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ximilialog2023-06-01 06:40 pm
- ! event log,
- adventure time: finn mertens,
- adventure time: jake the dog,
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- lockwood & co: anthony lockwood,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- red vs blue: felix,
- star trek aos: james t. kirk,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- the old guard: andromache,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER
● ● ● M I S S I O N 1 4 . 0
The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.
You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.
Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:
The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.
Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.
1.0 The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.
There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.
Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.
2.0 Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.
You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.
3.0 The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.
Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?
If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.
4.0 Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.
If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.
5.0 You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.
By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.
6.0 The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.
The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.
Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.
● ● ●
Present Day.
The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.
Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.
The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.
Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.
F Y I
• For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
Seeing how Chishiya thinks out loud, the bleak surroundings and the collars fixed around every neck.
Like dogs, only these look infinitely more dangerous than chains or leather. He saw something like this on E23-b, the collars rigged to explode.]
Playing cards?
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Is that what it looked like to you?
[He notes that while some other members of the crew who have viewed his memories seem uncomfortable with the entire situation, Aleksander does not. He watches it easily, with the same sort of attitude one might have while viewing a movie.]
no subject
[The names are as foreign to him as most on the station, but really, people would call themselves or their children anything these days.
Eyes flicking down to the collar still fixed around Chishiya's neck.]
Are you in prison?
[Memories. Dreams. It all blurred together after a while, stepping in to different rooms only to be faced with fears and hopes, nightmares and dreamscapes.]
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Only until the game ends.
[Which should be any moment because the Jack of Hearts does not have it in him to withstand the torture of two psychopaths.
Though, really, he's not sure why the memory hasn't fully faded yet. He's not actively reliving it anymore, he's aware of the illusion now. But the walls of the prison still exist around them.
Simulation room glitch, maybe. Inconvenient.]
no subject
[It seems strange, cruel even.
But he doesn't show any sign of being surprised. Humans were cruel, after all, and prone to violence. He does look more closely at Chishiya, though. Head tilting, as the sounds of pain reverberate down the cold corridor from one the cells.]
Where are you, when the game stops?
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[The point of the game was to find the Jack of Hearts, so once he was found Chishiya was ready to bounce.
He heads toward the stairs.]
I'd advise against looking in any of the cells. It's gruesome.
no subject
Instead, he pokes his head through the doorway to the nearest cell- a dead body, head missing. Blood coating the walls, spilling out on the floor. Congealed. This didn't happen now, which suggests that what he watched had been going on for longer.]
Why did they die?
[The work camps on E23-b, it happened because of insubordination. A constant threat hanging over the heads of them. His own work had less-- spectacular ways to ensuring punishment for failing to follow orders, but there was no one else here.
The three men occupied further down the hall, and rows of possibly dead people (the number of closed cell doors whispered of it) and this man, walking calmly towards a staircase and Aleksander follows, his dress shoes clicking against the floor.]
This is your memory. Why do you call it a game?
no subject
He glances over his shoulder at Aleksander.]
Because it's a memory of a game. They died because they lost.
no subject
[The fighting rings in Ketterdam, fueled by greed and lust for power. The spectacle that the witch trials in Fjerda and Ravka herself had had similar - the poor and the weak being prayed upon by the rich.
Following, two steps behind and still keeping his eyes on Chishiya. He doesn't look rich, with his pale hair half-tucked behind an ear and a zippered shirt.]
You won. What do you win?
no subject
[And an unwilling one at that. But then again so was just about everyone.
He turns around to look at Kirigan incredulously at the next question. Shouldn't the answer be obvious?]
Think about it. If losing means dying, what would winning mean?
[Not dying. Getting to keep your life.]
no subject
Are they playing one now? Him trailing behind and Chishiya only giving away crumbs of information. What lies beneath the fabric of his chosen outfit, behind his dark eyes?
But follow he does, shoes still making loud noises against the hard floor.]
Your life.
[And how far would this one go to keep it? Clever enough in the cell to figure out the answer to a riddle Aleksander doesn't know, composed enough to let a person be dragged off to be... persuaded in to giving up information the Jack clearly didn't want to give. Detached enough to look away from the glint of gleeful malice in the eyes of the other men.]
It seems quite cruel, this game you were in.
no subject
[Both Borderland and the one he's from. In some ways Borderland was easier to deal with. At the very least, he generally prefers people see these memories than the ones from home.
Above them an explosion echoes through the prison hallways, and Chishiya's collar unlocks with a soft mechanic whirring sound.]
Ah, there it is.
[He removes the collar and sets it down on a table with a sign saying to take one, though at the moment it's the only one there.]
no subject
[Even as he looks at the table, the card so unhelpful and the exploding collar Chishiya placed on it.
Some of the memories he had stumbled upon had been intimate, private moments of sorrow or heartbreak. Of sacrifices and war. It had been personal.
As had his own.
Looking back over his shoulder, to the cold, bare prison walls. Back towards the men, with their gleeful smiles and the Jack they dragged with them. The explosion that might be another collar.]
The world-- all worlds. Are cruel.
no subject
Exactly. So why the curiosity?
[Cruelty for the sake of cruelty could be its own explanation. There could be more to Borderland than that, but maybe there’s not. Neither possibility seems impossible to him at this point.
He could say as much. That he doesn’t know anything for sure. But something about Aleksander's general demeanor brings out his more evasive tendencies, puts his back up the same way the games did. Admitting a weakness, a gap in his knowledge, seems like a bad idea.]
no subject
[He wants... too many things. Another weakness, too stubborn to be purged] And because you interest me.
no subject
[He could argue that the mushrooms didn't seem to have it too bad, but then again their planet got destroyed. Cruelty finds a way, it seems.]
You must be easily entertained. I'm hardly the most interesting person on the crew.
[He's not from a high tech future and he doesn't have superpowers or access to magic. He's just some guy with a knack for survival. Albeit a pretty clever one, if he does say so himself.]
no subject
[Where they bend. When they break. What they choose to defend or excuse. Even the powerless ones, so clever in the ways they try to compensate for being cut off from their own version of the Making.]
Games. Plural. This wasn't your first one.
You are interesting because you didn't shy away from what had to be done to save your own life. You are-- unapologetic.
no subject
[It was actually one of the last he played, but he doesn’t elaborate on that. Nor does he point out that he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have some regrets. That’s a given and there’s no reason to draw attention to it.]
Most people will do what they need to to survive.
[Though he doesn’t disagree that he was unapologetic about it in general. What would be the point? Words didn’t mean much and the people who were hurt the most were already dead.]
no subject
[Ravka knew nothing but war and strife, the famine that swept the nation every century or so. The shortsightedness of the reigning tsar and his equally useless family. The treasury loses more gold than they could possibly gain from selling crops to Kerch or Novyi Zem.
The crown turning a blind eye to the slave markets and the trade of Grisha because it means more gold for himself and his endless parade of balls.
Because it fuels the wheels of war.
And on the station, they would murder hundreds to save a handful. Mourning only those who's lives touched their own, so hypocritically.]
Most men would lie. But not you.
no subject
[Sooner or later, everyone in Borderland knew what they had to do. That games would be played and people would die. The people that couldn’t handle it didn’t tend to last long.]
no subject
[The guards, bribed and greased to allow the fights to continue. The scarred fighters, trying to stay alive in the freezing prison. Had seen worse across either border- everything from slave fights to flesh markeds.]
Of course, it wasn't nearly as organized as this seems to be. [the table. The small card. The calm voice over this world's version of the network or something to amplify the voice across the whole building.] How did you end up here?
no subject
Instead he quirks an eyebrow at the question.]
The same way everyone else did. One day I woke up here instead of there.
[Is he talking about the Ximilia or Borderland? He gets to draw his own conclusions.]
no subject
Did you make a wish?
no subject
You know, you seem pretty stuck on the idea of getting something out of this.
["This" being Borderland's games. Which, honestly, Chishiya doesn't like thinking of in present tense. This is a memory. An illusion of something that happened...months ago now.
He glances around and then turns to head for the prison's door. Maybe leaving will break what's left of the illusion.]
no subject
[Which side of the cell-bars had the Darkling been on?]
There is a limit to how many people you might be willing to murder, if all you win is your own life. [but he does learn, slowly. And Newton, despite his murderous ways, was a fountain of knowledge] Unless this is all to the benefit of someone else.
There has to be a reason.
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