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 Too bad most of their cosmetics are fifty years out of date and the closests they’ve raided either had another resident’s clothes or moth-eaten dust-covered rags.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.

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[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.]

[ Qubit raises an eyebrow, clearly concerned. Yeah, that - that has some serious implications. If Carlisle can compel the living to do his bidding, too - and worse, doesn't even realize when he's doing it - that could be incredibly dangerous for their colony full of living people.

... But, he decides, it's not an immediate threat, right this second. They can save the discussion for a less stressful environment. ]

It won't work on me, at least. I've got enough shielding for that. [ He turns his attention back to the lock. Now that he knows to expect it, it shouldn't startle him like that again. ] Just be careful. We'll talk about it back at base.

[Carlisle nods, attempting to shelve his obvious discomfort with the myriad of implications now running through his head involving the people of Bear Den, the Blight Heir, and exactly how the years he was lost as a Revenant went. He does not want to think about how he likely turned individuals he'd known his entire life on one another, how those unable to resist his influence were undoubtedly trapped—

No, not thinking about this.]

Right. We'll talk this time when we get back.

[They probably should, because as much as he doesn't want to talk about it, this isn't something he can just let go. He wasn't even trying to compel Qubit; the fact he nearly did, and so easily, is a frightening prospect. Not everyone has psionic powers or magic or whatever it is Qubit has going for him.

Carlisle settles his nerves with a breath. The undead by the truck waits there, the couple coming from the store meandering away from Qubit to join the others. He moves himself a little closer, ready to grab any that might be drawn over as the lock is cut.]

[ All right. Where was he... ah, yeah, if he wedges it like so, that should hold it still enough. He starts lining up the dremel, but then remembers that maybe he should warn his easily startled cleric friend first. ]

This is likely to draw some attention, by the way. It's loud, it throws sparks, and it could take a minute or two to get through. How do you want to handle it?

[Good call, Qubit. Carlisle was aware from him revving it earlier that it would make noise, but warning him of sparks and potentially drawing the horde is wise, given his skittish temperament. He positions himself between the trailer and the store, closer to the latter than the former, grateful for the building and truck blocking the open skyline. From there, he can see both sides of the truck, and therefore catch any undeads that head Qubit's way.]

Make it as quick as possible. Trust me to ensnare any that are drawn to you by the noise.

[ Qubit nods once. It's about as good a plan as they're going to get, anyway. A radiation suit isn't exactly the right kind of protective equipment for metalworking, but at least it means he's got something over his eyes.

Here goes nothing! He spins the dremel up and gets to work. If Carlisle thought it was loud on its own, it's even louder cutting through stainless steel - like an incredibly angry bee hooked up to a speaker. He does work as quickly as he can, but there's only so fast it'll cut. His estimate was right; it takes around a minute and a half to get through, provided nothing interrupts him. ]

[Oh dear, that is much, much louder than he anticipated, and as such, immediately draws the attention of every undead in their vicinity and then some.

With Carlisle focused on protecting his companion, his little crew goes on the alert as well. He might not be able to give the mindless detailed commands, but the impression of defend us apparently gets through to them: as the clergyman ensnares another two heading toward Qubit, he misses one of the faster, enraged zombies on his periphery, only for said zombie to be stopped in his tracks when the controlled coalition swarms him. The one lingering near the truck, who had been set on snacking on the supposed technomancer just moments before, does the same as another aggressive zombie comes tearing across the gap from the Whole Foods -- he lunges and knocks the faster undead to the ground, ripping into his abdomen with his bare hands, leaving a rotten, bloodied mess behind.

As useful as he feels at the moment in this specific situation, Carlisle will be thankful for when Qubit gets through the lock, as the grisly display put on by his growing band of undead helpers (14ish) is a bit much for him.]

Edited 2019-09-29 22:11 (UTC)

[ Qubit keeps half an eye out while he's working, but he hardly needs to, in the end. Carlisle is true to his word. He can hear some of the commotion over the sound of the dremel, including - at a moment when it's not touching the lock - some disturbingly crunchy, wet noises. He doesn't look.

Finally, though, the grinding noise stops as the lock comes apart. ]

Got it!

[ Qubit rattles it free and tosses it aside, then turns back to Carlisle - and the small-scale battleground between them. It's about as gruesome as it sounded, with a couple of the zombies turned inside-out in the sand. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, but doesn't comment on it. (He's seen worse.)

Carlisle himself is unharmed, but his entourage has roughly doubled now, which he finds a little concerning. After all, they don't yet know how many of these things he can control simultaneously. ]

Doing all right?

[Carlisle's eyes flick up to Qubit, relieved to see him tossing the lock aside. He waits by the building for another moment before closing the gap between them, stepping over a spot of blackened, coagulated blood coating the sand.]

As all right as one can be when utterly disgusted. I thought briefly that this one would reach you.

[He looks down at the pair near the trailer doors, both bodies mutilated when they tore into one another. He lifts his foot to stomp one of the writhing corpses, to death, only to hesitate, then put his foot back down. Nope, can't bring himself to do that again. He'll deal with them the traditional way when he's not trying to wrangle as many of the undead as possible. The rest of the mob meanders toward him, several of them covered in the entrails of the one they swarmed; Carlisle's posture tenses as he steps back toward them.]

No no no, you lot wait over there. Away. I don't need you all here.

[They don't budge, all still staring blankly in his general direction. Carlisle glances over his shoulder toward Qubit, indecision in his eyes. He knows how to directly command them, clearly -- the question is if he should, given what happened last time.

He tries to focus his influence on the undead this time.]

Back away, and stay there.

[And with that, the undead do as told, their bodies slow to turn as they shuffle back toward the entrance to the Whole Foods. He looks back to Qubit, his immediate question clear in the look he gives his companion: Well?]

[ Hm... so they don't always respond to verbal commands alone. Qubit makes a note of that. The one with real force behind it still hits him, but a little less strongly this time. Because he's prepared for it, or because Carlisle's trying to exclude him? Most likely a little of both, he thinks.

He can read the question in Carlisle's gaze, and answers with an expression that's not precisely displeased. ]

Better, I think. We can work on it.

[ Anyway, let's open this bad boy up! Qubit turns the handle and pulls the double doors open. And our reward for all this trouble is....?

Beer.

Pallets and pallets of beer. (And some suspicious unlabeled crates, and a few skeletons, but mostly beer.) His shoulders slump in disbelief. ]

Are you kidding me?!

[Though grateful Qubit doesn't seem to judge him too harshly (he's doing that plenty for himself as he crosses his arms, fiddling with a wrinkle in his rad suit), Carlisle is less appreciative of the fruits of their labor. His glowing eyes scan the pallets, reading the cans.]

Beer. All this for beer.

[His gaze moves over to the skeletons.]

And more dead. It's as though these have been trapped for far longer than this vehicle has been here.

[ Yup... all this for beer. And it's not even good beer, come on. ]

Most likely. [ Qubit pulls himself up into the trailer for a closer look. ] It takes about a year to get to this level of decomp... probably longer, in a sealed environment.

[ He eyes the skeletons a little more intently. Hang on... he'd thought the driver's skeleton was inert, too, but then it started following Carlisle around like the others, didn't it? He was too preoccupied to really notice it at the time, but... ]

These fellows aren't going to get up, are they?

Edited 2019-10-01 02:25 (UTC)

Why would they? They're not undead.

[Not yet, anyway. He looks back toward the entourage (still 14ish), his eyes trailing to the cap-wearing, half-animated skeleton clawing its way through the sand, trying to reach the rest of them.

S i g h.]

... Okay, they might. It's not my fault, though. Whatever initially animated the rest of these foul corpses must be raising them, too.

[surejan.gif]

Edited 2019-10-01 02:34 (UTC)

[ Now who said it was your fault, Carlisle? Actually, Qubit might not have thought to suspect that just yet if he hadn't denied it.

And that makes him curious. ]

Okay. But to confirm - at this moment, you're completely certain they're not undead.

Right. Well—

[He closes his eyes a moment, shutting out the wind, truck, and the terrifyingly open sky above him. His ability to sense the undead is not as precise as he'd like, but he does his best to feel around, magically speaking. The coalition are obvious, the strongest source nearby; there are others within building, shambling between the shelves. He focuses ahead of him, into the trailer.]

Yes, I'm certain. Not undeads.

[ Qubit nods. All right - so if they do get up, it's because something (or someone) is raising them from scratch. Good to know.

His next stop is one of the suspicious unlabeled crates. It's not locked or anything, so he lifts the lid. The contents aren't visible from where Carlisle is, but Qubit doesn't seem pleased with what he finds. Wrinkling his nose, he none too gently lets the lid fall closed again.

Then he turns to Carlisle with an exaggerated grin, spreading his arms wide. ]

Correction: Beer and guns! Lady Liberty sends her blessings.

[Carlisle grimaces, uncertain of how to read Qubit's discoveries until the man turns back to him. Even then, he has his doubts that there's anything worth all this trouble in that truck. He has half a mind to ask if Lady Liberty is a deity, but given how Qubit has reacted to talk of gods and goddesses thus far, he assumes not.]

Fantastic. We did all this so we could get drunk and shoot one another. I suppose others would be happy with such treasures.

[Ignore that quiet clack from the back of the trailer, Qubit. The skeletons are just as annoyed with the situation as Carlisle is, though their displeasure is expressed with a few jittering fingerbones rather than the exasperated sigh the clergyman lets out.]

[ Qubit doesn't hear the clacking just yet, not over the alarms this find has set off in his head. He folds his arms, the fake grin changing back to a scowl. ]

... In fairness, they're bound to come in handy on a planet like this. But what do we do with them in the meantime? They're military-style weapons, they can fire close to ninety rounds a minute. It'd be irresponsible to just... release them into the general population.

I believe leaving them here for said general population to find would be equally irresponsible. We cannot be the only ones interested in seeing what these vehicles contain.

[He crosses his arms, thinking.]

I suppose we could take them with us and store them somewhere. Give them to people we know would not use them unwisely, should you know anyone like that.

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