tdm 16

[savmods]

test drive meme

Ingress travel can be disorienting, but there’s no need to worry! All side effects are temporary and lessen with each trip. Your body may experience several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You may have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. You notice that the area you are in is filled with a soft cerulean light and feels slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you. Regardless of your current state, however, the stress of initial Ingress travel forces your body into unconsciousness.

Waking up is another story. Or maybe it isn’t.

You find yourself in a nondescript room; sometimes with others who have found themselves in the same situation, sometimes alone. A medical tech is always present to explain what’s happened before giving you some clothes, a TAB, and a guide that discusses things in further detail. This entire process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health in order to obtain your signature—a specific frequency that will allow them to hone in on exactly where it is you’re from in order to get you back there.You spend your first week on the Ingress Complex while other accommodations and arrangements are made for you.

welcome to thisavrou

---

escoria

⋆ Escoria is classified as Exploration Class (EC), and travel through the Ingress is mostly smooth except for one issue: anyone with powers or abilities will find that the distortion between worlds has temporarily caused problems accessing them. Essentially, it has left all travelers depowered. Another similar issue comes in the form of the location of Escoria’s Ingress—seemingly in the middle of a vast ocean, the Ingress is balanced precariously on a set of buoys connected to a small floating dock. Once on this dock, it is clear there is no getting anywhere without some transportation. Testing the dark waters will find it unbearably cold, though not cold enough to form ice, and far off in the distance, between the mist and ever-constant gray light - where’s the sun? - some might even notice what looks like an island.

⋆ The boat that eventually comes to your rescue isn’t very big, one of a fleet used to transport visitors from the floating Ingress platform. Only a few passengers are allowed on each one--a maximum of six. The boat’s captain is quite insistent that each group remain small, handing out blankets to those who did not come prepared for the chill. It isn’t too much trouble as there are a great many boats and plenty of natives to pilot them. The weather is cool, the skies are dark with rain that might fall, but for now things seem alright. Leaning out on the rail, you might see some shark-like sea creatures breaching the surface to breathe. Of course, you might also see quicksilver figures darting underneath the water from the corner of your eye, which is then followed by a sharp rocking of the boat. Did something nudge the vessel? Maybe you ought to make sure people stay back from the sides in case they fall in...

⋆ Despite the calm appearance of the sky, the worst has happened. A storm hits at just the right time to drive your boat against one of the multitudinous reefs, roughly jarring its passengers, and then, the waves continue to batter the ship against it until it falls to pieces. You get lucky and find a piece of debris to hold onto to keep your head above the water until the storm passes, although it’s some time before even a calm comes. Once it does, you have to deal with the facts: you’re stranded with minimal supplies, all alone except for the other people who were on board with you when the ship went down in the waves. And what’s worse, the water isn’t getting any warmer. What do you do to survive until help, hopefully, arrives? Will you make an attempt to swim to shore or wait for someone to send another boat?

⋆ The few who manage to weather the storm and make it to one of the few islands of Escoria are, indeed, lucky. What lies beneath the surface of those dark waters is much more dangerous and deadly. Distant cousins of Thisavrou’s native Gorgona of Region Four, these nameless creatures are ruthless as they hunt. They slither the shallow surfaces of the reefs spread out across Escoria, waiting for even the slightest ripple of water to alert them to their prey. At first, looking into the water reveals nothing. Then, the closer these things come to the surface, the faster it begins to change and look as if something familiar, something you long for is calling to you. It can be a person, alive or dead, or it could be something intangible like a goal waiting to be fulfilled or an object waiting to be touched. This is how they lure the unsuspecting below the surface, and once they have their claws in you, it’s very difficult to escape. The urge to be with them is impossibly strong regardless of the fact that no one can hold their breath for that long or survive the deep cold of the water for longer than a few minutes.

Your only chance of escape? Someone who might have noticed that you’d suddenly slipped under without a sound. Or, if by chance, you manage to snap off a piece of the coral in the reefs. It changes with the shape of the holder, and that, if you’re lucky, might be the very weapon that saves you.

---

OUT OF CHARACTER INFO

FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION

For mature or graphic content, please label.For questions, please direct them to the FAQ or the Feedback page. Any scenarios listed (unless otherwise indicated) can be used as game canon. As always, be kind and have fun!

Comments

[counterblows]

[Sharpen the hell up, Agent Washington. Assess the situation. Prioritize. You've got an apparently quite willing avatar of assistance pulling you through what basically counts as an impromptu AI-guided tutorial. Or something close enough that it may as well be.

The reflective visor of gold makes his expression unreadable, but the text-based means of communication paired with the general state of his assistant means that more or less goes both ways. Which is - fine. He got more accustomed to reading the lines and shifts of weight through power armor than the nuances of facial expression a long time ago.

For all his disorientation, information is alarmingly immediate. It occurs to him that he shouldn't be so swift to trust. It also occurs to him that he doesn't really care what he can or cannot trust; not at the moment. The concentrated wall of exhaustion-induced indifference is so vast that he can neither delineate nor map all the assorted reasons why he cannot, at the present time, bring himself to give a fuck.

Start...small. Easy.]

So who am I talking to?

[notglitching]

[Rinzler waits, more or less unmoving, as Wash takes in the data. The fact that the user needs it reveals a little in return—whether from the Portal glitch or active effort, he seems to have avoided the standard guides. Not much loss, in the program's opinion: the datapacket might be useful, but he trusts it about as much as he does the users running this world. Which is to say, not.

It does occur to him the same probably applies in the reverse. Wash is a user, and Wash remembers him not at all. Still, he hasn't left. The enforcer's rumbling picks up a little, mask ducking in self-reference.]

Rinzler.

[counterblows]

[Yeah, still not familiar. No idea if there's a significance to that or not, but it's a name and he'll take it. It's one of those variables that sharpens the context of his present situation, if only slightly, tightening it into a larger-picture relief.]

And you...remember me?

[Which means that's a pretty significant chunk of his memories that's gone completely. Not that that's particularly abnormal for him, even if his problems tend to revolve around, generally, a surplus of memory rather than the opposite.

It's worrisome. That's the bottom line.]

[notglitching]

[Another easy one. Rinzler nods. There's a term that floats to the top of queue, and fingers curl against the holographic keys... but Rinzler hesitates to type it. Wash has no reason to believe him. He has no right to set the value out there like a claim. And he's not sure how much right he had, even before—it had been true, but they'd still argued. The last time they'd spoken, Wash had all but promised to pose a threat to Clu.

...better not to, maybe. Rinzler waits for the next line.]

[counterblows]

[Yes. Okay. So that's a...pretty sizable gap in his memory then, huh? 'Cause none of this is ringing any bells, though it's certainly ringing his ears, though that could simply be the lingering tone of Sidewinder coming apart at the seams, the machine-gun rattle of bullets impacting the ice and kicking up snow.

The metallic hiss of the memory unit shunt, and the shrill electronic crackle of the Meta slamming it through that slit of reflective gold.]

All right.

[He's...

Tired.

He's tired. He's tired, and at this point, he can only wearily accept that this might be true. Maybe this is where people like him go, post death, because the Meta has the force-mods and the power to punch a man's head off, and he honestly can't remember if that was the sort of thing that would've happened to him or not.]

How long ago was I...here, then?

[notglitching]

[Here isn't strictly accurate, but Rinzler hopes by now the user's aware of that distinction. (And if Wash isn't, repeating it seems unlikely to help.) Rinzler slants his helmet slightly to the side, considering.]

First encounter: -1.3 effective user years by own my internal clock.

[He goes back to delete/replace the "own". Personal pronouns are a current work in progress for Rinzler.]

Last encounter: -0.74 effective user years.

[counterblows]

[Guy acts like Maine, talks like Delta. That's another fresh wave of recollection Wash really didn't need, a bile-bitter taste in the back of his throat. More people he's fucked over, more people he's ruined because he couldn't use what he had in time for it to mean anything.

In a cruel twist of irony - memories he still has, and wishes he doesn't.]

That's a lot of time for someone to be missing.

[Even for him.]

[notglitching]

[A lot of time missing from home? A lot of time missing from here? The reference isn't completely clear, but Rinzler nods regardless, an irritated scrape threading through his sound.]

Portal system: glitched.

[Italics-worthy glitched!]

Uncontrolled imports/exports: common.
Occasional duplication.
Edits: semifrequent.

[Why yes, it is slightly terrifying to live next to.]

[counterblows]

[Occasional duplication? And he'd thought a secondary, memory-induced clone of Texas - of her - had been bad enough, terrifying enough. She was a bulwark, always has been; damn near unstoppable, so goddamned powerful that nothing could contain her. Not Alpha, not Epsilon, not even the Director's far-reaching authority.

Almost nothing, he has to mentally amend himself.]

So I could end up heading home at basically any time.

[He doesn't sound too excited at the prospect, it turns out. Head back and get his ass beaten by the Meta even more, until he's nothing but a bloodied smear against the white of Sidewinder. Sounds thrilling.]

[notglitching]

[Another nod. This one's a little more reluctant. Wash had gone home already, and there was nothing stopping it from happening again. To Rinzler either, whatever Clu had promised.

The black helmet tips up a little, eying the user.]

Not your goal?

[counterblows]

Yeah, 'cause I liked getting the shit beat out of me so much the first time.

[The only person capable of taking on the Meta one on one is essentially gone, and he watched the spike shoot through her visor, sucking away the program that inhabited it. Where's that leave him?

Pulling a stunt that'll get him killed, pointless as it is doomed to fail.]

[notglitching]

[Reference? Entirely unknown. Rinzler doesn't know what situation Wash had been exported out of, or enough of the relevant IDs to recognize a description even if it were provided.

Still, if they're talking about Wash getting the shit beat out of him...]

"First"?

[Rinzler's pretty sure that's happened more than once.]

[counterblows]

[That prompts a low, faintly annoyed sigh, since the scare quotes pretty much give him all the information he needs. It's not clear to what extent he can communicate a glare via the tilt of a helmeted head alone, but he's pretty sure he manages it.]

All right, fine. It wasn't any fun the latest time it happened. Happy?

[notglitching]

[Oh, Rinzler's very familiar with the lexicon of helmet-glares. Wash might, just maybe, be able to pick up the smirk in the slight tip of Rinzler's shell that answers back. (And the quiet catches, not-quite-laughter, in his sound.) Accuracy is important!

Still, Wash is back. Rinzler is pretty happy about that, memory or no.]

Injuries?

[counterblows]

[It's not as obvious as, say, the way Maine could hold up a hand, a thumb and forefinger extended in a vague U-shape against the gold dome of his helmet - a surefire indication that he had found something amusing, and was smiling. But Rinzler is vocal enough in his own right. The incremental tilt of his visor, the rasping noise that sounds like something might've gotten stuck in his throat, if he has one.

He's laughing at him. Wash settles for a disgruntled sigh, a breathy fuzz of static.]

Plenty of those.

[If he had an A.I. unit, doubtless they would have discharged biofoam at the first indication of cracked ribs or the flurrying burst of shrapnel lodging itself into the meat of his thigh. If he was the type to keep an A.I. unit, it wouldn't be a problem.

But he isn't. And so it is.]

[notglitching]

[The amusement gives way to a sharp tilt of assessment, but between the armor and his own familiarity with user health... well, Wash doesn't seem to be gouting blood all over the floor. Still, the data isn't something to dismiss. The program takes a half-step closer, not quite puncturing Wash's personal space, but still putting himself in range to assist if the user should collapse at random.

Or need help walking.]

Avoiding system authorities?

[Because Rinzler does know a guy, but considering their location... well, the Savrii processing would be quicker.]

[counterblows]

Define system authorities.

[The response ratchets out with a quick snap-and-retort, the sort of sharp question more suited from a higher up to an A.I. unit. The kind of question he might've once posed to Delta, in earlier times.

Far earlier times.]

[notglitching]

[It's a clear request. Directly phrased. The implied command might be worth resenting... if Rinzler hadn't fired off his own series of data requests to this user just moments prior.]

"Savrii".

Administrative structure: vague, ineffective.
Primary interests: regulating intersystem travel. Also responsible for orienting new imports.
Estimated threat level: low.

[counterblows]

[What little context he has is enough to piece together the general idea. Savrii, in charge of this complex, this place, and potentially responsible for whatever kind of interdimensional malfunction sucked him through and deposited him here; a fact for which he's still uncertain if he should be grateful or murderous.

In the end, he settles for neither.]

Anyone ever tell them their regulation of intersystem travel is also pretty ineffective?

[notglitching]

Welcome to attempt.

[For whatever good that will do. Rinzler doesn't estimate it worth the bother.

But, more importantly:]

Possess repair facilities.

[counterblows]

[Welcome to try. Well, that's pretty indicative of the probability of success there. Wash dismisses the idea at roughly the same moment Rinzler does; he's had his fill of administrative bullshit to last him a goddamn lifetime.

"Repair facilities" is a far more useful prospect. For the moment.]

You mean...what, like medical?

[notglitching]

[Rinzler nods, sound catching with a pitch that almost approaches grumble. What else did the user think he meant?]

[counterblows]

Effective repair facilities?

['Cause he's not real sure about how he feels, putting himself in the hands of people he's got no knowledge about. Couldn't exactly trust the medical staff at the Project to put him back together with any accuracy after his own self-destruction, and those were the people who were meant to have his back.

They'd had his back all right.]

[notglitching]

[The enforcer's mask slants a fraction, shoulders twitching. He doesn't know. User repair is not, and has never been one of Rinzler's skills.]

Can accompany if wanted.

[If.

No illusions here.]

[counterblows]

[That's...

Huh.

Maybe the first time someone's offered him a choice in what feels like years. It shouldn't arrest him like this, shouldn't strike him like a bullet to the lower left of his lung.]

Directions.

[That's the most he can manage, at the moment. In the wake of everything.]

I just need directions.