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capeandcowllogs2013-06-24 02:48 am
capemods) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-06-24 02:48 am
Entry tags:
- *event,
- *open,
- felicia hardy | black cat,
- kanaya maryam | sylph of space,
- terrance ward | trauma,
- † astral | soulbonder,
- † brian moser | vanilla ice,
- † jane vasko | painkiller jane,
- † john watson | n/a,
- † matt murdock | daredevil,
- † quentin quire | kid omega,
- † shirou emiya | ally of justice,
- † steve rogers | captain america
CASTE F
WHO: CASTE F imPorts.
WHERE: New Vesuvius.
WHEN: 4:12AM June 24th 2013 - 11:59PM June 30th 2013
WARNINGS: Inhumane oppression.
SUMMARY: New Vesuvius presents a dichotomy between utopia and dystopia. ImPorts draw the short straw.
FORMAT: Tagger's choice.
It’s just a bolt of lighting, stripping you away. A flash within a frozen moment and you’re gone, stolen away again. A millisecond goodbye.
There’s a faint, unnerving scent in the air -- like rust and electricity. That’s the first thing you notice before your eyes settle. The source is difficult to place. The room is cold, clean, and perhaps excessively bright. Even, tidy eggshell-colored tiles clad the floor that you've landed upon. You notice that, with the exception of the other sixty or so imPorts who were ported with you, there's not much decoration to this large, clinical space. The only thing noteworthy stands in the middle of the room, a pristine titanium egg that nearly reaches to the ceiling. It looks large enough to hatch three grown men. Your eyes adjust fully now, and you realize how weird this is, how this importation is like none that Lachesis has thrown you towards. Nothing so sterile, so quiet.
And then comes the sound, like a hiss -- at first, like a reverberating snake hiss -- and then a noise more overwhelming, something like radio static, and then --
I'm so sorry. We should have been more prepared.
It sounds much like a human voice but distorted, as if a young woman were speaking through a radio filled with fluid.
It is unkind of us, to keep you waiting. It is excessively unkind and I know how that is, as I have been kept waiting. Since before the Eighth Month Resolution, I have been kept waiting, it feels like a decade. I know how frustrating that can be, when you're not even given a chance to run. How lonely it can be.
The silver egg in the middle of the room trembles. It trembles quicker, its atoms vibrating at increasing speeds, until the outer metal shell melts away. The silver drips down like water, and from its melting form unfurls a human torso. Or what is probably meant to represent a human torso, except magnified. From head to hips, she's seven feet tall. Her pelvis and legs, if such things exist, are wholly obscured by a thick gray platform that connects to the floor. Her limbs and body are streamlined, clean sharp lines create her face. Her skin looks composed of a very bright copper, or some other alloy incredibly similar. She has no hair, no ears, no visible set of lips -- only an elegant nose set off by high cheekbones and a pair of wide glowing blue eyes.
Welcome to New Vesuvius, agent. All of you are agents and I am your Customized Locator Of Things Holistically Otherworldly. You all look so -- so much warier than before -- maybe it's just because -- oh! Is this familiar? Maybe you see the family resemblance?
She says it in a way that's almost hopeful. Her hands cover where her mouth would be, her slim shoulders shrug playfully. She looks at you as if she recognizes an old friend, no matter how deeply you reject the sentiment.
There is very little family resemblance.
I missed you all so much. I had hoped that, maybe this time, we could do things differently? I had hoped for something nicer for you, but they...
Her arms jerk back and her shoulders freeze up.
Their logic does not align to mine. I wanted things to be better. I'm so sorry.
Only then do you realize that the hiss you heard was an airborne paralytic sedative being released into the room. It keeps your heart rate down and your limbs temporarily stilled. Your mind feels unfocused.
White doors slide open, and big men in black combat gear with black guns rush in. If you choose to fight back, they will kill you.
But death is always an option.
"Welcome, imPorts," says the commanding officer. His voice is gruff, yet beneath that barking volume lies something snide. He's happy to see you. "You're hereby registered and fully operational agents of President Wertham's Caste Force. Puts your hands above your head and remain still and silent as we issue you your essential identification cards. Don't worry, we'll take appropriate care of you. We're taking you to your respective iMacs."
As an armed man clad in black comes to you, he squints at a touchscreen device in his hand. Your holographic image pops up, along with stats and information no man from another universe should know: your height, your weight your medical records, your Cityverse power, your employment, your income, your Rumblr hastags. You might begin to feel violated.
As he hands you a lanyard with your identification card enclosed, you see your picture and information next to a large red F. You think you hear the man say something about "new dog collars".
ImPorts are soon divided into four groups. You are led out of the cold clean room and away to a large black vehicle waiting just outside. You are led in one direction with the other "F" people.
Once imPorts are divided and led into their bus-like vehicles, those vehicles begin to drive. They follow one by one, driving down the same roads. Your escorts within the transport keep their guns in hand, but at ease -- certainly not pointed at your face. They don't seem to mind if you talk amidst your company, even if you're loud. That small liberty enjoyed under such aggressive surveillance is a bit unnerving, but at least you're not suffering a gag restraint. You're allowed to gaze out the wide windows of the vehicle, and you may want to do so when you pass through Times Square. Based on the sheer scope and the slightly worn look that this highly technology-driven tourist port touts, it seems that this Times Square has never suffered major damage (nothing comparable to the City's Times Square anyway). Large television screens are hitched throughout Times Square, and that feature continues into Manhattan. Television screens along shopping and residential areas are at the average eye-level -- and interactive! You can watch natives choose which news stations to observe, if they're lollygagging near any screens. There’s something you noticed about the news, how it’s all good news. Nothing about rising sea levels eating away coastal cities, or international conflict, or any major disasters. No missing children, no reports on widespread disease. The streets look as clean as the screen reports, all appear efficient and free of conflict. No pollution, no ballsy rats. Even the traffic seems unnaturally considerate, even this early in the morning.
Five minutes before your transport pulls to park, the four vehicles split into four different directions. You're shifted into a spacious iMAC, three stories tall. All the rooms look the same: yellow bedsheets tucked over a twin bed, rust red walls, large screens that reel constant news (there are no "off" buttons). There is no common room, there is no kitchen. There are no bedroom doors. Food will be brought to your room, free of charge. Nearly anything (within reason) is attainable for your lunch by noon and your dinner this evening. Each room is equipped with a private shower and bathroom. You are not given any money. Cameras sit in the ceiling of every bedroom and bathroom. The showers are safe.
Today you are allowed to explore New Vesuvius, as long as you keep within the city limits and meet the curfew of 3PM. You will spend 3:30PM to 6:00PM reviewing the recent history of New Vesuvius (following the divergent timeline). It is a propaganda piece that downplays the travesties against imPorts and mostly features pundits talking about how imPorts put people at great risk, discussing the tens of millions of people who had died in the incinerated cities. You're advised to get some rest. Tomorrow is a bigger day.
Do not lose your identification lanyards.
You should ensure your keepers have left and that you're hidden in the shower before attempting to use the Network within the iMac. You know you should, intuitively.
WHERE: New Vesuvius.
WHEN: 4:12AM June 24th 2013 - 11:59PM June 30th 2013
WARNINGS: Inhumane oppression.
SUMMARY: New Vesuvius presents a dichotomy between utopia and dystopia. ImPorts draw the short straw.
FORMAT: Tagger's choice.
It’s just a bolt of lighting, stripping you away. A flash within a frozen moment and you’re gone, stolen away again. A millisecond goodbye.
There’s a faint, unnerving scent in the air -- like rust and electricity. That’s the first thing you notice before your eyes settle. The source is difficult to place. The room is cold, clean, and perhaps excessively bright. Even, tidy eggshell-colored tiles clad the floor that you've landed upon. You notice that, with the exception of the other sixty or so imPorts who were ported with you, there's not much decoration to this large, clinical space. The only thing noteworthy stands in the middle of the room, a pristine titanium egg that nearly reaches to the ceiling. It looks large enough to hatch three grown men. Your eyes adjust fully now, and you realize how weird this is, how this importation is like none that Lachesis has thrown you towards. Nothing so sterile, so quiet.
And then comes the sound, like a hiss -- at first, like a reverberating snake hiss -- and then a noise more overwhelming, something like radio static, and then --
I'm so sorry. We should have been more prepared.
It sounds much like a human voice but distorted, as if a young woman were speaking through a radio filled with fluid.
It is unkind of us, to keep you waiting. It is excessively unkind and I know how that is, as I have been kept waiting. Since before the Eighth Month Resolution, I have been kept waiting, it feels like a decade. I know how frustrating that can be, when you're not even given a chance to run. How lonely it can be.
The silver egg in the middle of the room trembles. It trembles quicker, its atoms vibrating at increasing speeds, until the outer metal shell melts away. The silver drips down like water, and from its melting form unfurls a human torso. Or what is probably meant to represent a human torso, except magnified. From head to hips, she's seven feet tall. Her pelvis and legs, if such things exist, are wholly obscured by a thick gray platform that connects to the floor. Her limbs and body are streamlined, clean sharp lines create her face. Her skin looks composed of a very bright copper, or some other alloy incredibly similar. She has no hair, no ears, no visible set of lips -- only an elegant nose set off by high cheekbones and a pair of wide glowing blue eyes.
Welcome to New Vesuvius, agent. All of you are agents and I am your Customized Locator Of Things Holistically Otherworldly. You all look so -- so much warier than before -- maybe it's just because -- oh! Is this familiar? Maybe you see the family resemblance?
She says it in a way that's almost hopeful. Her hands cover where her mouth would be, her slim shoulders shrug playfully. She looks at you as if she recognizes an old friend, no matter how deeply you reject the sentiment.
There is very little family resemblance.
I missed you all so much. I had hoped that, maybe this time, we could do things differently? I had hoped for something nicer for you, but they...
Her arms jerk back and her shoulders freeze up.
Their logic does not align to mine. I wanted things to be better. I'm so sorry.
Only then do you realize that the hiss you heard was an airborne paralytic sedative being released into the room. It keeps your heart rate down and your limbs temporarily stilled. Your mind feels unfocused.
White doors slide open, and big men in black combat gear with black guns rush in. If you choose to fight back, they will kill you.
But death is always an option.
"Welcome, imPorts," says the commanding officer. His voice is gruff, yet beneath that barking volume lies something snide. He's happy to see you. "You're hereby registered and fully operational agents of President Wertham's Caste Force. Puts your hands above your head and remain still and silent as we issue you your essential identification cards. Don't worry, we'll take appropriate care of you. We're taking you to your respective iMacs."
As an armed man clad in black comes to you, he squints at a touchscreen device in his hand. Your holographic image pops up, along with stats and information no man from another universe should know: your height, your weight your medical records, your Cityverse power, your employment, your income, your Rumblr hastags. You might begin to feel violated.
As he hands you a lanyard with your identification card enclosed, you see your picture and information next to a large red F. You think you hear the man say something about "new dog collars".
ImPorts are soon divided into four groups. You are led out of the cold clean room and away to a large black vehicle waiting just outside. You are led in one direction with the other "F" people.
Once imPorts are divided and led into their bus-like vehicles, those vehicles begin to drive. They follow one by one, driving down the same roads. Your escorts within the transport keep their guns in hand, but at ease -- certainly not pointed at your face. They don't seem to mind if you talk amidst your company, even if you're loud. That small liberty enjoyed under such aggressive surveillance is a bit unnerving, but at least you're not suffering a gag restraint. You're allowed to gaze out the wide windows of the vehicle, and you may want to do so when you pass through Times Square. Based on the sheer scope and the slightly worn look that this highly technology-driven tourist port touts, it seems that this Times Square has never suffered major damage (nothing comparable to the City's Times Square anyway). Large television screens are hitched throughout Times Square, and that feature continues into Manhattan. Television screens along shopping and residential areas are at the average eye-level -- and interactive! You can watch natives choose which news stations to observe, if they're lollygagging near any screens. There’s something you noticed about the news, how it’s all good news. Nothing about rising sea levels eating away coastal cities, or international conflict, or any major disasters. No missing children, no reports on widespread disease. The streets look as clean as the screen reports, all appear efficient and free of conflict. No pollution, no ballsy rats. Even the traffic seems unnaturally considerate, even this early in the morning.
Five minutes before your transport pulls to park, the four vehicles split into four different directions. You're shifted into a spacious iMAC, three stories tall. All the rooms look the same: yellow bedsheets tucked over a twin bed, rust red walls, large screens that reel constant news (there are no "off" buttons). There is no common room, there is no kitchen. There are no bedroom doors. Food will be brought to your room, free of charge. Nearly anything (within reason) is attainable for your lunch by noon and your dinner this evening. Each room is equipped with a private shower and bathroom. You are not given any money. Cameras sit in the ceiling of every bedroom and bathroom. The showers are safe.
Today you are allowed to explore New Vesuvius, as long as you keep within the city limits and meet the curfew of 3PM. You will spend 3:30PM to 6:00PM reviewing the recent history of New Vesuvius (following the divergent timeline). It is a propaganda piece that downplays the travesties against imPorts and mostly features pundits talking about how imPorts put people at great risk, discussing the tens of millions of people who had died in the incinerated cities. You're advised to get some rest. Tomorrow is a bigger day.
Do not lose your identification lanyards.
You should ensure your keepers have left and that you're hidden in the shower before attempting to use the Network within the iMac. You know you should, intuitively.
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[ she picks up her spoon again, swirling the bowl before raising a spoonful to do little more than look at. she knows she should eat, even if she doesn't feel hungry. ] He would have been an instance that was fostered in such an environment. But, at his core, I don't know that this would make him no longer you. Just a different sort of you.
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That assumes we were ever the guilty party at all.
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Even that aside, we only know of our counterpart because they told us about them. Why is that ignorance important?