contagio | ( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 003.

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( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 003.

THE TEST DRIVE

Like it or not, you've been dragged from your world into the sanctum. It's a pretty nice city, all things considered--sci-fi, high-tech, glamourous.... Except, of course, for the giant dome encircling it, and the threat of glitching, contaminated zombies at your door. Looks like humanity's built itself a fortress that looks suspiciously like a cage, too.

The object of this meme is to get people familiar with the world of the Sanctum, and to try to see if their characters would fit in a sci-fi utopia such as this. Here are your options:

1. Intro: Waking Up. Make your intro post, folks. You wake up in a strange place, and get a strange transmission to go with it. What are you going to do?

2. Failed Upgrade. One of your upgrades is more wrong than right. How will you cope? What exactly is different? Who will help?

3. Mission outside the dome. You've come under fire. The strange things are coming towards you. Luckily, you have your suit, your teammates, and a lot of firepower. Or are you stranded on your own, looking for someone to come to the rescue? Perhaps you're the rescuer.

4.Infected Something bit you. Now you're turning into them, and all you can hear is a high-pitched squealing in your head, like a frequency you just can't quite hear. Do you tell your loved ones, or do you wait? Do you trust your doctor?

5. Military training Everyone's got to start somewhere. You're training the green folks, maybe you're one of the newcomers yourself. Maybe you haven't even touched a gun before in your life. Either way, you'd better start now.

6. Chance encounter makin' my way downtown walking fast, faces pass--you get the point. You bump into someone! Shopping, or strolling in a park? Maybe just lunch in a cafe?

7. Glory to the Network! Network post. Text with general queries, say what you have to say to the entirety of the whole city.

8. Wildcard: Whatever you want. Mix and match, switch and swatch, make something else up entirely!

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(5)

It had seemed the only real option, re-enlisting in some form of military. It's where most of her skills lie, after all, and if she's to help these people, she's best off doing it the way she's most effective.

It's been quite awhile since she went through basic training herself, but she believes in keeping in top form - never mind she's been travelling by foot for the past several months, barring the few weeks in the hospital after being inconveniently shot in the head. So all in all she supposes she comes out . . . average. Which, yes, needles at her. But even edging toward the latter part of middle age she's doing her best to fly through training with the best marks possible and is fiercely competitive - perhaps most so in the early-morning warm-ups, when she is competing only against herself.

(6)

Now and then, though, she can be persuaded to take a few hours to explore her new home - which she does, albeit with a surveyor's eye more than a tourist's, too accustomed to seeing new cities only when they are fated to soon be battlefields. She can usually be found off her feet in a park, occasionally with a hot tea, surveying what aerial maps of the Sanctum she's managed to scrape together. More rarely she'll be reading, though never very enthusiastically - there's a certain pallor to the approved books, one that leaves an off taste in her mouth.

(7/2-ish)

She would have been willing to live out her life with the stutter. As it stands she's in no hurry to correct the shallow dent over her left eye - it's ugly, yes, but it's not hurting anyone, and she has much better things to do here than start looking for dates. But the stutter is inconvenient and frustrating, and she sees no reason not to have it fixed if medical technology's progressed to a point here where that is possible. Even if she is less than eager to have people rummaging about inside her head again with sterile instruments.

So after some consideration, she addresses the network one afternoon, opting to simply record and broadcast a voice transmission. It's a call for information, after all, not a social visit.

"Natives and Immune of The Sanctum. Good afternoon. This is . . . Private Elizabeth Stanton speaking. I'd like to know what your experiences have been regarding upgrades, especially those installed for corrective purposes rather than simple amplification. Experience with neurological upgrades would- would- would next-"

She stops, just long enough to take a deep breath. To rewind to the beginning of the last sentence and erase the rest going forward. To start again, one unbroken message.

"Individuals who have experience with neurological upgrades are especially appreciated, but any information about the evaluation and implantation process is welcome. Thank you for your time."

"Almost enough to make you wish for a semi-omnipotent AI whispering in your ear, isn't it?"

He leaned against the back of her park bench, peering over her shoulder at what she was looking at. Maps of the city probably.

"Or maybe that's just me."

She doesn't start, but it's only by training and force of will. His voice still moves along her spine with a slick, icy fear-disgust when she isn't prepared for it, especially in this tone. Friendly. Relaxed.

She is not a cruel woman, but she will admit, she liked him better when he was frightened and off-balance.

". . no. I'll admit, it did have its uses." She looks up from her map, carefully lifting the tea that has never left her sight, taking a small sip. "Though the utility here would be questionable at best."

He bends down, resting his chin on crossed arms, and knows that no-one would see anything amiss in this. He's too practiced to show much more than friendly amusement, and Stanton is far too stubborn to let on her feelings in public.

It's pretty entertaining.

"I dunno. I'd like to see some of the stuff they've got hidden in their files. All those dirty secrets." He shrugged. "They do have them. No place with humans is that nice. Without intervention."

She arches a brow at him, then looks down to another map, one showing all four districts reasonably intact. It's a fair bit older than the last one. "I imagine they do. However, they also seem to have greater problems than a bit of graft and corruption."

"Well, yeah. Obviously. But you'd think that would be reason to more evenly disperse your resources. You've got a slum area where anyone could hide. All it takes is one infected person to hide out there and..."

Yeah, he didn't need to elaborate. He tapped his fingers against the back of the bench idly. "Not that I actually care, except y'know, stuck here."

"Human cities since the beginning of recorded history have had slums, Lawrence." She doesn't argue the point about ease of infection, because he's right. What can be done about it is the question. "The only thing to stop it is absolute authority. Which, granted, is something I gather you're entirely comfortable with."

"Yeah, and look how quickly the Black Death spread," he says dryly, although his air of amusement never fades. He tilts his head to look at her when she said that, smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "It depends on the authority," he says, looking thoughtful. "I'm not about to hand that much power over to just anyone."

"No. I suppose you're not." Even Charlie had hardly earned his regard, she supposes. No, it took something singular. Something like Soleil. For she had been singular, without question. the only difference was that while Lawrence probably felt something affectionate with that sentence, Stanton only felt relief.

"But if you miss the voices in your head so dearly, I gather there's an implant that puts the network directly into your brain."

"It's a pity you never met her," Lawrence said quietly, smirking at the thought. "I think you'd have liked her." Everyone did, in the end. She was just like that. Everyone, eventually, came around.

He gave her a questioning look at that. "Interesting. I'm kind of a one-AI type man though. I figure this one would be slightly more difficult to cute out of my head if I needed to as well."

Oh, you mean ones that weren't forced on us by creepy authoritarian shitbags? Wouldn't know what that's like.

Yes, I mean aside from the ports (I think that's what they're called?)

Have you considered any upgrades for yourself?

I would rather make sweet love to a blender than let those butchers touch me again.

Understandable, if graphic. Are the ports giving you trouble or is it more the principle of the thing?

Both.

I wouldn't trust those assclowns with my worst enemy's central nervous system.

[Well. Someone certainly has strong emotions about the entire thing.]

Do you mind if I ask what sort of problems you've been having with them?

Pain and hallucinations. It's fucking awesome.

Sorry to hear that. And I can see where you'd be upset by the entire business.

Have you contacted medical with this? Or would you rather take your chances than go back to them?

Dick. Blender.

Duly noted.

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( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 003.

Multiple choice!

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