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ximilialog2022-10-07 08:12 pm
- ! event log,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- code geass: suzaku kururugi,
- devil may cry: dante,
- doom patrol: rita farr,
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- mcu: bucky barnes,
- mcu: natasha romanoff,
- mcu: shang-chi,
- one piece: rosinante donquixote,
- original: clayton epps,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- stranger things: steve harrington,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the old guard: yusuf al-kaysani,
- the walking dead: daryl dixon,
- the witcher: yennefer of vengerberg,
- transformers: drift,
- transformers: megatron,
- transformers: minimus ambus,
- transformers: perceptor,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: THE VOICE IN THE DARK
● ● ● M I S S I O N 9 . 0
It's in the early hours of the morning, when even the lights around the station are dimmed to emulate an accurate cycle of the day, when your earpieces softly ping with information for a new mission. Viveca’s accompanying message will only play when the file is opened; no one will have to wake up to it, though undoubtedly some early birds (or late night owls) will want to listen to it immediately.
With that slightly ominous intel, it is time to familiarize yourself with the file and its contents, and gather what you need. You'll have time for a nice meal, an extra nap, or maybe several hours of training before the evening finally arrives and it’s time to head to the teleportation platform.
When you get there, it is already lit up, the unmistakable hum filling the room. Viveca and Degar are already there too, greeting each arriving Orber and offering them luck. Once everyone has arrived, the hum grows louder, the machine preparing to send everyone off as usual —
But then you hear something. From your earpiece, that same knock as before, the same lilting voice asking “Who’s there?”, except now she follows it with:
In the ever-louder hum, it's impossible to tell who among the team it is that, after a pause, asks:
The answer is as immediate as it is sweet, almost cheerful.
You barely have the time to process this, or the way Viveca and Degar look at each other with alarm, when the teleportation yanks you away into a bright, white light. There, instead of the lilt of the unknown woman, you hear a whisper, echoes from far away, telling you what it is you must do … but before you can answer, the light around you fades and you feel solid ground beneath your feet.
Welcome to Forsythe Heights.
The weather has cooled down considerably when you arrive in Forsythe Heights, the autumn season truly upon the small, cozy town. It’s reflected in the reds, oranges and browns of the leaves in the trees, and slowly forms a cover over manicured lawns and gathers at roads-end drains, sticking to metal grates and concrete curbs. It’s the perfect time for pumpkin pie and warm hot cocoa, and All Hallow’s Day is well on its way with the slow emergence of decorations in front of houses. For those who have always lived here, it’s just ‘that time again’; and for those freshly arrived, it’s time to find a way to blend in.
1.0 The Town —— With your established cover stories at hand, it’s time to explore Forsythe Heights. Upon entering the cozy town, you’ll be greeted by a block of restaurants and a few select shops before Lilian’s Bed and Breakfast comes up on the road. Beyond that is the library (with a small but robust collection of fiction and archived newspapers) and the mayor’s office, the police department and the fire station. Rows of shops line Main Street too, with goods ranging from clothing and food items to accessories and knick-knacks of varying levels of usefulness (and entertainment). After this are the residential neighbourhoods, with blocks of quaint houses on streets like Acorn Avenue and Beaver Creek and Elmgrove Street; Forsythe Heights Elementary School and High School are nestled comfortably within, making the commute no longer than a pleasant morning walk from most houses.
With All Hallow’s Day approaching, the town has been decorated to suit, but there are still events one can join in on too: pumpkin-carving competitions, decoration creations, face-painting, and festive pastry-baking (with all the ins and outs of using orange icing to the best of one’s ability!). The elementary school will also be hosting a bake sale a week before All Hallow’s Day to fund the annual class party, a task that has been newly assigned to Mr Harris this year. Feel free to sign up for various activities through speaking with those in the community running them, join in and blend in with your fellow resident.
2.0 Forsythe Pleasantview Cemetery —— By the church, Our Lady of Lonely Souls, is a large expanse of lush land lined with pathways and trees and rows of headstones of varying shapes and sizes. It’s easy enough to find one’s way there, past the town hall and the library nearby. It’s a peaceful walk and beautiful when it isn’t raining or frigid with the winter ice. Today might be an exceptionally beautiful autumn day, with the leaves having made a carpet of colour, and one can get a great overlooking view of Forsythe Heights.
As you walk among the stones, you might catch the faintest whisper on the wind but otherwise this place doesn’t seem to evoke any sort of unease. Of course, you might not want to stay anywhere past 6:30PM when the caretakers of the cemetery … gently but forcibly send visitors home with vague answers to any questions. It might not be impossible to linger by the gates and chat up the caretakers for any possible conversation, but you’ll have to be the right kind of charming. And, of course, catch them on a good day.
3.0 Wright Central Mall —— Just past Forsythe Heights, on the next exit along the freeway, you might come across a large two-storey building that sprawls over a large lot surrounded by asphalt. There are fragments of an ambitious vision poured into the weathered concrete and the smooth stone surfaces, memories of a bustling shopping epicenter that now sits empty with all businesses closed, the structure of Wright Central Mall itself a retail graveyard. It may prove to be something of a challenge to get past the tall barbed fencing, and the large bright yellow sign warns trespassers that their attempts to enter are forbidden and will be punished by law, but it isn’t an impossible feat either.
Once you move past the padlocks and chains and through the large metal doors, you’ll be greeted with the darkness and the musty scent of debris and a space fallen to disuse and disrepair. Storefronts are empty and abandoned. Some stores may still see scraps of old merchandise (nothing especially useful: clothing, unmatched shoes, old books, random accessories), covered now in a thick layer of dust. The escalator no longer runs, but it still works plenty well enough as a staircase to lead you up to the second level where a now defunct food court once existed, some of the signage now left broken and shattered into pieces.
Wandering through this long forgotten shopping mall might offer different experiences for some. There are small shops with none of the lights on, dark spaces that seem even darker no matter how long you adjust your eyes. As you explore these stores you might feel the walls begin to shift and draw closer, swallowing you into the darkness, paralyzing you. You can try to scream and claw your way out but it feels as though you’re stuck, your limbs locked into place.
Hopefully one of your fellow orbers will find you and pull you out from the dark — whether it’s all in your own head or not. ♪
4.0 Main Street —— Forsythe Heights has never been bustling, but those without a regular nine-to-five seem to populate the main street of the town where most of the shops and cafes and restaurants are situated. There is no other way to describe it: it’s quaint. This is where you might find that one-of-a-kind scarf or hat, something homemade and not too mainstream. There’s a bookshop and general store, and little shops for knick-knacks. At the cafes (of which there are two to choose from: Patty’s Diner; or for coffee addicts, Alvin’s Roastery) you might sample artisanal hot beverages ranging from coffee to tea to the richest cocoas, and try the croissants at Alvin’s as well. Patty offers great food for lunch or dinner, and might happily chatter away at you if you try her latest menu item.
The sun sets quickly now during this last leg of the year, and by early evening the lights in the town start to come on, illuminating the interiors of houses and other businesses along the main street like stars. Carved and plastic pumpkins alike glow bright orange at door stoops and in windows, and while the sky is covered in cloud, the glow of the waxing gibbous moon still painting rooftops in a cool, white-ish light.
5.0 Cemetery: Revisited (CW: body horror, some descriptions of gore) —— If you decide to chance getting caught and possibly arrested for trespassing, you might decide that it’s well worth exploring Forsythe Pleasantview Cemetery after hours. The groundskeepers lock up the premises at 6:30PM sharp and disappear into their car to drive past the slight crest in the road that leads to their home. It isn’t very far away in the case of an emergency, but then they haven’t come across such things in … some time.
You might find that the cemetery now feels inextricably different with the sun’s last light fading into evening; in fact, it’s almost eery. The wind feels colder, almost biting. It seems to whisper words in your ear as it hisses past you. The grass beneath your feet crunches like the sound of something dry and brittle, something like bone — only when you look down at your shoes, there’s nothing there except for the grass and dirt and dust. When you look up, however, you might find a gaunt face staring back at you, a blur at first but slowly it takes the shape of something familiar, someone you know or knew from home. Their eyes are dark and empty, hollow holes in a pale face that smudges in and out of focus like flashes of a horrible image. They might look as though they’re in pain as they reach out, flesh hanging from bone and yet looking barely corporeal. And they may open their mouths with chipped, blackened teeth and an equally black tongue but as they try to speak words to you no sound comes out. They're just cold whispers in your ear, nothing more than the wind. ♪
6.0 Forsythe Elementary (CW: some descriptions of gore, uh ... giggling children?) —— The skies are fully dark by the time you find your way towards the elementary school. Somehow, without the presence of staff and students, the building feels like a cold, haunted shell of itself. Should you dare to go in — after bypassing the locks, of course — you’ll be met with dark corridors, echoing classrooms, and the wind whistling through the emptiness, seeming to come from outside … except no windows or doors are really open. You might see a dark smudge up ahead that seems to shift and move, sending a chill crawling up the length of your spine. If you happen to have a torchlight with you, throwing a spotlight onto the shadow, there’s nothing there.
Continue on and you may suddenly be transported to a different place all together, the glossy hallways now a room you remember vividly, or a field, or battle arena. Your worst memory slowly begins to materialize before you to be lived through again, and you might scream for help but find no response. Or, if you move along the long corridor and study the postings and drawings and notices on the walls, colourful push-pins keeping equally colourful flyers in place, you might start to notice the words start to change or bleed into each other. They become bold and black and appear to drip down the length of the page with threatening messages or deep, dark secrets revealed, clear before your eyes. Whether this message is for you, and you alone, is dependent upon the strength of your fear.
Whispers might follow you, a shadow taking shape that looks eerily like you — only it murmurs your worst fears at you, taunting you, provoking you into doing something foolish. Maybe it asks you to claw at your own face, or find someone else to harm. Will you ignore it? Or will you give in? And if it isn’t whispers, you might hear the clear peal of children giggling somewhere just out of reach of you, in another class room or down the hall. No matter how long you try to chase it, you can never quite catch sight of them.
Do you continue to explore or do you try to find a way out, hoping to escape the horrors in this school? ♪
7.0 The Town After Dark —— By the time the sun goes down and the skies are dark, most of Forsythe Heights’ residents have closed their stores and cafes and departed for their homes. The town suddenly looks very different without its residents out and about, the shadows seeming to be larger and darker without the sun to keep them at bay. And are those … ghoulish, grinning faces behind the display windows, hidden amongst the clothing mannequins or past the darkness? No, no, that must be your imagination.
Out here it might seem peaceful at first, but it quickly becomes unmistakable — somewhere in that cool, cold distance, there’s the low growl of something primal that slowly becomes a howl at the now-full moon. And among that are more hushed whispers and strange sounds carried across the breeze, foreign grunts and groans and clicks from under shadow. Some of you might try and investigate the source of these sounds, but others of you might want to find shelter or quickly make your way back to the homes you’ve made here.
Everything seems to come to a head when the clock strikes 3AM on the morning of All Hallow’s Day. The strange happenings within Forsythe Heights have been increasing in frequency and strength, sights that are hard to dismiss and hard to excuse if you and the rest of the team have been investigating locations around town during the nights. A fog has set in now, obscuring the sharp lines of building forms and the curbs of the roads to a blurry watercolour painting. From wherever you might be now, the strangest feeling seems to settle over your chest like a pressing weight, prickling at your skin and raising the hairs on your arms.
Something is coming. No. Something is already here.
8.0 Witching Hour —— A dark silhouette begins to take shape through the thick fog. It appears to approach you and the rest of the team but it takes its time, slow and meticulous in its movement. The air is colder now, each exhale a cloud of condensation, and you wish you brought an extra jacket. Your eyes remain trained on the shadow drawing nearer, it’s like you can’t look away even if you want to. (But some of you might, just to exchange a look with your fellow orber.) The figure doesn’t quite walk, but it isn’t gliding either. The air tingles with a girl’s cackling laughter now, but it sounds too familiar, as though it might have been sampled directly from a popular horror film. It seems to be cut out immediately by another voice, low and guttural, murmuring nonsensical words like something possessed, before a different voice all together claws its way past the growls and the giggles. It’s a boy’s voice, and it doesn’t sound any older than twelve or thirteen.
A jumpscare is a mod-initiated prompt using one or more of your character's fears listed here. Once initiated, players can treat it as if it were a specific starter or a prompt in a top level, and react and respond accordingly.
There will be no follow-up by the mods.
The player who the jumpscare is for can decide whether to treat it like an open prompt (everyone can tag in), or a closed starter (only pre-planned tag-ins). Please make sure to plot for this amongst yourselves for tag-ins. Feel free to make use of the initial ooc plotting post for this.
• When will it happen?
• Where will it happen?
— Though note that every jumpscare thread will be considered a "log" thread for AC, regardless where it happens.F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• To submit a search request regarding exploring a specific place or speaking to an NPC, please do so HERE.
• If you would still like to opt in for a jumpscare, you may do so HERE. We will be accepting them until October 20.
• A gentle reminder: please make sure to properly mark your threads for content warnings and/or mature content.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
[He takes a cautious step backwards.] Easy...I don't want no trouble...
[And then all hell breaks loose.]
[It's bad enough that Minimus breaks cover and charges into the fray on his own. But when the whole school shifts around them, placing Clayton into a landscape so alien he can barely process it, he's thoroughly stunned into inaction. The thing that breaks him out is the sound of two robots colliding just ahead, and the realization that one of them is the person he was trying to protect.]
Minimus! [Shit, what can he even do here? It's not like he can break up a giant robot fight by himself. Except, is that even what's happening right now? Clayton knows mass hallucinations, and this feels like one. He stands his ground and picks up his voice.] This ain't right! We gotta still be in the school! Think!
no subject
[That is not Minimus's voice coming from the robot called "Magnus". It the old avatar hadn't transformed into it, one could easily believe that this was an entirely different robot.
He slams into Overlord with his momentum, and the two are interlocked, shoving each other with all their strength and leaving themselves in a stalemate.]
Got any regrets, Overlord? [He growls at his opponent.] Because I do. Hell, I've got a list. And you - [He swings a punch and connects to Overlord's face.] You're near the top.
[Their fighting moves them across the imagined hallway, closer to Clayton. Both are lost in an old memory of a fight, forgetting that there is someone else in the room with them.]
I should've gone to Garrus-9 with the Wreckers. Should've sorted you out then. I've often wondered if things would've played out differently had I been there. [Two fists strike the illusion from underneath the chin, and pink Energon flies out of Overlord's mouth.] Guess I know now.
no subject
Minimus! You gotta--Minimus listen!
[This is doing nothing. Flustered, Clayton considers his options. Trying to physically separate them is out of the question; hallucination or otherwise, he doesn't want to risk getting squished. He could try to get through to Minimus mentally, perhaps? It should only take a quick prod of his subconscious, or an injection of memories to give him the right perspective--]
Easy, right? Just like what you were planning to do with me.
[Clayton's face blanches and he whirls around, expecting to see Conrad's smirking face just behind him, but there's nothing there except an expired Cybertronian's body.]
[...It's not worth the risk. Scowling with frustration, Clayton picks up a hefty-looking rock and chucks it at the scuffling robots.]
--Stop it! Listen to me!
no subject
What's the joke? [Ultra Magnus swings a fist, ignoring everything Clayton says. The memory requires his full focus: ignoring Overlord is a death sentence. His attack is blocked by Overlord grabbing his hand and holding his extended arm in place.]
You, Ultra Magnus. The joke is you. Everything about you - the self-importance, the sense of duty, the macho posturing masquerading as guilt...
[Magnus's face furrows. Something about those words struck him to the core called Minimus.]
You're the joke and the joke is you. But - see - that's not why I'm laughing. I'm laughing because you're not been holding back--
[Overlord reaches back. The hallway is a mess, and among the debris is a sword taken from its original owner. A hand grips the hilt as he speaks, and with Magnus distracted, he has the opportunity to win the fight.]
brain stuff incoming, lmk if I need to change this
[This is escalating too quickly.]
Is it worth risking his soul to save his life, Clayton?
[This time he ignores the voice. Not bothering to find somewhere to hide first, Clayton's eyes roll and he slumps to the ground, boneless, his head hitting the concrete with a solid thunk that he feels even after he opens his many eyes again in the Astral. No time to worry about his own wellbeing, though; Minimus's mind lies ahead and Clayton's freed soul bursts for it, latching onto the outside.]
[There's a little bit of a warning: Minimus should feel an influx of foreign emotions, frustration, anxiety, and fear chief among them, moments before Clayton wraps his ethereal fist in his thoughts and plunges it into the Cybertronian's mind, attempting to force a tether. Regardless of if it takes, Clayton's thoughts and intentions flash clearly from the momentary connection: ]
Minimus, he's got a sword!
it's good
But how does he know this? Someone is inside his head warning him to step away. The image of the ship interior fades just as Overlord jabs the sword where his body used to be, and the memory ends there.
It's an illusion, and his mind had been invaded as if by a mnemosurgeon. Part of him knows that there is no one here with such an ability, but he has no memories of being jabbed with needles at the back of the neck. This isn't a trick of the town; this is someone tampering with his mind.]
Who?! [The blue and white robot fades away, revealing Minimus underneath the facade, as he jerks around in search of - who? Sunder, the mech who could perform mnemosurgery from a distance?]
no subject
It's just me--it's Clayton! You're safe. I'm sorry. Please don't panic.
[The sound of his voice doesn't come from any particular direction, but Minimus shouldn't have too hard of a time spotting Clayton's apparently lifeless body slumped in a face-down heap by the classroom door.]
no subject
What have you done?! Get out of my head!
no subject
[His tumultuous feelings of anxiety and regret still bubbling around the contact point with Minimus's mind suddenly pop away, followed moments later as Clayton sucks in a breath. Then a groan. Feeling that uncontrolled descent into the floor now; there's already a welt forming on his forehead, with a pounding headache behind it. Clayton slowly pushes himself into a sit.]
...Sorry. I'm sorry. [His eyebrows knit together.] You gotta understand--I didn't have no other choice.
no subject
[Megatron specifically has mnemosurgery-related trauma to the point he fears needles. What if he lashed out at Clayton violently? What if Drift or Rodimus has to deal with this?]
Don't humans have a taboo against the manipulation of the mind?!
no subject
[This much self-loathing is unsustainable. Finally, unable to find a resolution, it falls away to the otherwise repressed emotion underneath: Righteous indignation.]
You woulda died. [Clayton's expression hardens, his voice quiet and harsh.] Don't you dare tell me you'd rather I sat back an' watched.
no subject
But he will always remember what Chromedome - the actual mnemosurgeon - did to his long-lost brother. If he hadn't decided to inject himself into the supposed mechanimal they found, Dominus would still be alive. If he hadn't decided to play the hero and attempt to undo the mental damage right then and there, Dominus would still be alive. If he hadn't put his life on the life, leaving Rewind to decide between his first love or his second, Dominus might still be alive. Maybe not entirely as his old self, but alive, even just long enough for Minimus to see him one last time.
And Minimus wouldn't be on this wretched tour of the universe.
The orb has been corrupting him, he knows this. The idea of ending this conversation violently doesn't seem all that horrifying anymore.
He answers Clayton with a light, but pointed, slap.] Don't you dare think you know best when to use your power!
no subject
I...I was just...
[Yeah, he's got nothing. Clayton stares at the side wall, face steadily going pale in the dim as he becomes more and more horrified with himself. How could he even pretend that this was justified?]