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

[spoofer]

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

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

Comments

[pridestar]

[This one is dangerous. John knows. He can tell. The easy balance of Rafaello's shoulders, his feet leaving near no marks on the ground. Thunderbird is a tracker, not only thanks to his powers but by trade, and he can tell a lot from what people leave behind— and even more by what they don't. Some creatures pass through the world like ghosts, and those, he knows, tend to leave behind ghosts aplenty when they are done.

He can't take his attention off the vampire. But he does shift his eyes slightly, pretending to take an interest in movement further beyond in the green. He understands what Rafa is saying. He can guess as to why. He can't know for certain that he isn't lying to get a knife between his ribs. So he'll keep up the ruse, for now.]

Put it down or walk away, [he says.] I'll give you one but not both.

[mordacita]

[ Rafa hesitates, eyes narrowing at those options. He doesn't understand at first, doesn't know why there's any hesitation at all - and then he realises the mortal must think he wants the weapon, and that's ridiculous enough to make him smile. ]

Lower it. I have no use for blades. Go before they make me kill you.

[ Is that clear enough? He doesn't imagine how it could be more so. He retreats further, letting foliage fall around his shoulders. He can't stop the mortal from attacking him, of course, but if that happens the decision will be out of his hands. ]

[pridestar]

[He hesitates. Every other lizard brain instinct in him screams no. A billion years of human evolution didn't plan on getting snuffed out by a polite request having culminated in an exceptional mutation. But there's the lizard brain, then there's logic, training, the wisdom accumulated from war as well as having gotten crapped out into a parallel dimension and a far-flung world.

John lowers his weapon. He turns his shoulder. His knuckles are still peaked pale under the tawny of his skin. He does an admirable job not looking up to search the trees for cameras. Instead, he starts to walk, his tread light on the greenery.]

What's your name?

[He raise his voice. Betting against mundane senses.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa's shoulders relax a little. Humans are difficult creatures, and he's tired of killing. He'd reverted to type in this arena, and that thought disturbs him more than he'd ever thought it would. He's tired of killing in general, but in particular, he's tired of killing here. He doesn't want this life anymore. ]

Rafa. [ He says, softly, to the human good enough to walk without leaving a mark. Rafa doesn't track prey by footprint, but if he did, he'd find this one hard to follow. That's impressive. ]

Try to stay alive. If I can remove you from this place, I will.

[ He'd rather raze the whole arena to the ground, actually. Maybe he'll get the chance. ]

[pridestar]

[It's an outrageous thing to hear, after a hundred days of curses and pleas, half of which he imagined himself, nightmares that projected themselves into an imaginary canvas that looked a lot like this world. He watched Blink lay sweating, silent, sick before the path of artificial fires; he saw Sonya get shot, standing in the neon green of this absurd forest. He saw the Strucker children's crying faces in the boy he accidentally slew. All that has made itself normal.

Threats are the language of this place, better if you make good on them. Promises, now—

He wastes a long few seconds just looking. But it's not his power, to tell if someone speaks the truth or not. Any mild tic or ruffle, even the deep absence of them, has him doubting either Rafa's intentions or his own judgment. He needs to find somewhere safe to sleep.]

You're new, [he says, but not until after he's already started walking.] I know that's going to end. Better be your way, Rafa.