ＴＨＯＭＡＳ (apocalyptic chihuahua and social disaster) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shuckit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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. ]
no subject
3.1 Like a tracking device or something?
3.2 Yeah! The magic wizard doctor is a neurosurgeon, so he covered me.
6.1 Katana is a really... kind word for the abomination he put together with duct tape and a mop handle, but yeah. It's definitely katana-adjacent. If you squint.
6.3 If I knew how to answer that question I wouldn't be working at a gas station. But no, the asshole who explained it isn't right in the head. He's a body stealing life-ruining sociopath. I'd offer to get clarification the next time I see him, but I don't plan on asking him any questions.
( He's just gonna kill him. Or, you know, try, considering he's a powerful demigod or whatever. )