redmarsshit | redshift: tdm #5

redshift: tdm #5

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

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

▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.

a. don't be a sap.

Good morning, October 25th! Whether you're a confused new arrival or a current resident, you probably had some plans for today, right? Grab breakfast, visit a friend, pick some fruit, explore a new part of the massive city.

Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?

The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.

A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.

Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?

b. familiar ground.

Every year in Anchor near the end of October, there's a very strange interaction between the protective dome over the city and seasonal radiation surges that happen in the wastelands. Some complicated combination of refraction and reflection means that for the last few days of the month, residents will experience some of the more benign effects of the red shift inside the city.

Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.

And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.

Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.

c. the virus.

A few weeks ago, people in Anchor started getting a case of the sniffles. While some of the earliest cases might be clearing up, there are still a few people suffering, or people freshly infected by those who were sick earlier, including some of the new arrivals who may not even be feeling it yet.

Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.

Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?

c. the network.

Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to warn a friend not to leave their apartment unless they want to be forcibly press-ganged into the Goop Festival? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?

Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.

Mod Note: The "familiar ground" prompt will be active between October 29th and October 31st; "the virus" prompt will be active until the next introductory mingle, which will be kicking off the second part of the illness plot.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Qubit turns to face him and their eyes lock for a second to two, only for Carlisle to pull his gaze elsewhere, his features tightening as his focus lands on some unknown piece of hardware sitting on one of the shelves. He tries to cling to the fabric of his coat, as though it'd help steady him, but his fingers refuse to close all the way, making it that much harder to cater to his nervous habits.

He still doesn't want to talk about this, even if he's the one who called Qubit to begin with, but he knows good and well it's not a matter of wanting so much as a matter of needing. He needs to talk about this, and he needs help, and he needs to make sure it cannot happen again. Not to his patients, not to his friends, not to complete and utter strangers, not even to someone as foul as Kabal—

Okay, well that last one might almost deserve it. A man of the church or not, Carlisle isn't that forgiving.]

I was called to heal a man whose eyes had been gouged out. It was more than I was able to handle, and I lost control over my energies.

[He pushed himself too far is more accurate. He nearly— no, he chastises internally. It needs to be said, confessed, no matter how horrible the truth is. It paints him as the monster he is, as a problem to be solved. Carlisle knows how he would do it, but he's afraid he'll just make things even worse if he even tries. That's how he got here, isn't it? Movements made with the best intentions, only for everything to turn out so, so wrong. It's equal parts frustrating and frightening, and Carlisle isn't sure how much longer he can cope with it on his own.

Qubit seems to be a problem-solver; better to let him, at the very least, try. He has been patient and understanding, and deserves that much.]

I nearly— [He pauses again, pulling in a breath to steady his voice.] I put them all at risk. I nearly killed everyone. Horribly.

[ Shocked, Qubit immediately unfolds his arms. There is a startling amount of new information to unpack just in those few sentences, but also holy shit, Carlisle. ]

His eyes were - Who was this? When? How?

[ And how is this the first he's hearing of it?! Damn it, he's supposed to be staying on top of these things! There aren't even fifty people here! How could one of them sustain an injury like that, in his station, without his knowledge?

No, not just that - Carlisle lost control of his powers, and that's even worse. It's no longer a hypothetical - that could easily have killed everyone in Anchor. Qubit lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. Yeah, no, this is Priority One effective immediately. ]

Who was injured? How many?

[He can feel the alarm in Qubit's voice as it rings through his ears, loud and terrible and alerting him to a problem he's all too aware exists. His eyes remain the shelf to his left, focusing on the details of each and every mechanical piece there as though they'd help him distance himself from -- well, himself. As a result, his voice is steady, tempered -- forcibly so -- as he lists off individuals and their injuries, trying not to picture the horror on their faces, memorizing the bits of machinery instead.]

A man named Kieran. Eyes removed. Reformed, but nonfunctional. I was interrupted. [Two buttons, a black top, three wires. More on the other side, perhaps.] One fellow I didn't quite know, Ben. He could- manifest tentacles from somewhere. I couldn't see where. [The arm of one of the constructs from the baths. Removed purposefully, or debris from one being destroyed?] Deputy Pratt called me. He sustained injuries trying to- trying to h-help me. [Something that looks like a construct's hand. Metal skeleton, not enough fingers, flesh rotted away—

The image of Pratt's hand, the skin peeling away from necrosis, dances before his eyes; the light of them grows unfocused for the span of a breath. He described his misstep in how much he could manage as an amateur mistake; however, given what he now is and what he is capable of, it's far more than that. He feels his irritation with himself hot in the back of his throat -- his voice grates, his nose (or what's left of the skin around it) wrinkling beneath his mask as he continues.]

I sustained myself in my work by unconsciously reaching into the trees around us. They- they were decayed when I realized, already dead. It could have been them. It could have been any one of them.

Edited 2019-11-23 07:29 (UTC)

[ Qubit puts one hand on his hip, rubs his eyes with the other. Kieran, Ben, and Pratt. All three of them, men he knows and likes. He tries to set his personal feelings aside for the moment, though. Sift through and find just the facts. Kieran's been blinded. Pratt has unspecified injuries. Ben summoned tentacles - that'll be the portal in his stomach, which Qubit got the impression he tries not to use unless the situation's truly desperate.

Which, in fairness, it was.

He didn't even know Carlisle could use his magic to heal people - although "could" is a strong word for it, evidently. Cisth, why'd it have to be the magic that went wrong first? ]

I know. I know. Let's just... remain calm, and go through it in order.

[ Order. Logic. Line the events up neatly. Someone gouged out Kieran's eyes, for God's sake. And when he finds out who - Remain calm. ]

Kieran was injured, and Pratt called you for help. [ His first thought is why, but that's something he can ask Pratt directly - provided Pratt's in any state to answer. ] You attempted to heal Kieran, but lost control before you finished. Is that right so far?

[Carlisle nods slightly. He might as well be boring a hole in the wall for how intensely he's staring at it. His voice is clipped as he clearly takes umbrage with one point in particular.]

I did not attempt to heal him. I did. I merely did not finish, but it is no easy task to rebuild the elements and organs of the body.

[Which isn't the point and he knows it, but he's clinging onto what little bit of his former self he can at the moment. It beats seeing himself as an entirely contemptible creature better put down than tolerated.]

Edited 2019-11-23 09:32 (UTC)

[ Look. Carlisle. He hates to break this to you, but. ]

[ Sternly - ] You attempted to heal him, and mostly succeeded.

[ Just like that time Qubit attempted to build a portal home in De Chima, and mostly succeeded. He did complete the construction of an interdimensional portal, structurally and scientifically sound - but it didn't do the single most important thing it was supposed to do, which, as far as he's concerned, made it an unqualified failure.

So really, he's being very generous here. ]

But it took more energy than you expected, and to make up the difference, you started unconsciously drawing energy from your environment. And at that point, you were interrupted. By what?

[ Did he abort the process himself (or try to and fail)? Or was it something external? He doubts it was Ben's doing, since ... Carlisle's still in one piece and all. ]

[Chastised (and well deserving of it, he knows, despite his insistence otherwise), Carlisle finally tears his eyes from their spot on the wall, affixing them to the ground as he hangs his head in reluctant defeat. He had one job, one thing he was supposed to be good at, one skill that gave him value to both his family and society... and in turn, gave him value to himself, as well.

What does he have now? What purpose does he have? And is it worth dealing with the danger he presents just by existing? He'd asked himself these questions time and time again when alive, never knowing that the threat he was then, as merely a twice-cursed, would pale in comparison to what he would become.

He tries to keep his self-doubts above water, but it's easy to drown in them when confronted with the truth he's not ready to face, what little confidence he had remaining crippled. It's not Qubit's fault. He's just pointing out something Carlisle knows he should have accepted. He should have accepted many things sooner.

He sighs before he answers.] I interrupted my channel. I could feel myself slipping in... [He shakes his head, trying again.] I could feel that I was losing myself, if that makes any sense. Channeling the energy to heal counteracted the energies keeping me animated, and eventually, it became more than I could bear.

[ Qubit almost feels bad, hurting Carlisle's feelings like that, and if he realized how hard he just tanked the man's self-worth, he'd probably feel worse. But as it is, he's just stating a fact. If you have to tack this many asterisks onto your success, it's not really a success, now, is it?

And the asterisks just keep on coming. ]

"Losing yourself"? [ That had better not mean - ] You were reverting into a Revenant state?

I don't- I don't know.

[He does know, and he knows he should elaborate if he wants help. He's just afraid of speaking the truth aloud, as though it will be all the more real if he does. He brings one stiff arm over to cling to the other, half-crossing them.]

In the last month I had before... Well. [Right. His death. The death for Carlisle, the death that specifically was the end of Carlisle, Carlisle's death. That death.] I would lose entire portions of my day. Minutes at first, then an hour, then more. I couldn't recall what I had done, or if I'd done anything at all. Sometimes, I would just find myself standing in the middle of my study, but it was the afternoon rather than the morning in the span of a heartbeat. I felt distant from everything when it happened, as though I were no longer there. And most prevalent was... anger. Resentment. A volatile remorse.

[All things characteristic of the undead, and Revenants in particular. His brow tightens, his teeth grinding together behind his mask.]

I tried to go with grace and humility, but I was damned regardless. How awful would my end be? Would I eventually lose an entire day? Or longer? What had I done to deserve that?

[He seems to realize he's getting worked up; he sucks in a breath, pushing it in and out. It quells his nerves just a little, that tremble in his arms slowing down.]

I felt it then, when I extended my reach too far. I wanted to finish healing him, but that bitterness rose in me, tainting my energies. I couldn't control it -- it consumed me for but a moment, instinctual and reflexive, but if I had kept healing him then, I might have done more harm than good. More harm than I did, as it stands.

[ Soooo that's a "yes," then. It does raise a curious detail about the nature of a Revenant - that the transition isn't sudden, or discrete. Which is interesting, because neither is the transition from life to death. The human body is a complex supersystem of interdependent parts, and when one component fails, so do the rest in short order, usually - unless they're artificially sustained by outside intervention. Artificial respiration, artificial heart, direct nerve stimulation... or, perhaps, magic.

If that's the case, Carlisle may have been partially undead before he was even fully dead. And his inevitable death being agonizingly drawn out by some force beyond his control certainly didn't make him feel less bitter and resentful.

But it's lucky that he's familiar with that transitional state, because it meant he could recognize the feeling when it happened again. ]

At least you retained enough control to stop. As bad as this was, it could have been much worse.

[ That's about the closest thing to optimism he's got right now. This did not result in the death and reanimation of every living thing in Anchor. Always a plus. ]

So then what? [ He hasn't mentioned Ben's tentacles yet, or Pratt's injuries. ]

[He's getting to Ben's tentacles and Pratt's injury, though he clearly doesn't want to. His head dips as he seems to shrink in on himself.]

I tore myself away, but my energies reached out around me. There were- there were corpses, bones in the ground of animals, of men. They- they pulled themselves together, and became an abomination.

[And Qubit probably knows how that went.]

Ben used his- his abilities to combat it. I could hardly see, hardly think, hardly move. Pratt approached me, and I- I could not control the necrosis spreading around me.

Edited 2019-11-29 02:24 (UTC)

[ ~~SHITTYBONES RIDES AGAIN!~~ wait no this is a serious thread. ]

[ Qubit does wonder where the corpses came from - it seems unlikely that there'd still be human remains in the Agricultural Zone decades after they died - but it's a secondary concern at the moment. Why would Pratt approach Carlisle in that state? Did he not realize what was happening? If so, that probably didn't last. ]

... How bad was it? Is he all right?

[Carlisle shakes his head, shame coloring what features can be seen above his mask.]

His hand seemed to be all that was affected, but the skin was rotting away not even a minute after he'd approached me. It was decayed, sloughing off, revealing the muscle beneath. I- I know not if he is all right. He went to the medical ward, and I have not spoken to him since. I could not bring myself to do so.

Edited 2019-11-29 02:45 (UTC)

[ He nods. It's an understandable reaction. ]

I'll check on him, then. And Ben took Kieran, I assume?

[He nods.]

I had caused enough trouble for one day. I left them along the way.

[ And that sounds like the end of the story. All right. So that's what happened.

Now what?

Qubit shuts his eyes, taking a moment to put his thoughts in order. This being Qubit, there are a lot of them. He'll need to speak to the other three who were involved - not to say he doesn't trust Carlisle's account of events, but he needs to be sure he's got the facts as straight as possible. The stakes are too high to go jumping in half-cocked. He'll still need to prioritize work on the psionic inhibitor, but considering the nature of the problem, he's not sure that'll actually fix anything.

It just had to be the magic, didn't it? How many magic-users do they have in Anchor, other than Carlisle? Two? Three? If they were on Earth-β, Sabriel would be his first choice, but they're not. Loki might have the expertise, but he's gone. Reynir? His wards might be able to contain Carlisle, but that's only marginally preferable to killing him. Wasn't there one more?

He'll have to check. This is officially out of his wheelhouse. He wants - no, he needs to help Carlisle. He just doesn't - know - how. ]

... All right. Backing up a bit. Can you tell me, more precisely, what -

[ Just then, reality lurches.

It's not a physical disturbance, nor a magical one, nor psychic. It feels totally different from any of those, yet similar to all of them, somehow registering to all senses and none simultaneously. The effect is intensely disorienting.

It passes in a second, leaving Qubit with both a wave of nausea and a much less physical Bad Feeling About This. He freezes in place, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth. ]

What was that?

[Unfortunately, with most of his senses as dulled as they are (the consequences of being a walking corpse), Carlisle hardly feels a thing when reality starts shifting around them -- no disorientation, no nausea, nothing save for a minute feeling that something is off in a way he cannot fully describe. He can, however, hear well the alarm in Qubit's voice, his eyes flicking to the other man.]

What? What was what?

[Qubit's eyes dart around, while Carlisle's go past him to the far wall; he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. Wasn't it covered in clutter just a moment ago? With shelves and gadgets of indeterminate make? And wasn't the wall itself of different construction? Or was he just imagining that? Given how his mind has been since the incident, he wouldn't be terribly surprised if he was seeing things, but still...]

[ What's Carlisle looking at? Qubit turns to see for himself, realizes with considerable alarm that what he's looking at isn't part of his lab - and then the Shift proper hits.

It's difficult to describe what it's like, watching space and time cease to mean much of anything. The walls stretch and compress simultaneously. Up is down, left is right, parallel lines converge, c is not constant in a vacuum, and the visible spectrum shrinks to only its longest wavelengths, such that the only color the human eye perceives is red...

Qubit's never been caught in this phenomenon before, but the color tips him off. ]

A Redshift? Here?!

[ He turns back to Carlisle, but doesn't see his friend. The man standing in his place is a stranger. Startled, Qubit recoils, but loses his balance and staggers into a wall - but the wall is the ground, and always was, just as the man who surprised him is Carlisle again, and always was. His eyes narrow with determination, and on impulse he sticks out his hand. ]

Carlisle! Grab on! We must not get separated!

[While he might not have been disoriented before, Carlisle certainly is now. Just as he's about to ask exactly what a Redshift is, as all of the explanations he's found have been anything but thorough, he learns through pure experience as the walls around them seem to move and bend -- not breaking, but flexing like molten steel, then flowing like water. That shouldn't be possible, should it? For a moment, he believes the world is melting all around them; he closes his eyes in unadulterated, instinctive fear, so sure this is the end.

But the end doesn't come, and when he cracks his eyes open once more, the entire room feels different -- and as a man who can feel very little in the traditional sense these days, he absolutely cannot explain it. Qubit's voice grounds him, the audacity of his command bolstering him momentarily against his terror.]

Wh- grab on?! You really think you ought to touch me after what I just told you about Mister Kieran and Deputy Pratt and—

[The room shifts again. Carlisle's legs threaten to buckle, and for a split second, he is utterly, terribly alone: the lab is gone, the walls are gone, and there is nothing. And then he's back, and Qubit's hand is there again, extended for him. He does not need to be told twice.]

Right right right, grabbing now!

[He hopes his gloves are enough to keep any and all necrotic energy he may be emanating at bay.]

[ It probably is a bad idea, but in the moment Qubit would rather lose a hand than his friend. Indeed, for a terrifying split second he does lose track of him - but then he's back, and Qubit grasps his gloved hand tightly. Fortunately, there's no pain, but there's a lot more give to Carlisle's grip than he expected, as if the gloves are mostly fluff, and the hand underneath is skeletally thin...

There isn't time to give that observation too much thought. Qubit pulls himself up, but finds he doesn't have to put much weight onto Carlisle; gravity doesn't quite mean the same thing it did a minute ago.

What do you do in this situation? Redshifts are the subject of warning signs all over Anchor, but they lack detail, meant to remind rather than instruct, never thinking that the instructions themselves could become lost. One common sign comes to mind, though -

"If you're caught in an active Redshift:
1. Stay calm!
2. Stay put!
3. Stay together!
Remember: Be ready for anything!"

He takes hold of Carlisle's upper arm with his other hand to steady him - both of them, really. The shift keeps accelerating, reality twisting around them in ways normal perception isn't equipped to handle, warping straight lines into impossible geometries, opening invisible holes filled with static and noise. It's nauseating, overwhelming, maddening -

- and fascinating. He kicks himself for leaving his tablet on the lab bench - the data he could be collecting! But maybe that's for the best this time around. Focus on surviving this one, and next time you can study it to your heart's content. ]

"Stay calm. Stay put. Stay together."

[ Carlisle will have seen the signs, too, he assumes. He can't quite keep the anxiety out of his voice - not for lack of trying, but his heart's pounding too hard to allow it, and his speech has to move fast to keep up with his breathing. ]

The spatial distortions should resolve in time, we just need to wait this out, staying calm is paramount, Carlisle. Don't look. Focus on me, focus on your eksth'alva.

[Qubit tells Carlisle to stay calm, and he finds that to be the most difficult task in the world at that moment. With the way the room is shifting all around them, defying everything possibility by becoming an impossibility, he starts to question what is real and what isn't. As a cowardly man who spent most of his years both dead and alive, his soul separating more and more with every passing day between the realm of the living and that of the dead, seeing one world in his waking hours and another in his dreams, he has never had a very good grasp on what is real and what is only a figment of his paranoia. This isn't real, he tells himself; it cannot be.

His grip loosens as he goes to bury his face in his hands, desperate to shut out the calamity, but he finds that Qubit is still holding onto him; he can detect minute tremors in his energies as they fluctuate around his arm, bending where Qubit's fingers press against him. Carlisle can feel his hand, albeit in the roundabout way he senses things now as an undead -- Qubit is real. Focusing on the other man's voice, he runs those words back through his head: Stay calm. Stay put. Stay together. That is what the warnings said, isn't it?

His fingers tightening on Qubit as though to reaffirm that they are in this impossibility together, his brings his other hand to rest atop the first, closing his eyes as he focuses on his energy. He must not rot everything around him in terror, especially not the only other person with him. He does not want to be alone -- he cannot be alone. Old habits rise as he tries to keep himself measured, but there's no machinery around him to memorize, no details to fixate on to maintain his composure.

So he talks about what he does know, focusing on the pressure against his arm as he listens to his own voice as it takes off a mile a minute.]

When once faced with the possibility he could not find a particular component in our world famed alchemist Pendlebrook Brimstone devised an altered f-f-f-form of a planar rift a dangerous form of glyphcrafting that allows one to travel between the planes of existence and while it is never recommended anyone attempt such a tremendously daunting and potentially fatal endeavor Pendlebrook Brimstone was no regular man having already proven himself by that point to be one of the most capable magicians of his time on top of his renown in alchemy and so he s-s-settled down in his house to work on his glyph it took him years reportedly to complete it but on the fourth year under the The King of Watchers the Buried and the Massive he finally accomplished his goal bringing his brother-in-law to his house to act as witness as he stepped through the planar rift into another realm of existence and in order to find his way back he left behind an ench-ch-chanted watch that would tick louder the closer he was to it as he was certain he might not be able to trust his eyes in other realms but the ticking of the clock was a grounding factor for him just a little like now with you holding my arm this is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine—

Edited 2019-12-07 22:55 (UTC)

[ Qubit, on the other hand, keeps his eyes open. He may not be able to take readings, but he still wants to witness this. The jumbled detritus of other realities, twisting, turning, tumbling around and past and through them, like the untamed chaos of otherspace but raw, unfiltered, trackless. Fragmentary images, intense blasts of color and idea and sound, the taste of subatomic spin, familiar voices -

"Qubit? You're alive!"

He glimpses a purple jacket, bright white hair in the static. He hasn't seen her in over a year, but he'd know her anywhere. ]

Kaidan?

[ God. He didn't realize how much he'd missed her. For a second he's struck with the urge to go to her, find her in the shift and let her pull him back home. But-

Carlisle's tightening fingers and babbling draw him back. No - that's right. People hallucinate during Redshifts. Qubit knows this. He has no proof she's real, as much as he wishes she was. He closes his eyes just for a second, and when he opens them again, she's gone.

His head's spinning, but he focuses on the stream of words, only vaguely keeping track of the story. Pendlebrook Brimstone, his planar rift, his watch - whether truth or legend, it grounds him the same way his presence grounds Carlisle. This man is real, and for now, Qubit has a duty to him. ]

It is fine, Carlisle. You're doing well. Keep it up. Not much longer.

[ He's surprised by the solidness of his own voice. It's certainly more than he feels. ]

[ But he's right, it seems; the Redshift is beginning to resolve. The walls and floor resume their proper orientation. Time returns to a rate of one second per second, space occupies one meter per meter. And finally, with one last horrid lurch, things go back to normal.

Sort of.

He's aware of the heat first, so intense that the air almost hurts to breathe. Qubit staggers at first, but soon finds his land legs, though he's still breathing heavily and it's clear at a glance that he's immediately broken a sweat. ]

There. Hah! ... That wasn't so bad, was it?

[ It was! He kind of wants to puke. Anyway, where are they?

The room's brightly lit and brightly decorated, with fanciful crayon drawings and bold block letters and numbers hanging on the walls. There's a playhouse, a bookcase stocked with easy readers, toys strewn around the room... like a kindergarten, only all the children are dead.

The skeletons turn his stomach even more than the Redshift itself. Not because Carlisle's probably going to end up raising them - that only enters his mind as a formality - but because Qubit knows exactly where they are. He's been here before. His hand unconsciously tightens on Carlisle's arm. ]

Oh. Oh, no.

[Beneath Carlisle's panicked murmuring -- a dozen more this is fines and a few I'm heres escape him as the world around them begins settling down -- he's fairly certain he hears Qubit say a name he doesn't recognize. Or was that his name? No, no that was definitely a different name. Is there someone else there? Or was he talking to one of his machines? Was it another term for the phenomenon they were experiencing?

He doesn't know the answer, but what he does know is Qubit sounds more uncertain than usual. It's to be expected of anyone going through the nightmarish experience they are, he assumes, but it's odd to hear the usually logical and composed Qubit in particular so... rattled.

But it's fine. It's going to be fine. Unrecognizable sensations are slowly replaced with more familiar ones, and though temperature changes are harder to detect now that he's an undead, Carlisle is aware enough of his own energies (uneven as they currently are) to feel how they shift based on external influences. Is that heat? That's heat. That's a lot of heat. But why is it suddenly so hot? They aren't out in the wastes, are they?

Or maybe the lab is on fire. It's probably on fire. This is not fine.

Qubit attempts to be reassuring, and Carlisle almost opens his eyes -- almost, as he stops when Qubit's hand tightens on his arm, sending a sharp ripple through his aural channels. Carlisle's brow tightens as the other man mutters to himself, his hand doing the same.]

'Oh no'? [His nerves are far more evident than Qubit's, as always; his tone is that of restrained denial.] What's 'oh no'? What are we oh-noing about? It's not very comforting when you're the one saying that. You know that, right?

Edited 2019-12-11 22:50 (UTC)

cw: vague suicidal ideation

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