goneawayworld | Corona [OPEN]

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Corona [OPEN]

Who: The New Hires and Planker
What: Fun
Where: The Gym
When: Post-plot.
Warnings/Notes: Foul language from Planker.

The first warning the New Hires have is that some of them quietly get pulled aside by various members of the staff before training even starts. Not only does this mean that some of the personnel had to wake up extra early, already a warning sign, but they don't mention why. They just take a few key people aside.

The second warning is when Planker walks in, whistling a cheerful tune and wearing a smile like a man with a three foot erection. "All right, you miserable fucking reprobates! Big Daddy Planker has heard your complaints about his training methods. Pity the Princess got transferred out, she could feel the love today." He paces in front of the assembled crew, doing his best to show off every little tooth. "And, believe you me, that's the only love that exists for you little shits! God doesn't love you, He's dead! I killed Him! He came upon me in His divine glory while I was showering and didn't duck fast enough when I turned around to face Him! And if you anorchous shit-stuffers don't want to be buried in the same fucking hole, you'll straighten those fucking backs and pay attention!"

He snaps his fingers, directing everyone's attentions to a series of chambers. Clear material forms the walls and the rest promises an obstacle course. "This is your obstacle course! And you are mine! I have permission to keep you here until I get bored! And if that means you blowzy copremetics will all get through this course." He slams his hand against one of the walls, then jabs a finger at the first person to catch his attention. "That means you, filth! Mount that wall, put some effort into it, and go! You! Join them!"

The course is an exercise in sadism, as only Planker could imagine. There are seven chambers.

The first room seems simple enough, you simply have to run across. But the floor moves, like treadmills, and each segment is in an opposite direction. When the participant hits the floor an ear-piercing siren starts blaring, increasing in volume with every fall and not ceasing until the course is completed.
The second room is a mud crawl under rows of concertina wire that snags and catches at the clothing, with stinging insects there to hurry people along. If the poor unfortunate is too slow, tear gas starts to fill the room.
The third room has a set of irregular monkey bars, but they've been greased. It's set above a three foot pit filled with mouse traps straining to go off.
The fourth room has, dangling from strings, chattering stun guns at various heights. There are sparking hurdles, as well, wrapped in barbed wire to snag at any clothing and drag people in to the electrified bars. Three double-sided cattle prods rotate like ceiling fans, threatening anyone who gets too close. To add to the stupidity, the floor is covered in tires.
The fifth room brings them to a ball pit! But some of the balls are electroshock grenades. Some are glue bombs. And some of them are flashbangs. Both are set to go off on contact.
The penultimate room has air rams that go off as the participant drags a dummy (or their partner. Or the previous, possibly unconscious, runner.) through, blasting powerfully enough to knock a man off of his feet. To make things worse, giant strips of fly paper stretch across the room, snaring anyone unfortunate enough to get caught.
The seventh, and final, room has something different. Carrying a tool box, the participant has to dash up a spiraling ramp that has alternating barrels and greased ball bearings dropping down at regular intervals. At the end, they have to solve a puzzle and disarm a bomb. If they fail to do it in time, the 'bomb' goes off. Unfortunately for them, Planker isn't allowed to use a real bomb. Instead, the box underneath the bomb springs open, revealing an enraged skunk.

After about the third person starts to go through, Planker will press a button. At that point, the chambers will rise up, revealing wheels, and start to move about the gym in swift circles, controlled via his remote, designed to throw the people inside off-balance and remove any illusion of stable footing. To add salt to the wound, there are cameras in every chamber, capturing every possible humiliation for editing and presenting to whoever Planker sees fit later on.

[[Obviously you don't have to participate. Your character was taken aside for some reason. Otherwise, you can either have your characters run through, react to, or simply have them talk about being forced to undergo this new, improved obstacle course later.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Huh. Is it like a personality thing, like an aura or something?" Saturday follows him into the next room, takes it in, and whistles.

"Guess when you're not gettin' any you have time for shit like this. Let's see... I can cut down the tasers, pretty sure. The rest of it..."

She studies it for a moment, stumped. "Wish my arm was rubber."

"No idea. Jus' seems to be somet'in' dat happens." And it was for people more scientifically minded than Remy to figure out, at the end of the day. If there was any way to understand it beyond another 'quirk of genetics'.

He frowns at the room. "Mos' folks, dey don' get none for a while, dey jus' go have some private time in de shower." And Planker had a room away from the rest of them that probably had a working shower and a door. There's no excuse. "Well. We got tires, so dat should ground it out." Though it wouldn't help if they went over.

He crouches, having a look before raising an eyebrow. "'Course, if you can't go over easily..." It wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world, but an army crawl under the hurdles could work.

"I can make the jumps." Saturday eyeballs them. "Yeah, shouldn't be a problem... hold up, let me try."

She bursts into movement from a standing start. This room, while intimidating, is ultimately also stationary; she's been the idiot stranded in the mob in melee, and something that isn't actually capable of hitting back is easy. As she goes, she cuts away at the obstacles, carving a clearer path for Gambit to follow.

It works great until the very end, when she lands a little off center of the rim of a tire and has to turn a fall into a tumble which grazes a stunner, burning her forearm. She curses, low, and just barely misses the next one before she makes it to the other side.

She's at a better height for doing the actual jumping, really. Though she's definitely taking those hurdles a lot easier than he'd have expected from somebody her size.

Not that size mattered in these things. He'd been around far too many various X-Women to think that being short equated to less power.

Even so, when she gets hit by the stunner, Remy barely keeps himself in check, watching carefully to make sure she recovers all right. Nodding, he takes another step back before he takes on the hurdles. His longer legs take them easily enough and his balance means that he doesn't fall over when the tires shift under him.

The jumpsuit legs get caught a few times, but thanks to Saturday's earlier work, he doesn't end up electrified on the way through.

He takes a moment, breathing heavily for a moment before he straightens and nods. "Much 'preciated, Saturday. You okay dere?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Saturday is examining her burned arm, and it is burned, quite nicely too. There's a little blister bubbling up and everything. "Won't slow me down."

Either she's fibbing or she has an edge, because it certainly looks like it should; however, she seems genuinely unbothered, and there's no sign of strain in her face. Just irritation.

"What's next," she says, opening the door to the ballpit. "...oh, motherfuck me an' Planker an' fuckin' Jorgmund with a fuckin' pogo stick, I hate this fuckin' place."

This is not her first rodeo. She's almost certain what the joke is, here. That, and she can see the flashbangs.

Which is why he eyes her for a few moments before nodding. To be honest, he's so used to having teammates that heal fast or just don't get hurt that Remy's willing to take her at her word.

When she stops, he leans over so he can look past her. And lets off a few phrases in of particularly annoyed gutter French. Because, yeah. He sees those flashbangs, too. And a few other things that aren't normal, regulation ball pit balls.

"Gonna be goin' through dis wit' eyes closed, can already tell." Not that it'll help THAT much, but it'll help a bit. Enough to keep him from being entirely blinded at the other end. "Al'ight. Whacha think is de best way to do dis? Could give you a ride on my shoulders. Dat'd mean only one of us gets hit as bad."

Saturday tilts her head, thoughtful. The pain in her arm recedes, background noise against the current problem. She can't remember a time when pain hadn't been something she could simply pick up and set aside at need. Not letting Planker stop her isn't the pettiest use she's made of her high tolerance.

"...what if you just blew them all up? Like, charge one of the real ones, we take cover on either side of the door and..."

She mimes a throw, and a big boom. Complete with sounds effects.

He couldn't help but grin at her. "'Fraid it don' work QUITE dat way. I can charge a ball, maybe a couple of 'em. But I can't make de charge spread through them touchin' each ot'er."

He picks up one of the plastic balls, throwing it up and catching it. "Now. Might be able t' pepper a path to de ot'er side. But might be somet'in' like de mouse traps: set somet'in' off in de center an' you cascade it all over." It was hard to tell. If he caught a flashbang or two in the first explosion, it was probably more likely. "We can 'speriment, though. See what happens."

"I sure don't care what happens to Planker's shit. Do you?" She crosses her arms. "Don't explosions make, like, pressure? I remember pops talking about that once, that's why it blows out your ears. I bet they're supposed to go off from touch and those mechanisms aren't smart. That could trip them, and then - boom."

She picks up a real ball of her own, considering it as though it were a crystal ball. "It'd be worth the shocks if we clear this out. He probably can't get more real fast, an' we're best suited to the job in this group, far as I know."

"Mmm. Non." Remy really didn't give a damn about Planker's stuff. Didn't care much about the stuff here that was connected to the corporation, after all. "An' dey do. Which should set off mos' everyt'in'. May take some time an' a few 'splosions, though, but we ain't on a time limit."

He reaches down, grabbing a few more balls. "You wanna grab 'bout...anot'er half dozen of dese? Or a few more dan dat. Jus' to make sure we get dem all taken care of."

Really, he's going to pay for it later. The food here has not been enough to keep up with his metabolic needs. So it's not going to be easy to replace the energy he uses to start the explosions. And things like this are going to take a fair amount of what he has left.

Remy waits until she has the balls and has moved back before he starts, charging the first ball to a high pitched squeal before lobbing it into the center of the room. Then he turned, closing his eyes hard to protect them as the first few flashbangs go off, trusting Saturday to do the same.

Saturday's closed her eyes and turned away from the doorway, not turning back until the booms die down. She squints one eye open to check before she opens them fully and turns around.

"Oh, hey, not bad."

The layer of balls is noticeably thinner; glue's burst from a few of them, rapidly hardening and holding some of the other grenades in place. She nods at them.

"You think them being stuck like that'll make it easier?"

"It'll make gettin' to the ot'er side easier, at least. Which is what we're lookin' for." And anything that's caught in the glue won't do much when jostled.

He throws out a couple more balls, clearing a pathway, though he got dazzled once because of one of the glued pieces shifting and setting a flashbang off earlier than he'd expected. Remy cursed, rubbing at his eyes. Even though he knew it wouldn't actually help. It's just one of those things that has to go on its own. "How you t'ink it's lookin', padnat?"

She'd earned the nickname. After all, they had already discussed a few things.

"Pretty damn good." Saturday is still holding an uncharged ball, and eyes it speculatively.

"Keep your eyes covered." Then she throws it at one of the grenades, turning her own head aside. It impacts, hard enough to count as touch, and electrostatic arcs harmlessly into the air. Saturday cackles.

"Yeah, it's clear enough - we trigger a few more of those glue ones, we could probably make a nice safe floor."

Well, at least he has a warning that time. Which Remy heeds, turning his head away. There's still a few spots in front of his eyes as he turns back and grins. "Reckon we can do somet'in' 'bout dat."

He still has a couple of balls, eyeing the ball pit again and picking out a few of the glue grenades. Ones that seem to be in good clusters. Then it's only a matter of picking out the right spot and throwing a charged ball in the center for another bunch of grenades going off and the glue hardening to be nearly a floor of its own now. "T'ink we might be okay."

Saturday surveys their hard work for a moment. The ballpit is more of a platforming challenge, now, with islands of safe hardened glue in a thin sea of plastic balls and grenades.

"Looks good to me. Race you!"

She leaps into action like a bullet from a gun. Saturday has two settings: at rest, and angry squirrel on meth. And she is no longer at rest.

Of course she cheats. Remy laughs whole-heartedly as he takes off after her. He's not nearly as fast, but he has longer legs and his balance is impeccable. It'll be a close race, for certain.

It's not cheating, it's tactics. It's also tactics when she launches herself off one of the embedded glue grenades hard enough to set off another wave, and fast enough not to get caught herself as she flips out of the way.

One or two obstacles are all in good fun. It's just being bloody unfair that she objects to.

Edited 2020-06-26 18:50 (UTC)

It's absolutely cheating. And, luckily, she telegraphs her move just enough that he can get his arm up and protect his eyes from any flashbangs. It's just enough to throw him off his rhythm, though, and means that Saturday is able to make it to the other side ahead of him.

Still, he's not even breathing hard when his feet find the platform and he tsks. "Well den. Guess I know where I stan' wit' you now, hein?"

"Pfft. I just did you a favor; now you know who you're dealing with." Saturday grins. "Next time, you're gonna beat me. Longer legs - "

What she intends to say next is lost in a wash of pain. She doubles over, gasping, as a burning hand grabs her spine and shakes.

"Fuck."

It lasts a good ten seconds. Saturday is very tough; Planker has an idea of what she can take. By the time he's done, she's down on one knee and one fist, because she refuses to kneel.

Remy would have shot back with something, certainly, but the moment she goes down? He does as well. Goes straight down to his knees, curled over because the pain absolutely took the legs out from under him.

By the time those ten seconds are over, his jaw is aching from holding back any sound. He doesn't have a problem with the kneeling, but he'll be damned if they'll make him scream.

Only once the pain has receeded does he put his hands down on the floor, certain that his powers won't get away from him. "You can say dat 'gain." He lets out a breath before sitting back on his heels, working his jaw to get it to deal with the ache. "Guessin' Planker ain't too keen on our pro'lem solvin' skills, petite."

Saturday is stretching her metal hand; it's magic, not technology, and still feels and cramps and wounds like a normal arm. Unfortunately. There are little indents in the palm from her metal fingernails.

"Planker can eat my ass," she rasps out. "It was worth it."

Even her lungs ache.

"Mais oui. Absolument." Slipping back into French for a moment while his brain descrambled itself. At least it's pretty easy to understand as an agreement. "Rather he ate onea my cards, but dat's gonna have to wait."

He needs the cards he has right now to keep from being bored. But one day.

Well. Probably not because Remy doesn't kill easily. But it's a thought.

"Okay." Saturday forces herself up and rolls her neck. Oh, god, that hurts. But she can shove it away. Will shove it away. Still, she's a bit slow looking into the next room.

"What next... aw, fuck this guy." She stares flatly at the air rams. Bomp. Bomp. Bomp. "Seriously, I will pay for his penthouse subscription. This is unnecessary."

Bomp.

She drags a hand down her face.

"You still got Penthouse in de future?" It's flippant, but slightly tired as well. Because there's a lot going on in that room. "Al'ight. What you t'inkin'? Jus' see if we can run 'cross?"

He looks back to the ball pit. "Could maybe take out some of de air rams. But might jus' make t'ings worse."

"Chummer, we got Penthouse in surround sound. BTL chips, better-than-life. Full sensorium daydream drugs, plug 'em into your spine and experience it like it's happening to you, 'cause it is."

She leans her head against the door frame. "I dunno, I'm kinda inclined to throw my body on the gears for spite. If he's gonna have us playing stupid games either way..."

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