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goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
HERE, HAVE SOME SPIRIT
Who: Three Ghosts and the little New Hires
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
no subject
The image flashes to a military court room. Wash stands shackled, already in a prison uniform, indicating he didn't get anything resembling bail release.
The list of counts and verdicts is ridiculous, especially since they have to read out each count and its particular verdict:
3 counts of dereliction of duty
8 counts of conspiracy to commit treason
7 counts of destruction of protected classified military property
After the first few guilty verdicts, Wash's expression simply looks flat and emotionless. The light is long since gone from his eyes. There is no hope that the sentencing later might be light. His eyes are fixed on the middle distance and the sound distorts, to reflect how he heard it in this moment. His counsel has to tug him back to his seat when it's time to sit down again. He's so out of it he doesn't notice.
The judge says something distorted about sentencing and the seriousness of these crimes. The conspiracy to commit treason crimes are open to the death penalty or life imprisonment.
He gives short responses where he's required to, usually after his counsel nudges his elbow but it's clear he's not all there.
When he's carted back out again to the military transport, they cuff him and strap him in in a way that makes him look just a few steps shy of being Hannibal Lecter.
The empty look never fades. It doesn't even give way to anger or outrage or sadness. There just is no humanity left. It's been carved out by many hands, eager to use him.
"I'm surprised at your concern," says the Spirit. It's not actually surprised but these moments are meant to test, to teach, to be lessons, to broaden understanding. "He was never a second thought for many."
no subject
"I don't believe that. He did everything he could to bring the Project to justice. Even if he was overlooked, there had to be someone looking out for him."
Even if that someone didn't have any power over the situation.
North draws closer to the entourage of people as Wash's guards walk him to his transport.
"Wasn't there someone who could prove what he really meant to do?"
no subject
Wash and an armored soldier in blue stand next to room full of holographic storage units. Wash is explaining something to the other soldier.
"As they continued to torture it, Alpha couldn't keep its sanity and its memories at the same time. So it had to purge them. That fragment became Epsilon. And I was just unlucky enough to have it assigned to me," explains Wash.
"So you knew," says the Blue sim trooper. "You knew from the beginning what was going on."
"Mostly. They never told anyone what they did here. I got flashes when they put Epsilon in my head. Memories of what the Director did to it. Just like you're getting now. That's why Epsilon went insane; it was meant to. It was all the horrible experiences the Alpha needed to shed to survive. And that's why it had to be removed from me."
"Did they know that you had the memories?"
"I never said a word," says Wash. "But they had their suspicions. I would never let them put another A.I. in my head. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hide what I knew from another program. Which, ironically, is what led them to think I could be trusted."
"Well what do we do with it?" asks Church.
"We take it, and we get it in the hands of someone who can use all its information. Then they can bring down the person responsible for what was done to Alpha. And to me. And to my friends. They can take down the Director."
It flashes to a group of Sim Troopers. Wash is giving them directions.
"Right. Caboose, grab that car. Church, put Epsilon in Caboose's jeep. You guys are gonna make a break for it. Take Epsilon and turn him over to the authorities. They'll know what to do with him."
"They did not," says the Spirit. "One of them refused to give over the being."
Caboose is shown gently putting the AI unit in blue base at Valhalla. It is decidedly not being taken to the authorities.
"No second thought given to what might happen to your friend," says the Spirit, "Yet again. Eventually he found others that cared about his well-being, but those memories are locked away right now. And these times are the only ones he remembers."
An image flashes of Wash in cuffs, head hanging.
Then the vision changes to Wash sitting on his Medbay bed on the Mother of Invention, sitting with his head hanging in a similar position. When the gravity turns off he walks out into the hall with his boots mag-locked, looking up as a soldier floats through the air due to the gravity being turned off. He looks aimless, disoriented, rocking slightly on his feet, then walks back into the Medbay, sitting on the edge of his bed with his boots mag-locked on the floor.
The metal of the ship starts to sway and creak and groan, until finally there is a massive collision. Despite being mag-locked, the force is too great, and Wash is thrown off his feet into the ceiling, then a wall, then the floor. The medical staff recovers, assesses their own injuries, then briefly checks that he's not hurt and then runs out into the ship to help any casualties.
And then he sits there on the floor, surrounded by scattered medical supplies, unsure of where to go, occasionally shuddering, as if having occasional flashes of something horrible. The lights fade until the blinking red emergency lights turn on. Time lapses. Those lights fade too. He's lit up only by the small lights on his suit.
"If any of his friends had come for him, he would've told them to leave without him, that he'd slow them down," says the Spirit. "But he didn't have to tell anyone."
The person that comes for him is surprised to see him there, sitting almost lifeless, head hanging.
"Agent Washington, what are you still doing here?" says a nurse, concerned. "They've already evacced most of the ship. Are you hurt?"
Wash slowly shakes his head.
"Let's get you out of here," the nurse say, doing her best to help him to his feet and urge him along, even though he's wearing armor that's probably heavier than she is.
Maybe this is where Wash became so appreciative of nurses.
no subject
"I almost decided to go back," he says. "I had to carry South, she was hurt, though..."
He's the one who hurt her, he doesn't say.
no subject
"You were rats escaping a sinking ship," says the Spirit. "Some of you were occupied helping others survive I do not stand here in judgment of that. It is not my place or my purpose. But whatever choices were made, wrong or right, it doesn't change what was left behind. You care for your friend; I bring you understanding. Reasons he's different from the man you knew."
There is a brief montage.
Flash to Wash in the mess at what's left of Project Freelancer, his helmet maglocked to his hip. There are still agents but with the crash, half the leaderboard squad having taken off, and the Alpha moved, the program is disintegrating. And Wash is perfectly poised to take the blame from his fellow Freelancers, since his reaction to Epsilon stopped AI implantation.
As Wash holds his tray of military slop and looks for a spot at a table, he's tripped by one of the other Freelancers, nearly taking a dive and losing his lunch because of it. He pauses in place, body stock still with tension.
"Is there a problem?" he asks in a voice vibrating with suppressed anger.
"Foot slipped," says the other Freelancer.
Wash looks like he's about to completely go off, but holds it in. He heads towards an empty table.
"Hey, Wash, one thing though," says the other Freelancer. "It's Christmas tomorrow. Think Santa can bring you some sanity? Or maybe you just need a little white jacket. That seems like a small ask from the fat man."
"Dude," says another Freelancer, elbowing the first one in the side.
"What? It's his fault the program's stalling out. Now we don't get our AIs because somebody couldn't hack it."
That should be enough to make Wash flip out, but the anger from a moment before has faded to something else already. Wash doesn't freeze in place again. He sits alone at an empty table, expression hollow, eyes fixed forward on nothing. Since this is early days, before he's entirely numb, his expression briefly flashes to something more disheartened and hurt - and lonely - before going blank again.
Flash to questioning by the Counselor. Wash is wearing his helmet but the emptiness in his voice says it all.
"Are you having new feelings about the incident?"
"No. Just the same old feelings. You know, that I had another person in my head, and I got to experience first-hand as their mind unraveled while mixed with my own. That I still have trouble distinguishing between its disintegrating thoughts and mine. You know, the usual."
"What about the hostility from other agents who lost out on assignments once we suspended the use of implants?"
"What about them? Am I supposed to feel bad for them or something?"
"Do you think you could work with an A.I. or another agent ever again?"
"...No, I don't."
Flash to Wash and South are pinned down by gunfire against one man - the Meta. Maine.
"See that ship?" Wash says to South. "You get to it and take off. Get yourself and more importantly Delta back to base. I'll cover you as best I can."
"Wash, is your armor adequately compensating for your wounds?" asks Delta.
"You're hit?" asks South.
"Just twice, I'm fine. Movement on twos. On my mark: sync."
"But -"
"Sync!"
"Sync!" South answers.
"Move!" He moves out from cover and then South immediately shoots him in the back. He goes down with a short cry of pain and then is still.
"Alarm!" calls out Delta, turning purple. "Friendly target, cease fire!"
"Calm down," says South coldly, "just stacking the deck in our favor."
There is a brief flash of Wash being taken out of the armor after the incident, his under-suit bloody from multiple gunshot wounds. He is coughing up blood as the nurses and doctors work frenetically to save him.
"The healing unit kept him alive but we need to get him to surgery now."
They turn him over on his side and any time he drifts back to consciousness again his expression is numb.
Another flash to Wash in his bunk at Freelancer, suddenly waking up screaming to wake the dead, like he's being tortured. There is a brief image overlaid to show what's happening, a flash of an AI screaming in agony. And disturbingly, as quickly as it happened, it dies down, like he's just...used to this. Waking up screaming from torture that he can't tell didn't happen to him.
He calms himself down and lays in bed on his side with the same dead expression as in some of the other visions, breathing hard until his breathing finally slows.
The Spirit says, "The difference between past and present is sometimes pain. To know this grants a greater ability to offer compassion."
no subject
"It's not in my power to help people the way I wish I could," he says. "Sometimes I feel like I should have been a counselor...a real one, not like the Project's Counselor."
He pauses, staring at Wash in silence.
"I feel so helpless, seeing people in situations like this and not being able to help. If I could do nothing else, if I was trained..."
He leaves it at that.