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January 2024 Test Drive Meme: Our First!
| Welcome to the Simulation: Our First Test Drive |
Full Navigation Reserves open 01/27/2024 @ 12:00 AM EST |
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Summary: 🌼 Content Warnings: Optional light alcohol, isolation, bad weather via thunderstorms, feeling of being watched and taunted, false information, mental manipulation, memory manipulation, memories or depictions of murder and torture There is a knock at the door. You mustn't answer the door. It has been a long, long, long day, hasn't it? You don't even remember sitting on the couch and you certainly don't remember dozing off. But that strange broadcast certainly woke you up and now...You are here. In an unfamiliar house with outdated wallpaper and dirty carpet. The weather outside seems frightful. Torrential downpours with clashing thunder and flashes of lightning chase even the most persistent shadows in the house. Was the lady on the TV serious? Did you just have to wait in this lousy place for the storm to blow over? Or, wait, how did she word it? Wait while things finish configuration. Damn, your head is hurting and you could use a drink. Hopefully, the tacky yellow kitchen has a stocked fridge. Luckily for you, it's filled with fresh food and some fresh booze. There is a knock at the door. You mustn't answer the door. Unluckily for you, there is another person in this house with you. They might have woken up on the same couch as you or are bumping around upstairs. Either way, the freak in the polka-dot dress wasn't wrong: You're not alone here. When you and whoever else in this house finally join up, you will notice that the house seems to become a bit more lively. The pictures on the wall change to feature you or your companion. Some of the pictures are genuine from back in your homeworld, but others...Not so much. Others look like false memories of you with families you don't even remember or at a school you never attended, but they are all so real you can't help but think maybe Daisy is telling the truth after all. There is a heavier knock at the door. You mustn't answer the door. There is a radio in the house that suddenly begins to declare an emergency announcement: "At this time, we urge all residents of Sweet Acres to seek shelter immediately. The wind is picking up and we anticipate this storm to last the rest of the night - Oh? A heavy booming knock lands three times at the front door. Let. Me. In. The pictures around the house begin to change. Now it shows you and whoever you're sharing the house with doing some...terrible things. Maybe some of it is true. Some of it may be completely false. Will it matter when the pictures seem so terrifyingly real? What happens when the TV glitches on and starts to play sketchy home videos of one of you doing something terrible? What happens when the radio starts to play terrifying audio of you confessing to an atrocious crime? What happens when the person you're stuck in the house with might just be the stranger the radio warned you about? Or will you have the sense to realize that something is very wrong here and that you're both being played a fool? The knocking at the door is only getting louder. So loud it cracks the door. The storm worsens. What should you do? The madness will only worsen the longer you stay. You may even be driven to defend yourself from each other, you may come to develop false memories of crimes you didn't commit. You may just... Decide to open that damn door already. It turns out, that's what you needed to do the entire time. Because the moment you do? You open the door and see a beautiful, sunny day outside. No rain. Not a single gray cloud. Certainly no horrifying stranger either. But now you're left with whatever you did or thought from the house. For some people, the terror may slip away as easily as the rain, but for some of you, you might be stuck with paranoia and suspicion. Welcome to Sweet Acres. |
| [ The Bot Problem ] |
Summary: 🌼 Content Warnings: Forced sexuality, optional sex, aphrodisiac style computer virus, dubious consent, hunted by machines, use of bombs, guns, and shrapnel. Possible character death or maiming You will notice that there are still some errors in the system as you go out and about exploring your new town. There will be an occasional glitch that opens up a screaming void of bottomless darkness before it blinks out of existence. Those are unsettling enough, but at least they don't seem harmless. The bots, on the other hand, are a different story. They glitch into the town, cracking through this carefully structured reality like breaking through a window. It seems like Daisy has a lot of work to do on the external firewalls of Sweet Acres! In the meantime, you're going to have to deal with her incompetence. A lot of the bots can easily be mistaken for other residents in town. These are model-gorgeous women and men who almost seemed like caricatures of stereotypical beauty conventions. Big lips, huge hips, large muscles, chiseled jaws, perfect hair, pearly white teeth. These beauties flounce about and no matter who or what you are, if they look your way, they are immediately approaching you. "Hey, sexy. I'm single, horny, and lonely. I just turned 18 and I've got my daddy's credit card." "I've never seen a person more beautiful than you. I'm the CEO of at least three different six-figure income businesses. How about I take you on a night out in my Ferrari?" There isn't a single thought behind those eyes or in those smiles. If you have the thought to rely on your Daze, you can just block the Sex Bots and they will blink out of existence. Alternatively, you could probably just smash them out of existence with a good punch or the swing of a weapon...They will just vanish into a cloud of corrupt coding. But if you're a bit more gullible and still catching up on the strangeness of this place or can't figure out Daze, you might make the mistake of responding to one of these bots. The Bot will immediately scan you for all of your information and warp its features into something that you actually would find to be the ideal beauty. "This is better, right?" It's hard to deny...They even sound like the ideal beauty in your mind. A gentle hand on your arm and then they are leading you away. Except they aren't leading you anywhere. You watch helplessly as coding goes up your arm and begins to consume your body. You can't feel anything but a prickling sensation. The Bot vanishes, but you are left rewired. Now it is you with the dramatic features emphasizing your most attractive parts. Regardless of your personality, you suddenly feel the urge to walk up to just about anyone anywhere and flirt with them. Whether stupidly or sincerely. It's hard to remember yourself with the bot's virus wreaking havoc on your Daze. Worst case scenario? You wind up sleeping with someone because of this bizarre virus, but you will also ironically get it out of your system this way and feel completely normal after. Alternatively, you can find someone who is a bit more tech-savvy with the Daze and who might have an idea of how to hack into your system and get rid of the virus for you. This might involve some personal line of questioning, but hey, at least you're not walking around asking for sex from total strangers anymore! The Sex Bots are a dream compared to the other virus attacking the system of Sweet Acres. One will begin to see small metal robots trotting about, no bigger than a backpack, with lethal determination. These metal dogs scour their surroundings for anything organic or anything that doesn't belong in the space. This means they are actively ripping up plants and destroying trees, which is tragic enough, but just be glad they haven't seen you yet because it turns out that Daisy's Sweet Subjects are the metal dog's top priority. The moment they notice you, they will begin a neverending chase. These robots can catch up to a speeding car and resist an enormous amount of damage. They are waterproof and run on their own network completely disconnected from the Daze, so good luck trying to hack into them- it won't work. They can see just as well in the dark as the light and have sensors that allow them to pick up on body temperature as well as any vibrations you might make. They are not gentle creatures: their goal is to terminate all organic beings and Sweet Subjects in the area. If they catch you, they will immediately attempt to blow your head off with a small gun they can form. Alternatively, they will expel a shrapnel bomb if you catch them off guard. They also have paralyzing fog bombs. Metal dogs can be destroyed, however. With large explosions, armor-piercing weaponry, people with extreme super strength. Or you can get creative! Maybe you know a spell that can turn them into a stuffed animal or melt the metal. Maybe you have control over metal beings. There are ways to destroy these things. But don't worry. If worse comes to worse, Daisy is going around to destroy them for you. But do you really want to owe her your life? |
no subject
[Replacing the glasses, Koby looks upwards at Mihawk, very seriously.] I know exactly who you are. So I'm relieved, but -- well. I know you. [A bold statement to make after eavesdropping on two (2) conversations, but Koby says it unflinchingly, even as he absently toys with the handkerchief, thumb stroking back and forth across the soft fabric.] But I'll put my personal opinions aside so we can get out of this. It's the wisest strategy all around.
no subject
Ah. (That explains a few things.) You must be the one he's taking a liking to.
(Whether Garp has said as much to Mihawk is up for debate. Mihawk paid more attention than Garp than the man likely knew or wanted.)
Is that so? I should hope you do. (He clicks his tongue. Unsheathing his little dagger again, he reaches out slowly and places the flat edge of the blade under Koby's chin so that he can tip it up just ever so slightly.)
I've killed far more of you than I care to remember. It would be embarrassing if you didn't know who I am. (He slides the blade away from Koby's face, spinning the dagger absently between his fingers.)
We? That implies you and I working together. Why should I do that? Go ahead. Enlighten me with your strategic prowess.
no subject
[And then there's the cool edge of a dagger -- a tiny one, but Koby's not stupid, a blade doesn't have to be huge to cause damage, especially in the hands of a master -- under his chin. Koby looks up, no resistance, no hesitation. His heart is racing, of course, and he absently teethes at his lower lip until Mihawk moves the dagger away. It's an unnecessary reminder who he's dealing with, how careful he should be.
But truthful or not, Koby's always been too honest for his own good. Maybe it's because Mihawk doesn't strike him as the same kind of dangerous as most pirates -- there's a control, a thoughtfulness. Ultimately, there's no reason for Mihawk to waste any time on Koby, violent or otherwise. Convincing him of an alliance, though -- that's a different story.
So, swallowing tightly and squaring his shoulders, Koby tries his best to sound firm, like he actually possesses some authority.] This place is -- going to try to trick us. Daisy, that...clown person, has already been insisting that everything from the real world is a fake. I...think it's wise to stay close, since we remember the same things. It'll remind us not to listen to what this place says or does.
[Mihawk might trust his own emotions, his own mind, but Koby knows himself. He retains knowledge about danger and risk like a sponge -- it won't take a lot to send him spiraling. He needs that reminder that it wasn't fake. That he isn't fake. So, a little softer:] I -- please. At least until we find others. I'll leave you alone then, but. For now. Please.
no subject
Please, do shut up, I couldn't care less about your fetish for praise.
(
For now. Thankfully his knife seems to stop whatever obnoxious prattling ass-kissing this cadet was about to bubble over with. Small miracles. But also maybe small curses because the look on Koby's face certainly does something and Mihawk's not so sure he's fond of that little seed that just got planted.The problem is that Koby doesn't flinch. If he flinched or looked terrified, Mihawk could write him off as a dime a dozen among his fellow spineless cadets. He begrudgingly has to admire it and silently understands why Garp might have taken a liking to this one.
Koby's right too. Mihawk may have had an incredibly high body count, but it wasn't really out of any desire to shed as much blood as humanly possible. He had no interest in killing Koby. Not when seeing him alive was far, far more interesting. The little note of authority is even surprising.
Perhaps not like other cadets at all, no. Mihawk hums, tipping his head to the side, and proceeds to scrutinize Koby, his sharp eyes roving over the boy from head to toe and slowly back up. He listens to him silently, walking in a slow, steady circle around him, before he comes to a stop in front of him once again.
Please.
Please.
When was the last time anyone had ever pled him for anything that wasn't a plea to spare their lives? A plea for help no less. Help that wasn't just in the form of slashing down enemies with his sword. Even Mihawk realized the predicament that they were in. Loathe though he was to admit, he had no clue how Daisy managed to wrangle him here and he had less of an idea of how she invaded his mind the way that she did.
Koby was right. Mihawk wasn't honestly sure if Daisy was right or not, and he hated that, but he hated the idea of giving up his sanity to her just because she said so. He wanted to believe that some crazed woman had implanted the idea that he was the greatest swordsman of his time. He had achieved that. For real. He had the muscle, and the talent to prove it. It wasn't some hoax conducted in his mind for some damn variety sampling.)
It's insulting. (He responds at last, his own voice low. He slides his dagger back into its sheath.)
I've spent too much of my life earning every title I have ever gained. Too much. (His jaw clenches and he looks away, his hat covering his face.)
I refuse to believe some harlequin wench merely manipulated all of that success in my mind. (He normally wouldn't tell someone this, but...Even Mihawk knew that there was some middle ground to be crossed. He swallows thickly and finally looks back at Koby.)
We shall stay close. (Something raw and angry was burning in his eyes, but it wasn't directed at Koby. Still. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he's calm once again.)
Besides, if I let Garp's pretty pet get killed, I'll never hear the end of it. That man can be exhausting to listen to when he's annoyed. But. (He steps closer to Koby, nearly toe-to-toe, and leans in close toward the cadet's face.)
Do not get in my way.
no subject
(like a liar)) -- but he finds himself holding his breath instead, in advance of Mihawk's answer. He knows it's extremely likely that the warlord will simply laugh and disregard him without another thought -- why would he want to waste any more time on some scrawny Marine cadet?But there's something in Mihawk's expression, a stormy fury at what's been done to them. Koby sees it, feels like he knows it -- they have nothing in common, except for how hard they'd fought to make their own decisions. To be their own people, albeit on two wildly different paths. And now this place is threatening that.
So even when Mihawk leans in, huge and looming and deadly, Koby just feels relieved, hearing him agree to team up, even temporarily. There's that smile again, quick and bright, all Koby's emotions immediately readable -- eager, hopeful, almost happy.] Deal. It's a deal.
[Then, almost as quickly, he's scowling, lifting his blood-splattered chin to meet Mihawk's eyes.] But I'm not a pet.
no subject
Perhaps the newer generation wasn't as hopeless and shackled to the past as his own had been. A cadet willingly working at his side and smiling despite it all. It reminds him of that boy Shanks had sacrificed his arm for. Of that ridiculous idiot swordsman who might be worth his weight in talent.)
Deal. (It only felt right to repeat it. Mihawk's alliances were tentatively formed throughout his years and always with layers of caveats and the ever-present possibility that he merely fucked off whenever he wanted. He realizes he probably can't do that with this cadet. If he did, he might just wind up getting killed, and then what would Mihawk's word be worth? Hell, if he can't even keep a shrimp like this alive...)
Oh? (That makes Mihawk's mouth crack open in a rare smile.)
How sad. You would make a lovely pet. I bet you come immediately when your name is called and everything. Isn't the whole purpose of a cadet to take your orders like a good boy? Sit when you're told, bark when you're told...
(He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking.)
No, I think 'pet' is rather perfect for you.
no subject
Koby’s fine with that. Truly. He's just relieved Mihawk's here now. The future can wait.
Now that the metal bots are thoroughly dispatched (for the moment), Koby turns his attention to where the metal shrapnel had shredded his shin and arm and, worst of all, his shoulder. The adrenaline is fading and it's starting to actually hurt. And Mihawk's -- teasing? Is that what he's doing? Whatever it is, it has Koby's face as pink as his hair.
Huffing in annoyance, Koby turns slightly away, starting to unbutton his shirt.] You don't know me. Just because I'm a Marine doesn't mean I just -- blindly follow orders. [Not anymore, at least.
Back facing Mihawk, Koby tugs his shredded sleeve off, baring his bloodied shoulder and arm. He's wearing a sleeveless shirt underneath -- habit, layers upon layers, even now -- so he's less awkward than he might normally be. In fact, he glances back over his shoulder, arching both eyebrows at Mihawk.] I think I got most of the metal out, but -- can you check? [A beat, then:] Please? I don't want to wrap it unless it's all out.
no subject
Solitude had suited him just fine for the last forty or so years of his life.
Protecting someone else was a foreign concept to Mihawk, but taking care of someone even less so. He never even had to take care of wounds of his own since he never got wounded. He watches Koby silently, making no move to help because it simply doesn't occur to him why Koby is even taking his shirt off.
Instead, he merely admires the slope of Koby's neck and the sharp angle of his shoulder blades. He really was a small cadet.)
Whatever you say. (Ah. That's why. His eyes drift to Koby's bloodied shoulder. It's not the worst injury he has seen, but it probably did hurt.
Then he's looking at Koby and gives yet another dramatic sigh.)
Fine. (He moves forward and rests one hand in the center of Koby's back. His palm is warm, fingers long, and it's as if he swallows the entire space whole with ease. He curls his fingers over Koby's uninjured shoulder and gets to work.
There isn't much shrapnel left, but what is left, Mihawk carefully removes with deft fingers. He doesn't tell Koby to brace himself, doesn't warn him. Just methodically removes one sliver of metal after the other. All in all, there isn't much, but enough that there's more blood.)
Give me your uniform. This will need to be wrapped properly. We'll have to try and see if we can find any water. (A beat.) Or preferably alcohol.
no subject
That in itself had been...more than Koby had anticipated. Maybe that's why he'd felt confident proposing an alliance, because Mihawk had already saved him once. Maybe that's why he'd asked for the help with his wounds, though truthfully Koby had only expected Mihawk to glance at his shoulder and tell him to stop complaining. Instead he was genuinely...helping. It was probably just altruistic -- Koby wouldn't be any help as an ally if he was injured.
Then again, he's already burst into tears once in front of the pirate. Mihawk probably isn't expecting much from him.
Once Mihawk's done, Koby exhales softly, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. The sun is warm and bright enough that he isn't cold after handing over the unbuttoned uniform shirt, even just in his tight, thin undershirt. But he crosses his arms anyways, instinctively, prompting more blood to well up as he moves.]
There was a fully-stocked kitchen in the house I woke up in -- I think I saw some bottles of liquor there. Maybe they'd have a first aid kit. [Sternly, scowling:] I'd prefer a first aid kit to pouring alcohol on it and hoping for the best.
no subject
How embarrassing.
He tears the shirt easily before lightly swatting Koby's arm just beneath the wound.)
Unfold your arms, cadet. Let me wrap this up before you decide to sulk.
(Even without any antiseptic, he wanted to get some pressure on that wound. Koby wasn't about to bleed out, but bleeding never worked in anyone's favor.)
My, Marines truly are spoiled, aren't they? A first aid kit. Very well then. We can always look about and try to find you something more satisfying than good liquor. (Brats are so ungrateful these days!)
no subject
But still -- the uniform still means something to Koby, even with all he's learned, all the disillusionment of the past few months. He swallows tightly, gritting his teeth against the repeated, humiliating urge to cry. Later, maybe. Later, when he's alone.
The injured arm uncrosses, but the other stays firmly across Koby's chest. He's still too thin, he knows, collarbone sharp, the curve of his ribs easily visible through the thin fabric of the undershirt.] I don't think preferring real bandages to a bottle of wine poured over an injury makes us spoiled.
...except you'd probably never waste wine, would you? [He'd cleaned up after Garp's post-Mihawk temper tantrum. There had been multiple shattered wine glasses -- which was par for the course. Mihawk would prefer wine to something more plebian, like beer.]
no subject
Please. It's merely a uniform. You're a Marine with or without it and this can be replaced in time.
(He's not comforting him, he's just stating facts, shut up.)
No, but it makes you ridiculous to think about trying to find proper first aid in a completely unexpected, violent situation.
(He wraps Koby's arm and pauses when Koby says that because, wow, okay!
He makes an odd noise of his own. It's kind of a snort, almost maybe a sound of amusement. If you really thought about it.)
...You're not...incorrect.
(Credit where credit is due. He ties off Koby's arm tightly, but not too tightly.)
We'll see if we can find real bandages but we aren't wasting much time on it. (It's a middle ground. One of many they were likely to create, he figures.)
no subject
The tight pressure of the makeshift bandage takes Koby's mind out of the spiral, making him flex his fingers a couple times, then nod. It's tight, the bleeding already slowing, but not enough that he'll lose feeling -- Mihawk might not need the knowledge to wrap wounds, but he still has it.] Unexpected, violent situations are exactly what first aid kits are for.
[Momentarily satisfied, Koby squares his shoulders -- a less impressive gesture without the starched, broad-shouldered shape of his uniform.] It'd be good to find a place to stay. A different house -- the one I came from was...strange.
no subject
(Hence the unexpected part. Still. Mihawk is focusing intently on Koby. The way his body clenched up, the way his fingers curl. It's easier to think about Koby than it was to think about their actual situation. Mihawk prided himself in never panicking, and while he didn't feel the need to panic now, his frustration with the situation was infuriating enough.
The alliance worked more in his favor mentally than physically. It's true that Koby was useless to him physically. Even intellectually, Mihawk didn't technically need Koby.
But something was steadying about him otherwise. Something for Mihawk to concentrate on than the abstract idea of figuring this place out in a matter of seconds. Even he knew it wouldn't be that easy.)
As was mine. (Too many minds game and too little of a space.)
We'll have to find something that suits...both of our needs.
(And just like that, he's subtly making it clear that he intended to just stay with Koby in the meantime. It would make sense.)
Do you feel well enough to move for a while?
no subject
It occurs to him, absently, that it'd be even better if he could actually grab onto and feel and touch said tether -- but Koby pushes the thought away, sticks his hand in his pocket instead. The brush of the silk handkerchief is good enough, for the moment.]
Right. Somewhere else. The houses all seem to be set up the same, mostly, so I'm assuming they're all stocked up. Daisy wouldn't want her toys to starve. [There's already a touch of loathing in Koby's voice -- alert the media, he's expressing disapproval of an authority figure. Then again, Daisy is much closer to Alvida than Garp, as far as those figures go.] I can't guarantee it's what youre used to, but wine is wine, right?
[No culture, this one. Koby nods, determined and bloody and pale.] I can walk. I'll be fine.
no subject
It would probably be counterproductive to her experimentation, yes.
(His own voice is steady, but there is a telling steely glint in his eyes. He was not a man to be caged.)
Wine is wine. (He agrees with a begrudging sigh.
He nods curtly and begins to walk, but he slows his strides so that he can stay close to Koby's side. In a similar way, he too wanted to touch, to confirm reality in his own way. After some time, he decides to throw any caution to the wind and reaches a hand out to rest it in the small of Koby's back. Light, but undeniably supportive. Just in case Koby felt faint.
And just because the point of contact was a bit reassuring.)
Why don't you focus on keeping an eye on a good house and I'll make sure the dogs stay off our backs.
no subject
So he's determined to keep up, if only because the idea of being in this place alone is worse than the pain.
The hand at his back gets another of those soft, surprised little shivers, not quite a cringe or flinch. More like his body doesn't understand a touch that doesn't hurt. He doesn't move away, though, let's his attention focus on that point of contact, so warm it seems to hum. It makes walking easier.
Koby wants to pepper Mihawk with questions about his theories -- why are they here, how did they get here, has he seen anyone else, et cetera. But there'll be time for that once they find a place to stay, a home base of sorts. Most of the houses are similar, cookie-cutter, in a variety of bright pastels. They're on a street -- Adelaide Drive, Koby notes, already mentally mapping the place out -- that seems to be mostly these.
But then they pass a cross street -- Cavendish -- and Koby pauses, zeroing in on a house partway down the street. It's a more muted, soft dove grey color, Victorian style, with a surprisingly abundant amount of daisies in the front yard. Koby thinks the color matches Mihawk's sensibilities -- not important, not really, but he's desperate for something nice here. Something comforting. And he loves daisies.
Unaware that he's starting to tremble a little with the strain of staying upright, Koby points at the grey house.] What about that one?
no subject
Then they reach the Victorian home, muted in color, vibrant with greenery, and Mihawk is...Surprised.
Again. His fingers curl ever so slightly into Koby's back as he stares at the home. It had a prestigious appearance, big enough that they would both have plenty of space from one another if they needed or wanted it, but not so big it was absurd. Not too close to the neighboring houses.
The yard had plenty of promise too. It was big, and it seemed bigger in the back maybe. He's still considering the home when he feels a slight tremble beneath his hand. He looks down at Koby, dark eyes moving over his face carefully.)
This one will do. (It was...perfect. He would have pointed it out if Koby didn't. He has enough sense to realize Koby picked it with some consideration to Mihawk's aesthetic. It makes him wonder about the daisies.
It didn't matter. He needed to get Koby inside. He guides him up the cobbled pathway to the front door and lets them inside. It's dark and lofty inside, filled with all of the little types of details architects used to pride themselves on, and Mihawk silently adores it all. It's dramatic and polished, clean and inviting.
And the kitchen does look fully stocked.)
Sit down. I'll get you some water then look for something a bit better than that tacky uniform.
no subject
Good. [Later, Koby will full admire the features of the house, the amount of space, the security of the door and the darkened warmth of the polished walls. For now, though, he just reaches out to gently trail his fingertips across the tops of the flowers as they pass, like they're some small, beloved pet, something achingly fond in his soft smile.
It's very clean and spare inside, which is interesting -- there's so much space, Koby would've anticipated more furnishings. Something dark and lavish, like the exterior of the house. But there's a couch, that's enough for him for now -- his knees feel like they're about to give out beneath him. Koby stumbles to sit heavily, both hands clutching at the cushions as he slowly draws in a breath. His head is spinning, a throbbing sort of buzz in his ears, and he recognizes vividly that he's about to pass out. He squeezes his eyes shut, focuses on counting breaths, slow and even, one two three, one two three...
But then, summoning all his strength:] They're not t-tacky.