ＴＨＯＭＡＳ (apocalyptic chihuahua and social disaster) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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apocalypsehowcomm2021-11-18 09:33 pm
shuckit) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2021-11-18 09:33 pm
[ open network + log ]
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.
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. ]
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?i like food, not dying, and answers.
● 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.
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. ]
un: mercyme; text
My name is Sister Mercy Graves, a child of Amia and citizen of Leigland. I have been in this place long enough to see four new moons. I will try to answer your questions as best I can.
I am afraid I cannot answer your first. We do not know what is going on, but I would pray all that I love are safe and well. I have not heard of a way to communicate with our homes, but my thoughts fly there, and I hope that my god might bear them where they are needed. I have left the city before, though. I was kidnapped away by horrific creatures we called kelpies. We were taken to a bay some distance away to the north.
I know that ADI has said they do not understand why we are here, but they suspect it is part of some fell ritual for these Dread Powers that we fight. I miss home and I worry for everyone, but I would certainly not blame the people who are helping us. They have not given me reason to mistrust them, thus far?
Although I did not see them eating people whole, I watched the kelpies rip at people, one nearly bit part of my heel off, and it likely would have taken more had Mr. Caduceus not been there with the rest of ADI's forces to rescue me and kill the beasts. I did not encounter them, but I tended wounds for those who encountered monstrous boar creatures in Dogtown only a few short months ago.
I do not know what it on B4.
There are no labels on cursed objects. I think this is why ADI requested that we assist with the shop selling odd items. But I have seen a cursed object: It was a piece of equipment for sport. We were told it would hurt us if we touched it.
May the Spring Bring Life to You and Yours,
Mercy Graves
no subject
did you start out with the name Mercy or did it come with the whole sister, god deal? kinda fits too well.
thanks for the answers. maybe your god has some awesome interstellar satellite phone service. if you ever get a message back, let me know. might start praying with you.
bad people also like to say they're helping you too, so you don't get paranoid and start digging. 'i don't know, it's magic' is a pretty good reason for me to mistrust, but i'll admit, it doesn't take much for me. but i won't overlook the fact they've been good to you. it does mean something.
thanks for letting me know about the kelpies. do you remember the names of the patients you treated?
'fell ritual'? anything more specific than that? what goes into it, how it's supposed to be done, how it works?
Did anyone touch the cursed thing and end up hurt?
uh yeah. may the spring bring you good stuff too.
thanks,
thomas
no subject
I was named for Mercy the Brave, a hero of Evergreen who fended off the dread General Whiteeyes with her magic dagger.
I will be sure to let you know if I get a response, but I do not understand why saying something might be magic would be so unbelievable. Are you from a world without it? That seems a very strange notion.
I have been told that it is ill fortune to speak of the specifics of one's patients to others who are not their family or named friends. But asking upon this network would likely have people willing to say as much if they are willing. I fear it is not a confidence I may break.
As for the ritual itself, I do not know the specifics but ADI seems to think our arrival is tied to something. Did they mention it?
Yes, some people were burned.
With Hope for the Future,
Mercy
no subject
not sure the concept of mercy and daggering people matches up much but i'm guessing General Whiteeyes had it coming.
yeah, we don't have magic. just some people creating messed up illusions with technology to trick terrified kids into believing they're in an inescapable hell. so, forgive the skepticism.
that's fair. i'll look into it myself, thanks.
yeah, it was mentioned. they said we might be involved in an apocalypse that may be imminent. i'm worried what that means for our safety around them. what's the sense in keeping around a bunch of strangers that might be ending the world, unless there's a plan for them, right?
With Increasing Paranoia,
Thomas
no subject
It was a mercy she only killed him, it is said, after his atrocities.
I am sorry yours is another world without magic. It is a wondrous thing in so many places. I would beg you not to judge all magic and miracles based on the way this world seems to work. It is not all as such, and I have spoken to others who are mages and such where they hail from. It is beautiful and helpful to them. Both in grand and small ways.
As for the sense? Perhaps those at ADI simply feel it is best to keep us close in case something truly awful follows our footsteps. Better to have that where they can observe and attempt to control, rather than off where they cannot see the trouble brewing.
May I also suggest, if you suffer from any afflictions of the mind that you might consider availing yourself of the Counseling Department. Mr. Caduceus works there, and he is a kind and gentle soul filled with understanding. He is very good at soothing.
Kindly,
Mercy