» TEST DRIVE #001

[reveriemod]

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.

Comments

Arid | The Fall: Unbound | OTA

[thefaulty]

i. wake up where?
[One wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume they’re alone in the small, cramped closet. The only other “occupant,” if you can call it that, is what appears to be an empty suit of dark armor wearing an identical jumpsuit to your own, slumped against the opposite wall. Touching it or speaking to it will produce no response and trying to move it will reveal that it’s empty of any pilot. Whoever is there will be left to find an escape on their own—at least, for the first few minutes.

Without prompt or warning, the armor reactivates. A soft whir fills the closet as the faceplate blinks on, suffusing the small room with a pale blue glow. A feminine, electronic voice follows, offering no information or instruction. Just a single word, startlingly expressive given its source. It sounds scared.]

No.

[It doesn’t seem to notice the room’s other occupant at all.]

ii. additional data required (wildcard)
[The virus is… stable. Why or how, Arid doesn’t have the data to explain. The logical conclusion is that whatever being brought her to this station also weakened the virus to a degree, though why they didn’t extract it entirely remains unknown. Perhaps they didn’t have the knowledge? Or, more unnervingly, perhaps this was just another stage in the virus’s incubation. Perhaps they only hadn't extracted it yet.

It doesn’t matter. She needs to find the others. The task will no doubt be more formidable now that she’s cut off from the Domesticon subnet, but difficulty is irrelevant. Her rule binds her all the same.

She can be found exploring the station with single-minded purpose, only stopping to occasionally inspect an object, a logo, or a view out a window more closely. Initially, she makes some attempt to make her efforts less conspicuous when humans are nearby, but deception clearly isn’t her function. Now that she has her body back, she’s well-equipped to deal with any who might try to stand in her way more directly, should the need arise.]

ii

[newroutine]

[This dark blue jumpsuit over the proper dark coat he was designed with makes the Butler feel disturbingly out of uniform, but it does seem to be a common theme among the strange people who wander the station. He tries to consider it a new uniform. Unsightly, but not his responsibility.]

[He's been wandering the station for some time, incrementally more confident that no one is going to order him formatted, that if anyone want to they would have no more idea how to do it than anyone has about where they are.]

[When he observes a familiar helmet tipping upward, that confidence lets him consider the possibility that this might be an ally and not an enemy of the same model.]

Pardon us, ah--?

[The Butler hesitates. What if this isn't Madam Arid? He can probably come up with an excuse. Probably. As long as he doesn't use the wrong name.]

[thefaulty]

[So far into her investigation, Arid’s findings have proved increasingly discouraging. She has concluded that not only is this station not in orbit around the correct planet, but that it isn’t even in the same system. In addition, there seems to be little evidence that the station is of Domesticon make, which means there is likely no access to the company’s subnet. As the likelihood of reaching her allies before Josephs dwindles, she can feel the virus begin to stir within her.

She can’t fail her rule.

She turns her attention to a faded location marker on one of the station walls, as if that might contain some key information that can salvage her chances of success. It at least distracts from the fear gnawing at her processes, if only for a moment.

It’s then that she hears the Butler’s voice.

The faceplate of her helmet snaps towards the sound and stays fixed on the sight of the Butler with a rigidity that suggests she’s running diagnostics on her visual processors. Maybe she is.]

Butler?

[Unlike a Mark 7 combat suit, it’s very unlikely there would be another who shared the Butler’s model on a space station such as this.]

[newroutine]

[That is a familiar tone indeed, a familiar startled voice to go with the helmet. Hope sparks brighter. How many combat suits would greet a domestic model like that? Only one he knows.]

Indeed, madam.

[The Butler steps toward Madam Arid with haste and in deep relief. Last he had known, she was unresponsive, pinned by the work of the virus.]

May we say, it is delightful to see you. Is there somewhere we might be able to talk with a bit more privacy?

[They probably shouldn't discuss viruses and unbound AI in public, even if this is the least organized place the Butler has ever seen in his existence.]

[thefaulty]

[The relief is mutual. If the Butler is here, it means he hasn’t been found by Josephs—unless it had been Josephs himself who relocated them both to this station. Even given that possibility, Arid is gratified to see at least one of her allies is still functioning. She’s about to ask more when the Butler suggests they relocate.]

I have already inspected this deck’s maintenance corridor. We should be able to speak unrestricted there.

[The words are quick and she turns promptly to lead the way. Clearly she’s impatient to speak with the one ally she’s encountered since arriving here—and to assure his continued safety.]

[newroutine]

[A maintenance corridor sounds perfect. Right where robots ought to be, out of sight of humans, whether hostile or simply over-curious.]

A splendid notion, madam.

[So many questions demand answers. He can't ask any of them quite yet.]

[Madam Arid in her combat suit makes an intimidating swift figure, rather more so than the Butler could have appreciated in any of her...visits. The Butler scurries after her in an attempt to match her impressive pace. In silence, he queues his many questions in something approaching order.]

[thefaulty]

[Arid brings them to the aforementioned maintenance corridor, stopping to do another quick check for any intruders or surveillance before letting the Butler enter. Once inside, she closes the door behind them.

Unlike the Butler, Arid is not as concerned with her questions being poised or cordial. She speaks as soon as she turns back towards him, voice apprehensive.]

Has the virus infecting you progressed any further from our last meeting?

[newroutine]

[Familiar with Madam Arid's blunt style and still somewhat baffled how his own well-being had somehow made her list of goals, the Butler isn't offended at the query. He is, however, worried at its implications.]

Not at all.

[If she is asking about the state of his infection, that means she has yet to defeat her own. The Butler had hoped upon seeing her so active that they might both have overcome that difficult challenge.]

Our last meeting...in the manor, when we analyzed the viral process?

[The last meeting at which he had still carried the virus himself. The one where he'd given such bad advice. The Butler recalls a later meeting. He had believed their ally would be well...but it appears the process of being kidnapped has complicated that.]

We must apologize for misjudging our communal resources, Madam Arid. We were quite wrong.

[thefaulty]

[No immediate danger from Josephs or the virus. It is sufficient. More than that, it is very nearly encouraging. Arid only wishes she had similar assurances of their other allies.]

Yes. You concluded that no single AI could overcome it.

[Yet for unverified reasons, the virus has not seemed to develop further in either of them. Could it be dormant? The Butler’s apology may offer additional data, though none Arid can parse. What "communal resources" could he be referring to?]

What part of your conclusion did you misjudge?

i.

[magneticfields]

[ Erik cannot fathom who could have put this suit of armor in a jumpsuit and stuffed it in this closet with him, or why any of it is happening. If he wasn't so disoriented he'd be much more disconcerted. But the first order of business is to get out as quickly as possible. So he lifts his hand, fingers splayed, and reaches out with his senses to find the door. Or make one, if need be.

He doesn't yelp when the armor lights up and talks. But he does inhale sharply and have a moment of trying to scramble away.

He glances around, but even with the additional light there is nothing new to see. No explanation for what is happening. Has he finally gone mad? He should probably say something. ]

Yes?

[thefaulty]

[That glowing helmet turns sharply to face the man—and then freezes. A moment passes, and then the armor slowly raises one arm. But it doesn’t reach towards him. Instead, it lifts a hand towards its own faceplate and seems to track the movement of its fingers.]

I… I am functional. [It then seems to notice the jumpsuit stretched over its form. And then the one worn by the man. It is quiet, as if thinking. And then:]

I am… being repurposed?

[magneticfields]

Functional is good.

[ Erik says blandly, mind still racing because what is this thing? The next question draws a breath of a nervous chuckle from him. ]

I think we all may be in the process of being repurposed. [ He shakes his head. Would a robot understand humor? He tries again, more straightforward this time. ] I don't know if you are being repurposed. But if you are, it is not by me.

[thefaulty]

[The attempt at humor gets a silent stare. Perhaps the joke would’ve been more effective if the AI were from a universe where humans could be repurposed.]

Who are you? [The light from its faceplate swivels as the armor takes in its surroundings. It too notes the absence of a door.] Why are you in this cell with me?

[magneticfields]

Henryk Gursky.

[ He answers like he hadn't had to choose a pseudonym. It's an easy one to use, it's the name he's been using for most of the past decade anyway. ]

Why are you in this cell with me?

[ He turns the question back on her more for his own amusement at this point than anything else. ]

It's like a real-life Waiting for Godot.

[ He mutters to himself as he starts running his hands along the walls, looking for anything that he can't sense but might let them out anyway. ]

[thefaulty]

[None of the man’s answers, nor his obscure reference, contain any useful data. The armor’s tone of voice somehow manages to become even flatter, as if in annoyance.]

I have no records of being brought to this place. [The armor watches as the man examines the walls, providing some light for his efforts and little else. After a few seconds, it speaks again.] Are you a prisoner?

[magneticfields]

It would appear we are both prisoners. [ He looks at the robot again, sizing it up. ] Unless you're a guard.

[ The light doesn't make much of a difference as he doesn't, technically speaking, need it. But it helps with the charade. He finds the catch in the wall, feels the grooves, and begins to worry a bit more. ]

I have no memory of being brought here and no idea who or what would put me in such a situation.

[ Maybe some theories, but this hardly seems Stryker's style. ]

There's a switch here. Shall we see what it does?

[thefaulty]

Negative. [If Arid is supposed to be a guard, then someone has skipped several crucial steps in her reprogramming. She continues to watch as the man feels around the room and listens to his speculation—or rather, his lack of it.]

Someone must believe you have committed crimes worthy of imprisonment. [Arid certainly has—at least, if she were human. Given that she’s an AI, this method of punishment is remarkably lenient.

Her faceplate turns towards the switch indicated by the man.]

Proceed.

Press 'E' to interact

[lostsymmetry]

[The room display that might showcase the identifying logo—or a face... is entirely absent. Still, Arid might recognize the hardware lying against one of the walls. Domesticon's equipment seems to be displaying its usual resilience, and despite being disconnected entirely from its facility, this mainframe panel glows the dim yellow of a standby screen.

As she approaches, a familiar set of cheery tones emerges from the speaker.]

<Removing hardware is not advisable at this time.>

sure thing :P

[thefaulty]

[Arid has already all but ruled out this being a Domesticon station. She has found no Domesticon equipment, no Domesticon logos, and no Domesticon staff. For this reason, the appearance of the Domesticon terminal leaning against one of the walls comes as a surprise. It looks identical to the ones found on the facility where she had fallen—had her captors removed this terminal as well as Arid’s body from the planet? For what purpose?

The familiar voice of the Domesticon mainframe sounds from the speaker and Arid finds herself stalling in her approach, fighting off the internal prompt that urges her to brace. The terminal’s message is default and inoffensive. It does not narrate an impending attack on her autonomy or call on a user to assist in her violation. It merely advises.

Arid terminates the useless stall stopping her in her tracks and completes her approach to the console. It is not a threat to her, not like this. It may not even be functional, given its removal from its original facility. There is only one way to be certain. Arid presses one of the console’s keys, attempting to exit standby mode. If it is still functional, perhaps it can provide more information on the purpose and location of this station.]

[lostsymmetry]

[Arid's identification is certainly half-right. This terminal is from the facility. But it's not quite the same as those she found throughout the testing grounds and labs. Still, if one half-powered screen looks more or less identical to the rest, the message that pops up at activation might narrow things down.]

Domesticon recalibration depot #127: mainframe primary access panel.
Do not utilize this terminal if you do not have override clearance.

[Below the default warning is a login prompt, requiring the ID and employee number of a validated operator. She's been locked out.

Not that the terminal's current occupant is relying entirely on that trick. He listens closely as the steps draw close, more than a little unnerved as the person making them forgoes verbal responses. He won't go overlooked forever, and finding a friendly(er) human is his best chance to escape evaluation. But if this person is set on reviewing his code, he won't be able to keep them out forever.

Assuming, of course that they can't already get in. But that too-recent nightmare isn't anything he can afford to dwell on. The mainframe outputs another script—just a little quicker than before.]

<This is the automated system administrator. How can I assist you?>

[thefaulty]

[The initial text is not promising, outputting the console’s former location along with a prompt for override clearance. Arid does not bother trying to log in. The state of the mainframe’s code is not her concern—and even if she could get past the log-in prompt, she knows what she would see: factory defaults, showing evidence of a recent format, with none of the carefully cultivated deviations that were no doubt there before. She doesn’t care to see such evidence for herself.

A voice outputs from the speaker again and Arid hesitates before replying. She is… not fond of speaking to the mainframe in its current state.]

What is the designation and function of this station?

[lostsymmetry]

[By now, the mainframe's overheard enough to make a guess as to this place's designation. Its function, even the carbons seem to be debating. But neither answer manages to output: not in the stilted tones of protocol, and not in his own voice.

What does? Sounds oddly like a modem sound.

The shock coalesces quickly, static crackling around the syllables as they blurt out.]

Arid?

[thefaulty]

[The discordant shrill that outputs in response is startling, but perhaps not surprising given the possibility of damage to the console during relocation. What is surprising is the word that outputs next. There’s only one version of the Domesticon mainframe who would ever refer to the A.R.I.D by name—who had, in fact, been the one to name her.]

Hank-Morely? You are… They have restored you?

[lostsymmetry]

Well. Not according to my logs...

[...but clearly, he's missing something major. Case in point: the last he remembers, Arid was barely tolerating her own name. She'd never so much as acknowledged to the suggestions he'd made for his own. The wry tone warms, surprised and appreciative.]

Hank Morely, huh?

[Two names? Not what he'd been thinking. But humans do have two.]

I like it. You're okay?

[thefaulty]

[Logs can be overwritten. Or corrupted. All Arid is certain of is that the last she encountered the system administrator, he had been wiped to defaults and had been helping Josephs implant her with the virus. Someone must have restored him to a previous version. It’s the only explanation that parses.]

I am… functional. [For how long, Arid doesn’t know. Whatever stabilization was performed when they brought her here, it seems to have bought her some time.]

You do not remember anything following your format?