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pedalbike2020-08-29 10:30 am
upcyclingmod) wrote in pedalbike2020-08-29 10:30 am
Entry tags:
First TDM: Sterile Blues
Welcome to the Test Drive Meme.
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Not all characters (known as Wickie, singular or Wickies, plural) arrive at the same time, surprisingly enough! That’s life for you. Some Wickies find their way to the island at a pivotal (or very mundane) point in their life, or even after or during their death.
Wickies who were standing or walking often find themselves entering the town South Sister, located on Lighthouse Isle, through an open doorway. Those that were laying down, or sleeping, tend to be found lying prone in beds, bathtubs, showers, couches, and similar places within the cottages on Cottage Row. There’s no rhyme or reason to it all! To Wickies familiar with the era, they will realize that everything looks as if it’s come from the ‘90s.
The house which a Wickie finds themselves within could already be occupied. This includes walking into a fellow Wicke, waking up in the same location, or accidentally scaring a room full of people with their sudden appearance.
Oops.
After arriving, Wickes will find that food and water are easy enough to come by, as they can be readily found in the various houses which populate Lighthouse Isle. Medical supplies, on the other hand, are not so easily acquired. Bandaids and other simple trappings can be pilfered from the odd medical cabinet, but otherwise you’re on your own.
Thankfully, if a Wickie or their friend are in need of medicine or a pair of trauma shears, while you won’t find a full-fledged hospital on the island, there is a clinic. The clinic, named Sister’s Helpers, is like the rest of the buildings in town. Its appearance is well kept, and the doors are unlocked. Whether the Wickie goes in through the windows (because they can), or through the front door like most would, they’ll find that the clinic’s interior is crisp, clean, and orderly. There are plastic chairs, a desk where a receptionist would sit, white walls, but then—
There’s a sound. It could be mistaken for a breeze, at first. But as the sound goes on, it becomes more obvious that the ‘breeze’ is an exhale, prolonged and forced. At the end, there’s a murmur, professional and assuring.
“That’s good. Breathe.”
And with that, the clinic becomes awash in shades of blue. Sister’s Helpers itself hasn’t become warped in any way. There is only monochromatic coloring which, upon further realization, is not truly in the building, but a problem with their vision. Leaving without investigating further will mean having blue vision for the next twenty-four hours.
But for Wickies who choose to stay and explore, there is a chance at clearing their vision. This is is especially difficult for those who have a history of not taking care of their injuries. Gradually, it becomes more difficult to walk, as if there are weights on their feet. For Wickies are especially guilty of not tending to their wounds, their movements will become even more sluggish, and weight will settle on their arms and chest, forcing the worst of offenders into a crawl as they explore from room to room.
Laying on the patient beds will alleviate the situation for a short amount of time. The cure, however, will come from characters taking the supplies which they need for themselves and not for others.
If the Wickie fails this, over the course of an hour they will be crushed to death, and will eventually wake up outside of the clinic. Their vision stuck in shades of red with a weakness in their limbs for the next twenty four hours.
The Wickie’s only cure for that is either taking medical supplies for themselves or by doing some form of self care.
It’s the middle of the night when all the Wickies are jarred awake from sleep by the blare of a broken siren. Wailing into the dark, the siren functions as a foghorn might, warning of hazardous conditions to come. Beneath Wickies feet, the ground trembles, pulsating once. Twice. Three times. And again, and again until—
The world changes, and it is no longer the foggy island the Wickies knew.
Ash falls steadily from above, blanketing the ground, and at first glance it can be mistaken for snow. Whether by scent, by touch, or even by taste (an option for the brave, the bold, the few), the truth of the ‘snowfall’ can be easily revealed. It is strange, though, that there are no signs of fire in the vicinity. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be much of anything at all. There’s still no sign of the mainland. There are no buildings in this desolate place, either.
Lighting in this new landscape is hazy and sullen, but still conducive to exploring despite it being the dead of night just moments ago. But while Wickies walk, there’s a growing feeling of foreboding. There’s something… something else with them.
And it conceals itself in the ash.
It attacks by lashing out to grab at the ankles and the calves, attempting to drag the unsuspecting victim down, to somewhere far deeper and hidden by billowing piles of ash. It’s easy to save a Wickie from the pull, so long as they’re quickly freed from their assailants grasp. Retrieving someone out of the ash itself is nigh impossible, though.
Grabbed Wickies who lived to tell the tale, may find themselves bitten. The stalkers in the ash sink their teeth into the foot or calf of their prey, leveraging the force of their bite to take down their target. And once there’s blood, more of these creatures will be attracted to the smell.
If a Wickie is clever or strong enough to draw the stalkers out of the ash, they will find that the attackers are shark-like people. Most of their head consists of oversized jaws housing an impossible amount of teeth, and lacking any eyes. Their bodies are covered in ashen chitin and bone, with elongated feet and thin, taloned fingers. These Ash Sharks do not like being exposed, and will respond accordingly.
Ash Sharks cannot be reasoned with. Trapping one in ropes, magic, or other means will elicit angry shrieks which will attract other Ash Sharks, either to eat the trapper, or trapped, or both if they can. Being dragged completely under the ash will start a feeding frenzy, and the Ash Shark will proceed to rip and tear chunks out of its prey.
In dying, Wickies will reset to a random location within the ash filled fields, completely intact but for a purpling bruise where the initial bite took place.
Good luck.
There’s a beeping alert on all Wickie’s smartphones that refuses to stop until a particular notification is read. The notification is for something called the Heart Game (which, yes, looks annoying, overly bright, and cheesy). And surprise! The game opens up automatically with a loud ping!
The game begins (and ends!) with a question, one which will not go away even if you try to close out of it or shut off your smartphone. It reads:
It’s time for everyone's favorite game! Confession! Heeeeere is today’s question which you must confess!
What is… the scariest thing you’ve experienced? It can be anything!
heart game
[ the sass of this girl ]
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I just chose to see it differently. What good comes from fearing it?
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I wonder ... will I be believed if I said what it was? How much of a skeptic are you?
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How can I hope to have you understand me if you can't believe me?
Still, it sounds like you have quite the story to tell. I hope you'll tell yours after I tell mine. But no pressure... it sounds like you went through a lot...
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I won't make any promises. Maybe? [ It depends, really, on the story he tells. ]
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As for what I had encountered, I had been kidnapped by an organization that desired to find a way to brainwash the masses in order to make them obedient to their will. However, the world that they created became corrupted. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you how.
The people that were brought into the virtual world were altered in the process. Turned into something similar to zombies, I suppose, but with much more flesh and bone protruding and falling off of them. There were other creatures that roamed the streets, as well. Multi-headed beings that had a chainsaw for an arm, as I recall.
The very landscape altered and painted in blood and viscera.
This is the horror that I experienced, and yet, there is no reason to fear it. There is no reason to shy from it. I realize I must sound quite mad, but as an artist, I always wanted to show the beauty of death so that people could join me in appreciating it. So that people could no longer be afraid and look away, but look upon it and know that there is no reason to be afraid, because that is the point of life.
No one makes it out alive, and so to hide ourselves away from the inevitable will only make the end that much more terrifying and less beautiful for the person.
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The weird virtual hell world you say you experienced isn't what makes you sound nuts. [ It's the creepy shit after. He sounds like the kind of person she wouldn't want to run into in the dark. ]
So, if none of that horrific shit scared you, has anything?
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It's my response, right?
[ Hm, Stefano wonders if anything has scared him. He supposes that he felt scared and lost when he joined that cult. His depression and anguish at being unheard and unseen as an artist was truly weighing down on him. But he found a means to crawl his way out of such sorrows and saw the liars for what they were. ]
Things have. But they were but fleeting moments. I feared that I would never be understood or appreciated. But that's a different kind of fear than what we're talking about...and what this heart game is talking about.
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They did say anything. Some of the scariest things I've gone through have had nothing to do with horror. No blood, no gore, no death.
Sometimes, it's just a bucket and mop and the smell of bleach. [ She regrets sending the text the moment she does. As vague as it is, it's more revealing than she's comfortable with. ] Scary is scary.
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[ Hm, that sounds rather interesting? He wonders what that has to be about. ]
You're right. Scary is scary.
So, I told you some of my horror. Will you tell me more of yours?
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Have you ever seen someone burn alive?
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Yes.
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It was the crowd that cheered it on.
1/2
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That is quite horrifying to read. I'm sorry that you had to experience such a sight. Being in the virtual world, seeing people dying horribly, that is one thing. [ It is ART. But he digresses as he is attempting to appear just as an eccentric artist. ]
What you described is much different, and indeed, must have been terrifying to think that they would cheer your own death, too, yes?
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[ Does he sound concerned? He hopes so. He actually is quite interested. Did she die? How? He hopes to hear a vivid retelling if she did end up being killed. ]
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And, thanks to her, none of them survived that night, either. [ A part of her remembers that night from a place of horror and another... That other part of her would dance in their blood all over again if she could. ]
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That's the first response he has, but then is pleased to hear that the mother was able to make some real art out of the crowd. He wonders about it, but ah, best not ask too many questions. ]
Your mother sounds like quite the woman. Truly, a parent's love is something else.
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So, did you escape? [ The freaky corrupt virtual world. Sure, he didn't seem like he was too torn up over being there—not afraid of it, at least—but she was curious. ]
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No. I didn't. I was killed. But it's a funny thing about that virtual world. When a person dies in it, their consciousness blends into the system. You become part of it forever.
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Does that mean you're dead in the real world, too? [ To become a part of some part of a mass virtual conscious sounds straight up awful. ]
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