upcyclingmod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
upcyclingmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
| Premise | FAQ | Full Navigation | Rules | Reserves |
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!
Arrival
He tilts his head, scanning more closely.]
Connor model #313 248 317-60.
[Two fingers come up to tap at his jacket's right side as he speaks—where the same serial number, prefaced with a large RK800 glows from the material. Apart from the clearly branded outfit and a small, blinking light at his right temple, the android looks visually human.]
What are you?
no subject
[The stranger's introduction forces IG-11 to reassess his initial diagnostic. The glowing letters and numbers that have manifested on his jacket are written in a different script than IG-11's accustomed to, but for some reason it doesn't require translation. Curious.]
Arkay-Atehundred. You are a human replica droid?
no subject
All Cyberlife androids are designed to imitate a human appearance.
[Right down to the breathing, blinking, and scornfully raised eyebrows.]
Who manufactured you?
no subject
I am a product of Holowan Laboratories. I am unfamiliar with CyberLife.
[For that matter, where IG-11 comes from, HRDs like this one are a rarity. But more to the point:]
What is this place?
no subject
[Just like Connor, for all the data Cyberlife installed him with, has never heard of Holowan Laboratories. Just like half of the people he's encountered don't seem to know what androids are.
This place is, objectively, the worst.]
'South Sister'. On 'Lighthouse Isle', if the local powers are to be believed.
[He's still pretty sure it's all a simulation.]
no subject
On what planet?
no subject
Earth.
[Very, very probably, at least.]
Where are you from?
no subject
As I stated before, I am a product of Holowan Laboratories.
I was recently found and reprogrammed by Kuiil, who maintained a moisture farm on Arvala-7. Before my arrival here, I was on Nevarro, one of the Ash Worlds located within the Outer Rim territories.
What planetary system does Earth belong to?
no subject
[It doesn't know about Earth. But it knows about humans? Connor watches the strange machine carefully, but—his social analytics were designed to target humans. Or things, at least, that had a human face.
Still, he can't see much reason for it to lie.]
Humans are found on both of those planets? And— [reprogrammed, and he waves a hand toward it] —what was your original function?
no subject
Humans are found on many planets. As are many other species.
[How peculiar. From the RK800's tone, it almost sounds as though Earth's inhabitants have yet to master interstellar travel, in spite of their apparent success with artificial intelligence and robotic engineering. A strange anachronism.]
I am told my original affiliation was with the Bondsman's Guild. My original function was that of a hunter: to ensure the acquisition or termination of priority targets.
no subject
The other android's function, on the other hand, earns a flicker of interest. That would make more sense of the bare frame.]
What kinds of targets?
no subject
My neural harness was severely damaged before I was reprogrammed, so I do not recall. Even if I could, that information would likely be classified, and divulging it to a third party would be a breach of Bondsman's Guild Protocol.
[That last piece spills out of him like a compulsion, so logically there must be truth to it. It should be clear to the other android that there are still some remnants of IG-11's old programming within him.]
Arkay-Atehundred. What is your primary function?
no subject
Interesting.]
Investigation.
[So he hopes you won't mind him prying further...]
Are you still restricted by your former owners' protocol?
no subject
[In theory, anyway. Yet here he is, parroting out clinical recitations he otherwise could not seem to recall on his own.]
I was repurposed to nurse and protect. Those are the protocols I will follow.
[On that point, IG-11 seems positively firm. Returning his focus to the RK800:]
What of your investigation? What conclusions have you been able to draw thus far?
[He's speaking of the island, of course, but the question is open for interpretation.]
no subject
The island, then. Connor gives a short exhale, pushing off the wall to pace a few steps.]
The island is a containment zone for synthetics and organics from different... worlds.
[His lips press together, displeased with the conclusion. Still, to the other synthetic, "worlds" might be too small a word. Connor's eyes flick to IG-11, one hand drifting between them as he clarifies.]
Holowan Laboratories is not a recognized source of manufacture on my world. And humans have yet to make it off one planet. Either this location has access to widely varying realities, or the administrating force tampered with our memories to pretend as much.
[Which would render any conclusions he could draw suspect. Not something Connor can disprove, but not a productive avenue to pursue, either. He shakes his head, moving on.]
Most likely, the island itself is a simulation.
no subject
Much of the droid's time was spent in the Outer Rim, but from what he's learned from his time with Kuiil, there are many worlds within his galaxy, each of them belonging to a different planetary system. It would be logical for there to be worlds or systems that don't appear in IG-11's databanks. Earth, of Sol, is one such example.
When the RK800 elaborates, though, and suggests that the captives of this place may be drawn from different realities altogether, it's a bit more difficult to process. At his theory that this island is a simulation:]
That is a possibility I had not considered.
[But it could also make sense. After what happened on Nevarro, it would be far easier to import IG-11's programming into a computer simulation than to reconstruct him altogether. They could've accessed a backup of his memories. But if that's the case, how is it that the last thing he remembers is his own destruction?
When IG-11 was destroyed, there should have been no trace of him left behind. If not for the power of the detonation device within his body, then the lava at his feet which would've eaten away at his remains.
None of this answers how he got here. Why they chose to restore him after he had seemingly fulfilled his purpose. Perhaps the droid has another purpose that has yet to be identified.]
How long have you been on this island?
no subject
[...which, might not translate directly for a machine accustomed to different solar cycles. Connor considers the difficulty, then decides to move on. "Hours" or "minutes" aren't necessarily likely to provide a clearer metric, and IG-11 can ask if it needs clarification.
Besides, he wasn't nearly done with his own findings.]
Damaged structures are restored within a day. Damage to androids or humans will persist, but destruction results in a reset—coming back online with no signs of the previous harm, approximately half an hour later.
[Which is a not insignificant part of his evidence towards simulation.]
The reactivations, acquisitions, and other acts inflicted on those brought here are supervised by an entity currently going by 'Admin'. It contacted arrivals anonymously over the local network.
[A network that, despite Connor's best efforts, he's still been unable to access as he should. A hand slips into his pocket, raising his phone in demonstration.]
no subject
You have learned much in such a short time.
[Rigidly, mechanically, IG-11 mimics the gesture, his claw-like hand patting the outside of one of the utility belts wrapped around his chassis...
...and feeling the weight of something new shifting within. Curious, the droid reaches into one of the belt’s pouches and fishes out a communicator, similar in model to the one the RK800 has just shown him.]
But there are questions left unanswered. And there is still more data to collect.
We are both caught in the same predicament. Therefore, I would like to request your cooperation. As more information is uncovered, I will share my findings and my analysis with you, if you are willing to provide the same in return.
Are these terms acceptable?
no subject
They are.
[Speaking of information, he still has quite a lot more ground to cover. Curious, Connor tilts his head—LED flickering yellow. He doesn't feel any network point nearby.]
Are you designed for network access?
no subject
I am.
[Each of his digits retract themselves back into his right hand, and the base of his hand retracts itself back into his right wrist. It's replaced by a very crude-looking scomp link. IG-11's optics flicker from his scomp link to the RK800, contemplating.]
...It is possible our hardware may be incompatible.
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)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)