singularityderp | Dark Future Meme

Entry tags:

meme

Dark Future Meme

Ten years later, humanity and the synthetic life on the station are at odds
Hypatia has inducted as many citizens of Sacrosanct into a private military and launched
an all-out war against organic life and the people of Asphodel.
Some were kept on the station as captives, some escaped down planet-side
to become part of the resistance, and countless others were re-purposed into
Hypatia's willing slaves.

Now, tensions are at a peak and both sides are preparing for a throwdown. Skirmishes break out on the station and planet. Many of Hypatia's prisoners have been freed, but many more have fallen to the clutches of reprogramming.

Where will you be?

How this works:
-If you are synthetic or part-synthetic, OR if you have special armor (Looking at you, Spartans, Troncast, EVERY ROBOT EVER) you are a target for re-purpose.
You can still have escaped down to the planet, but she'll be after you. Going to the station is dangerous, once you enter her wide-area-network you are at risk of being hacked

-If you are fully organic, you are either dead, kept prisoner and made to work on the station, or part of the resistance on Asphodel.

-Anything in-between? You decide. Be creative with this.

-Fill out the form below to give us an idea of what your character is up to, what happened to them etc. Thread with each other! RP it out!

-Also, bring in your extra journals! There won't be the same people on the station ten years from now! If you're planning to app someone, or just have something interesting lying around, toss them in!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Name: Michael Altman
Current location: Asphodel.
Current Physical Appearance: Altman has gone to shit, more or less. His hair is longer, he's given up on shaving, and showers are in short supply in the worm tunnels.
Summary: Altman dwells on the fringes of society with a small group of worm worshippers (ironically the same group that held him hostage another life ago). He formerly made attempts to involve himself with the Resistance, but as his mental health declined under the stress he started isolating himself more and more and, eventually, turned to wormblood to take the edge off. Things just got worse from there.

He's distrustful, insane, and nearly entirely consumed with the whispers of the Marker. The caves and tunnels he calls home are covered in Marker scrawls, fragments and jotnotes all related to the construction of another monolith. Generally hostile and avoidant, he prefers his solitude.

Basically? CRAZY OLD WORM-ADDICT ALTMAN.

He's hot on the trail of one of Hypatia's most prized drones. Once the former shuttle finds his quarry, he's hard pressed to let them escaped. Tracking him down into the tunnels is dangerous, but he hardly cares about that these days.

He's been programmed to fight until there's nothing left.

At least now he can fight for the right thing.

As the tunnels narrow, flying and even running are no longer an option. He has no map of the tunnels this deep, and soon he finds himself completely lost.

Which... doesn't seem to bother him. He stalks the tunnels in his armor, still looking for the drone he chased down.

Altman's in the middle of one of his outbursts, fingers wet with the wormblood he usually ingests as he covers the walls with the aggressive angles of Marker script. It's only the vaguest of vibrations, a disturbance in the usually stale air, that gives him any indication that someone is approaching.

He's gotten good at feeling his way around the tunnels like that, listening and feeling, and he knows this isn't one of the cultists he associates with. They know better than to come his way when he's having one of his bad days.

It takes a few tries for him to find his voice, his throat dry (when was the last time he drank anything that didn't come from a worm?) and sore, and even when he finally manages it cracks uncomfortably as he calls out;

"Who's there? Ada?"

A voice pings his attention quite easily and it's as if a magnet pulls him that way. Hoping to find his target, he barrels down the tunnel and throws himself at the first form he finds.

Slamming Altman down on his back, the former drone presses an elbow to his neck to hold him there.

This thing is... far too squishy to be his target.

The red visor glows dangerously and a mechanical snarl slips out.

He's disoriented by the initial blow, falling back. In his panic, and the dim light he uses to navigate, he can't tell what's hit him. Flashes of something--

twisted flesh, jutting bone, teeth going for his throat

--attacking him. He grabs for his gun, not realizing it's been knocked aside, panicking under what he thinks for a brief, terrifying moment is a necromorph.

Then a moment of clarity. It sounds mechanical--necromorphs are anything but.

He gropes blindly for the 'face' of the thing, not quite sure what to make of it yet, even as he rasps.

"Who?"

By now, normally Altman would have been dead. Neck snapped efficiently. Cleanly.

But the weight on top of him pauses. Allows him to grope his glowing visor and battlemask.

~~Sky~~Jetfire tips his head faintly. This way and that, and after a moment he removes his elbow and scrambles to stand up, taking a few steps back, looking at the man in the soft red glow.

"Michael...?" His voice is deeper, rougher, heavily modulated.

"Who are you?"

It's hard to tell if he's angry or scared. A little of both, maybe. Too much tech to be one of the cultists, and it's not Clarke. Faces of the dead flash by for a moment, but no. No there's something vaguely familiar about that low, mechanical voice. It frightens him.

"Who are you?"

His own voice echos in the tunnels and makes him wince. Too loud. They'll attract the worms at this rate, or worse.

Oh. It is him.

The armored man lowers his head. He is awash with sudden memory. These times- he hates it. The way it all replays like a film in his eyes.

"Michael."

Perhaps it's just one's imagination, or perhaps there is a tone of grief there.

He doesn't want to unmask himself. That is exposing a weakness. But...

He kneels. Like some cautious animal approaching, metal fingers touch Altman's face, quickly retracting.

"Michael."

He repeats like a skipping record.

"Stop it," he whispers fiercely, flinching away from every touch, from the sound of his own name.

"Stop it. You're not supposed to be here. Go away. Leave me alone."

He's anxious now, and there are voices whispering in the corners that the intruder doesn't seem to acknowledge. Someone standing just out of view, out of the tiny bubble of light. Ada. Or maybe it's just Clarke. Whoever it is, he doesn't have time for them now.

Altman tries to edge away, frightened by the slight hint of familiarity. Everyone he knows is dead or gone--just another hallucination.

"You're not real. Go away."

There's a distinct pause at the 'not real' comment.

He stills, crouched, watching Altman like a wary cat. Until he reaches out and baps the man harmlessly in the face. Not enough for damage really. But enough to make his point.

"Do not be a fool."

With that, he stands and takes the man with him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and dragging him roughly along.

"Show me."

Well. Two birds with one stone. He's found a memory and he'll be able to escape the tunnels.

The bap startles Altman into stillness, and then fear keeps him compliant as he's hauled along. At least until the other says 'Show me.'

"No. No you're not supposed to see," he protests weakly, digging his heels in. It doesn't do much to slow their progress.

He assumes the not-stranger is after the Marker--that's what everyone wants, isn't it?--and the tunnel walls here are dark with Altman's scrawlings. What he wants to hide. Altman grabs at his aggressors arm, trying to dislodge him, slow him, anything.

"Skyfire, please."

He's jerked roughly into the wall, enough to jar him out of further protest- Jetfire hopes.

"Jetfire," He corrects, annoyed. That name holds too much weakness for him. From what he can remember. The snippets. He remembers this face. He remembers so much happiness there. Remembers his name...

"Show me. The exit."

His voice is still a garbled, mechanical snarl, and he holds Altman up like a ragdoll as he points down the tunnel.

Well. He has to get out somehow.

There's only a pause as the silence settles.

"NOW."

Scouting for scraps. What a lowly job.

Disgruntled, Soundwave moves through the tunnels. He's honestly prepared to just destroy anyone that he sees that is not useful to him. If he sees the fragging cult members, they will die. No question.

What he does not expect to come upon is a very familiar heartbeat.

Every pulse to Soundwave is like an individual fingerprint. Each one is different than the other. And he remembers, too. He remembers this one. Their ridiculous rivalry that meant nothing, formed out of jealousy and sensitive issues with one another.

But to call it hatred would be petty.

"ALTMAN."

He likes the cultists. They taste better.

There's one of them, a wanderer, that he's been hunting for awhile. This one is clever, good at hiding. But lately that's changed. Like an old or sick deer, this one is flagging.

They're always easier to pick off once they've left the herd.

He hunts his prey now in the darkness, silent.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dark Future Meme

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject