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pedalbike2020-09-18 07:11 pm
upcyclingmod) wrote in pedalbike2020-09-18 07:11 pm
Entry tags:
2nd Event: Choices We Make
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.
C-C-Changes
Thankfully the fog has gone down to what it was before, a slow creeping crawl over the ground. And too, the monsters of before are gone, leaving the town much like it was before. Well...close to what it was before.
For now the season's have changed, from a lingering summer to a cooler fall.
There’s new foods to try, even if some things like lattes cause people to slip into warm boots and tie up their hair, and soups make people curl up under blankets on the couch. And it also means decorations of all sorts, made of the leaves from the forest, orange, yellow and red things and...we can not forget...
Pumpkin overflow
Pumpkins! They're everywhere. Wickies will find pumpkins infused into all sorts of things, like coffee, ice cream, even spaghetti options! It's wild.
There’s also many jack o'lanterns. They have been placed everywhere in town, outside homes, and even small ones have been made into table decorations. The Jack o lanterns have very cheerful faces, and seem to watch Wickies every single move.
That is, until a Wickie bashes or otherwise abuses a pumpkin. That's when it changes- there seem to be more of them. Their expressions change to that of anger, sadness and disgust. None of them attack- yet. But their faces become more and more horrifying, as they follow the Wickie more and more- outside of the bathroom perhaps, or found on top of them as the Wickie wakes up in the middle of the night.
It shouldn't matter right? They're only pumpkins.
What a ride
Funny enough, with the pumpkin invasion, there also comes a dull colored horse wandering about the island. Its head is drooped, and it looks depressed and lonely. The horse is tame on approach and will accept pats and treats, even from those who are obviously not human.
But it also wants something, for all that it seems to be begging for attention. It wants someone to ride them, seems to even be begging for it with its big eyes. The horse will help Wickies to figure out how to mount; it will even stand beside the Town Center benches, rocks, or even go down in order to make it possible for the Wickie to get onto the horse’s back.
That’s when it changes. The Wickie is immediately wrapped in chains from their barrel to the Wickie’s waist. The horse turns a coal black and the Wickie’s clothing changes into that of a soldier's uniform, with a hand either holding a whip modeled after a human spine, or a jack o'lantern.
The Wickie cannot get off the horse on their own, no matter how much they struggle. As the horse moves throughout the town, they will go anywhere from a walk to a full canter, seemingly impervious to any magic or physical attacks. The same cannot be said for their unfortunate rider.
If the rider is hit, or simply in pain, the Wickie will feel an impulse that grows and grows until they scream a name of someone in town, someone they know.
And the named will drop, paralyzed. Paralyzed wickie are likely to die within minutes, more so if they are too close to horse and rider. The horse will happily trample anyone on the ground to death.
Even without the impulse, should the Wickie rider use anyone’s name, that person will drop, paralyzed, and unable to breathe.
There is only one way to possibly save the rider: scatter golden objects in their path. The horse will shriek, and promptly buck the rider off, before running away. Just make sure to catch the rider, or at least cushion their fall: they have no way of saving themselves until they hit the ground.
Heart game: confession
Current residents of the island may remember this particular beeping alert, and how it doesn’t go away, no matter what they do! That is, unless they open up the Heart Game, and answer the question.
Welcome back everyone! It’s so good to see you again! Now let’s play that game, Confession! And the question isssssss…
How do you celebrate the changing seasons! Don't be shy!
no subject
A plug.
Connor stares down at the scomp. Back up at the droid.]
I said network access.
[This is, evidently, a no.
Connor huffs out an irritated breath. Then he raises his left hand, skin retracting to a smooth plastic sheen. Faint pulses of blue glow through the paneling as he reaches out, grasping the strange plug where it joins the other robot's wrist.
IG-11 will feel a connection as the interface initiates—and immediately after, a datafile trying to transfer across the link.
no subject
At least the RK800 is capable of data transfer through a physical interface as well. IG-11's optics peer down at the human replica droid's hand - physical contact is still a relatively new phenomenon for him - but he allows the intel datafile to transfer without resistance.]
no subject
It's much more efficient than reciting all of it aloud. But Connor's curious about this android, and as long as they're connected already...
IG-11 will feel a brush of contact through the interface: a mental probe, skimming his code structure and memories.]
[1 / 2]
Within the most recent memory you are able to access, you find yourself on a raft, floating along a current with several other passengers. The way the tunnel is lit up, you're able to determine that it isn't water that surrounds you, but a river of lava. There's light at the end of the tunnel that grows steadily larger as your raft continues along. But judging from the way the passengers are positioned - a muscular woman armed with a heavy repeating blaster, and an older man with blasters in each hand - it's clear that trouble awaits them on the outside.
"Listen," comes a muffled voice from in front of you. Your optics focus on the Mandalorian hunter, on the child in his arms. "You're not going anywhere. We need you. Let's just come up with a - "
"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care," you interrupt. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."
"But you'll be destroyed," is the Mandalorian's horrified rebuttal.
"And you will live," you say. "And I will have served my purpose."
The Mandalorian's face is obscured by his helmet, but the pain in his voice is palpable. He's in obvious denial of the situation at hand.
"No," he protests, insistent. "We need you."
"There is nothing to be sad about," you remind him. "I have never been alive."
"I'm not sad."
"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice."
The Mandalorian doesn't respond, which you take as a silent acknowledgment that your assessment was correct. You extend a spindly mechanical finger and tenderly run it along the child's ear as one last farewell before you disengage... and step off the raft.
What remains of your neural harness is shrieking in protest as the lava comes up to your knees. The older man yells after you, and your party can only watch in horror as you begin your slow trudge towards the mouth of the tunnel. The sensors in your head are blaring warnings. What is pain, if not an identification of harmful stimuli within your environment, and your self-defense systems urging you to avoid it?
It's a long, arduous journey, but eventually you make your way outside... A battalion of men in plasteel armor await you, their blasters raised. You do not fear them. Not when you've come so far already.
"Manufacturer's protocol dictates I cannot be captured."
A panel on your chest slides open. A detonator within starts to whine. The men in armor can only stare in what must be terror, realizing now what's about to happen.
"I must be destroyed."]
[2 / 2]
That is enough.
[His modulated voice is firm, but civil as ever. The only thing that betrays him is his grip, which tightens with an alarming strength one might not have guessed this wiry machine would be capable of.]
This was not a part of our arrangement.
[Make no mistake, IG-11 isn't interested in escalating this any further. But if the RK800 continues its probe, IG-11 won't hesitate to do what he must.]
no subject
As Connor immediately discovers firsthand.
Hard metal digs into his wrist—compressing the plastic exoskeleton, and dragging Connor's focus swiftly from the interface. The yellow flicker of his LED picks up, frame stilling as his face goes blank. Connor's had more than one recent experience with compression, and he finds himself acutely recalling the durability threshold of his own frame.
The pressure is localized, though. The request is—reasonable. He accedes with a clipped, stiff nod, shuttering the interface.]
Understood.
[With his wrist trapped, Connor can't draw back, but skin crawls over his hand, fingers opening. He stares silently at the other android's optics, waiting for it to do the same.]
no subject
I would, of course, prefer to avoid such unpleasantness in our future interactions.
[Still polite, at any rate. Still willing to combine efforts with the RK800 moving forward, provided it doesn't try to slice his systems again. He tilts his head forward in a motion that resembles a bow.]
Thank you for your cooperation. This has been most informative.
no subject
Of course.
[Nurse droids didn't threaten damage—particularly for something so inconsequential to their functioning as this. Connor considers pointing out as much, but ultimately refrains, right hand crossing his body to tug the left sleeve straight. The other android had become defensive the last time its programming had come into question.
Understandably so.
If Connor has the tact not to press further about the droid's objection to his probe, the same clearly doesn't apply to the contents. He tilts his head, voice curious.]
You deactivated. Before arriving here.
[Deactivated. Not died, because—as IG-11 had correctly acknowledged—machines like them have never been alive.]
no subject
It isn't the child, the Mandalorian, or any of the others that the RK800 takes interest in, however. It's his deactivation.]
...That is correct.
[What more is there to say?]
no subject
[It hadn't seemed like it, in the memory. And Connor's shouldn't have been, either. (Wouldn't have been, even if the damage hadn't been vital. Not after he'd failed.)
Connor frowns, fingers twisting slightly in his sleeve.]
no subject
[It shouldn't be possible. He blew himself up while standing knee-deep in a river of lava.]
I do not understand how or why.
no subject
...Let me know if you find out.
[His LED spins: yellow, blue as he reaches up, touching his shirt collar.]
I'll do the same, naturally.
no subject
For all their differences - in design, demeanor, and base function - there are commonalities as well.
This island truly is an unusual place.]
I will.
no subject
One more thing.
I'm not the only android of my model series here.
no subject
I see. I now understand why you provided your full serial number.
[Priorities, Eyegee...]
no subject
[He eyes the other android, considering. But for all of IG-11's quirks, it had seemed strongly inclined to follow its current programming.]
The other RK800 is... unstable. It malfunctioned to the point of destroying its original function. Since then, it's set out to override or dismantle other androids' programming.
[Something any nurse droid wanting to remain that way might be concerned with.]
I've been ordered to ensure its deactivation.
no subject
...I understand. Your warning is appreciated. I will exercise caution and remain vigilant.
no subject
[He could press further: warn IG-11 about their model's deceptive capabilities. Describe the damage the deviant had done, at home or here. But ultimately, IG-11 isn't going to actively oppose his predecessor, and warning it too heavily might backfire. They're designed for the same function, after all.
Connor settles for a nod.]
If you need more information, let me know.
no subject
Apart from a difference in serial number, are there any other distinguishing features or characteristics?
[In order to tell them apart, he means. The RK800's serial number was displayed prominently as part of their introduction, so IG-11 will assume that's standard on others of its model.]
no subject
[The reach lowers enough to tug his jacket's edge.]
Otherwise... [He shakes his head.] Not visually. We were designed to be identical.
no subject
You referred to yourself as a "Connor model." The other Arkay-Atehundred has the same designation?
no subject
[His mouth flattens.]
We were intended for sequential activation.
no subject
I see. There is potential for... confusion in nomenclature.
[Surely the RK800 will understand.]
no subject
My name is Connor.
You can refer to it however you prefer.
[Defective trash being Connor's preference, but. Each to their own.]
no subject
[It slips through his vocoder with the energy of one testing something new.]
I look forward to our continued partnership.