TEST DRIVE MEME ( 015 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #15

Hello, and welcome to LifeAftr! We’re pleased that you’re expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.

Remember that Reserves will open on September 17th, and Applications on September 24th!

Two important notes:

1. LifeAftr's test drives take place on the island of Mu, which exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences, largely in the form of test drive reward items.

Drawn to You
The forest is dark, silent but for the snap-buzz of cricket song. Nearby, the soft babble of running water threads its way between the rough-barked trunks, though the origin of said water is difficult, at first, to pinpoint.

Granted, you probably aren't paying much attention to the forest, or the water, or the darkness. You're probably more concerned about the creatures flitting to and fro in sparse groups, most of them quite small. They tend to vary in appearance - some look to be totally benign, while others considerably less so - but all belong to the same species.

Scribblets are wily beasts, dream-haunters by nature, and they seem to revel in the idle torment they inflict upon those who cross their paths. You, dear travelers, are no exception. And while they are quite easily crushed into dust once caught, they are exceedingly slippery, agile creatures that are most difficult to pin down. If you're not careful enough, the scribblets will fasten a peculiar tether to you. It looks very much like it is made of the same materials they, resembling a sketchy line of crayon, drawn into the third dimension. Their intent, tonight, is to tie you to something that will make your life difficult - binding you to a tree trunk or to a branch far above the ground, tying your hands together...or even tying you to someone else. These bonds will only grow progressively denser and heavier the more you struggle against them.

Fortunately, the solution here is very simple. Like any drawing, it can be washed away if you find water. You'd simply better hope that you're able to collaborate with whoever you must in order to access said water, whether it's working alongside whoever you might be tied to, or convincing someone to lend you a hand.

You'd better hope the scribblets don't go after them either, by the way.

Quarantine Breached
Whatever this place once was, nature has long since claimed it for its own. A darkened, secluded laboratory now nearly swallowed by thick snarls of overgrowth is probably not your ideal vacation spot, particularly since there's a dearth of any decent lighting sources here. Drenched in shadow as this place was, it might have been helpful if you had thought to bring a light.

Fortunately, that problem is soon to be solved! Twin smoldering points of light abruptly ignite several yards away from you, paired with the pitched mechanical hum of engaging circuits. Another pair of lights immediately spritzes to life just beside it, and another pair, and another...and another...and...

Well, there seems to be a lot of them, doesn't there? "Attention," chimes a pitched, automated voice, doubtless issuing from one of the many automatons that have begun to stir awake, one by one. "Potential host sighted. Quarantine breached."

You must understand, traveler: the island of Umui was nothing like this. The guardian units there were conscious nurse-bots, charged with caring for the sick and dying populace of a hospice island. Most did so with as much care as they were capable. But in the initial days of Umui's exploration, a great deal of explorers' anxieties revolved around these fallen automatons, and what possible purpose they may have served.

We invite you to imagine a scenario in which this went horribly wrong.

Consider these automatons to be shadowy, overzealous mirrors of their long-dead, real-world equivalents. They have learned to become hyper-devoted to their task of keeping their patients safe; so devoted, it seems, that nothing will stop them from fulfilling those obligations. They intend to catch and sedate you so that you can be...returned...to a place of safety.

Unfortunately, this place of safety probably entails an inescapable four-walled room or a hospital bed, and it's doubtful, to say in the least, that enough of their programming remains for them to remember to care for and feed you once you've been returned to whatever passes for a quarantine zone. In a decrepit, dilapidated building like this, it's probably not pleasant.

Our advice is to simply not get caught. If this means doing some inevitable destruction to all this complex hardware in the process, well...at least there's no chance you'll be billed for damages.

The New Farm Simulator Looks Great!
It is possible that you vaguely recall being asked to take watch this evening. By whom? Oh, please, that doesn't matter! With the pleasant hum of crickets in the air, and a backdrop of paddocks and grain fields around you, there are plenty of worse ways to spend your evening than this. All you have to do is keep an eye on passive livestock. The farmer's life is a simple one, where your biggest problem is trying not to fall asleep before your shift is over.

In theory, anyway. While the scenery of the quiet countryside may be ideal, the state of the farm's buildings and and fences is far from it. For the curious creatures such as popo, there really isn't much to keep them in one place for long, wide stretches of fenceline ruined by fallen sections. Meaning that these massive, shaggy creatures can simply step over the crushed regions and start plowing their way contentedly in the direction of the fields of grain - fields that were certainly not intended to end up in some silly beast's stomach.

For others, sweet grains aren't as appealing as that sweet, sweet taste of freedom. A word of advice: once the popo are over those hills, you won't be seeing them again. And they might not be terribly fast on their own, but in a herd, they can get to be as dangerous as a stampede.

Hope you weren't expecting an easy night, because in LifeAftr, there's no CJB cheats menu to save you.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

Comments

[counterblows]

[It's impossible to miss the loud bang of a shot going off, just as it's more or less impossible to miss the way the damn things start clustering around what's clearly someone from home. Has to be, doesn't it? No one else would walk around in full body armor - no other universe does that.]

[It hasn't registered that this isn't quite real. Not yet. So Wash swings the butt of his rifle around and clubs one of the scribblets square in its clumsily-drawn face.]

[He doesn't say anything yet, either - mostly because he doesn't actually recognize the armor of whoever is, allegedly, here from home.]

[ourcurrency]

[She recognizes his armor, though. Even if she hadn't met him in person, she's spent enough time researching the Reds and Blues and Freelancers that it would be impossible for her not to recognize Agent Washington himself.]

Wash!

[Her hands might be tied, but she can still shoot, and she's becoming rapidly less interested in preserving the life of these mysterious creatures and more interested in preserving her own life. She aims carefully and shoots at one that's trying to sneak up on Wash.]

You're all right!

[Considering the last she saw, he was being rushed to the hospital after being shot in the neck...... yeah.]

[counterblows]

[People recognize him - he's learned that much, over time - if not by sight then by his association with Freelancer. But most of them don't assume that kind of level of...bizarre familiarity that comes with clipping his name down to a familiar callsign.]

[Behind his visor, he blinks. And then jumps, nearly squawking in alarm when she clips the scribblet right over his shoulder jesus christ she could have shot him.]

Have we met?

[ourcurrency]

[Wow excuse you she only shoots her friends when she’s trying to get a story. And then it’s on purpose!

Him not recognizing her is... more concerning. Can being shot in the neck cause neurological damage? She supposes he’s lucky to be living at all.]

Or... maybe not. [They don’t have time for this. She struggles against the stuff binding her hands to her gun.] Careful. They have some kind of... sticky tether. It’s not fun.

[counterblows]

Is that why you're...?

[Right. Yeah. That would be it. It's clearer now that he has a better view of her. It's not purely that she's choosing to fire on them; it's also that she literally has no other option.]

Can you still run?

[ourcurrency]

If I get an opening. [Which has, so far, been a bit of an issue. She raises her gun again, but there are too many for it to be a good solution.]

[counterblows]

Opening. Right.

[Maybe she'll catch the gist of the expression he shoots at his rifle, despite the visor shielding his face - as always. It's something like mournful resignation, and a heavy sigh.]

Get down. [And he braces the stock against his shoulder and opens fire on the whole damn lot of them.]

[ourcurrency]

[WELL, AT LEAST HE GAVE HER WARNING. She ducks, holding her gun closer to her chest.]

That works.

[And when he stops firing, she starts running.]

[counterblows]

[At least he doesn't have to give her any further instruction. She starts moving, and he moves with her, calmly burst-firing on the clouds of the things as they try to swarm up behind them.]

Did they get you anywhere else?

[ourcurrency]

Not that I've noticed. And I think I would have noticed.

[Considering how damn sticky it is. Even if her armor caught it, she's pretty sure she would have caught onto something else.]

I have to find a way to get it off me.

[counterblows]

Here. Let me -

[One of them sprays a sticky line of scribble-juice across his ankle which, while it doesn't tie him down to anything, reminds him of the electrolyzing impact foam of a paint round jamming his armor into lock.]

[Two rounds shears the thing's head from its shoulders, and he unclips a knife - one of Felix's, he'd guess - from a magstrip down his waist to toss it to her.]

Try this!

[ourcurrency]

[WASH HER HANDS ARE LITERALLY GLUED TO HER GUN. It bounces off her arms and she looks up at him, managing to exude annoyance despite her completely concealed face.]

Any other bright ideas?

[counterblows]

[Guess it was a little bit too much to assume that would work. Wash takes the moment to glare, briefly, and he knows from experience (from Tucker's hyperbolic proclamations of the exact magnitude of his visored death-glares) that he manages to communicate exasperation despite the faceshielding of Duraplex and gold.]

Well, I could try shooting it off.

[ourcurrency]

Let's save that plan for last resort. I like having hands. [She frowns down at the stuff on her hands.] It looks as much like a drawing as they do. Maybe we could get it to soften with water or something?

[counterblows]

That makes about as much sense as the rest of this. Fine. Did you see any water around, or are we going to have to look for it?

[Another scribblet comes chittering at his heels. He forgoes shooting it for simply whipping it back into the herd with the stock of his rifle.]

[ourcurrency]

Sorry, it must have slipped my notice while I was fighting with crayon drawings.

[She probably doesn't need to be so snappy, but it's been a weird afternoon.]

[counterblows]

Then start looking. I'm a little busy keeping these things off our -

[That's when a loop of something snaps around one ankle and pulls, bringing him skidding across the dirt. He fires blindly, bullets streaking outward in a chaotic spray of lead and cordite.]

[ourcurrency]

Wash!

[Goddammit, they do not need this. She mutters curses as she takes careful aim at the one who got his foot and starts firing.]

Don't shoot if you can't see where you're aiming!

[counterblows]

Thank you - for the - instruction.

[Swing. Slam the stock of the rifle into the side of one scribblet's face. Burst-fire into the midsection of another, blowing out shreds of charcoal-black. Kick at the one that tries to tie one ankle to the other.]

[ourcurrency]

As the person who could get shot, it's kind of important to me!

[This is hard with her hands tied, and a gun in them besides, but she rushes forward and loops her arms around one of Wash's arms.]

Hold on. This would be so much easier with free hands.

[counterblows]

I'll keep that in mind. Don't -

["Don't touch me" is what he intends to try for. It doesn't really work out. He ends up needing to lean on her for leverage anyway, boosting himself to his feet, and by the time another scribblet latches onto his foot, he can burst-fire its head clean from its body and watch it squirm lifelessly into the dirt.]

Don't wait for me - just move.

[ourcurrency]

[She's gonna ignore that. Whatever her other flaws, she's no coward, and she's not going to leave a man behind.]

Can you walk?

[counterblows]

Yes, I can walk. But I can't keep our six clear and keep you from getting hit again at the same time, so just -

[Another strand of...stuff...slaps across one shoulder guard. He lets loose another spray of bullets.]

[ourcurrency]

I'm a war journalist. I can handle myself. Just move so we can both get out of this.

[counterblows]

Oh, of course. You're a war journalist. Obviously. Thanks, I could absolutely tell.

[He rolls onto his side, and then onto his feet. Several leaves have seemingly glued themselves to his armor thanks to the crayon-like stuff, but at least he's not tied up.]