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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
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.
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!
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.
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?
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?
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!
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.
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?
no subject
No matter. I'm used to it.
no subject
What I meant was that it's not fair for people to make you feel like your emotions aren't valid. [his gaze centers on loki again.] Because they do matter.
no subject
Perhaps.
no subject
If 'perhaps' is as close to consideration as you get, I'll take it.
no subject
[ What meaning does it hold? ]
no subject
[plain and simple, really.]
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
You really picked badly.
omg that icon
Nobody said my choices have always been the best.
shh it's gr8
As far as choices go, it's not one that ends well.
it absolutely is fffff
[a beat.] And to figure out if I've made an awful one or not.
no subject
Then you will know soon enough.
no subject
That I will. [another brief moment of hesitation.] I suppose this is where I should take my leave, then? I'm grateful you decided that going out with me was worth the time.
no subject
. . . I suppose you're welcome.
no subject
If you ever feel up for it, we should go out again sometime. [then, nightcrawler straightens.] Farewell, [he adds before vanishing with a bamf.]