Piper 90: Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goneawaymod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
goneawaymod) wrote in goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
3..2...1...CONTACT!
Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
Brainiac 5
cw: verbal child abuse, mild physical child abuse, slavery
"What are you doing up there?!" says one.
The boy turns off the welder and flips up the visor to give them a flat stare.
"I understand my work is certainly over your head, but one would still think you'd be able to recognize science when you're looking directly at it," the child says dryly, looking at them with the sort of blistering condescension you usually never find on the face of a child.
"You know what I mean," snarls the first man, "No personal projects until other projects are complete!"
The other politician crosses his arms, "You have four projects for Colugov, as well as commissioned deliverables for 3 other planetary governments."
"If they're so important, why don't you do them," the boy says with a roll of his eyes.
The two men look even angrier, as if the insult here is that they're not capable.
"If you don't cease work right away, we'll have your personal projects deconstructed during your next rest cycle."
The boy beams an expression of pure hate at them and then climbs down off the scaffolding, putting down the welder and protective mask. He lets himself be ushered away and there is a time lapse of him putting together various machines, occasionally checked on by his scowling overseers.
Despite the fact he has little robots to help him, it's hard work with long hours. By the end he's got smudges of engine fluids on his face and looks genuinely tired.
"I've worked for ten hours on projects pedestrian enough to only be worthy for the nearest trash vaporizer. Now may I finally get back to experiments that are actually worthwhile?"
The two overseers look smug.
"I supposed that's enough," says one breezily, and they lead him back to the first room he'd been working in.
It's now empty. They had his personal work deconstructed while he did the other work. The boy's eyes go wide and then he turns to his handlers with his fists balled up in fury. He rounds on the handlers, who still look smug.
"Why did you dismantle my work? I did what you wanted!"
"Perhaps now you'll prioritize what's most important."
The child looks like he's an inch away from trying to punch one of them but he holds back, like he knows he'll get in more trouble, have more taken away.
"Now. Bed. We need those projects finished by end-of-day tomorrow Perhaps after a week of obedience, we'll allow you to restart any personal work."
"Come. Now."
When the child refuses to move, one of his guardians grabs him on the arm and starts yanking him along, almost too fast to keep up. The child winces, making it clear that it's slightly painful.
"It may not seem like it," says the other handler, "but this is for your own good. You are a Brainiac. If you do what we say, unlike your monstrous forebears, you can actually serve your people."
"They're not my people," the child protests, fruitlessly tugging against the grip on his arm. "We share a few quirks of genetics, nothing more."
"This is why we must keep innocent Coluans away from you. You are a twelfth-level freak. Think of the harm you would cause if you were left to your own destructive devices."
He's all but thrown into a room largely bare of the toys and decorations many children have in their rooms, almost stumbling to the ground.
"Now, engage in your sleep cycle."
"But I -"
The doom swishes shut and the child goes over and pounds against the door button, only to find it's locked, and then slams his hands against the door a few times in frustration.
"I'm not finished with you yet! Hey! Open this door! Open it!"
The child stands there shaking like he's only been left with frustration and pent-up negative energy. Then he lets out a scream and punches his hands into a touchscreen panel, breaking it. He's left standing alone in an empty room, his hand bleeding slightly. He sits on the edge of his bed and finally lets himself look miserable, clearly repressing the need to cry.
no subject
"He's a little kid you fucking shitgibbons!" she howls at the closed door. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
no subject
"Fascinating. The last few times this phenomenon occurred none of my own memories were displayed, though I did witness the memories of others."
A pause.
"'Shitgibbon,' by the way, is an exceptionally creative insult. When I was younger, I did used to imagine my handlers as apes. So much so that a telepath saw them that way when invading my memories once."
no subject
Handlers. She opens her mouth to ask where his parents were, why they hadn't prevented it, but snaps it closed again because rude.
"I'm sorry they put you through all-- this," she says, making a gesture to encompass everything she'd seen and everything that needed to happen to make that be his life. "And sorry for crawling into your head uninvited, just on general principle."
no subject
He looks at the child, who flops over on his bed miserably.
"And you needn't apologize. I've mostly laid these past traumas to rest. I struggle much more with the fact that they mistreated my son, after genetically engineering him without my knowledge. Fortunately, I was able to intervene at a much younger age for him. He's three now. And healing."
His expression changes in a way that makes it clear it does still actively distress him more, knowing how his son was treated the first few years of his life.
"The Coluan intellect means he unfortunately won't forget it like some children of some species might forget a trauma at that age, but in a way, that mental development is a boon. He's able to fluently articulate his thoughts and feelings to work through them. The therapy is a huge help to him and so is having a father who loves him, who can talk to him with understanding and wisdom because we shared the same experience."
He takes comfort in that, in how obviously his son is now thriving while growing up somewhere safe and loved. In some ways Merl had a rougher start, but in others he will be better off, for having a loving parent intervene so early.
If Brainy were to throw caution to the wind and take a peek at the future, he would in fact see that he will grow up happier and more well-adjusted.
But worry creases his brow as he thinks about the possibility of his son now having to deal with him suddenly disappearing.
no subject
"Even if he never completely forgets it the way someone who isn't Coluan would, one day it's going to be a relatively small portion of his life, and he's going to have had years of support and developing the tools of how to deal with its impact on him," she says reassuringly. "Also, you know, congratulations: you literally became the person you needed when you were younger."
(no subject)
(no subject)
Re: cw: verbal child abuse, mild physical child abuse, slavery
She sits down next to the kid, not sure if Brainy - it's gotta be Brainy, who else around here is green - is himself, or caught in his memories. She's been watching from the start, knowing better then to try and slug the rude fuckers bullying him.
"Not gonna ask if you're okay. Anything you need? Like a hug or something?" Or a comforting shoulder pat? Her hand hovers briefly, unsure how physical contact will be met.
no subject
Present Brainy is there now, sitting in a chair behind her, fingers steepled in front of him. For such an unpleasant memory his reaction is almost like academic interest. Like he's interested by this process of observing himself from the outside.
"Back then I eschewed most forms of sincerity from strangers. I never trusted anyone. I also wasn't used to physical contact. My only contact was with my handlers or with carebots that hadn't been programmed to offer any comfort, just to attend to my most basic needs."
no subject
If Brainy isn't going to be upset - or at least, let the upset show - she'll mirror his calm.
"'Cause, like, if this was their way of trynna make sure you didn't go bad..." Saturday trails off, not sure how to put it. "Like if I had someone I was this scared of, an' for whatever reason I couldn't just kill 'em, I'd sure as hell be tryin' not to piss 'em off or make 'em hate me. Which, they had to see that was the likely outcome to all this, right?"
She waves at the room generally.
"They look like proper aliens, with teleporter beams and lightspeed an' all, they've got to know how cause and effect works an' the fuckin... minimum you gotta do to keep a kid sane. Do any of them realize how damn lucky they got, they you didn't end up mad an' bad or worse?"
Heat slips out there, despite her calmest intentions. This place is long ago and far away, and Brainy is an adult with friends who value him. But it still makes her want to rip open time and punch a motherfucker in the face - for being fucking stupid, if not for the child abuse.
She sighs.
"You don't gotta get into it. Isn't like we choose what people see."
no subject
His brow furrows.
"I don't think their aims were to actually prevent anyone in our family line from becoming supervillains. My mother was treated the same way and became a sociopath, and almost killed me. My son, who was genetically engineered - our way of conceiving children - without my knowledge, almost conquered the galaxy. I fortunately intervened just in time to save him from that existence. To take him away from all this to a place where he could be loved. And thankfully, he's healing."
He tries to articulate a truth he's known for a long time.
"It was never about preventing us from following in my ancestor's footsteps. My species has a sense of xenocentric superiority due to our status of being one of the most intelligent species in the galaxy. They deeply resent any beings exceeding the baseline of the average Coluan intelligence. It was even discovered recently that they tried to discreetly destroy the Roboticans multiple times due to robotic life exceeding the Coluan intellectual norm, and due to machine life menacing Colu in the past."
They hated anything that challenged the average most Coluans could come close to attaining and had a long memory for any attacks.
"Some species engage in various forms of hatred for the Other: racial hatred, xenophobia, hatred for minorities that have diverse sexual and gender orientations, and so on. For my species, anyone that stands out as intellectually superior is a freak of nature that needs to be controlled. Punished. The fact that my mother, son, and I were descended from a monstrous genocidal maniac just made it easier to excuse, so they could pretend they were too evolved for general bigotry."
no subject
A little ork girl appears briefly in the center of the room, teary-eyed and fearful, looking at them like she doesn't know if she's going to get hit or hugged. She's gone as fast as she appears, as Saturday politely takes hold of her mind and banishes the memory.
"It worked out in the end. She came to the Center an' we met an' nobody fucks with my friends, now or ever. I sorted it, an' when we grew up a bit she could sort it herself. So that's all right."
She leans back a bit on the bed, thinking about what Brainy mentioned before: his fear of himself, of what he could become. It makes a little more sense now, in that not-making-sense way things do when they go straight to the bone. Be hated; hate in return. The only way out of that game is deciding not to play, and sticking to it no matter who tries to make you or how.
"Gettin' your kid out an' breaking that cycle is a good thing. Doesn't make all the rest worth it, but it's something to be proud of. Lotta people who didn't even have it this bad can't manage as much."
no subject
It's the first memory South's been shoved into that isn't someone she already at least sort of knows. Sure, she's seen Brainy around, he's one of the New Hires that kind of stands out, considering most of them don't have green skin, but it doesn't make being shoved directly into the guy's memories any less weird.
And what a fucking memory.
A lot of what they're actually saying makes no sense to her, but she doesn't have to understand universe-specific jargon to see what's happening underneath. A kid being treated like shit is a kid being treated like shit and wow, as being treated like shit goes, forced labour and implying the kid's a monster to is face is sure fucking up there.
He punches the touchscreen panel and South's dominant hand flexes subconsciously, as if with sympathetic pain.
"What a load of fuckheads. The fuck is their problem?" she says aloud, as much to herself as the present Brainy she knows is probably around, somewhere, and at least partially rhetorical.
no subject
"One of my ancestors was a monster who killed billions of people, destroying world after world. Every consecutive member of the family line after him followed in his footsteps, either living a life of villainy or existing in moral grays that led to destruction or control over others."
He goes on, "My ancestor augmented his intelligence, a mutation I inherited. It's certainly not an excuse, but it is why they treated me this way."
no subject
South blinks, a little. Well, that’s... a lot. Talk about a fucking messed up family tree.
“So they figured you were just gonna be like the other assholes in your family, huh.” It’s not really a question, more a verbalised understanding of the implications. “Fuckin’ hell. You sure weren’t acting like someone who was gonna turn into some fuckin’ monster.”
And well, what does she know, she guesses, but the dude sure doesn’t seem like he went that way and in the memory he‘s just a kid. A kid who wanted to do stuff he enjoyed doing rather than whatever the work they were having him do was. A kid who just seems angry at his situation and the people who put him there, rightfully fucking so.
Her hand flexes again, like a reflex. She’s punched a lot of things in anger in her time.
cw: child neglect
The child looks like he's maybe 12 or 13 years-old.
The social worker, a magenta-skinned alien, with his clipboard, looks like he wishes he was anywhere else but there. They're currently in a small, spartan apartment. Very clean, very unfurnished, considering a child lives there. There's not a single toy in sight.
"I have to go through the whole checklist, and assess that you're still capable of living independently. You may be only a few years short of legal adulthood but that's still young to be emancipated. Normally, it wouldn't be allowed, but your circumstances are...unique."
"Which means that you being here is a pointless waste of my time. Let's explore a hypothetical - even if you did deem my situation to be untenable, who would actually agree to be my legal guardian?" asks the child.
The social worker works his jaw, "I'm sure someone would -"
"Would you?" asks the child. "Volunteer?"
The social worker is speechless for a moment, "Well, I'm already a parent and my job takes up a lot of my time. If that wasn't the case, I'd volunteer for fostering, certainly -"
"I didn't ask about fostering in general. I asked if you'd act as legal guardian for me," the child says, directing a piercing green stare at the social worker. "Knowing who and what I am."
"Like I said, I'm sure someone would," says the social worker, directing his attention back at his clipboard.
The child just rolls his eyes and then yanks the clipboard out of the man's hand.
"Here," he says, checking off a checklist and writing in a few answers. "That should keep your supervisor off your back. Now if there's nothing else, please vacate the premises. I was about to prepare a meal."
The social worker looks frustrated now as he packs up his paperwork into his bag. He looks like he's going to say something but simply leaves.
The child prepares a prepackaged meal, having to stand on a step-stool to reach some kind of heating unit a little too high up on a wall. Then eats alone, in silence, reading something on a little tablet.
no subject
He knew about a few different versions of Brainiac 5 from the comics, so he had some knowledge of his childhood going in, but nothing that really went into the nitty-gritty of it. It was one thing seeing someone's past play out in vague, illustrated, flashbacks in the pages of a comic. It was something else to see the real thing play out in front of you.
And those had sure never gone into anything like this. It was an almost mundane kind of depressing. No death, or violence, no outright cruelty, outside of the negligent cruelty of a system or culture all too ready to neatly sweep a problem child under the rug. But all the same, it felt deeply personal.
The fact that the social worker couldn't even pretend like he would take the kid in if given the chance, just to give him some solid hope that his promises of finding a home weren't empty...it was heartbreaking. It didn't matter that the guy was trying to be 'polite' or 'kind' about it, being oh so careful with his phrasing. If anything, it was worse than an outright "no". At least that wouldn't have been beating around the bush.
When the guy left, not even bothering to challenge the kid's assumptions that if he could make it so he wouldn't get in trouble, he'd leave, the room felt bitterly empty.
"So...social workers are useless in every universe. Good to know." Almost unconsciously he followed the kid as he went to work on making his own meal, leaning against the counter next to him, sure by now that the kid wouldn't be able to see him one way or the other.
no subject
He says it very matter-of-factly, like being judged by an entire galactic society is just par for the course.
no subject
“He could have at least tried.” Despite the bitter edge in his tone, his voice is soft, with a hint of resignation. Would putting a kid through the wringer of failing to find a foster family again and again, or landing him with a bad one really be an improvement? It was just sort of a shit situation with no real easy solution. But that fact didn't make the whole thing any easier to swallow. Brainy seemed almost at peace with how things went down though, or at least unbothered. If he had any tells to indicate otherwise, Merton didn’t know him well enough to suss them out.
“Though, I guess there are worse fates than being alone.” But man he was so young. No one should have to be alone that young.
He doesn’t ask what would make a kid so infamous as to make the prospect of adoption unthinkable, not only on an entire planet, but within an entire collection of planets. He already knew, or had a decent enough idea, so it doesn’t even occur to him that it would be the next obvious question.
no subject
He at least sounds well adjusted now, like he's made peace with most of it.
Though he still struggles to articulate what it really was at times. Abuse. Slavery. But he's trying to put the words to it, to treat his own experiences and emotions about it as valid. And so it's better than it was.
"I was considered state property until Colugov felt I was more trouble than I was worth, and let me go. Having a solitary existence after that, doing work I enjoyed, living free of council members and handlers and schedules I had no say over...it was much better. And my first employer was fortunately a very kind man, who watched over me for the rest of my life, and tried to provide me with opportunities that made me happy, even after I stopped working for him. He's still a very good friend now - more like family at this point."
no subject
Thank god. The peanut gallery is here. It's Tucker, looking at the doorway like the social worker who walked through it was made of very pungent garbage. What a douchebag.
That's a whole entire kid getting crap treatment. He's like four. (Okay, so maybe that's more in line with Junior's scale of maturing. Aliens, man. Who even knows.)
"'Oh, I'd certainly volunteer, blah blah blah.' Just fuckin' own up to how much you suck, loser."
no subject
He looks back at the door the social worker left through.
"I pity him almost. It was an untenable situation. It's doubtful anyone in the entire UP would've taken me in, my employer RJ Brande notwithstanding. He actually did offer to be my legal guardian once, but I turned him down because it would've appeared to be favoritism if he gave my labs preferential treatment for funding within the company."
He shakes his head.
"He was the only one, I think. I think any other potential foster parents would've balked if told I was to be their charge."
no subject
"Well, what for? You were a kid!"
Which is more or less to say, he finds this calm and logical explanation neither mollifying nor reassuring. His job is aggressively giving a shit about everything around him, failing to disguise it at all, and later acting like he's been successfully disguising it anyway. Right now, he's at steps one and two.
"If someone's gotta be responsible for a kid, you take care of the fucking kid! It's not rocket science! That's- I dunno, super tenable to me. How's your boss the only person around with any chill?"
He'll never say he did the best job actually parenting with Junior. But he did a job and Junior's awesome, so that counts for something.
no subject
People not knowing the context of who Brainiac was has actually never happened to him, whether in his time period or in the past during the height of his tyranny.
In his brief time in the Second Galaxy, perhaps. That was it.
"When I say the words 'genocidal dictator' who is the first Earth historical figure you think of?"
(no subject)
no subject
At the 20th century end, a much younger Robbie, skinny and mulleted, is sitting with a styrofoam sandwich box, carton of fries, and a soda with a unpacked McDonald’s bag across from him. He keeps looking over at the clock. From the condensation pooling around the cup, it’s been there for some time. Eventually, he sighs and starts into his food.
Off to the side, Robbie himself is standing with his arms crossed, with a look of intense concentration on his face. He tried to force a different memory to be shared because he hates intruding on other people’s trauma. This was the first thing he thought of, but it didn’t seem to work as he wanted. Making the best of it, he jokes, “You look like you needed company.”