Mods (
modblob) wrote in
redmarsshit2019-11-21 09:50 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
test drive meme: november 2019

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.
▶ 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. the truth hurts.
As though everything happening in the past month wasn't enough, there's been a minor explosion in one of the labs. No one hurt, if you don't count the hapless maintenance bot that caused the explosion in the first place.
But there are gases drifting through the laboratories, some of them making their way into the air vents, invisible to the purifiers in the system thanks to the explosion. And those gases are leaking into the air around Anchor, little pockets of danger waiting to be breathed in.
Those who breathe the gasses in might be the unluckiest Anchorites of all.
They're stuck telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth for the next five hours, give or take. Good luck with that!
But there are gases drifting through the laboratories, some of them making their way into the air vents, invisible to the purifiers in the system thanks to the explosion. And those gases are leaking into the air around Anchor, little pockets of danger waiting to be breathed in.
Those who breathe the gasses in might be the unluckiest Anchorites of all.
They're stuck telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth for the next five hours, give or take. Good luck with that!
b. retromedia.
Oblivious to what's going on inside Anchor, the shift rages outside, bringing shadows of things and places from other worlds, those things flickering into existence and out of it again.
The bad news is that the Whole Foods is gone.
The good news is the shift left something behind in its place.
A long, squat building, with cement walls painted over with stucco and punctuated by big windows. A flat roof with slanted sides, painted a deep blue. In bold yellow letters bolted to the roof, a sign:
BLOCKBUSTER
The sliding doors are broken, bouncing open and shut steadily, but the inside is clean and well-stocked with rack upon rack upon row upon row of VHS tapes, all of them neatly packaged in plastic boxes. Some of them have the movie covers on them, but most bear the Blockbuster logo and tiny labels running down the back, declaring the box's contents. There's a giant, somewhat busted up standee of Tim Allen as The Santa Clause, flickering holiday lights strung unevenly from the ceiling, and symbols of various seasonal holidays stuck up along the walls and windows.
Any movie you could possibly want lies within, or at least any movie you could possibly want that was released on Earth during or before 1994. And don’t worry if you can't find a VHS player in Anchor! There are whole shelves of VCRs tucked into one of the closets, apparently part of an aborted plan to rent out VCRs along with movies.
Poor Blockbuster. They were innovators. And now they're lost to the sands of the red shift.
The bad news is that the Whole Foods is gone.
The good news is the shift left something behind in its place.
A long, squat building, with cement walls painted over with stucco and punctuated by big windows. A flat roof with slanted sides, painted a deep blue. In bold yellow letters bolted to the roof, a sign:
The sliding doors are broken, bouncing open and shut steadily, but the inside is clean and well-stocked with rack upon rack upon row upon row of VHS tapes, all of them neatly packaged in plastic boxes. Some of them have the movie covers on them, but most bear the Blockbuster logo and tiny labels running down the back, declaring the box's contents. There's a giant, somewhat busted up standee of Tim Allen as The Santa Clause, flickering holiday lights strung unevenly from the ceiling, and symbols of various seasonal holidays stuck up along the walls and windows.
Any movie you could possibly want lies within, or at least any movie you could possibly want that was released on Earth during or before 1994. And don’t worry if you can't find a VHS player in Anchor! There are whole shelves of VCRs tucked into one of the closets, apparently part of an aborted plan to rent out VCRs along with movies.
Poor Blockbuster. They were innovators. And now they're lost to the sands of the red shift.
c. sweet sweet self-care.
While sickness persists inside Anchor's walls, those in recovery seem to be getting better every day. And while the health bots have been working overtime, some of their processes have gotten a little borked up from all the work they've been doing.
Along with medical care, they're now administering lectures to their captive audiences about the value of diet and exercise, the importance of personal hygiene, and the healing properties of massage. Some of them are forcing massages on people just to prove their point, which, y'know, could be a lot worse. At least they're good at massages?
The spa bots are getting in on the action, nagging the healthy to come for relaxation and decontamination in one gloriously bubbly swoop. They've converted several of their spa pools into sweet-smelling antibacterial baths, so you can make extra-sure you got those visiting-a-sick-friend cooties off!
No, seriously, go with them. Before they drag you there and make you take a bath like an unruly two-year-old.
Believe them, it's worth it. If you complete a circuit of the spa, including the antibacterial baths and the fresh and zesty decontamination shower, you get a shiny sparkly holographic sticker that says "YOU ARE FREE OF DISEASE" in little cheerful bubble-letters. They designed them all by themselves, totally from scratch. Are you proud?
Along with medical care, they're now administering lectures to their captive audiences about the value of diet and exercise, the importance of personal hygiene, and the healing properties of massage. Some of them are forcing massages on people just to prove their point, which, y'know, could be a lot worse. At least they're good at massages?
The spa bots are getting in on the action, nagging the healthy to come for relaxation and decontamination in one gloriously bubbly swoop. They've converted several of their spa pools into sweet-smelling antibacterial baths, so you can make extra-sure you got those visiting-a-sick-friend cooties off!
No, seriously, go with them. Before they drag you there and make you take a bath like an unruly two-year-old.
Believe them, it's worth it. If you complete a circuit of the spa, including the antibacterial baths and the fresh and zesty decontamination shower, you get a shiny sparkly holographic sticker that says "YOU ARE FREE OF DISEASE" in little cheerful bubble-letters. They designed them all by themselves, totally from scratch. Are you proud?
d. the network.
Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to ask a friend which 1980s teen movie classic to watch at movie night? 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.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
no subject
There's no defeat in Shepard's voice. Nope, not a single note of it. There might be some resignation, but she's tired, okay. She's been run off her feet for nearly two months at this point. She can admit to being tired, and choosing her battles.
She has her own bot following her. That could maybe explain things.
"Has yours said anything?"
no subject
He's glaring at the thing when he hears the voice of Shepard, the woman who's taken over the medical facilities here. Finnick looks back in the direction of her voice -- she looks tired -- and sees that she's got a follower, too.
"Not yet. Has yours?"
Like what exactly they want, following people around instead of just being there to offer towels and robes and massages or change the music?
no subject
"Oh yeah. It's been lecturing me. Apparently, I've been letting my work-life balance suffer during the pandemic." Her voice - always low and a bit rough - is even drier than normal. "Also been letting my exercise schedule go to hell." Which is... true. She has. She hasn't been nearly as diligent and disciplined as she should have been.
But she's been busy. Not with paperwork or schedules, but people being sick. And she's the only damn trained medic.
"So it's been herding me here. Worse than a fussy doctor."
no subject
He's heard of the machines doing that before, apparently spontaneously deciding that people need to go a particular place and do particular things. He assumes that it's something they've been made to do; a lifetime in Panem, an adulthood spent under the scrutiny of the Capitol, make him suspicious that there's more behind this place than they're told.
"What do they want?"
He looks from Shepard back to the machine, his green eyes sharp and narrowed. "Is this more of their fighting against this sickness by locking people places?"
no subject
There's enough stuff around here for her to blow up the bots if she really wanted. Chemicals. Electrics. Her own biotics and omnitool. Her creativity and training. There are always ways.
But they aren't a threat, as such. Just... Kind of annoying when they pull this shit.
And maybe she secretly wanted a break. Stranger things have happened.
"I think, they wanna take care of us. Just can't tell if it's VI or AI."
cw: victim blaming
It's directed at Shepard, but he's speaking loudly enough that both the machines ought to be able to hear as well.
He understands the sentiment well, though. He'd had to learn a long time ago when to fight and when to just let things happen. He never stopped hating it, though, never really stopped fighting with himself over giving in. But he doesn't want to fight here, either, really; there's little they could do to him that hasn't already been done, and for all that's gone wrong here they don't seem to have much malice.
"What do you mean, VI or AI?" he asks, eyeing the machines as the one following him bustles forward and starts shooing him towards one of the spa areas.
no subject
Not that she's gonna ask about it, or even query it. Not yet. Not until it's relevant. No point in aggravating the guy.
"VI stands for Virtual Intelligence. It's a pretty sophisticated computer program that makes it easier to access information, or just use, a particular system. Not self-aware, so it's not a true intelligence. I'd say the bots show this. AI, Artificial Intelligence, is self-aware, like you or me. There's personality, thought, not just programming."
no subject
He's careful not to frown as he listens to what Shepard says, but he does give the ... bots, she calls them, a suspicious glance for a moment before he turns back to her.
"They don't seem very aware." He says it tentatively, almost as though he's seeking her agreement or approval, though he really needs neither.
He does want to understand more about the bots though.
no subject
"Yeah, they don't, do they? It's why I think if anything, they are VI. They're glitchy, but there doesn't seem to be an actual intelligence behind it. Programmed responses and responsibilities? Yeah.
So, I let myself be herded. Going to the spa isn't dangerous."
Unspoken: if it was dangerous, I wouldn't be here - and neither would the bots.
no subject
He thinks that's what 'programmed' means, at least here where nobody seems to have had anything to do with the bots for a long time until people started showing up here again.
As far as Finnick's concerned, going to the spa could be dangerous because almost anything can be dangerous. But he's good at making it through what can be dangerous. He gives the bot that's been following him a long, flat glare, then does what it clearly wants him to do and starts walking down the corridor.
no subject
And here? Trying to - okay, she needs to readjust down a bit. Here, trying to educate someone without appearing condescending, you have to tread carefully. She doesn't know Finnick Odair well, nor his wife. But he seems a proud man, and well old enough that education can be filled with pitfalls.
She can sympathize. She'd been eighteen when she'd gotten her first dose of serious education.
"Yeah, exactly. Our presence, I think, triggered the programs to start running again. But because it's been so long, the code's become old, corrupted, missing key sequences, that sort of thing. Think of an engine that hasn't run for a while, it shudders as it warms up, yeah? Sort of like that." Shepard pulls a face. "It's not an exact analogy. Does it make sense?"
no subject
But Shepard is at least making the effort, and she's better at explaining than Beetee, so he can appreciate the attempt.
"Guess so," he says.
"Any idea what they want us to do?"