acatalepsy_logs | ( world #2

( world #2 - the storm. )

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a storm approaches.This log is for everyone who signed up for The Storm investigation. Feel free to use the here to plot further on how you plan on approaching The Storm, and the issue. The mod questions thread is also open, if you have anything you would like to run by us.

the investigation.

It takes a day of preparation, and a day of discussion, before you are led further down into the tunnels. It's pitch black, but one of the BGs who you have become familiar enough with turns on a low light and continues further. You walk for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, and then turn a corner into a large, open cavern. The BG explains that at one time, this had been an underground transportation system - old and unused for centuries, now, but still in working order.

They file each of you onto a single car - it seems to be large enough to fit nearly a hundred, possibly more, bodies - so everyone has a space. The BG explains that they have already input the coordinates into the system, and that once they close the door, you will be transported to the last known location. The car will be programmed to wait for 72 hours, and then will return to this location. There is food and water supplied, and already packed, in the car. If you are not back in the car by that time, it will leave you behind. They then give their farewells, thank you for your help and readiness, and step away from the door - letting it close behind them. The car travels down a pitch black tunnel, and while the inside is dimly lit enough for the Circle Members to see each other and move around without hinderance, you can see nothing through the windows. It continues for a few hours at this rate - nothing to see, no idea where you are going. That is, until it seems to break through the surface, the track running through buildings and another, unknown area of the city.

The streets and buildings are abandoned, the tech old and outdated, windows broken out and dust filling the street. The sky, like back in the city you knew before, is cloudy and grey. But these clouds are different - these clouds are dark in a way you haven't seen before. You travel for another half hour above ground before the cart comes to a stop, and during this time it happens twice. A low rumble, seeming to come from everywhere at once, and then a few heartbeats after, a disasterous flash of lighting - miles away, yes, but threatening and gigantic, brighter and more violent than you've ever seen lightning before. The crash shakes the ground under you, and the damage is immense.

But the buildings are abandoned, the streets empty save for crates, old mechanical bits, dusty remnants of a society long forgotten by the Struxta you came from just a couple of days prior.

This is The Storm you've been warned about.

the storm.

You have been asked to find out information that will help the BG's, and Struxta, to stop The Storm.

From what you can gather, it does seem to be a naturally occurring weather phenomenon, as far as weather systems seem to work on this planet. However, rather than scattered thunder and lightning strikes, it seems to almost recharge and strike with epic proportions. It can damage, or destroy, buildings. It shorts out any and all items (and people) who depend on electricity in any form to function (Sorry Daylight and Conner, sorry to anyone who brought along technology) within a three mile radius.

The 'darkness' the BGs were talking about does follow this storm, but they seem to have been referring to this electrical shortage that comes from the storm and it's strikes. If this storm does reach any of the still-occupied areas of the city, it will shut down the entire grid, as well as any of the robots, androids, or electrically based figures that exist there - essentially ending the life of every Struxta citizen that is effected.

Plot, plan, theorize, and see if you can find a way to stop The Storm. If not, be back on the train car in 72 hours time, to return to the BGs and report what you have found.
PROMPT IDEAS
1.) Discussions on the train - do you have any ideas for what to prepare? Any discussions you may want to have? You and your fellow Circle Members are caught here together for a few hours, driving into a situation you know very little about. What do you want to make sure you're prepared to handle?

2.) Scouting missions - the heart of The Storm is very much in the distance, and it is not moving quickly, giving Circle Members plenty of time to set out and check out the surrounding city. What you will find won't be much - this is a robotic ghost town in every turn of the phrase. Buildings have been abandoned for hundreds of years, covered in dust and left entirely undisturbed, except for the breeze that now seems to flit through this entire area. There are stores, warehouses, apartments, and buildings you can't even tell what they were used for, cleared out. Whenever, or whoever, lived in this part of Struxta had evacuated, quickly but efficiently.

3.) The Storm - The Storm is still a distance away from where the cart has dropped you off, enough that when your 72 hours are up, the heart of the storm and the lightning strikes shouldn't reach the car, or the track. This does mean that to do any closer investigation, you will need to go to The Storm itself. But be careful - the electrical output from these lightning strikes are dangerous, and can have all sorts of effects on both natural and mechanical beings. The wind, the closer you get to The Storm, will also pick up - making any kind of flying or air travel impossible.

4.) Planning - the car leaves everyone off at an old train station, which a large room attached. This room can be used as a kind of home base, as well as a meeting location. What do you plan on doing? Simply taking down information, or trying to take the storm head on? How do you plan on doing that? Will your abilities help? This room attached onto the train station is a safe location - no effects of The Storm will make it inside. Use as you would like!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The initial rejection of help is met with a small cinch of his brow, and the slow consideration of whether or not he should start convincing her of the advantages of working together.

But then her Pod speaks up, and he’s met with a reluctant acquiescence instead. Connor nods, stepping forward into the somewhat better lighting provided as he draws closer. It’s then that he notes her state — such a stark difference compared to how well put-together Connor always looks (always donned in his uniform with “RK800” on the front and “ANDROID” written across the back) — and his eyes briefly scan what appears to be damage done to her body. He can’t be certain without closer examination, but none of it looks recent.

More questions pile up in his mind, but they’re filed away (for now) as he bends down and picks up a decent-sized piece of rubble, and exerts the effort to move it away from the entrance.]

Your Pod is correct. It’ll take less time with two individuals working at the same task, and it appears as if you’re growing tired.

Nobody asked you.

[Also unlike 9S, A2 is really, really bad at making friends. She scowls at him — just as bad as Pod — is her immediate and unkind thought, and is about to turn back to her work without further commentary before she really looks at him.]

Another android. Figures. None of the ones up there could mind their business either.

[Not YorRHa though. He doesn't have the look of a combat model even knowing that much, either.]

I'm not tired.

[She certainly doesn't it make it difficult to read her reactions, Connor thinks. That's a scowl, looking even more stark and sharp in the strange shadows wrought by Pod's lighting. It matches with her initial hesitance to let him help, and so he takes a moment to filter through a myriad of different responses, one that might not set her off too much.]

I'm not like the other androids here.

[...Well. After he clarifies that, at least. And then he offers something resembling a willingness to concede the point.]

Maybe "tired" was the wrong word. I don't grow tired in the normal sense, either. ["Either". See: conceding the point, even if it may not be accurate.] But I am still made of physical parts that can only handle so much strain at a time. I am still prone to injury if I overexert myself.

[He bends down to pick up another chunk of rubble, scooting it aside.]

That was my meaning, applied to you as well.

You're annoying. [She mutters this under her breath.] So you've got that in common.

[What a jerk. But she's listening, for all her prickly surliness, and what she is struck with is not necessarily anger, or annoyance this time — she's honestly confused. She can't remember the last time another android had expressed even an offhand interest in her well-being. Those machines masquerading as androids in the city above them did not count, as far as she was concerned.

The androids from her world, in contrast, were hell-bent on killing her. So there was that.]

Why do you care?

[It comes out defensively, but she doesn't necessarily mean it to be, this time. Sorry, Connor.]

[Connor is hard to offend, to really offend, to make him irritated or otherwise annoyed at how someone talks to him. There’s only the slightest bristle, seen in the straightening of his back, more borne out of curiosity why she’d be so quick to be wary of him.

Though, of course, the most obvious reason spills out in his mind first — likely a consequence of wherever she’s from, perhaps an unfamiliarity with this whole situation, an unease around others? That or she’s frustrated at her lack of progress, but the comment about androids is curiously pointed.]

Because we’re both members of the Circle. And as a result, expected to help each other. As a single unit sharing one goal, it would be disadvantageous to do otherwise.

[She looks at him like she doesn't believe him, despite what he's saying being inarguable truth. Eventually she relents, with an eyeroll, and returns to the slow work of unearthing the entrance to this building.

At least he hasn't asked her about her physical state. That put him one step above the pushy natives. They irritate her to think about, hooked up to a mass network like machines. What kind of androids were they supposed to be? Didn't they know how disastrous that could end up being?

...

She's tired. As much as she hates to admit this, she can feel the exhaustion weighing on her, slowing her down. She leans against one of the building's still intact walls and puts a hand to her forehead.]

This is a waste of time. I don't know why we're bothering to help them.

[The question of her physical state is teetering right there on the edge of his mind. It's a queue'd up query that just hasn't shuffled past the priority barriers of what he wants to say first.

Still, Connor moves another piece of rubble, this one larger, and therefore he does it carefully, slowly. But he pauses after placing it aside, straightening to look at her. She's showing signs of weariness, and it's preferable that she takes a break to recover.

He decides how to reply to her remark in the meanwhile.]

Struxta is a functioning city. It's a testament to technological achievement, and the consciousness of many androids thrive within it. [He pauses, then:] Don't you wish to help them?

No.

[Well, that's blunt. A2 leans further against the half-collapsed wall keeping her propped up, crossing her arms, glancing away.] It's not my problem. They're idiots for hooking up to each other like they do.

[He peers at her questioningly, fingers flexing in an idle, thoughtless way. Then Connor decides to move another smaller piece of rubble while he talks.]

The Mass Subconcious has nothing to do with why this Storm exists — as far as we know.

[Briefly, his gaze lifts back up to A2.]

Or do you say that because you frown upon the supposed degradation of their individuality, as a result of their connection to it?

[A2 doesn't say anything. Her frown only deepens further. Pod, though:]

Hypothesis: The "Mass Subconscious" among Struxta's android population bears similarities to the interconnected machine network on Earth.

[A2's gaze cuts to Pod, eyes cold, but she adds on:] So they're no better than those goddamn machines.

Unknown.

[...Ah.

His LED spins once, twice, forming a connection in his mind. His eyes flicker to Pod, and thoughtlessly, he wipes dust from his fingertips across the front of his jacket. It leaves a couple of white streaks, faint in the light.]

You’re from the same world as another android I’ve spoken to, aren’t you? 9S. He was accompanied by a Pod, as well, and he took offense when I used the term “machine” to describe us.

[Meaning, the androids of the Circle.]

[9S...

A2's expression stays carefully neutral. There was no reason to lie about what was obvious.] Yeah. [And, bristling at even an offhand comparison:] That's because we aren't machines.

Where I’m from, it was a word that I used to describe myself; falling strictly into the overall definition of the term. I wasn’t aware of the negative connotations that he — or you, now — prescribed to them at the time. I meant no offense, and I still don’t.

[That being said...]

So the machines you know of, the ones from your home, what were they like?

[A2, some time ago, would not have hesitated in speaking poorly of machines. They were mindless automatons, she would have said, they existed only to kill and destroy and ruin what was left of the Earth. Worthless bags of bolts, inferior to androids in every way, with their capacity to think and feel and love for themselves. Machines in contrast, could not love. They did not feel pain, they didn't bleed or cry out. They certainly could not think for themselves, hooked up mindlessly to their network, receiving directives from the alien forces.

But this A2 has met the machines cut off from the network, has met Pascal, who helped her without the expectation of anything in return, and his villagers, and perhaps it is an echo of this ("Come play with us, Big Sis!") that makes her stop and think about it, for once.]

Most of them are connected to a network. They're... [She struggles to think of a word.] obsolete. They don't look like androids. They don't think like humans. All they do is kill us.

[She adds, with some reluctance.] The ones I've met that aren't hooked up to the network are — they're fine. They don't hurt anyone.

[The part of Connor that is programmed to read changes in microexpression and tone strains to apply these functions right now, as A2 explains. But the darkness and, more effectively, the other android’s placid way of explaining makes it difficult to glean more information. Subtle implications he could learn, brought on by changes in barely-there emotion.

It’s not unsatisfactory, per se, but so much has Connor relied on it in his short existence that he has to take an extended moment, thinking, on how to reply. He believes he can ascertain reluctance in that last statement, if nothing else.]

And therefore it’s the network that dictates that they be violent? Thoughtless?

[That would be the most straightforward conclusion to draw.]

I can see why you would harbor a bias against the androids of Struxta, then, given your experiences. [But Connor is always apt to point out a contradiction.] Yet you’re choosing to help regardless. Is it because it’s our given mission?

[The first question is one that A2 finds she cannot answer. That had always been the assumption, true. She had never had cause to care about whether or not machines were thoughtless. But Pascal had willingly parted with the network, hadn't he?

...She frowns a little, instead, uncomfortable again all of a sudden, and chooses to let the subject drop. Mention of her helping turns that frown into a scowl in mere moments.]

There's nothing better to do.

[Technically not a lie.]

[The lack of an answer is hard to take as a confirmation, and so Connor decides to go with what it is on a surface level -- no answer at all.

Besides, the prominence of that scowl, coming from A2, is definitely impossible to miss. Connor, being how he is, wants to prod at the little consistencies that he perceives.]

You could have stayed in the city. [It's big enough, bustling enough, that the reasoning of there being nothing else to do seems... flimsy at best. But he seems quick to add an addendum.] Not that the aid is not appreciated, of course.

[She looks at him, eyes narrowed, not appreciating the pointing out, it seemed, of what was simply common sense.]

... I hate it up there. [At least down below she was useful, the lack of violence and strife more familiar to her in this solitude, rather than being in the city where the peace was, like everything there, manufactured. ]

I see.

[Makes sense, he thinks, if her disdain for the androids of this world really was so acute. But if Connor wishes to press the issue, he doesn't; better to turn it into encouragement, to applaud her for helping even if it was because there was 'nothing better to do', than to potentially make her stop because he's tossing too many queries at her. Even Connor isn't so oblivious, nor does he have a horse in this race, to turn this into an interrogation.

He bends down, picking up another piece of rubble.] I- [It's heavier than expected, and he can't even lift it. Womp.]

At least other members of the Circle can make for... [Lift with your knees, Connor! ...Nope, no go.] ...good company in the interim.

[This android is dry and analytical in a way that reminds her of Pod, and she isn't too poorly socialized to not recognize that she is, in no way, "good company."]

Whatever.

[Like she cared what some random android thought of her. She is tempted, in a petty sort of way, to continue to watch him struggle with the piece of rubble, but then she walks over anyway, and kneels to lift it without much effort, her own flagging energy aside.

As she walks over to toss it with the others, she says, flatly, without turning in Connor's direction:] You aren't a combat model.

[It's a request for information without actually asking for information. Sorry, Connor...this is what you have to put up with.]

[Connor possesses an indelible sense of pride, buried somewhere beneath the amicable mannerisms and sociable programming, but none of it has to do with his own physical strength. Even back home, he was far from the strongest android created; it simply wasn't in his design, instead made to harbor other traits to compliment his purpose.

He doesn't so much as frown as the rubble slips past his hands, picked up by A2 with enviable ease, to be tossed aside with the rest. It lands with a clatter and a upward puff of dust. Connor straightens and watches her back.]

No. I'm not. [He continues without missing a beat, treating this as an introduction. The implied request for information is easily noted and he's happy to supply.]

My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 unit -- a prototype. I was created to assist law enforcement, and my main functions exist to compliment the processes of investigation, interrogation, and negotiation.

"Law enforcement..." [She repeats this softly, to herself. There's a moment where she tries to glean the context for these unfamiliar words — Earth was lawless, and there were rules from YoRHa and machine lifeforms both, but no one really, to enforce anything resembling a law.

Investigation, interrogation and negotiation made sense though, from the military-esque background she had. "Prototype" is the more troubling word to her, though. She grows quieter than before. Eventually:]

So you're going to get tossed when they make another version.

[Rude, A2.]

[Rude, but... not incorrect.

Connor knows inherently that this is the purpose of a prototype. Released for field testing -- admittedly for a very important reason -- for the sake of seeing how he performs, and Cyberlife would proceed from there. It's strange, the feeling of something clenching his chest as A2 puts words to this reality, though.

It wouldn't have mattered just months before. Now, however, how hesitation seems to flood the few moments in-beween his reply.]

...If I perform well enough, I see no reason why they would completely decommission me. A newer model will likely be released, but I'd still be perfectly useable.

[There is the part of her that has been hardened to be cruel, that wants to press at this, the weak spot she's found. But even in the dark place her thoughts are trapped in, she can't bring herself to do this.]

If that's what you think.

[She had performed beyond the expectations of even herself, and look where she was.

He wasn't a combat android, and some sort of "prototype," and didn't have the look of YoRHa, anyway. No dark visor or dark clothing, no weaponry, no Pod. He didn't look like the Resistance androids either, those older models with patched-together bodies.] Who made you?

[Good that she doesn't prod at it; this whole world has been nothing but various ways of trying to shatter through the walls of comfortability that Connor's stubbornly tossed up for himself. Full of cracks and holes and other badly-placed weaknesses that would require very little effort to make it all come apart. Her choice to avoid pressing at it is a kindness to him, perhaps more than she realizes.

Not that her response is purely... satisfactory. But it leaves room for him to avoid arguing the point, room to leave it be and attend to the other question.]

CyberLife. A large corporation focused on the design and manufacturing of various models of androids.

[There was no single person who created him; he was a project, a group effort, many hands and minds applied to his very existence.]

No one in the Circle I've met knows of it, however.

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