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PRISON WORLD #1: Spidermarvel (tw violence, harassment, discrimination)
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: F.A.T.E.S. has alerted the population of Xistentia that the enemy has created something new, a Prison World where others refugees of the Multiverse are being brainwashed into destroying each other.
Date(s): July 29-August 5
Warnings/Notes: None, please mark your subject headers with content.
It's New York City in 2017, and Enhanced humans came into public perception after the great Battle against alien invaders 5 years ago. Unlike the Hulk or Thor, rumor has it that most of the Enhanced superpowers in New York developed because of ambient radiation-- hard to say whether that was from the alien weapons, or the nuclear bomb that other humans themselves sent to try to level the city. There's blame to go around. People still find Chitauri tech littered about the city.
In another life, you might have been once an orcish princess or a steampunk scientist, but these days, you're someone different. The new identity and the new body fit you like a glove. You know your friends and your prospects same as you know your own life.
There's one place in New York City where Enhanced and purported allies can be out and about in peace: a speakeasy named Pax Sanctum. It sounds like some hippie shit, but inside, you have green ambient light, sleek white bar, bottles of every liquor type you could want. Rumors vary about peace enforcement here. Some say there's an empath scanning the place constantly, others that there's someone who can manipulate time itself. Older patrons know that the location has moved twice in the past three years, without incident, but no doubt with good reason. Regardless, the bouncers descend quickly whenever a conflict seems to get heated.
And it so rarely does. The ambience is light and sexy. Now and then, you'll find a pyrokinetic showing off lighter fingers to an impressed crowd or an animated debate about current events compared to historical parallels. One level down the stairs, there's even a dancefloor where you will occasionally find dance battles between equally uncoordinated Enhanced and non-Enhanced. It feels like the kind of place where you can let your guard down.
The week's password is Arachnid— there's a Spiderman fan in management somewhere, evidently. Tell the bouncer behind the big metal door.
At 11:42PM on Wednesday, August 2, an explosion rocks the club.
Boom! Glass explodes, people hit the floor. The origin seems to be the dance space at LG 2. An electrical fire erupts immediately, filling the air with a thick, cloying smoke. It's not clear whether the attack was from an Enhanced or a non-Enhanced-- but the fear instantly kindles. People of both kind scramble to form groups of their own, and fight for the two exits. Soon, the sirens of police and fire services begin to echo in the distance, promising interrogations for those who linger. How many people here are un-Registered? And say, didn't you see someone acting a little suspicious right before the blast? Is that them there? And what will you do, when you come across someone bleeding?
Or better yet, when the first punch is thrown, by a couple of angry, drunken survivors right outside there in the nightclub's back alley?
After the explosion, what started as a single incident of violence sends ripples throughout the social fabric of New York City in the weeks after. Police report that the rates of Chitauri-influenced weapons on the street doubles, and even mundane weapons are being bought off the black market at even greater rates than that. Further, every day the news seems to sensationalize stories of stressed Enhanced losing control of their powers... and the Mayor is beginning to make examples out of them, with harsher sentences, rushed proceedings. Whether or not you're Enhanced, the streets are a dangerous place to roam.
Maybe you know that someone's been watching you for days, even weeks. Maybe you noticed— this person you may have known forever, but started acting a little oddly just a few days. Maybe you figured it was sickness or stress, especially after the August 2 explosion. Even people who didn't care about politics at all are starting to take notice now, choosing sides, storing up water... even weapons, the likes of which mankind had never seen before the era of the Chitauri and Enhanced. But this is when it happens: when someone comes to you and offers you the device, the innocent-looking cellular phone, that will change your whole identity.
Or maybe you just stumble upon it yourself. Seemingly a lost phone, a free phone, sitting out innocuous.
You pick it up, and immediately, your mind begins to morph inside your skull, disorienting. Your body doesn't change, but you remember who you are. The phone screen lights up, then unexpectedly projects holographic text into the air in front of your face: Activate Portal to Xistentia?[1]
You pick No. Not right now.
Your mind is flooded with memories of your past, your true homeworld. Your true identity crashes into the false memories that this world brainwashed into you, disorienting, heavy; rapidly, your life here begins to feel like a dream. Luckily, you don't forget the helpful details of passing as a native. Nonetheless, the revelation probably comes at a bad time; in the middle of your workday or on the bus, somewhere public, where people are here to see you... as well as the daemon that's now trying to give you a whole infodump about Xistentia and the battle between F.A.T.E.S. and D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. It might be a good time to find somewhere private to go and get that portal out.
Or maybe you're staying because you have unfinished business in this world. Friends or even enemies who might also need to be awakened and helped. Luckily, your cellphone-- or daemon— tells you that there are others in this world on a similar mission from Xistentia. Maybe you can contact them through your daemon.
You pick Yes.
A portal of glowing light opens in front of you, smelling of ozone, churning with atmosphere. Step through, and you immediately find yourself with the unsettling yet painless sensation of being pulled through space and time. The very molecules of your body supercharge and come apart, shot through the multiverse, and come out on the other side arranged back in your original configuration.
You land facedown on a sandy beach. Your daemon is still with you, but chances are, it no longer looks like a reassuringly ordinary cellphone. It tells you:
"The date is August 12, 2017, F.A.T.E.S. Standard Time. Local Population: 333. Welcome to Xistentia. The city is due East."
One minute, you were in Xistentia, a refugee from your dying world. Charged with studying D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. the enemy of the entire Multiverse or rescuing others from its clutches. You're lying on a stone table, some kind of magic machine in the Telexistence Temple, surrounded by other people from a variety of worlds, all of them anticipating the same unknowns as you are.
The next minute, you're a resident of New York City, totally immersed in your new identity; strangely fixated on keeping your cellphone in hand, but there's nothing strange about that in 2017. For a few days, you were part of this world, completely convinced of a life as rich as your original.
And this is the moment you're back. Suddenly you remember everything, lucidity hitting you like a thunderbolt. You suddenly realize your memories were false, your diet, perhaps even the shape of your body. It's deeply disorienting, and it probably throws you off in the middle of whatever you're doing, whether it's filling a takeaway cup with soda or delivering a speech to a packed auditorium. Suddenly, the false identity you were given sinks into the background; you can still remember enough details to fake it (and maybe take it), but you know who you are.
Hopefully no one here will notice you literally just lost your mind.
The research part of the mission turns out to be pretty easy! All you need to do is carry your cellphone around wherever you go. You're easily mistaken for someone playing Pokemon! Go or texting avidly wherever you walk. The screen shows you nothing but code gibberish, with the occasional flicker when you're near someone else from Xistentia or an awakened person. It's a good excuse to get out and about.
And maybe also an accidental cause of getting in trouble. After all, whether or not you're a part of it, there is a war brewing between two groups of people, and many of those who haven't taken a side are nonetheless on-guard for danger at any given time. You're as likely to come across verbal harassment as violent revenge, or someone using advanced Chitauri-influenced weapons to knock over a liquor store or throw their weight around.
If you visited this world the week before, in wraith mode[2], you've recovered those memories too. It might help you recall some of those who now need rescuing.
Or maybe you're going at it blind. In any case, you equipped with a pre-activated daemon in hand, as well as you're own. Your duty now is to find world-hopping refugees that D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. has trapped here, and match the naive device to its new owner with some form of consent-- whether by trick or explanation. How hard can it be? It's 2017. Everyone needs a cellphone.
Small complication: the entire city is fraught with war and paranoia. And maybe the naive daemon in your hand keeps blinking at you signals that ID someone on the wrong side...
Your daemon will show you the way home. And dump you on back on a familiar beach amid a screaming chaos. You're welcome!
Summary: F.A.T.E.S. has alerted the population of Xistentia that the enemy has created something new, a Prison World where others refugees of the Multiverse are being brainwashed into destroying each other.
Date(s): July 29-August 5
Warnings/Notes: None, please mark your subject headers with content.
SPIDERMARVEL PRISON WORLD
She was really nice and bought me a churro.
PRISON WORLD: SPIDERMARVEL
It's New York City in 2017, and Enhanced humans came into public perception after the great Battle against alien invaders 5 years ago. Unlike the Hulk or Thor, rumor has it that most of the Enhanced superpowers in New York developed because of ambient radiation-- hard to say whether that was from the alien weapons, or the nuclear bomb that other humans themselves sent to try to level the city. There's blame to go around. People still find Chitauri tech littered about the city.
In another life, you might have been once an orcish princess or a steampunk scientist, but these days, you're someone different. The new identity and the new body fit you like a glove. You know your friends and your prospects same as you know your own life.
Pax Sanctum Club
There's one place in New York City where Enhanced and purported allies can be out and about in peace: a speakeasy named Pax Sanctum. It sounds like some hippie shit, but inside, you have green ambient light, sleek white bar, bottles of every liquor type you could want. Rumors vary about peace enforcement here. Some say there's an empath scanning the place constantly, others that there's someone who can manipulate time itself. Older patrons know that the location has moved twice in the past three years, without incident, but no doubt with good reason. Regardless, the bouncers descend quickly whenever a conflict seems to get heated.
And it so rarely does. The ambience is light and sexy. Now and then, you'll find a pyrokinetic showing off lighter fingers to an impressed crowd or an animated debate about current events compared to historical parallels. One level down the stairs, there's even a dancefloor where you will occasionally find dance battles between equally uncoordinated Enhanced and non-Enhanced. It feels like the kind of place where you can let your guard down.
The week's password is Arachnid— there's a Spiderman fan in management somewhere, evidently. Tell the bouncer behind the big metal door.
The Explosion
At 11:42PM on Wednesday, August 2, an explosion rocks the club.
Boom! Glass explodes, people hit the floor. The origin seems to be the dance space at LG 2. An electrical fire erupts immediately, filling the air with a thick, cloying smoke. It's not clear whether the attack was from an Enhanced or a non-Enhanced-- but the fear instantly kindles. People of both kind scramble to form groups of their own, and fight for the two exits. Soon, the sirens of police and fire services begin to echo in the distance, promising interrogations for those who linger. How many people here are un-Registered? And say, didn't you see someone acting a little suspicious right before the blast? Is that them there? And what will you do, when you come across someone bleeding?
Or better yet, when the first punch is thrown, by a couple of angry, drunken survivors right outside there in the nightclub's back alley?
After the explosion, what started as a single incident of violence sends ripples throughout the social fabric of New York City in the weeks after. Police report that the rates of Chitauri-influenced weapons on the street doubles, and even mundane weapons are being bought off the black market at even greater rates than that. Further, every day the news seems to sensationalize stories of stressed Enhanced losing control of their powers... and the Mayor is beginning to make examples out of them, with harsher sentences, rushed proceedings. Whether or not you're Enhanced, the streets are a dangerous place to roam.
NEW CHARACTERS: SAVE ME
Maybe you know that someone's been watching you for days, even weeks. Maybe you noticed— this person you may have known forever, but started acting a little oddly just a few days. Maybe you figured it was sickness or stress, especially after the August 2 explosion. Even people who didn't care about politics at all are starting to take notice now, choosing sides, storing up water... even weapons, the likes of which mankind had never seen before the era of the Chitauri and Enhanced. But this is when it happens: when someone comes to you and offers you the device, the innocent-looking cellular phone, that will change your whole identity.
Or maybe you just stumble upon it yourself. Seemingly a lost phone, a free phone, sitting out innocuous.
Daemon Activate
You pick it up, and immediately, your mind begins to morph inside your skull, disorienting. Your body doesn't change, but you remember who you are. The phone screen lights up, then unexpectedly projects holographic text into the air in front of your face: Activate Portal to Xistentia?[1]
Unfinished Business
You pick No. Not right now.
Your mind is flooded with memories of your past, your true homeworld. Your true identity crashes into the false memories that this world brainwashed into you, disorienting, heavy; rapidly, your life here begins to feel like a dream. Luckily, you don't forget the helpful details of passing as a native. Nonetheless, the revelation probably comes at a bad time; in the middle of your workday or on the bus, somewhere public, where people are here to see you... as well as the daemon that's now trying to give you a whole infodump about Xistentia and the battle between F.A.T.E.S. and D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. It might be a good time to find somewhere private to go and get that portal out.
Or maybe you're staying because you have unfinished business in this world. Friends or even enemies who might also need to be awakened and helped. Luckily, your cellphone-- or daemon— tells you that there are others in this world on a similar mission from Xistentia. Maybe you can contact them through your daemon.
Escape to Xistentia
You pick Yes.
A portal of glowing light opens in front of you, smelling of ozone, churning with atmosphere. Step through, and you immediately find yourself with the unsettling yet painless sensation of being pulled through space and time. The very molecules of your body supercharge and come apart, shot through the multiverse, and come out on the other side arranged back in your original configuration.
You land facedown on a sandy beach. Your daemon is still with you, but chances are, it no longer looks like a reassuringly ordinary cellphone. It tells you:
"The date is August 12, 2017, F.A.T.E.S. Standard Time. Local Population: 333. Welcome to Xistentia. The city is due East."
OLDER CHARACTERS: RESEARCH & RESCUE
One minute, you were in Xistentia, a refugee from your dying world. Charged with studying D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. the enemy of the entire Multiverse or rescuing others from its clutches. You're lying on a stone table, some kind of magic machine in the Telexistence Temple, surrounded by other people from a variety of worlds, all of them anticipating the same unknowns as you are.
The Moment of Lucidity
The next minute, you're a resident of New York City, totally immersed in your new identity; strangely fixated on keeping your cellphone in hand, but there's nothing strange about that in 2017. For a few days, you were part of this world, completely convinced of a life as rich as your original.
And this is the moment you're back. Suddenly you remember everything, lucidity hitting you like a thunderbolt. You suddenly realize your memories were false, your diet, perhaps even the shape of your body. It's deeply disorienting, and it probably throws you off in the middle of whatever you're doing, whether it's filling a takeaway cup with soda or delivering a speech to a packed auditorium. Suddenly, the false identity you were given sinks into the background; you can still remember enough details to fake it (and maybe take it), but you know who you are.
Hopefully no one here will notice you literally just lost your mind.
Do Your Research
The research part of the mission turns out to be pretty easy! All you need to do is carry your cellphone around wherever you go. You're easily mistaken for someone playing Pokemon! Go or texting avidly wherever you walk. The screen shows you nothing but code gibberish, with the occasional flicker when you're near someone else from Xistentia or an awakened person. It's a good excuse to get out and about.
And maybe also an accidental cause of getting in trouble. After all, whether or not you're a part of it, there is a war brewing between two groups of people, and many of those who haven't taken a side are nonetheless on-guard for danger at any given time. You're as likely to come across verbal harassment as violent revenge, or someone using advanced Chitauri-influenced weapons to knock over a liquor store or throw their weight around.
Rescue Rangers
If you visited this world the week before, in wraith mode[2], you've recovered those memories too. It might help you recall some of those who now need rescuing.
Or maybe you're going at it blind. In any case, you equipped with a pre-activated daemon in hand, as well as you're own. Your duty now is to find world-hopping refugees that D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. has trapped here, and match the naive device to its new owner with some form of consent-- whether by trick or explanation. How hard can it be? It's 2017. Everyone needs a cellphone.
Small complication: the entire city is fraught with war and paranoia. And maybe the naive daemon in your hand keeps blinking at you signals that ID someone on the wrong side...
Get Home
Your daemon will show you the way home. And dump you on back on a familiar beach amid a screaming chaos. You're welcome!
Footnotes
- Daemon will take/resume its true form in Xistentia, as soon as the character lands on the beach.
- Wraith mode refers to existing characters who had played in the TDM, able to be seen and heard only by the other refugees.
- Updated plotting thread for new characters is here.
- OOC plot post is here. IC network infodump for existing characters is here.
no subject
They were all amped and ready to find trouble when this little adventure started, but now that they've found trouble armed with Chitauri weapons, they're a little less fond of the idea.
They weren't looking for puppies or babies either, but maybe something that gave them a little more of an advantage. No matter how they might have outnumbered the other, alien tech vs. enhanced would still be a close fight. ]
We don't take charity cases. [ For being the tiniest girl there, Blue certainly talks big and the statement brings about quietly amused laughter from the girls around her. ] No, if you had powers, you wouldn't need to overcompensate with big fancy toys. [ She pauses, as though taking a moment to really think about it before she adds: ]
Or maybe you still would.
[ Kanyeshrug ]
no subject
definitely not how kavinsky and his boys operate. hence the two turning tail, leaving him there to figure out the smart thing on his own.]
Small dick joke, huh? [he says. he sounds unreasonably glibe— as ever. in this world, in the next, his thing is always going to be shooting off his stupid fucking mouth when he should probably eat a salad and go to bed on time.] Okay, sweetheart. Let's metaphorically fuck.
[no smart thing here. instead, he raises the weapon and rips a shot out at the young women. immediately, the air pulses with energy, like altitude changing in the cabin of an airplane, an eerie press against their eardrums even as kinetic energy moves through the alleyway in a wave. a big plastic dumpster is the first thing to move, bucking up like a horse, before the whip starts to arc toward the gang.]
no subject
Or, at least, without having to seriously hurt anyone. Most of their damage is typically done to property -- Manhattan homes of rich billionaires, shiny Bentleys and Rolls Royces that belong to outspoken politicians, office buildings that house high ranking officials. Being all unregistered, it's easier to run from property damage, rather than trying to escape in the middle of a brawl.
People could talk, after all. Things couldn't. ]
I wouldn't even metaphorically.
[ Not even a moment after the words leave Blue, full of confident arrogance, does the entire gang of girls begin to cringe at the uncomfortable -- almost painful -- pressure against their ears. They aren't used to these kinds of weapons, they fight with switchblades and butterfly knives, baseball bats and metal pipes, not with alien tech. Before any of them can move to avoid it, the whip comes into direct contact with the twins on Blue's far left, immediately knocking them to the ground and rendering them helpless. Knocked out. Maybe dead, but Blue doesn't have much time to think on that. ]
You fucking asshole!
[ The shockwave from the hit knocks the rest of the girls off balance, a few of them scrambling on their hands and knees to check on the fallen pair while Blue shoots a sharp glare at Kavinsky. Ripping the glove off her hand, she slaps it against the arm of one of the girls next to her, stealing enough of her power to send another blast of energy in Kavinsky's direction as she stumbles to her feet. ]
no subject
aaaaand he's skedaddling, one foot over the next, tiny pieces of asphalt kicking up under his scampering step. he's some kind of idiot, probably, because the next sound out of his mouth is a laugh— hyena wild, brilliant in the afternoon sunshine, rising up wickedly—
only to be interrupted by the whumpf of supercharged air hitting something semi-solid. kavinsky is the semi-solid; he's filled with liquid, after all. it's a glancing blow, fortunately, but easily enough to jolt him off his feet, just like a bowling pin, or maybe-- more accurately, just like the girls he'd sent to the pavement seconds ago. he travels three feet. lands heavily on his face, the wind slammed out of his lungs, his eyes big for an instant, then smaller the next, shocked. he tries to roll over, but it's a dying fish kind of movement, heavy and uncoordinated.]
F'ck, [he says to no one in particular. out-blustered by a two-foot tall mutant. the hell.]
no subject
He's halfway down the alley, but Blue's there in a matter of seconds. With rage fueling her, she moves infinitely faster, skidding to a halt only when she's standing over the other.
The next thing she does is all one fluid motion; her hand reaches into the pocket of her jacket and out comes a small switchblade, revealing the blade with nothing more than a practiced flick of her wrist followed by the quiet click of the small hinges, pointing the tip of it at Kavinsky's neck. In truth, the blade couldn't kill him, it could cause a pretty nasty gash, but its purpose was to be intimidating and cause enough damage for her to get away.
Currently, she's aiming for the former. Snarling as she looks down at Kavinsky, daring him to do anything with nothing more than the sharpness of her stare. ]
SORRY FOR THE DELAY BURSTS BACK IN
change of plan. he winds up skidding to a stop, startled. for some reason, he hadn't thought a girl would try anything, not really. not even if she had superpowers. and certainly not the smallest girl of them all.
the faint shimmer of pain in the side of his neck tells him otherwise. he moves his eyes very slowly, and his head even slower. his hollow eyes tracking blue's face. she looks kind of mad. something to do with her friends sucking air like fish right now.] Sup, baby girl? [he croaks.]
zooms on it
but a moment exactly like this is why he does it. a cascade of bad luck and crappy friends, that all go scampering when a group big enough and powerful enough shows up to put some real fear into them. the kids that ran almost slam into john on his way to catch up to the skirmish, and he sends them slamming into nearby walls to knock them out with a flicked finger - maybe snaps a bone or two, out of spite. maybe it's intentional, maybe it's because the meds that keep him calm enough that another disaster like grand central station doesn't happen again. he already has enough nightmares about waking up among a pile of rubble and bodies.
john murphy rounds the corner just in time to see the whip fly, and watch the short girl steal some kind of power from the others, before she gives chase. he comes from behind them, boots crunching stray glass from a tossed aside beer bottle as he paces up to the girls still trying to breath on the ground. a hand lifts, and up they go, floating into the air, and an invisible pressure starts to compact on them from all sides, squeezing their ribs against their lungs, their throats closed, gasps turning into strangled cries. enough that Blue should definitely be able to hear from where she is. ]
Back off, or I'll crush them into dust.
no subject
(Oh. Right.)
Blue has probably the most scathing comeback waiting right on the tip of her tongue. As sharp and piercing as the blade in her hand, but laced with poison. If Kavinsky thought that little stunt he pulled on her friends had made her angry, the addition of those two words had pushed her over into downright furious.
But just before she can strike with her verbal attack, there's the sound of strangled cries of pain ringing in Blue's ears followed by a different voice -- unfamiliar to her, and just a little bit confusing. Hadn't the rest of Kavinsky's gang hit the pavement the second things got ugly?
She snaps her head back, looking over her shoulder through a messy curtain of choppy bangs, and there stands an entirely new challenger! Familiar in the vaguest of ways -- like someone she'd sat next to on the subway, or stood in front of at Starbucks -- and clearly Very Serious about his threat. The gang of girls float in the air in slowly increasing pain, even if they can't do much more than writhe in response to it. Blue's mind races, her thoughts going off in a thousand different directions as she tries to figure out her best course of action; there's no way she'll make it back to the other end of the alleyway before her friends are literally obliterated and she doubts she could take other Enhanced down in a fight anyway, all alien BDSM gear aside Kavinsky is otherwise useless to her except as a human bargaining chip, and even if her own power is dangerous she's yet to figure out how to make it sound like it.
What would she say? "Do that and I'll touch him"? It doesn't exactly strike fear into anyone's heart. ]
You've got to be kidding me. [ Neither does that, but.... ] You're not really defending this asshole, are you?
[ Maybe she should really stop with all the talking before her friends are crushed. Oh well. ]
delay x2 kicks down door
Jesus fucking Christ.
[he's grateful. or merely in shock. something like that. his lips barely move when he mumbles this. his eyes shift past blue and the considerable concern posed by the knife she has on him, tiny though it may be. over to murphy. he'd known that the kid was powerful, of course; there are a half a dozen pet names he's rolled out of random combinations of freak, mutant, the various bites and pinches he's gotten in answer. he knows about grand central station. but it's one thing to know it, to buy pills and candles and patches to spread over the thin skin and big arteries of murphy's thighs. it's one thing to grumble him shitty bulgarian rap til he falls asleep, and wonder at his twitching nightmares.
it's another to see him floating a half-dozen likewise mutant girls in the air.
there's an animal spike of fear in his gut that he'll never admit to, especially not to murphy. as instinctive as recoiling from fire. but mostly— mostly, he's impressed.]
I think he is, [he says, presently.] He's the bung to this asshole.
shh paps u
kavinsky knows about grand central station, maybe even saw pictures of the rubble, but he wasn't there. he didn't feel the ground shake and the glass shatter, the people screaming and the dust that fogged the air after. he knows he's probably afraid of him right now. but better afraid than dead, and blue's gang hadn't looked like they were willing to take prisoners. ]
Do your friends really have time for you to worry about that?
[ a crack sounds out, and one of the girls jerks, a rasped, wheezes scream pulling from her, like the pained sound is a struggle just to get out. her arm now hangs at an awkward, unnatural angle. ]
Back off.