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TEST DRIVE MEME #1
| TEST DRIVE #1 |
 The universe is fading into a bitter, cold blackness. Planet by planet, star by star, life is disappearing. For the good ship Koska IV there is no return voyage, there is no home, there is only forward. Behind it is the devastating emptiness of a life devoured, and the threat of an unseen enemy always at its heels. It can be argued perhaps that where the Kostka goes death follows, that it leaves ruin in its wake. If you ask Ripley, though, she'll say that they're only just managing to outrun the inevitable. Waking up aboard the ship feels strangely like waking up in a mausoleum. You emerge from your cryo pod like climbing out from a tomb, born new into a world long gone silent and still. The monolithic vessel now exists as a ghost town, halls dimly lit with emergency power, the only sounds being the mechanical ticking and groaning metal of the Kostka, laboring on like a wounded, burdened beast. Don’t mind the dust, the grime or the occasional blood splatter; cleaning is a nonessential function the droids don’t have energy to waste on. Kostka IV, once a transport designed for leisure cruises to and from new colonies, hobbles along on her last leg, urged on and on by the AI left to command her - R.I.P., affectionately termed ‘Ripley’ by her now absent crew. The sprawling, shadowy halls are only trafficked by Ripley’s minimal team of droids, the least that she can spare in straining her corrupted processes, much of both the ship and her systems in dire disrepair. Preserve organic life: Ripley’s primary, core directive and singular focus, the one goal above all else, which must be met, no matter the cost. And now, your goal too, as on Kostka IV, though crippled, Ripley is God, and the body your consciousness inhabits now is not your own - a semi-organic, synthetic host that morphs to fit the form you left, rather than the skin you were born to. You were saved from what is coming (for her, for you, for everyone), because Ripley needs more hands to keep this last ark of humanity afloat, as the ship struggles to find safe harbor, making stops along the way to pick up resources, to search for life. To find a home, and a future, for us all. ( Kostka is a panfandom, scifi, survival/horror jamjar, with elements of psychological and body horror (in varying, opt-out-able levels) peppered along with your general monster movie fair, driven by character interaction and influence with heavy meta-plot guided by regular mod events. Set on a mobile ship traversing through differing dimensions, characters are transported into semi-organic, synthetic bodies that replicate their canon form, able to be upgraded with powers through bonus AC rewards, and brought onto the crew to assist a debilitated AI in escaping a force destroying the multiverse, while they seek to salvage what remains of life. Events will feature some known canon worlds (like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Bioshock, etc), along with some uniquely built between mods and player world-building. This game is invite-only, and we have a player cap of 30, with two character slots available for each player. The game has been inspired by: Battlestar Galactica, SOMA, Altered Carbon, Mass Effect, Passengers, Black Mirror, and various others. )
 A spark of electricity convulses through your body, and you jolt awake - underwater. Or, at least, that's most peoples' first guess. The color is more vibrant than water should be, and heavier, your body feeling sluggish against the weight and drag of it. Or perhaps you're just slower to respond, distant, limbs and mind still drowsy and reeling. The bright fluid doesn't sting when you blink, if anything, it's soothing, healing, calming. Fortunate, that, because you're going to need it. As the pod-like chamber you're held in starts to drain of the liquid, your senses start to flood back in. Awareness filters in like a window curtain holding back the morning sun, gradually easing away with each inch the water line lowers. There's something on your face - a mask, strapped around the back of your head, and other thinner tendrils against your cheeks, your ears, your neck. Narrow tubes are channeled through in your nostrils, and cables have slithered in through your ears, plugging into God knows what on the inside of your skull. There's a click that you feel more than hear, and the tension on them slacks, disconnected from somewhere inside you. Pull - up, back, to the side, whichever way you want - and they start to drag free. Far from the most pleasant feeling (likely leaves you wanting to crawl right out of your skin), but it doesn't quite hurt or burn, yet. That's for the inch wide tube shoved down your throat and held in place by the mask. It's also what's keeping you breathing underneath this blue space-goo though, so maybe don't go yanking it off until the lid of your pod opens. As the fluid drains, a voice crackles in over the sound of water oscillating around your ears. Not something played from a speaker anywhere, nothing projected on a screen, and whether the cables are still in your ears or not, you hear her all the same, as if she's more inside your head than she is broadcasting over a speaker inside the pod or coming muffled from outside. Even still, it's stuttered and interrupted, like the connection is weak, interference like static white noise buzzing through and covering up parts of sentences. ❝ I don’t have a lot of tim— RIP can’t spare the power to run this more t—, so pay attention. At the end of the long lines of cryo pods, the halls meet at a small medbay. It seems some merciful someone has left a stack of thin, cloth sheets on one of the medbay tables, so it's best you pick one up, towel off a bit, and then toga it, until you find something more durable. Hopefully, at some point, someone will discover a door leading to a storage room is unlocked. There, you'll find some very stylish, bright orange jumpsuits. With luck, you'll make it there before you freeze. NETWORK ⬡ AKA; welcome to Kostka IV, Have Some K-Pop While Projection is not yet available, all HOST bodies share free access to a neural network through which they can communicate via text, audio, or video. One of the first things the HOST platform will prompt the new mind housed inside it will be to set up a sequence of finger taps to open up the network HUD. The system is fairly intuitive, and all one need do is reach up a hand to touch the option they wish to select. For text, a keyboard overlay will appear in the HOST's visual perception, and, dy default, all messages will show: a name, a username, and an ID code. Feel free to make these up as you like. These can be adjusted, and a HOST can post anonymously to the network as well (no guarantees Ripley can't trace it back to the origin, but she's not going to tell). There are no real rules on the usage of this network, aside from don't try to hack your friends, or your not-friends (just don't hack anyone, okay, it's rude). Ripley does understand the human need to socialize, especially in trying and stressful circumstances, so have at it kids. Ripley, however, will be making one quick announcement that she will not be capable of replying to just yet - waking you jerks up took a lot out of her, so give her some time. The voice that you hear doesn't come through any speaker or intercom around you, nor is it originating from any of the bodies or droids nearby. You hear what sounds like a young girl speaking as if inside your head, and she sounds exhausted: ❝ ATTENTION ALL CREW: This is Ripley. MAINTENANCE ⬡ AKA; get that human skull out of the filtration tank pls, or u stepped on a droid and now it's mad. We're hoping you had time to get over the Bambi legs and get your space legs under you (as well as some space pants onto your body), because Ripley expended a lot of processing power to waking you up. That means it's up to you to make up the difference and get to work cleaning this place up to make it habitable for you and your new crewmates. It's been nothing but RIP and her droids for the last who knows how long, so those things that need to be functioning for the continued survival of organic bodies need to get working. Here's the chores on the docket: ⬡ Water Filtration; Hydration - always a must for you squishy, fleshy things, isn't it? The canal that runs through the Ring atrium is a large part of the reserves, and at one dark innocuous end an uncomfortable grinding noise can be heard. Beneath the surface of the water where there should be wall, there is instead an enormous fan about ten feet in diameter. It's grinding so loud the sound escapes the water barrier, and the cause is pretty clear. There's something wedged between one of the fan blades and the circular housing it's contained in. Someone will need to dive down ten or twelve feet and unstick the human skull stopping the filtration system from running. Beware, though — the second it's free the fan blades will begin spinning, sucking gallons upon gallons of water down into the depths. Hope you can swim!Good luck, have fun, try not to die because Ripley's exhausted from waking you up, and the droids suck at first aid— not to mention, very stiff bedside manner. VR / SAFETY TRAINING ⬡ AKA; ur gonna die a lot because space sucks. Let's face it, we weren't all born ready to space labor, or even space living. Loath as Ripley is to expend the power reserves on VR, the lot of you need to be trained up and the droids lack that personal touch that inspires excellence. RIP will be taking point on this assignment.It's a One Time Offer (well, we're calling it that now): the crew working away has freed up some CPU for Ripley, and because positive reinforcement is proven to work well on new puppies, she is rewarding you with Brain Stimulating Activities (aka safety training (or not)). This ship, especially dilapidated and running on emergency power as it is, is a dangerous place to be, even without the endless vacuum of space waiting outside to murder the absolute shit out of you. Characters will be given a VR visor, droids tapping a few buttons on a nearby console, and zipping away. Which, regretfully, means you won't be getting a warning or a say in what you're walking into, but walking into it you are, none-the-less. Sort of. Virtual walking. ⬡ Space walk; The Kostka IV has seen her fair share of daring battles and random asteroid clusters, leaving the frame of the beast of a ship pock-marked with damage. There's weakened structure, thermal panels missing, guns that don't want to get un-stuck and retract back into their housing. All kinds of nonsense. It's your job to tend to all that. Instructional videos will crop up on your HUD, walking you through your repairs, but that's assuming you can get to your spot at all, rather drift off into the sparkling black nether of the universe. Keep a good grip on the handrails outside. Now and again, something might give a quick, sharp shove, like hands against your side or your arm, attempting to dislodge you. Hold on tight, don't be tricked, and don't get lost. » NAVIGATION « General questions about the game can be directed to the FAQ, while TDM questions can be answered on the comment header below! Awakening threads for GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE, MAINTENANCE and NETWORK can be used as game canon so long as all parties agree. Arrivals are on Day 1, while the other two prompts can take place any time during the first 5 IC days of the game timeline. The VR PROMPTS diverge a bit from what we have planned for the opening and cannot be used to game canon, so please feel free to get creative with those! Reserves will open on: March 1st @ 8PM EST Applications will open on: March 5th @ 8PM EST |
no subject
Hadn't gotten a good look at Tony's front, though, until now. The way his eyes get a little wide and drop down to the line probably gives it away before his mouth does. It takes him a second or two to recover from the surprise, but then his chin dips down into a tiny little nod. ]
Creepy sex camp.
[ Also killed ur parents. That whole thing. Yeah, same Barnes. ]
You disappeared. Thought they-
[ Might have wiped him out like they did Steve. Left him blank, reset him. He doesn't say as much. ]
no subject
[ Broom closet confessionals. He ties off the makeshift lead on a wayward branch and takes a few steps closer just- for his own peace of mind. No reason whatsoever. There isn't any way he can play off reaching over to poke Barnes' good shoulder as anything but weird but-
they woke up in tubes of humanesque nutrient broth. A little weirdness is probably expected and forgiven. When he proves solid some of the tension in Tony's shoulders eases, a flicker of naked relief crossing his face. ] So that wasn't a fucked up dream. Okay.
No I- last thing I remember is waking up here.
no subject
Weirdness is both expected and forgiven, and he says nothing outright about the poke to his good arm apart from a pointed raising of his eyebrow. Yep, all flesh and blood there, pal. Totally real. ]
Unfortunately.
[ He affirms; no fucked up dream, just a long line of weird... encounters with people he definitely wouldn't have otherwise slept with, then some snowflakes that turned people into yetis, a little bit of rape-garland, some public executions. You know. The usual. ]
Probably says something that space is somehow an improvement.
[ Creepy fanged plants and all. Speaking of which: ]
If you get tired of that thing and wanna throw it out an airlock, it's pretty good stress relief. I've got a key.
no subject
[ As long as he doesn't think too hard about the cold void of space beyond the hull, he's fine. As long as he doesn't see the endless, aching starfield that'll only make him remember the wormhole? He's. Fine.
Ish.
Work distracts him long enough to keep him from thinking about it. Projects like catching up on the past few centuries of tech he's missed. Like trying to leash train a biting pirana plant that's nowhere near as cute as it's cartoon counterparts. Tony scrubs a hand over his jaw, nodding. ]
Personal autonomy's a plus. Weird as shit is here, there's no social disparity or obligatory orgasms required. So. That's a win?
[ A beat. ]
It vomits on my boots again I might just let you.
no subject
It means he knows enough to tilt his head agreement, a sort of yeah, true, but what can ya do gesture.
(he's not taking it nearly as well as it looks like he is. he's just good at that whole stone-faced sarcasm bit. what are healthy coping mechanisms.)
Can't help but tack on: ]
No obligatory orgasms yet. I'm not gonna be all that surprised if it turns off we gotta have an orgy to land the damn ship or something.
[ Life has gotten fucking weird okay. ]
no subject
[ for twisting fate like this, or tempting it. How dare, Barnes. How very dare. Tony rocks back on his heels, squinting back and down at his current pet project just, gnawing away at the surrounding greenery. Relatively harmless at the moment, he'll take it. ]
...How much worse did it get? It's all- it's not relevant, I know it's not relevant, but I had a feeling shit was going to get worse before it got better and a lot of the people caught up in that reality are half decent. Mostly decent.
no subject
It fades out pretty quick, though, at the next branch in conversation. He sighs, settling down the handles of the Space Wheelbarrow and dusting them off absently on his Space Pants. Space jumpsuit. Whatever. ]
A lot.
[ So much worse. So much worse he almost doesn't even want to go into detail, but. Here goes. ]
They took Steve in the middle of the night. [ Which is... selfish, and not the bigger issue. ] Then they lined up disobedient couples and executed them publicly in front of everyone.
[ And that's not even getting into the hell everyone got put through after. The shot, the fox hunt, the violence. ]
no subject
Threats, more than once, while in the cave, with injury, death, bodily harm. One day they weren't compliant quick enough and Yensin had a very pretty barrel pressed up against his temple and the threat had been more than enough- Tony nearly spilled the whole fucking plan then and there to keep them from pulling the trigger.
Eyes drifting in the middle distance he breathes, slowly, deliberately. Focusing on- not that. Not the idea of what he missed, on the fact that Steve is, apparently, missing. ]
Good? Good.
no subject
Deal.
[ He intones firmly, requiring absolutely no convincing. The less he can talk about it or think about it the better he'll feel. Now if he can just keep anyone from telling Steve...
(too late. oops.)
With that settled, he shifts forward again to wrap his hands around the wheelbarrow handles. ]
I'm gonna go space litter out an airlock. Good luck with your weed eater.
no subject
On the other- the functioning mechanics of the ship are fascinating and he wants to see how well his little pirana plant handles being outside the gardens. ]
I figure out a way to train it we'll have a half decent sentry at our disposal. Maybe. Have fun space littering.