Corona [OPEN]

[piper90npcs]

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.]]

Comments

[tarnishedavenger]

"Will you be satisfied if someone beats you to the punch?" That's not him offering, but after today? Well, Saturday's not going to be the only one with an axe to grind.

Pop. Another ball. He draws a face. This glue wasn't going to be fun to wash off.

At least Planker was good for something. Unifying the team in hatred. Sure, they were suffering, but giving them a common enemy to rally around was going to do wonders for team building later. If he didn't know better, he'd almost suspect the man was doing it on purpose, much like some of the drill instructors Armstrong has met along the way. But, no, even they had limits. Planker wasn't doing this on purpose, he was merely exercising his sadism.

Still, if he did end up dead, Armstrong would probably regret his loss. If for nothing other than this.

[wheyoftheadept]

"I've learned to live with disappointment." She won't be satisfied, no, particularly if they go all noble about it and don't make the fucker shit himself first. But as long as he ends up dead...

"It's not just that he's a vicious, smalldicked asshole," she clarifies. "He did this because he's pissed at the tough bastards. Fine. We've been poking the bear, we can eat the consequences. But he's making everyone do it, including people who could get seriously hurt and weren't involved. I can see the logic in what c-suite does. They're rational, thinking in terms of control, even if they are - less competent then they project. He's thinking in terms of sadism, he's completely indiscriminate, and that makes him the most immediate physical threat to the group."

There's a peculiar cadence in how she speaks, like she's giving a report. And in a way, she is. She's a mercenary's daughter; her pops taught her a certain way of thinking, threat assessment and tactics and all that. Armstrong seems to be speaking a language she knows, and one that comforts her.

[tarnishedavenger]

"A good lesson to have." Still, there's nothing like taking the neck of someone you hate in your hands and having the time to squeeze.

"I've worked with people like him," he acknowledges. "He's probably telling his bosses about making us better while also breaking us down mentally so we can be 'rebuilt' later." Which works much better when his subjects don't have such limited exposure to him. The theory works great for most militaries, after all. Half of boot camp was simply breaking people down to make them stop questioning and start blindly obeying. Or to increase their already natural viciousness.

He hasn't admitted it, but he did spend several years as a mercenary. It's easy for him to match the cadence. "So, you can't move against him openly. You can't predict AREs that would allow you freedom and privacy. What possibilities do you have?" It's not a challenge. Just a question. Does she see other opportunities? Or is he dealing with someone who simply specializes in applied violence?

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday drops her had between her knees, groaning.

"None, at the moment. Which means I gotta work the plan I already have." Which, if she pulls it off, will make opportunities. Maybe. Hopefully. "'S a good plan, dangit," she mutters, to bolster herself.

"Work the plan," she repeats, like a mantra. "Do the job, go home." And don't get distracted by your very personal desire to garrotte Planker with his own intestines.

Better late than never?

[tarnishedavenger]

One thing about Armstrong: he's got sharp hearing. The super soldier program he went through didn't just let him bend steel bars with his glutes, after all. "Just as long as you've got a backup to cover your ass."

Though, from the sound of things, she doesn't need to be told that. Still, Armstrong's twice her age. He can't help some of it. He might not even realize how condescendingly that could come off.

Re: Better late than never?

[wheyoftheadept]

"Depends on how bad things go sideways," she retorts. "We get caught with a red hand the cookie jar, doubt I can talk my way out. Anything less'n that and with a little luck this slipshod fuckin' operation won't realize til it's too late."

She has a distant look, going over the idea again, checking and re-checking the volunteer list, reminding herself of the legwork yet to be done. Armstrong might sound condescending but from what she's seen of him, he just kind of is a little condescending, in that way people used to being an obvious authority can be. Doesn't mean he's not asking the right questions.

"Luck's the hard part," she says absently. "Only thing you can't plan for. Unless someone here has a trick for that - do we have anyone who can mess with probability?"

[tarnishedavenger]

He nods. Sounds like she's got everything handled. And, while it might be cold, Armstrong figures that he doesn't need to dig. Plausible deniability. They're going to need someone sane who isn't caught up in the backlash if whatever op she's in goes south.

He pauses, placing a hand on his chin and tapping his lip. Belatedly, he realizes that the sticky glue means pulling it off will be a little painful. Hopefully no one's watching too closely.

"We've got superheroes. They tend to make their own luck, in my experience." All twenty-five years of it. "I don't think we've got any actual luck manipulators, though. If this isn't anything too serious, dragging Dave's time powers in might be a good replacement. Or use Ben Reilly's danger senses. Otherwise, I'd just run things past one of our geniuses, preferably Brainiac 5, to see what probabilities he ends up with. You get that smart and you can make your own luck."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Hmm. Been thinking about dropping Brainy a line, anyhow. He's that good?"

Saturday notes the others, files them away. Time powers, very nice; she's not bad in the spidey-sense department, but you can really never have too much of that. And they might complement well.

"You're gonna want soap and warm water t'get that hand off your chin, by the way."

[tarnishedavenger]

"I've met, or fought, the smartest people in my world. And I'm no slouch myself," says the guy who could have a conversation with Albert Einstein as an intellectual equal. "The few conversations I've had with him haven't gone very far, but he blows all of us, meaning my world, out of the water. Combined."

He pauses, striking a little pose as if he meant to look intellectual like this. After a moment, he just grimaces and slowly pulls his hand away, ignoring the painful ripping and loss of chin hair. And the patches of glue left behind. "...I'd look like a snob walking around like that." And what's the point of being a super soldier if you couldn't pull off some glue?

[wheyoftheadept]

"I'll get in touch with the guy, then." Saturday nods, then snorts when he rips his hand away.

"I mean, place like this, who'd notice?" She gets up. "I'm gonna jog a bit, get a cooldown in. I think he's almost done with us, anyhow. Thanks for the time."

[tarnishedavenger]

He gives her a casual two-fingered wave, standing up himself. "Do your thing."

It gives him time to make sure no one else takes an ill-advised swing.