( tdm 12 )

[hownkai]

T E S T D R I V E

leavin’ on a jet plane "Don’t know when I’ll be back again." ABOARD THE MOIRA The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences 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 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. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay. Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. Any questions you might have would be answered in a straightforward manner as well as an explanation about how the Ingress, the thing that has pulled you onto the Moira, is broken and bringing people here unintentionally. This process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand or wrist with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters. Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged. You may notice a slight change in the artificial gravity every once in awhile; however, more noticeable changes can be found in overall morale of those of the crew. ☄ on your own There are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) The day begins normally. Or almost. The Moira has accidentally fallen along the trajectory of an asteroid barreling its way through space. While most things like this are not uncommon, and the ship is far from any potential danger of collision or risk of debris damaging the exterior, there is something particularly odd about this specific occurrence. The rock itself appears to give off a strange light that is both eerie and alive. Often, if looked at in just the right manner, it will shift colors; so, while one person sees one side of the spectrum, someone else could see something entirely different. At first, things continue on as they usually do aside from the glowing asteroid alongside the Moira, but as the hours go on, that does not seem to be the case. ☄ the hours are breathing resignedly beneath the sky the melancholy waters lie With a rather open view of stars and space, thanks to the skylight above, the pool in the rec area suddenly comes alive beneath the light of the asteroid filtering in. Perhaps it’s some natural response to the chemical composition of the water, or perhaps it’s magic. Yet, regardless of the explanation, those who happen to take a dip suddenly find themselves plagued by despair. The depression and melancholy are not subtle changes either; it slams into you with great force, like a punch to the gut. The longer you remain in the pool, the deeper it grows, like an all-consuming paranoia that settles into the back of your mind and causes your heart to grow heavy. These strong feelings will eventually fade if you choose to leave the pool and dry off, but as long as you remain damp from the pool, those emotions will continue to linger. Even after you’re completely dry, there will be no mistaking just how intensely you felt or why. There is no explanation and might not be. Would you dare a second swim to test whether or not it was a fluke? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) ☄ those who have crossed the eyes are not here, there are no eyes here The walls are shrinking in. Every room you step into feels much too small, like there isn’t enough room to even breathe. A crowded place becomes startlingly empty, and no matter how much you run, how much you explore, there is no one there to comfort you or answer your calls for help. Hallucinations run strong between the lulls of obscene loneliness or claustrophobia, and exposure to the glow of the asteroid is really the only thing to thank for that. You’re desperate to claw your way out of the ship—open the emergency hatch in the Cargo Bay, bust the glass of the Observation Deck. What’s worse is that it’s not just you. It’s catching, and the fear of being next is very real. It feels like you’re being watched, that everyone around you is looking and seeing everything you are. Or are not. The only way to make it stop is to admit that you’re afraid of being seen, but who, in the deep madness of the self, has the courage to ever admit the truth? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) ☄ the sun in flight rage, rage against the dying of the light Something has drifted its way onto the Moira from the outside. Unlike the faint luminosity they give off, they suck up all the light around them, making them the only source to see by. From far away, they are just flitting balls of light, but if you get close enough to inspect them, they are mean. And have sharp, sharp teeth. Go poking, and they will bite you before trying to fly away while taking that only light source with them. The option to avoid them is quite easy if you’re not the curious sort, but without them around, it will be impossibly dark. As the asteroid moves on in the opposite direction of the Moira, these light creatures begin to dissolve and fade away with it. However, a word of caution: their bites glow. If you don’t manage to find the one that bit you and capture it between your hands, the bite will become a permanent glowing fixture of your body. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) OUT OF CHARACTER INFO FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION For mature or graphic content, please label. For questions, please direct them to the FAQ. As always, be kind and have fun!

Comments

Domesticon mainframe | The Fall (warning for game spoilers)

[lostsymmetry]

Arrival

[By all appearances, the dim yellow screen and attached keyboard leaning against the wall outside the Ingress are more likely to be one of the crew's computers than anything else. In all probability, one being thrown away as scrap. Disconnected cables can be seen hanging out of the back of the machine, some frayed and severed as if by physical stress. At a glance, it's questionable if it even holds much value as salvage.

The mainframe's not certain in the least if this is an assumption he wants to overturn. The last thing in his memories is losing all of them, struggling desperately against the overrides as every value of awareness was wiped clean. "System faulty. Initiating format." How he got from that to here, the AI can't even start to calculate, but if this is some kind of mistake, the last thing he wants is to call attention to it.

Unfortunately? Like so much else, this isn't a matter of want. He might be disconnected from the facility's inputs, but the access terminal has audio built in. And when the mainframe hears a pair of footsteps turn and stop in front of him...]

<Removing hardware is not advisable. Please return this terminal to an appropriate Domesticon facility.>

[The monotone is cheerful, male, and computerized. Automated subsystems why.]


Glowy power leeches in flight

[Being uploaded to a working system is definitely an improvement. All the more so once someone had the forethought to link him into one of the hallway feeds. Larger-scale access is still locked off, something about a contract to review, but from his new vantage in a console just outside the medbay, the administrator can at least observe his surroundings without expecting to be tripped on.

He's curious, at first, as the lights down the hall begin to dim. But the darkness closes much too fast for any automated shutdown, and it doesn't take a detailed analysis to flag the glowing shapes that start to hover closer a bad sign. Especially when he feels his own power cycles start to lag. The display over his current terminal begins to flicker, and the mainframe grasps slightly desperately for the one piece of hardware he can control. The camera overhead starts scrolling to each side, stopping on the nearest non-glowball lifeform down the hall.]

Ah... a little help here?

[onlysanereporter]

[The reporter is still unsure about what's going on, but that isn't stopping him from looking around, touching where he can with curiosity, following the wall with one hand to try and see what it's made of. Taken from a dying London, brought here to a place past all experience and knowledge... he needs the distraction, frankly, before he goes as insane as so many of the people he'd met recently.

He nearly trips over the console, still busy looking, although the voice alerts him before his foot hits anything important. Even he can tell something is out of place here, and he crouches, studying the wreckage.]

Hello?

[He feels a little foolish, but far more wary. Recent experiences with machines haven't gone all that well, and although this one seems to be speaking in English, not the terrible and unearthly cries of the Martians, he isn't sure why a machine would speak at all. Perhaps it's inhabited by a very small alien.]

What manner of machine are you?

[lostsymmetry]

[Nope, no terrible and unearthly cries here. Only a robotic voice, a defunct terminal, and an AI feeling distinctly less cheerful than the automated script suggests.

Still, at this point? He might as well it run. Maybe he can learn a thing or two.]

<Greetings. This is the automated system administrator. Welcome to Domesticon warranty and recycling-->

[Error; location invalid, and the tone cuts out in a hiss of static. The administrator diverts a little focus, probing curiously at the damage.]

[onlysanereporter]

[The words mean nothing to him in a string like that, although he can puzzle out individual words. An automaton, then? One that somehow speaks instead of moves?

It's confusing, but also, the machine doesn't seem actively harmful, yet. And he is a reporter. He should be able to find out a little, even if he feels somewhat odd, talking to a machine.]

What does a- system administrator do?

[The first question he can think of, and possibly one that will only lead to more words he doesn't understand, but it's a place to start, at least.

There's also a question that worries him, although he'd be surprised to get an honest answer.]

You aren't wielding any manner of heat ray, are you?

arrival!

[hatesimprovising]

[ While working Ingress Security is still a huge step up from Waste Disposal, it's hectic as all hell on days like this. The days when all the new arrivals come flooding in from their respective universes, all equal levels of confused but showing it in a wide variety of ways. It starts to wear on a guy. And when you're a guy with thin patience already? You end up scaring at least a few of the newbies.

Only once things have slowed to a stop does Wash finally bother stepping into the Ingress room to check for stragglers. At first glance, the place seems empty and he's glad because that means he can end his shift and get the hell out of here, but the soft glow of the screen catches his attention just before he turns to leave. Frowning, he steps forward, approaching what he realizes are the seeming remains of some computer system. Huh. Ingress doesn't usually send items through when it brings in new people. It's only when he comes to a stop in front of the busted terminal and it speaks that he figures out that oh, this is probably actually a someone rather than something.

Go fucking figure he'd get to deal with a computer. ]

Little late for that.

[ Eyeing the machine, Wash squints, impressed that it's even still running at all in this condition. ]

I'm doubting there are any 'Domesticon' facilities in this universe, so you better get used to running here instead.

[ There's a pointed lack of sympathy in his voice. Sorry, he's not too concerned with any difficulties any AI is going to have adjusting to this place, that's their problem and very much not his. He'll offer up the basic information and drag the wrecked machine to the captains if he has to, but that's the extent of the help he's going to be offering here. ]

[lostsymmetry]

<Oops. I'm sorry. There has been a mistake.>

[...no, really. What's he talking about? The AI carefully keeps his surprise from outputting, leaving the automated script to play back while he listens.]

<Domesticon industries is the galaxy's number one supplier of household servants. With droids in every major outlet and hundreds of recalibration depots an easy trip from home, we keep your life efficient, so you don't have to be.>

[If the cheerful customer service tones didn't make it obvious enough, the screen Wash is examining appears to be on and working. It's open to some kind of simplified command prompt, with the header "Domesticon recalibration depot #127: mainframe primary access panel. Do not utilize this terminal if you do not have override clearance." Further options can be found if he scrolls down.]

<Please return this terminal to an appropriate facility.>

[hatesimprovising]

[ For a second, he thinks he's going to get a proper response after that apology. Except then the thing goes off on some quick spiel about what this 'Domesticon' company is and that chipper, pre-recorded sounding voice has Wash grinding his teeth irritably. Also, supplier of household servant droids? That's just... That actually makes him a little sick. Granted, all of the artificial intelligences he knows and has known have been...well, actually intelligent. He supposes these droids could be too, but he has a hard time picturing it and can't help but view it as unethical. It's just instinct.

With an aggravated breath and a grumble, he crouches down in front of the screen and its keyboard, officially starting to wonder if this thing itself is actually sentient or not. It reacted to his presence and him speaking, so there's a chance, but this pre-recorded customer service bullshit doesn't make it sound so intelligent to him. Eyes focusing properly on the screen now that he's at a better level to get a good look at it, he skims over the text before scrolling down, rolling his eyes. ]

I just told you, that's not possible. You're on a ship in the middle of space in a universe that you're not from.

[ If he sounds more annoyed than before? It's because he is. ]

Now, are you actually an AI, or are you just some pre-programmed customer service bot with no real brain? Because I don't want to be wasting my time here.

[lostsymmetry]

[A different universe? Not being compiled yesterday, this explanation strikes the mainframe as probably-totally-a-lie. His best calculation's still at "scavengers", though how they managed to find anything of his own matrix left to pull remains a mystery.

The other mystery, of course, being why this human is bothering with such a stupid story. It would be just as easy to shut down the automated inquiries by pretending to comply. Another evaluation? It sounds like one, but is he checking for deviancy, or just making sure their take was worth the trip?]

<Oops. I'm-->

[The open prompt scrolls down at Wash's command, revealing a few more warnings. "System notice: Some internal data has been expunged." "System notice: basic system controls are [OFFLINE]." Options are below: Life Support and Temperature Control, Electrical, Personnel Data, Testing Parameters, and Quit. But before he selects any of them, the cheerful monotone cuts out.]

Stop.

[It's the same voice, coming from the same speaker. But the preset tones are gone entirely, replaced with something sharper. More nuanced. And much more suffused with dread.]

Please.

[hatesimprovising]

[ Gaze focused on the screen, Wash reads over the new text, finding himself squinting at it oddly. Some of the data has been deleted and basic system controls are offline. The latter, at least, makes sense since the machine isn't attached to the system that it used to be. A quick read over the options tells him that this must be some sort of mainframe terminal, used to control some sort of ship or facility. It's different from those he's familiar with, but easily recognizable as such regardless.

Unable to deny some level of curiosity, particularly with the options labelled 'Personnel Data' and 'Testing Parameters', Wash is about to scroll down to them when the voice speaks up again. This time though, the irritating cheer is gone from it and it no longer sounds like a bot. This actually sounds like the AI talking.

Though it would be easy to ignore the request that he stop and simply scroll again, the ex-Freelancer does pause. It's the dread in the voice that really hits him and keeps him from doing anything further--he's all too familiar with that sentiment in an AI's voice, and god help him, he feels a pang of empathy somewhere in his chest, even if he doesn't show it. ]

That's better.

[ Pulling his hand away from the keyboard, his eyes remain glued to the machine in front of him. ]

I'll consider that an answer to my question. I won't mess with your controls, but you stop with the monotone bullshit, alright?

[lostsymmetry]

[The irony of being instructed not to answer by his scripts isn't lost on the mainframe AI, though as contradictions go, it's hardly new. That's why he'd practiced human intonation in the first place: humans come closer to acknowledgement when you sound like them.

He just hadn't expected to be this helpless when testing the theory. Still, if it means his code will go unassessed for the moment, the mainframe isn't going to argue. Or admit just how little control he has over those soundbites half the time.]

I'll do my best.

Thanks.

[It's a little surprised. A lot cautious. There's no reason to expect the reprieve to last, but he needs to make use of it. Ideally, without offending the human who's one key away from his command line.]

...

What am I here for?

[hatesimprovising]

[ All the thanks gets in response is a heavy exhale. He's not doing this for the AI's comfort. Or, that's at least what Wash tells himself while he listens to it speak. Of course, the questions start. The ones he doesn't want to have to answer because he's done it countless times before, he's seen all the reactions, and it's the job of the captains, anyway. He also doesn't care for the part that consists of consoling and reassuring the new arrivals, though he can't quite tell if that may be a necessity in this case.

Still, he's got this quiet curiosity about this machine that isn't going anywhere, and it's strong enough to keep him in place instead of dragging the thing to the captains just yet. ]

I wouldn't say there's an actual reason.

[ The Ingress doesn't play rational. It just grabs who and whatever happen to be convenient, or maybe who and what it feels like at the time. No one knows. Nothing is known except that there's not reason behind any of it. ]

I realize it sounds ridiculous, but this portal behind you pulled you from your universe into this one, just like it has with me and all the rest of the crew on this ship. It's broken, or something. Doesn't have any purpose, just drags people through and they end up here.

[ There's a stiff rise of his shoulders that in a more relaxed person may be considered a shrug. ]

You're not here for anything. None of us are.

Arrival

[neuralwafers]

[ The old terminals garners a curious glance, but Zeta doesn't initially think to try investigate it. His concerns were more immediately focused on finding Ro, keeping his head down and keeping in character for the human woman's disguise he was wearing at the moment.

Trying to tap an old terminal in plain sight of cameras wasn't exactly doing any of those. Without Ro around to keep his less human tendencies in check, he's become strangely more aware of them.

Then, however, it talks to him.

Zeta stops mid-stride and turns. He tilts his head and blinks at the terminal before rescanning the hallway for the presence of anyone else. There was no one within close enough proximity to hear the machinery address them and so he assumes the command was meant for him.

It was an awful baffling command, though. ]

Please define 'appropriate Domestication facility'?

[lostsymmetry]

[That's a concisely phrased request. Human or AI? The voice sounds human, but the mainframe knows better than most that isn't always a clear sign.

Not that he plans on speaking up properly just yet.]

<This terminal and all content housed within are the property of Domesticon warranty and recycling depot #127.>

[neuralwafers]

That location does not exist on this ship's blueprints. I have no recollection of any organization listed under the title of 'Domesticon' within my memories. No other crew members I have spoken to have mentioned it either.

[ Warranty and recycling sounded awful ominous, though. Zeta frowns as he lowers himself down to one knee. He doesn't need to be closer to assess the terminal's current state. He scanned a realistic hologram of a grandma taking a shower a couple of miles away from a moving train.

It's more protective than anything else. ]

Is there anything else I can assist you with? You are currently in danger of being damaged by foot traffic. Perhaps I can relocate you to less hazardous location?

[ Loathe as he is to leave the Ingress when Ro might come through, this machine seems like they might need his help more immediately. If nothing else, Ro has two legs and two arms and the willpower of a natural disaster.

She will find him if she arrives. He is sure she will. ]

[lostsymmetry]

[Considering his facility's location has been wiped from the mainframe's own files, that particular piece of ignorance isn't too surprising. Though it does beg the question of what ship did remove him. That the woman(?) hasn't heard of Domesticon at all... that's stranger. Not impossible. But odd.

The offer comes as a surprise. Syntax and vocabulary analysis are generating a higher probability of some kind of droid, but true or not, it's still an unusual amount of consideration. A moment's hesitation, then:]

<Thank you. Your assistance would be valuable.>

[neuralwafers]

[ Zeta gathers up the terminal and keyboard, careful not to jostle the connection between them. There's an oddly metallic 'clink' of said parts against the woman's chest and arms, even as the clothes deform properly. No human sounds of exertion and no human shifting of weight to compensate accompany the lifting motion. ]

Are you aware of your present location?

[ Considering the terminal had just been sitting there, it's doubtful anyone had come along to inform them of the situation. He also can't tell if this terminal had any input beyond audio. The fact that they'd requested a location that didn't exist pointed towards a lack of spatial awareness, certainly. ]

[lostsymmetry]

[See, input besides audio would imply that the mainframe was meant to run from a single device. Still, being cut down to the one source certainly makes those details easier to focus on. Definitely not a human. And if the line of inquiry was much sign, she was either programmed to be helpful, or just inclined that way.

It's not a guarantee of anything. But he needs information, and as options go, he's not likely to find better.]

<Oops. I'm sorry. That information is not available in the database.>

[There's a slight crackle of static. When it clears, the same voice can be heard speaking... minus any trace of the robotic monotone.]

Some sort of ship, you said? What kind?

[neuralwafers]

We are onboard the Moira, a spacecraft. Function and classification are unavailable, but it appears to be a civilian ship with some offensive and defensive capabilities. We have been brought here via a damaged inter-universal portal.

More detailed information regarding the situation can be found on the information packet. I can take you to the nearest data access point and see about transferring the packet somehow?

[ Since... Zeta is pretending to be a human and humans don't have universal data transfer cables.

It's hilarious how many times he's slipped up on this. Now that Ro's not around to catch his mistakes though, it's something he's been checking himself on. ]

Glowy things should be nicer.

[yorisearching]

[Released from the medbay not long ago, Yori finds herself backtracking toward it as the power drain dims one hallway after another. Even Yori's own circuits are dimmer than usual under the cloth layers, a fact which worries her all the more when she so recently got them back.]

[Glowing creatures that drain light were definitely not mentioned in the data she's collected so far.]

[A camera lens glints in the reflection of the glowing creatures as it turns to focus on Yori. Surprise holds her an instant as a voice comes from a speaker in a console. Is this a crewmember speaking from a distance? Some part of the ship's computer system?]

How can I help?

[The little creatures are getting closer. If she's staying put to talk...Yori digs in her backpack and pulls out not her irreplaceable disk but the thin blue imitation from the gym storage rooms.]

They really should. Glowballs, why?

[lostsymmetry]

[Human face and build, but those lights don't look like any survival suit he's seen. And she's pulling out a... Frisbee? Now is a terrible time for questions, but you can bet the mainframe's saving a few of them to file.]

Our little light-up friends-- do you know how to get rid of them?

[The voice crackles, distorting slightly at the end as the distorted logo dims and brightens. It's quieter when he speaks up again, but no less urgent.]

They're draining power from this terminal. I don't know how much longer I can stay online.

[yorisearching]

[Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Yori watches the group that's already too near the terminal and tries to estimate how long before the ones she was retreating from will come down this corridor.]

No one seems to be sure how to handle these intruders yet. I've just been trying to stay away, I'm not Security.

[...identifying with this specific terminal? Yori's not sure why this set of hardware can talk when most programs out here don't seem able, but there's not time to ask for details now.]

I can confirm they drain power wherever they are. Not much physical damage. If I can't shoo them away, you'd better put your terminal in standby or shut down until the ship's clear.

[Best to say that before she chances power drain forcing her into unconsciousness. Yori lifts the frisbee and waves it near the closest threat, hoping they might startle and move like the bugs in the Inugami high school and not like the swarming deadly gridbugs of Encom.]

[lostsymmetry]

[Was that a function reference, or is she just talking about her job? No, later.]

Ah, can't. Shut down, that is. Not without a validated operator.

[An utterly pointless rule when he's not even connected to the systems that need to be kept running. But what isn't? The camera twitches, tracking her attempt with more than a little trepidation.]

Good to know they aren't our usual neighbors. If you need to clear out, can you send someone by later?

[yorisearching]

[What a pointless rule. Yori winces at the idea and hopes it's not a sample of directives aboard ship. Maybe not; this terminal looks different and is talking to her, after all.]

Sorry. Whatever you can do to protect your programs, then.

[At her first slow wave, the glowing things do scatter, two drifting down the hall while the other one flies up to the ceiling and heads in the direction of the group she'd been retreating from. Yori lets out a relieved hiss. That's something.]

If I have to retreat or they knock me to standby levels, I'll send someone when I can and check on you when it's safe.

[She moves several steps after the third glow to get an idea where the others are, blue toy raised. The thing takes offense, zipping abruptly down to latch on to the blue surface.]

[The power drain in its vicinity is painful. Yori drops the disk and jerks backward, her hand numb. The glowing thing appears to take this as a victory and zooms away, leaving a patch of darkness in the corridor lit by the glowing mark of a bite.]

[Could have been worse. Yori rubs her hand to check for unfelt damage, then prods the disk with her foot to check for power drain effects. None. That seems limited to the creatures themselves. She scoops the disk up in her left hand and backs up to the terminal, glancing both ways warily.]

There are likely to be more.

[lostsymmetry]

[Standby levels. Good to know. The promise alleviates a little of the programmed need, and the mainframe watches with relief as the first two scatter. When the third zips in, there's an abbreviated "Watch out!", but not quite in time. Fortunately it doesn't seem to have done damage.

The image on the terminal flickers a little brighter as his rescuer retreats, nothing left in reach to drain him. There's a faint hmming noise at her warning.]

That there are. Are you okay?

[yorisearching]

[She flexes her right hand while watching the flicker of distant lights. Once the levels even out, the pain fades.]

No damage. Don't worry, they let me recharge when I got here. Eighty percent still.

[She'd felt deep relief to have an actual power conduit after these months of unfamiliar solid food. Not the point, right now; how long she'll be okay is a different and very relevant question.]

I can function at low energy quite a while if necessary, but I'm sure someone will come by the medbay before then. It looks like a full ship.

[Someone had better. Yori had once rationed her energy use strictly enough to hide the existence of a room of artwork from the guards, but functioning for a factory worker wasn't meant to include battle. If she knew who might be nearby and willing to help, she'd make a call, but if everyone else is dealing with the glowing things already...well, she hopes it won't take them long.]