to stand, thank you.

[Show him something cool, Qubit. Take his mind off the literal interpretation of modern idioms.]

[ It's an expression, Carlisle-! Qubit rolls his eyes a little, but doesn't bother to correct him this time. Bigger fish, and all that.

It might be a little hard to see what he's doing from the ground. He holds his hands over the dashboard, briefly "feeling around" the systems. Even with a diesel engine, there's plenty to work with. Stereo. GPS. Starter. Alternator. CB radio. More than enough.

All of a sudden, the cab is filled with a greenish-blue light, brightest in Qubit's hands and eyes. It seems to reach inside the dash, splitting it from inside to draw out the raw materials he needs. The harvested components gather in the space between his hands, and morph as if alive, taking on a smooth, not quite cylindrical shape -

The whole process only takes a few seconds. The light goes out just as suddenly as it appeared, though it lingers a moment longer in his eyes. And the result: Qubit's holding a cordless rotary tool. He tests the on switch, and the disc at the business end whirs satisfyingly. Yes, this'll do.

To his relief, he's also none the worse for wear. Negligible discomfort, no real fatigue. Yeah, this worked fine. Better than most of his experiments so far, actually. He'll have to make a note of it for later. ]

[Interested in just what Qubit's latest idea is, Carlisle backs up rather than risk climbing up to the cab again, arching his neck as he tries to see just what it is his companion is doing up there. For a second, it looks as though nothing is happening. Maybe he's still thinking, Carlisle considers, his attention back on the undead crew lingering nearby—

And then there's a sudden light, and Carlisle's eyes cannot get back to the cab fast enough. Qubit seems to be pulling components to him with an invisible force, wires and circuits shifting and changing into something entirely new in the palms of his hands. It's only a matter of seconds, and he's made some new device, one that will supposedly help them break the lock.

Carlisle is so astonished, he doesn't even care that it looks like a terrifying piece of technology. He sets off with half a dozen questions in mind, his eyes wide; his crew behind him seems equally interested, all their heads turned in Qubit's direction, though their eyes are as unfocused as ever.]

What was that?! What- that was- was that some kind of advanced transfiguration? Why didn't you tell me you could do that? Is that something you were trained to do, or a natural ability? Is it common in your world? What is that you made?

Edited 2019-09-27 08:22 (UTC)

[ And suddenly, he's hit with a barrage of questions. Qubit grins, bemused. Where'd this energy come from all of a sudden? He's never seen Carlisle quite so animated. (Reanimated?) Reminds him of Newt, a bit, with that enthusiasm. ]

Good lord, are you planning to let me answer any of those?

[ He hops down from the cab, holding up his creation and giving it another little rev. He'll at least answer one of them. ]

Cordless dremel. With this, I'll be able to cut that lock in no time.

[Carlisle starts digging through his satchel, pulling out his journal and a pen. As he flips through the pages to find a blank one, Qubit may spot a number of plant illustrations, as well as some runes and glyphs surrounded by notes. He couldn't resist while talking to Reynir.]

Right right right right, I understand that -- not what a 'dremel' is, save for what I had already assumed it would help us do -- but what was that you did just now? How did you transfigure all those bits and pieces into that? Are you a mage? Why would you not tell me you are a mage?

[ Oh my god, he's taking notes, even. Carlisle, you nerd, said the pot to the kettle. Qubit does spot the runes, and notices their resemblance to Reynir's - a few of which he has in his pocket right now, awaiting testing. But that's for a little later.

It ruffles his feathers a bit to be called a mage, but it's not an uncommon misconception - he's occasionally seen himself called a "young fresh technomage" online, though he has no idea what's with that particular phrasing. Anyway. He holds up his free hand in the universal sign for "let me stop you right there, my dude." ]

First, because I'm not a mage. It's psionics, not magic. There's a big difference.

[ He takes a moment to retrieve the toolbox from... the ground, I guess? Wherever Carlisle put it when he got out his notes. They can walk and talk, and he'd like to head back to the trailer. Once he has it, he adds facetiously- ]

And second, you never asked.

[Realizing (belatedly) he cannot possibly write comfortably while holding a heavy toolbox under one arm, he sets it aside -- yes, on the ground, because who was he going to hand it to, one of his undead brigade (5)? He can experiment on if they'll work as pack mules later. For now, he has notes to take.

He immediately struggles to spell psionics, scrawling that they''re not mages, though he doesn't yet know what the difference is. He follows Qubit along, his journal still open.]

Are your psionics not useful against the undead? [Obviously, or he wouldn't have bothered calling Carlisle out here again. He doesn't seem like the type to be lazy about getting a job done.] What can they do? How do they differ from magic? Can you use magic?

Edited 2019-09-28 21:08 (UTC)

[ Qubit's tempted to tell Carlisle to slow down, but there is an advantage to having too many questions: he can cherry-pick which ones to answer. But it's simplest to start with the most recent. ]

Honestly, I haven't really tried. I mean, I've dabbled a bit, ages ago, but it wasn't for me.

[ Translation: He sucked at it, because magic requires a certain willing suspension of disbelief that he can't maintain for any length of time. That's probably for the best, though, considering what Modeus managed to accomplish. ]

My power lets me reshape machines into anything I want. [ Provided the "anything" is also a machine, but he figures that's implied. ] Psionics in general, though, can produce a much wider range of effects - anything from pyrokinesis to telepathy to invulnerability, you name it. The precise way it manifests varies from person to person.

[ Now with theory, he is more than willing to do a deep dive. He can talk about theoretical underpinnings for days! (As opposed to anything personal, which you can pry from his cold dead hands.) ]

Edited 2019-09-28 22:56 (UTC)

[Carlisle isn't sure how any of this is different from magic, given he has met a pyromancer here; however, she also doesn't call it magic. There must be something about the semantics that's important, and he'll have to parse that out later. There's a more pressing question on his mind.]

So... you're like a golemancer. You work in constructs?

[Can a guy who is undead and being followed around by a small coalition of other undeads look uncomfortable? Because yeah, he does -- more so with that than the crew behind him or the wasteland around them, most of which is thankfully blocked from his view by the trailer.]

[ Qubit's nose wrinkles at that terminology, as if he finds it distasteful but isn't sure how much. Being relatively unfamiliar with fantasy tropes, his chief understanding of "golem" is the one from Jewish folklore, which is also very much not what he does. ]

Not... really? I'm not sure how you're defining those terms.

[ Meanwhile I'm sure we've made it to the back by now, so he's just gonna... start figuring out how he's gonna do this. He doesn't have a clamp to hold the lock still, but if he can wedge it like so, then... ]

I would define a golemancer as a mage who works in the school of evocation, primarily the summoning of energies into constructed frames to wait wait stop stop stop stop!

[Mid-explanation, an undead lunges at Qubit from around the corner of the trailer -- and as commanded, stops dead in his tracks. So do all the ones behind Carlisle, as well as a couple still making their way toward the truck from the front of the store. Qubit may even feel some of the pull of his aural influence himself, even if impervious to the compulsion to completely stop what he's doing. Carlisle is, unfortunately, not yet proficient enough with his newfound abilities to distinguish between commanding the living and the dead, as both types of influence feel nearly the same to him. More importantly, it's a vile skill he'd rather not have, nor be able to use against anyone -- living or dead -- no matter how helpful it may be.

In good news, the zombie came to a dead (pun intended) halt, his arms frozen in the air, still reaching for his prey, mouth open as he lets out a guttural rasp.]

Sorry. Sorry, I've got it.

Edited 2019-09-29 05:42 (UTC)

[ With his attention divided between their discussion and the padlock, Qubit doesn't see the zombie coming until Carlisle's already commanded it to stop. But what startles him more is the mental attack that hits him at the same time. His psi-shielding is enough to deflect it, but it notifies him of the blast with the urgency of a fire alarm. Even that's barely necessary, because it feels like he just rode out an explosion from inside a force field - that is, he's not actually affected, but he bloody well noticed it.

So he does stop what he's doing, but not because Carlisle told him to.

Fortunately, the zombie also stops, albeit barely a meter away from him. Qubit quickly backs off, glancing between it and Carlisle in undisguised shock. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here (and he is a rocket scientist), so that shock quickly resolves to surprised indignation. ]

You just about got me! What was that?!

[Carlisle, in his momentary fright because an undead just came out of nowhere and nearly took a chunk out of Qubit's arm -- and it would have been his fault, because he's supposed to be the one keeping them at bay with all these horrible, necromantic powers he didn't ask for and thanks he hates being undead, by the way -- thinks Qubit is accusing the zombie of nearly getting him, and Carlisle shirking his duties.]

I said I was sorry! Couldn't see him back there, but I got him before he got you, didn't I? And I've still got these.

[He gestures to the ones behind them, glancing over his shoulder. Oh huh, weren't there only four of them a minute ago? That's six now. Seven if he counts the half-skeleton frozen mid-crawl. The attacking zombie lowers his arms stiffly, his feet repositioning for balance as he waits idly beside the truck, his head lolling to one side as any and all aggression dissipates from his milky eyes.]

Edited 2019-09-29 06:45 (UTC)

[ See, the issue is, they're using two different definitions of "got." One is the zombie phsyically eating Qubit's face, which, yes, Carlisle did successfully prevent. Credit where credit's due. ]

What? No no no, I'm not talking about him - though yes, you did, thank you -

[ But then there's the other definition: ensnaring the thing with a psychic command. He takes a second to calm down, because he's fairly sure it was an accident, and pissing Carlisle off with the entourage he's assembled could have ... suboptimal consequences. ]

What did you do just now, exactly? Because I felt it.

I... I told him to stop. It's a lot like a compulsion, except it only affects—

[There's a sort of dawning horror that creeps across his face. It's not like before where he clearly had no idea he could affect the dead passively with his present mindset; he knows what this is, and knew he could do it. He'd somehow thought that, as all of his other energies had shifted toward his now-necrotic nature, so too had his aural influence. That's apparently not the case, if Qubit, who is very much alive, felt it.]

Oh. Oh it- I didn't think it would affect you. I didn't think it could affect you.

[Worse is that it still affecting the living certainly answers just how the Blight Heir could single-handedly bring ruin to an entire region. It wasn't just that he raised the dead already around him, and they killed the people of Bear Den. It's much, much worse than that. It's also a possibility he can't deal with right now if he wants to keep a hold over his growing crew of abominations.]

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