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» TEST DRIVE #001

TEST DRIVE #001

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home. What choice do you have but to explore your surroundings?

( 0 0 1 . 1 ) » WAKE UP WHERE?
When you wake up, you find that you're not alone. But more importantly, you find that you're in a closet. An empty closet, bar you and your new companion. It's small, cramped, and there is no door that you can see. The ceiling is low, there is barely any lights, only some coming from the tiny flashlight clipped to your suit's shoulder. You cannot be sure that there is any air coming in to the room.

Are these grooves in the wall supposed to mean something?

( 0 0 2 ) » OBSERVATION DECK

There were no windows in the corridor you woke up in and no windows in any of the crew quarters you might have checked for occupants — but there are plenty of windows on the uppermost level of the station, deck 1. In fact, there are windows from floor to ceiling all along the circumference of the station's circular deck, and it's possible to walk along it all. What it shows is a strange solar system you've never seen before and a planet that might resemble one you know, but certainly isn't the same.

You're in space. You don't know where you are. Neither does anyone else.

( 0 0 3 ) » BAR

On deck 3, you find the bar. Tucked away from the crew quarters, it's dimly lit, there are bar stools thrown down on the floor and what looks like some very old drink spills, crusty and dark against the bar top. But there is alcohol here, or at least, what you think is alcohol, in bottles with faded labels, most of them indecipherable. Take a drink, get drunk, start a fight, or start a party? You're stuck on this station, might as well make the most of it, right?

( 0 0 3 . 1 ) » VIRTUAL
But the alcohol isn't even the most interesting part of your discovery (depending on who you are, of course). No, what catches your interest is a second, smaller room off from the main bar room, which looks to be some kind of arcade. There are a few VR sets lined up against one of the walls, and surely, they can't be working, right? Nothing is on this rust bucket. And yet, if you put it on, the display comes to life.

It's a pretty simple HUD, and when you move around in reality, you move around in the virtual world you've just entered. It's a luxurious world, full of brightly, saturated colors, making it just a little obvious that it isn't real. Ahead, there is a jungle, a temple, and a city. You can play around, slay some monsters, have some fun, but you can feel yourself growing hot, like the VR helmet is burning your forehead.

And when you try to take it off, you find that you can't. The HUD glitches, the sound cuts off to a blaring alarm, and an error message appears, in glowing, blinking red letters: FINISH THE MISSION. Will you, despite not knowing what the mission even is, or will you fight to get the helmet off?

( 0 0 4 ) » MALFUNCTIONS

(cw: body horror, bodily functions, gore, blood, death)

The fabricators function well enough, until they don't. One day, one moment, everything's all right — the food doesn't generally taste amazing and sometimes downright awful, but it's nourishing and filling no matter what your dietary needs — and the next, things go a little haywire.

In short, the fabricators are malfunctioning.

Oh, they're still producing food that looks and tastes much the same as before, but now there are some unexpected side effects.

NB: Characters may experience any of the following side effects: nausea ranging from slight to debilitating, the sensation of being happily and affectionately — but not overwhelmingly — drunk, bone-deep exhaustion and weariness that makes it hard to move, or repeated hallucinations of loved ones screaming for help, reaching out to characters and leading them down abandoned corridors or being killed by unseen forces.

The extent to which characters are affected is up to players, as is whether you'd prefer to play this more lightheartedly or tackling more serious themes. If the latter, please provide warnings in subject lines where necessary.

( 0 0 5 ) » NETWORK

The comms device you found next to you when waking up connects to a station-wide network, REVERIE NET. You have the option to post video, voice or text messages.

What will you share?

( 0 0 5 . 1 ) » NETWORK USERNAME
When you first turn on your communication device, it requests for you to pick a username to identify you on the network. It can be anything you want. However, as you try to input a username in your wristband to access the network, you get the following message, along with a small, but irritating, warming sound:

this username is already in use.

What does this mean? Is there other people around? Were there other people around?

( 0 0 6 ) » WILDCARD

The station features a variety of locations, from sleeping quarters free for the claiming to a dirty swimming pool and a bar that still holds alcohol (though some of the bottles seem to have been opened a while ago).

Go wild, but don't wreck the place. It's your home for the foreseeable future, after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You're not a maintenance robot." That much is clear to Haruto instantly. The AI seems overly complex for simple menial labor. "A... butler?" He knows of house AIs for more affluent households, but they don't usually come with bodies.

His eyes narrow slightly, curious. "Who programmed you?"

"Quite correct, sir." The Butler can't blame someone so unfamiliar with Domesticon products for not being sure what his functions are. "A company called Domesticon sells Butler models such as this, along with many other droids or AI for various tasks. Have you heard of it?"

Domesticon has loomed so large in the Butler's existence that not knowing about it would have seemed impossible, but here they all are, isolated on a station far from his former home.

In recent days, of course, his allies have been taking a rather different tack than Domesticon would ever approve, but best not mention that. The Butler has no wish to invite a memory wipe.

At the mention of the name Domesticon, Haruto just shakes his head dimly. "Sorry, no. Is it an American company?"

Mentally, he runs a search through the files he possesses on Project Integration and its financial ties to other companies. He can't find any mention of a 'Domesticon' in the files, so either the two are completely unrelated, or this is another case of that 'multiple universes' theory he's heard since he arrived, and the two are completely and utterly unrelated.

Still, best to be sure.

"Have you ever heard of Project Integration?"

"Domesticon is a very successful Federation company, with sales in any number of planetary systems as well as Earth." Or it had been, the last numbers the Butler had gotten. No one has bothered to send updates of late.

That project doesn't sound familiar, not even from his Master's private and long-forbidden files. "No, that doesn't match any project I'm aware of." Something relevant to his new acquaintance, no doubt, as Domesticon is relevant to him. The Butler makes a silent note of it.

The denial of recognition relieves Haruto somewhat. His posture relaxes visibly, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"That's alright." That's more than alright, that's very good. That means this interaction is still safe. "I've never heard of your 'Federation,' and the Earth I'm from hasn't colonized other planets yet, so either you're in my relative future, or we're not from the same universe."

None of that sentence was anything he ever thought he would have a reason to say, and yet here they are.

The Butler can't help but notice the significant amount of relief in the young sir's posture and breath. He can refrain from commenting on it. If this project is to the young man something of what Domesticon is to the Butler, a source of anxiety, best not to mention it.

The Butler wouldn't much care for being asked whether he intends to turn himself in for recycling.

Being from the relative future sounds exceedingly strange to the Butler, but manners call for a less combative response. "As you say, sir."

It might not be wrong. It is just a tremendously odd thought for which the Butler was not designed. He makes a note of the possibility in case he ever needs to offer it to equally puzzled kidnap victims.

"And is there any progress yet on discovering how it is we come to be on this station?" he inquires, since this human seems to take an interest in such questions. Probably not, but it's a safer topic than Domesticon or secret projects.

Haruto shakes his head. "No one seems to know how we got here, or what to do now that we're here." He chuckles lightly, gesturing to where the robot had been scrubbing the corridor. "Your response has probably been one of the more productive ones I've seen so far."

A thought occurs to him, then, that if they're all trapped here together, they will probably need to know how to rely on each other. Which starts with...

"Do you have a name, or serial number I should call you?"

Not a surprise. The Butler can only hope the humans will sort themselves out given time.

A name. He's really never been asked by a human before this place. Domesticon had strongly discouraged naming the artificial intelligence. Serial numbers were too complicated for most humans to trouble remembering. "We are the Butler."

Not even rules could prevent the Butler from choosing a human-style name now, he supposes, but none of them would be familiar and comfortable from decades of calls, decades of overheard commands and affection. "That is...what our family called us. It serves well enough." It's not as though there were other Butler models nearby to be confused with.

He tries not to let the strong mix of grief and affection and complicated feelings gain too much control of his voice. A middling success.

The Butler might be surprised what sort of serial numbers Haruto might be able to recall. He notes that the Butler said that's what their family 'called' them, past tense. He won't pry. Just as he's appreciative that the Butler hasn't asked him any further questions about Project Integration.

"I suppose, so long as you're the only household robot here, that won't be too confusing." He pauses for a moment, knowing this would be the part of the conversation where he would give his name in turn, and trying to decide which name to give. He's been telling others that his name is Hideki Matsukawa, trying to catch out anyone who might recognize the name as the donor body his consciousness had been housed in. But... He's already confirmed that the Butler doesn't know, and isn't a part of Project Integration. He inherently trusts the Butler more than he has trusted anyone else he's met here so far.

And so... "You can call me Haruto. If you ever need me."

If these kidnappers bring enough models with similar tasks, the Butler might have to think about a name. That would distress him, but it seems unlikely enough to warrant placement on the list of things that can wait rather than the list of things that demand immediate attention.

The second list has more than enough, at the moment. These kidnappers certainly don't appear to have any appreciation for keeping a home clean.

"Thank you, sir." Haruto. The hesitation gives it the sound of a name not handed out quite as freely as that of most humans. The best way to respect that is to be discreet, a simple enough task essential to the Butler's duty and programming. "We will not use it unless there is a need."

Haruto smiles, appreciating the Butler's discretion. "Thank you. I hope we can be friends, here." It might be an odd thing to say to what is basically a household appliance, but Haruto has already appreciated the company of other AI. There's something simpler about them, less hung up on human needs or concerns.

"Think nothing of it," the Butler replies, automatically polite, while struggling for a reaction to that most unexpected word.

Friends. A properly functional Butler has Masters and guests and perhaps the occasional uninvited interloper. Friend is an irrelevant category, a human category.

The Butler is a long way from proper function as defined by Domesticon. Of late he has had allies, who matter to him rather more than they ought; and enemies, those who would harm his allies.

This unexpected offer of friendship from someone who appears human is both new and strange. The Butler finds he doesn't wish to turn it down, though neither does he want to risk his allies for the unknown possibility. "That is not a term we have much experience with," he warns the human, "but should you wish to apply it...we would be pleased."

As long as friendship doesn't mean manipulation. The Butler thinks not, for this young man. He can only find out by accepting and keeping watch.

"Good," He says, smiling warmly. He looks around them, checking to made sure they're alone. He hopes he can trust the Butler... But it's sort of too late now, if he can't.

"Anyway," he starts, nodding to the Butler again, "I'll let you get back to your work." He knows that robots designed for a task don't like to be kept from it for too long.

Setting a routine by his own decision has been exceedingly strange; the Butler isn't quite designed for any of the things he is attempting to do. They are things that matter to him, however, or he would not have chosen them.

"We appreciate your understanding, sir." A very interesting patience with AI, not common nor encouraged among humans.

There's a lot of dirt still to clean.

There is a lot of dirt. This station looks as though it has not seen any attention or maintenance in quite some time. Haruto looks around the corridor.

"Ah... Would you like any help?"

Humans shouldn't scrub floors; that's what they build robots for. Is the young sir actually offering? The Butler finds it very strange even to consider that as a possible intended meaning.

"We would certainly like to improve the efficiency of this task," the Butler says wryly. At this rate the floors might be clean sometime in the next century or two. "Perhaps you could watch for cleaning tools, or a more appropriate soap."

"I will keep a look out for some," he promises. "In the meantime..."

He raises a finger, indicating for the Butler to please wait for him a moment, then makes his way to the nearest apartment unit, into the bathroom where he grabs a small hand towel. Towel in hand, he returns to the Butler, crouching to dip the towel into the soapy water. As he wrings it out, he looks up to the Butler with a smile.

"I worked alongside several maintenance robots, back home. Cleaning a hospital, restaurants, bars, other facilities like that."

Directing maintenance robots is appropriate for a human. Scrubbing alongside them really isn't. Here outside his owners' manor, the Butler isn't responsible for stopping any given human from doing whatever they choose to do, fortunately.

That doesn't mean he knows how to react to it. "Ah...thank you, sir," he says uncertainly, increasing the effort at his own task. "Was such work...encouraged, at your home?"

Domesticon's thorough advertising campaign wouldn't approve, but the Butler doesn't have to care about Domesticon at the moment.

Haruto sets about his work with a smile, happy to be doing something familiar. He's been lacking in anything familiar since he woke up here, so it comes as a relief, even if it is a bit tedious.

"Tokyo is overpopulated, so people will take any job they can get, just to get by." But there was always work in the service industries, alongside the robots built to take care of the population. "It's not highly paid work, and the hours can be long, but it's pleasant enough."

The Butler finds it very difficult to picture humans willing to do such tedious labor. Was something similar the situation in which Domesticon first saw their opportunity, the reason the company chose to design so many models of cheap but competent AI? He doesn't know.

"We have always found the effort of cleaning a comfort," he has to agree with the assessment, even though it sounds completely wrong in a human voice.

This station is entirely too much of a challenge, but still, the Butler would rather try than leave the long halls of grime untouched.

"Well then," Haruto says with a smile, looking up from his position kneeling on the floor. "Let's both do our best to get this place clean."

It may be a massive task they're undertaking, but Haruto thinks it'll feel better to be doing something productive than to just sit around worrying and doing nothing at all.

"A worthy goal," the Butler agrees, despite reservations about the odds of completion with the current supplies and the continued good health of a human determined to overwork himself. Surely humans are not meant to do that for long, or else they wouldn't need robots.

His own design is specialized to do many tasks one increment at a time. "If we plan how much time we can afford to spare on each section per day cycle, we can pace ourselves appropriately," he suggests.

Haruto is a hard worker, but he knows his own limits. He won't be able to put in as many hours as the Butler. He'll need to take time off to eat, sleep, and recharge his brain.

"Good thinking. Do you know how big each floor--" He pauses, corrects his terminology. "How big each deck is? That should give us some idea of a reasonable pace."

Not counting the locked areas, which at least don't require cleaning yet, the Butler has indeed attempted to make a rough layout of the work each deck requires. It's a large number, even if he has more help than he had expected.

He proffers his estimates on the public areas of each of the various decks. "We can hope to find some additional improvements in speed," he adds, "but we must say that this will be an extremely long term project at our present capacity." Long term, as in he'd like to finish before the humans who need the clean public spaces cease to function.

He nods, then goes back to scrubbing harder. "Then we'd better get back to work, then, eh?"

It's nice to have a concrete task to focus on, especially something as familiar as cleaning. Cleaning with a rag is a little different than with a mop like he's used to, but it's familiar enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

» TEST DRIVE #001

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