[ open network + log ]

[shuckit]

Who: Thomas
Username: somedumbshank
Warnings: too many questions

hi. my name’s thomas. i guess i’m a greenie again.

weird enough, it’s not the first time i woke up somewhere with a creepy corporate feel and no idea how i got there. not any more thrilled about it now than i was before. this one’s not as bad. better food, less electric grenades. air vents are about the same though.

i have questions. it was a shuck-ton of questions, but i tried narrowing it down to the important ones.

● What’s going on where we came from? Can we get a message back to them, or check in on that place? How do you know we’re not still in the same world if you haven’t left the city to check?
● What’d ADI say about going back home? Or how we got here? Do you guys really buy the “we don’t know, for spooky reasons” line? Don’t you miss home? Aren’t you worried about the family or friends you left behind?
● Has anyone actually been eaten by monsters after leaving ADI? Is there evidence of it, or just reports?
● What's on B4? Why can’t I go down there?
● What’s the deal with ‘cursed objects’? How do you know it’s cursed, is there a sticker or something i missed? I mean, yeah, Bun on the Cobb’s freaky looking, but it hasn’t tried eating me in my sleep.

i like food, not dying, and answers.

thanks.

Who: Thomas
When: Mid-November
Where: ADI headquarters, the General Store
Summary: Apocalypse science experiment teen with amnesia is paranoid and acting like he’s never seen civilization before
Warnings: Mentions of violence and death (of minors), claustrophobia, apocalyptic disease, child abuse by a government agency



Arrival - Air Ducts; cw: claustrophobia, memories of violence and death

[ thomas is reeling with mental whiplash. He went from a building on fire, bombs rattling the support beams, terrified people screaming, bleeding, end of the freaking world, to this - four shiny metal walls boxed in around him, pressing against his shoulders, too narrow to sit up or change positions. He thinks of the maze walls, shifting, doors closing in, crushing, merciless.

Grime encrusted hands slap against the dirty walls of the vent, thomas noticing Janson’s blood still clinging to his knuckles (eyes wild and bugged out, frothing at the mouth, the flare). Soon enough he’s shouting — ]

Hey! Hey, somebody get me outta here! [ the croaking voice breaks off in a cough, smoke from the fire and bombs still trapped up and poisoning in his lungs. Still, he yells, throat feeling raw. ] Help!

[ half a minute of that makes it clear no one’s coming, and thomas feels his rapid heartbeat like a hammer against his skull. Scrambling around, he gets on his stomach and crawls like a man possessed. Dull nails scrape against cobwebs and weird textures he doesn’t stop to think about. Finally reaching a vent, thomas pushes and pries and slams his hands against it until it gives way, and he comes tumbling out.

At your feet is a sprawl of teenage boy, dark soot and dust decorating his face and arms, ripped clothes burnt in places, crusted in others with a gross, yellowy goo, with spots stained a dark rust color. Eyes wide and a little crazed, he’s nearly hyperventilating as a raspy voice demands - ]

What the hell is this?

Library;

[ thomas hasn’t changed clothes, or washed up, or done anything to look more like a human being and less like he fought god in hell and lost. Having left orientation not even an hour earlier, he’s already found the library, attempted to use a terminal, and set up on a table with a small landscape of books cluttered around him. ]

There’s no way this klunk’s real. [ he’s muttering to himself, a dirty hand in his dirtier hair, pulling at the strands as he pours over a text on local legends. ] How can it be?

[ WICKED often played mind games on the Gladers, subjected them to elaborate illusions to make them believe they’re going crazy, or that something horrible and evil has taken control of their lives. Out to get them. The theme here gets under Thomas’s skin, and every fiber of his being wants to reject it. ]

Who goes through this much effort for ghost stories?

The General Store;

[ finally showered and in fresh, clean clothes, thomas stands, dazed, in the middle of the General Store. Mouth agape, his eyes drift around, over the shelves and people, wonder in his eyes. Everything’s so calm, so normal. Denver was crowded and constantly tense, everyone committed to minding their own business, as if simple speaking to another pedestrian would risk catching the Flare. Police monitoring and cameras on every corner, the occasional terrifying scene of someone infected being bagged and taken away to be dumped at a Crank palace, screaming, crying and begging. The place was devoid of joy.

Here, they’re just… living. Thomas can’t remember the last time he saw people just enjoying life. When someone pauses to look over the baked goods display next to him, thomas asks a question, disregarding if they’re an employee, or another customer. ]

Do you know where I can find ice cream?

[ he knows he’s had it before, because thomas remembers that it’s wonderful, but the memory’s been stolen from him. He’d like to make a new one in its place. ]

Comments

Arrival

[worthallthis]

[Why is it that the Winter Soldier always finds the ones in the air ducts? Well, probably because Winter is pretty obsessive about patrols and spends a lot of time in otherwise unused hallways.

He stops. He looks up. He prowls to the nearest grate, aiming to push it up and out of the way with the barrel of his rifle, right when Thomas finds it and tumbles out right at his feet. He stares down at him for a long moment. There's a mask covering the bottom half of his face, so it's just his eyes, not quite making eye contact, but clearly taking in all of Thomas's condition.

Finally, he says:]

Apocalypse Disruption Initiative headquarters. Not your world.

[shuckit]

[ So, another government or corporate sounding name that implies fighting for the greater good. It sets Thomas’s nerves on edge. ‘Not your world’ goes totally over his head, assuming it’s non-literal. Because, how could it be literal? That makes no sense, and Thomas needs things to make sense. ]

Maybe some apocalypses aren’t supposed to be disrupted.

[ basically his latest stance on the Flare. After Denver, after Janson’s determination to scrap this round of immunes and start the whole horrid thing over again, he can’t bring himself to care about the last, desperate, cruel sect of humanity willing to damn the children of their world for their own pipedream of survival. There was never going to be a cure.

The mask and rifle this man carries spark memories of WICKED soldiers. The men who pulled them from the maze, only to send them to slaughter in the Scorch. The mask is worse, indicates protection from disease, or identity. Usually a little from column A, a little of column B. His legs creep up, feet pressing against the floor beneath him, fingers curling to dig into the carpet fibers. He’s ready to shove himself up and bolt for an exit, or anywhere away from the soldier, if need be. ]

There an outbreak here?

[worthallthis]

[Winter steps back, giving the boy some room. He understands the feeling of someone else being too close for comfort.]

I would rather see people survive than not survive.

[The question makes him tilt his head a little, brows coming together, not connecting the question to his mask. Then he deliberately shake his head.]

No outbreak. There is no sickness here that isn't magical.

cw: mentions of torture/murder of minors

[shuckit]

[ hearing that turns something uncomfortable in his stomach, the kid frowning as he pushes himself up to stand (putting a good six feet between them). thomas isn't a monster, it's not that he wouldn't rather see people survive than not, but it's the cost of it, he's realized. how many immune children were torture and killed over the last decade in the name of a cure they never found? what's left of humanity is vicious, cruel, self-serving, even the ones who claimed they'd help. ]

You ever hear the thing about crabs in a bucket?

[ it's a complicated thing in his head, a raw nerve, thomas still minutes fresh from so much horrific, pointless death. still so damn angry, at Janson, Vince, Ava Paige. this grief, resentment, and rage he's stuck with feels like one more poison they snuck into his veins, just to see what happens. thomas rolls a stiff shoulder, pushing it out of his mind for now (how long can he really keep doing that?) ]

Magical? [ a suspicious brow arches towards the soldier, the corner of his mouth hesitantly lifting, not sure if that was a joke or not. ] Nothing's magic about disease. Just too complicated to cure.

[worthallthis]

[Most idioms go over Winter's head; he's lost all context for them, until someone gets around to explaining. That's one he hasn't heard, but it's probably not really important, so he just ignores it.

Clearly this kid didn't get it the first time, so he tries again.]

This is not your world. There is magic here, not sickness. Evil fear entities that trap you in dreams or make illusions of fire.

[He's not great at explaining things, dammit.]

[shuckit]

Oh, that— You were serious about that?

[ This is not your world. If that's the case, he has so, so many questions, but the rest of the words that follow quickly divert that train of thought. ]

Uh huh. [ Dude sounds halfway to bonkers to Thomas. In the place Thomas left minutes ago, nonsensical rambling is one of the first signs of violent disease. The edge he was already on gets steeper, and he's unconsciously easing another step back. Rose took my nose I suppose echoes somewhere in the back of his head, and Thomas pushes it back towards the corner of compartmentalized things we don't look at if we can help it. ]

Well, um. Thanks for the input. Do the... evil fear entities have a name? Or, like, an office?

[worthallthis]

They have names. No office. But the ADI does, and I am supposed to take you there.

[He shakes his head once.]

They explain better than I do. There's a whole orientation.