xistentia | Prison World #3: Panultima (tw violence, torture, coercion)

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Prison World #3: Panultima (tw violence, torture, coercion)

Characters: Ensemble Cast, maybe even you!
Summary: The third prison world in Xistentia is a terrifying subdimension where sentient people exploit each other in order to run technology that will fend off D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. The 'ruling' class, Primus, are bound to a system of coupling (see: fake dating!), legacy and nepotism, whereas the Servus are put through an elaborate media circus (see: Hunger Games). You're here to study this world. And perhaps even to free those captured.
Date(s): February 8-20
Warnings/Notes: Violence, torture, coercion

Panultima

You cursed your gods and died

The Primus Life

If you thought Earth was a tough neighborhood, welcome to Panultima. Here, life is sweet. At least, as long as you're one of the Primus class.

It's a sprawling city of wicked spires and elaborate canals, covered in a luminous, translucent shield. Rather than a circular planet resting in orbit, instead, it's a flat plane of matter suspended in space, the foundations of the buildings rooted in only a hundred feet of stone and unknown technology. But the vast majority of citizens care little for that. After all, the city has every amenity and experience one might desire.

Restaurants line the streets. Theater is at an apex in development, with a particular focus on integration of moral philosophical themes. Gondolas run the canals, whereas a railway races over the winding laser-track in the air. Fashion is diverse, colorful, characterized by wild shapes, patterns, and accessories. Food imported from worlds both thriving and dying across the multiverse. At the numerous colleges and institutes, premier technology and opera are under constant invention and reinvention.

COUPLE STUFF

Primus culture emphasizes couples. Trios. Larger groups of lovers than that, even. After all, with romantic love and loyalty to care for, and survival hanging on it... who has the time or energy to care about justice for all?

Not these guys!

In this world, the mission and pleasure roll together well. The implant picks up information, so your main job is to explore. Perhaps you and your partner might enjoy yourself a glow-in-the-dark cocktail in a smoky bar where a two-headed singer is providing the music, a tour of the massive shield generators in the sparkling complex. Or pick fruit from one of the hundreds of bonding trees in the city's central park— so named, because it requires successful completion of questions to "the newlywed game" for each before one of the luscious, sweet fruits is released from a vine.

THE SERVUS LIFE

But for the little guy, life is considerably shittier. Welcome to the arena, the fully manipulable bubble reality set up to torture the slave class. The emotions of pain, fear, anguish, and wild, adrenal victory.

Most days, it looks like a forest— incidentally, very much like Xistentia. There are dozens of hybrid creatures in it, most of which are edible, others toxic, several very dangerous. However, the ground below can change at any moment, turning into mud or belching acid baths. Or you might find yourself abruptly attacked by a bear with biological armor growing from its huge shoulders. The control room, operated by Primus, is concealed from view. Its role is to keep the environment challenging for those competing, shifting the settings of the place to advantage some and cripple others.

But the arena's programming isn't the only threat.

Instead, you have a motley host of macabre killers, other Servus locked up in here just like you. Some have survived in here for years, earning favor from audiences thanks to the amount of pure horror they squeezed out of their victims. Some of the better-known brands are the Bantam Butcher, a fallen angel whose first kills were those who took his wings, and now thrives on torture. The trapmaster seems to have control over environmental factors that rivals the control room. And the baker trio will eat the flesh from your bones if they catch you.

For infiltrators, the challenge is worse. Not only might you need to kill, survive, and explore the arena with your implant— but if you want to save the very same people who are out to murder you, how are you going to do that?

Breakout!

Several days into the mission, and that's when it happens-- the control room shuts down, under attack. And suddenly, there's pandemonium. Within the arena, some of the servus know immediately what this means— and they're willing to make a break for it, cutting each other down, crippling each other if it means that the Primus might have slower-moving people to contend with and allow them to escape. Others seem to have long since given up, failing to respond as the trees suddenly go dark and motionless, the birdsong dying into silence. After all, where is there to go? It's either D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., or to join the system that hates them, isn't it?

Are you inside the arena, or out? Are you there to help the fleeing Servus, or are you merely ready to scramble on home yourself and save your own skin?

Footnotes

Please ensure that threads are marked with appropriate content warnings!
The plotting post for this event can be found here, and the original announcement with some other details is here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

closed to loki;

[kavinsky's never been one half of an old married couple before, never mind one half of a fairly youthful futuristic sci-fi couple marooned in an interdimensional space that runs on tortured slave energy!! but he's like. watched some movies. and he's made loki frown and wrinkle his nose and maybe-- occasionally, laugh, enough to know what he's about when it comes to this absurd mission.]

Sup husband.

[which is why, when loki shows up at the impossibly modern condominium-type complex that serves as their secret fake couple hideout, he has an iridescent rose between his teeth and black silk pyjamas on. he's leaning on the doorframe. a holographic welcome sign sails over the top of his spiky head, which is probably just native panultima stuff rather than a joseph kavinsky super obnoxious special.] You look&mdas; [pfft. he has to stop, take the flower out of his mouth.] —-looked around? I tested out the bed, but I'm thinking our first mission oughtta be drinks, city center. Maybe you can wear something little, red, and gay as fuck under the metro Goth. What you say?

[he leans forward. reaches to tuck the flower behind the god of mischief's ear.]

closed to nico;

[yeah, it takes kavinsky awhile to cash in his cluepons, because what else is new? it seems like fun and games, in the beginning. he can make fun and games out of nearly anything, even getting his heart broken in the armpit of west virginia, even how much he hates himself, even how much he wants to die. he's always had a certain gift for fucking things up with rules and fast-talking bullshit and an aggressively masculine aesthetic so he doesn't actually have to deal. it's never really worked for him, but he's never been able to acknowledge that, because that's part of the game, too.

but it didn't take him all that long to figure out the stakes are higher than all that shit now. the fact that murder makes for televised entertainment is one such way.

so he's out in the sprawling dark today, the false wilderness outside the arena. security in the outlying area is tight, but not as tight as you'd think; after all, nobody actually wants to get in to the arena. he watched a couple of winged cameras fly by, and then stole up to the forcefield. he'd watched, this afternoon, as a bomb had thrown nico a dozen feet. he'd been okay, of course; he's a fucking demigod of death, something to do with outer-space and miniature non-planets. kavinsky had seen the other boy pick himself up and stagger away.

and that's how he knows that nico staggered out to here, somewhere. he'd seen the explosion marked digitally on the map, one of the tall posts of the forcefield rising above. 'forcefield' probably isn't even the right word. the very fabric of reality seems to went and manipulate.] Nico! [he hisses. he hikes his black jacket up higher under his jaw. with his vampire senses, he can hear the hum of the invisible wall between himself and the eerie trees within.] Nico, man. You there?

closed to aoba;

So you're fucking my fiancee.

[it's a charming way to meet a guy, kavinsky knows. he is always (never) exactly that: charming. but he couldn't resist, upon seeing the blue-haired head he'd read about, sitting in a restaurant, momentarily unaccompanied. he'd walked right over, pausing to let a hovering mechanical waiter pass by, then slipped himself into the seat across from him. he doesn't know aoba at all, except what he'd read in the mission brief through his daemon. seems newish, maybe. the hair is weird. maybe he'll pick up some hella fancy space age color products from this place?

(sure. like that's why aoba's here.)]

Seragaki, right? [kavinsky grins at the other boy, his gaunt cheekbones hollowing out. showing teeth, with two fangs slipped down into view. his preference for earth 2000 american butch got a mild upgrade for panultima, but it was pretty mild; it's still essentially a tanktop and jeans he's in, even if they are shot through with a little silver thread, and his jacket over is of some heavy synthetic crap.] Maybe we should fight about dowry up here. What you think? Twelve pigs for your husband's little blue hand in marriage?

open;

[he's fine. this is fine. it's not really fine, actually, not once he sees the first arena broadcast and someone dies, vividly on-screen, gutted and poisoned and ripped apart for everyone to see. he's reminded then, that he has people in there&mdahs; and it's different after that. harder to party, to do his part in the espionage, to joke at kurt and loki's expense. you'll find him at a variety of bars, probably, exploring them as if some teeny tiny variations in geography is going to actually produce new and interesting data for his implant. of course, that's not it. the real issue is, he's a vampire and it's really fucking hard to get drunk, and even harder to get away from the cloying haunt of your problems, period.

but when the breakout goes off, he's out there with the rest, primus bullshit be damned. vampire speed making him fleet in the dark, a sure hand to guide those who need it.]

[ Since Ignacio had bought him out of the arena, Rafa has had to keep his profile low. Especially now, with rumours of an attack on the arena so prevalent. He's still angry enough that he's minded to join them when it happens, but for now, he must remain anonymous.

Still, staying indoors has never sat well with him. Crowds provide as good a hiding place as any, so he dresses in the colourful ridiculousness of the Primus class and ties his hair up inside a large-brimmed hat, and he fits in nicely. He's on the hunt for his fledgling, having spent too long in this world without him. He knows Kavinsky as well as anyone, and for that reason it's the bars he hits first. Eventually, after trawling several with no luck, he spots the familiar slope of Kavinsky's back.

Everyone here is all about relationships. He comes up behind his fledgling and slides his hand over his back. Then he moves in close, tipping his head up just a little to let Kavinsky see his face. ]

Here you are. If you have no spouse with you tonight, do you mind if I play the part? I am good at it, I'm told.

[kavinsky probably should have heard him coming. he probably should a lot of things, as a general rule; he's joseph kavinsky. but he was distracted by angsty feelings, which is also his modus operandi, more or less. ergo, he jolts with an electric spark of surprise when rafa suddenly slides up by him, his nostrils flaring to net the familiar scent of vampire.

he turns his head. his narrow, pointed nose finds a familiar nook in the faint hollow below rafa's temple, before he straightens again. flashes his sire-- mother-- a smile, reaching over to tug on his earlobe, with the casual cheer that isn't all that accurate to his real feelings. he doesn't feel casual right now, not even a little. this world is a piece of shit.]

Sure. We'll live your best life. [a beat.] My best life, [he amends, lightly. an uncharacteristic self-deprecating joke.] Pretty sure you could do better. How you doin', d'Este? [last names. a sure sign of retreat, offset by the friendly hand kavinsky slips onto the other vampire's thigh.]

[ This world is the worst place Rafa has been in many long years. It's the reason why he sinks so easily into Kavinsky's arms, why he stays there when he doesn't really need to anymore, why his face is quickly hidden against his shoulder and neck. He feels the solidity of his fledgling and holds onto it. At least Kavinsky had not been in the arena. There are some small mercies even in this place. ]

Better now that I am with you. Ignacio took Hunter and I from the arena. We are safe. I will not leave that place again after tonight.

[ Not until they're back on safer shores. Tonight had been, and still is, a great risk. He could be caught again. He'd get himself, Ignacio and Hunter back in trouble if that happened, if they found out he's not just the vampire's personal slave. Rafa tries not to dwell on that thought. He tries hard. It still sits there in his mind, anyway. ]

Have you been safe? Have you had enough blood? Why are you alone here, where is your spouse?

Probably doing some fancy magic sex wit' strangers or daydreaming about fucking his brother, [kavinsky says. he wonders what's wrong, but he is not very good at wondering about other people, outside of calculated predatory intent, so there's a painfully deficient pause as he slides his eyes up and down the side of the vampire's tawny profile.

and then he orders them drinks. flags down the waiter, quick hand up. couple of scotches, or whatever passes for that when you're lost in interdimensional space.]

I'm just checking shit out by myself. I don't know how you do it with twenty five husbands, mom. One and a half is already getting pretty fucking suffocating. [there's more to it than that; his tone hints so, but he paves it over easy with three tons of avoidant concrete. a beat.] Glad you got out of jail free. Or it doesn't look like it cost you. [his thumb traces the inside of rafa's wrist, as if searching for a pulse in his vampire flesh.]

[ Rafa's eyes flick sharply up. Had it cost him? He feels like it cost him greatly, but he also feels like he can't care about that. Not when it cost Hunter so much more. His mind pushes away from it, boxing it away. He needs to focus on easier things, less personal things, other people's things. ]

What half? [ He says, spiriting back to that strange comment. Rafa had never found marriage to be suffocating, but he's also never pretended at marriage, either. That probably makes a difference. And then he frowns. ] Did you say fucking his brother?

[ He had said that. It could just be Kavinsky being crude, obviously, because eight or nine times out of ten it's Kavinsky being crude. It tends to be that his cruelty comes out for a reason, though. Kavinsky tends to like fire with his smoke, even if it's a fire he's set himself.

The drink is welcome. Rafa ordinarily prefers wine to spirits, but he's not slow about lifting this one once it's delivered. He doubts it'll be strong enough to take off even the sharpest part of his age, but a big enough quantity might, and he wouldn't hate that. He downs it in one, and replaces the glass with a little smack. ]

[kavinsky watches the other vampire drink with interest. it is indeed unusual for rafa to be quite so voracious, and it continues to worry him. which probably means he'll continue to be gross and misleading until he's corrected, because— well, kavinsky.] I said fucking his brother, [he says.] I figure it's less weird because they're adopted. [it's not less weird. he's just

kavinsky.]

Half 'cause I was supposed to be wooing Kurt fucking Wagner, but he shat all over it. [unlike rafaello, kavinsky is pretty good at talking about his 'stuff!' he just, you know. manages to skew the truth until it is nearly entirely a lie, failing to represent reality.] Kid doesn't know how to adopt a fake persona for fuck-all. [he affects disdain, drinking his own beverage, already, admittedly, too tipsy to remember that rafaello was (technically) (lol timelines) there for it when kurt had saved him in the woods; that kavinsky already owes kurt his life. and better respect, at least, than to suggest the mutant crumbles easily under pressure.]

[ Rafa considers that. ]

It is not less weird. [ He says, just to get that out of the way. The part about Kurt is more interesting, though, but mostly because Rafa doesn't know its Loki that Kavinsky is talking about. If he knew that, he'd be all over this. Loki, fucking Thor?! That would be something to write home about.

But in the absence of that, he focused on his protesting fledgling. ]

What happened with you and Kurt? I believed he cared for you. [ He'd certainly seemed to. Rafa avoids saying he phrase what did you do, but only just barely. ]

Kurt's one of those sacks who cares about everyone, [kavinsky says dismissively. two more drinks slide up on their table, fresh from the bar, and the baby vampire pushes one of them over to rafaello. he selects the other glass for himself, peering down at his own reflection in the surface. he kind of wants to go back to adoptive siblings screwing. he kind of wants to talk about kurt. he kind of wants to screw kurt.

he kind of wants to not want anything at all. but when will that ever happen for him?]

He doesn't know me like you do, [he says, finally. he bumps his cup into rafa's cup before rafa has even taken up his new beverage.] He's a nice kid, you know? Maybe not Shane-nice, but I think I'm worse than you, plenty of fucking ways. We're in dumb shit. Maybe by the time I'm five hundred, I'll get out of it.

[ Rafa lifts his shoulders, acting out a nonchalance that his stance doesn't really hold up to. He curves his hand around the new drink. ]

Shane knew me at my worst, and loved me anyway, and I am not sure that you are worse now than I was then.

[ A pause. ]

Perhaps in attitude. Not in action, I think.

[ He downs the drink again, savouring the few seconds where it warms his chest. The effect doesn't last. ]

It does not matter. I recall when Aric was with us, and loved you the way you said you wanted to be loved, you struggled to believe him, and you blocked yourself from what he offered. Do you want to do the same thing with Kurt?

[there is silence. it's like ten whole seconds of silence, which is a very long time in standard conversational beats across most human cultures. in joseph kavinsky's idiosyncratic culture of being a shithead who talks over and under and all around everything that could possibly have authentic meaning, it's an eternity in and of itself.

he hates that. he hates that because it's true. even if he could pick out a dozen little arguments about why it isn't, about how different aric and kurt were, about how different eudio was to this place, and about how much less he knows about the way kurt is compared to what he knew about why aric was the way he was, it's still true enough in the macroscope of things. it'd be like denying the sky is blue just because he's been nocturnal a little while, and sometimes there are clouds grey or white.]

I'm not making you talk about your thing, [he says instead. changing tactics, because there always has to be a tactic.] Why do I have to talk about this? [he shifts his eyes away, sullen. his fear so rarely shows itself in spontaneous impulse and panic. he just sulks like a monster stuck in a cage.]

joseph kavinsky | open and closed;

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