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)
[There is a practical reason, Jack is realizing, that he stayed in civilian sector engineering up until this point. And that reason is that he is essentially terrible at a lot of the mainstays of basic training. His aim with a firearm is awful, running is torture, and his discipline . . . well. If he had this kind of discipline, maybe he would've figured out how to have a normal sleep schedule sometime in the last decade or two. Fellow members of the armed forces can find him on mandatory additional hours on the firing range, or maybe enjoying his usual post-laps activity of panting raggedly and wondering if he's going to throw up. Less merciful fellow members are of course welcome to mock - a bit of ribbing isn't going to make him feel much worse.]

(6)
[Once he's out of boot camp, though, Jack will be returning home - such as it is. He has a new flat, in a different sector of the city, and though he doesn't lose time reconnecting the stronger social links of his pre-military full-time-party-boy days, he's occasionally out and about on his own. Mostly it's to pick up food - the most reliable thing he makes on his own range is acrid smoke, with bland mush a close second - though he can also be found out shopping on his own, humming along with the music he keeps piped into his ears as he sifts through music and resale clothing shops, or even idles through the aisles of the grocer's picking up his trusty premade essentials.]

Edited 2014-02-06 18:30 (UTC)

[He doesn't really need to spend much time on the militia's compound much anymore. He'd earned his stripes a long while ago and he's up to his ears in research- but new calibrations to the eye and adjusting to the weight and resistance of his new left hand have him on the firing range, peering down the scope of a rifle and cracking off shot after shot in the middle of a bunch of plebes. Some watch. Some whistle. Some know he's a genuine callsign, some even know he's Whiskey- most of then mumur about his family and that's fine.

he's used to it.

What he's not used to is a bullet winging sideways into his goddamn target from the next booth over. Being off is terrible. Being off by THAT much? That's horrible. He sets his rifle down and scowls at the kid next to him, bionic eye whirring and clicking as it shifts from long range to normal.]

Who the hell taught you to shoot, kid?

[The second his shot swings wide, Jack winces. The next few seconds, he consoles himself with the fact that, at least on that target, he got sort of close to the centre. Sort of.

Then the guy next to him stares him down - looms, basically - and his wince comes right back, barely tempered around the edges with a nervy, apologetic grin. Maybe he can charm his way out of the worse part of a thorough pummelling.]

Do you mean who's tried? Because that's probably everyone here with the patience for it.

[A beat, before he catches himself.]

Er. Sir.

Any reason you can't just sign up for a slot with Tango like everyone else with deficient skills?

[Highly deficient, now that he gets a good look at the kid's target. It's just- it's sad is what it is. What the hell is this skinny whip of nothing doing in the compound anyway? Are they hurting that badly for people?]

You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn fir'n like that, christ. Show me your form.

( 3 )
[ this mission wasn't going to plan - it wasn't going to plan at all. everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. she had desperately looking for her teammates, who had been scattered - whatever was out there had been waiting for them.

kira stops running for a moment to look at her surroundings. she wants to call out for the others, but at the same time she doesn't want to draw attention to herself which wouldn't help anyone.

that's when she hears a noise behind her, kira freezes. it's a growl, low and threatening. her hand hovers for her weapon, but at the exact same moment the thing jumps at her. ]

( 5 )
[ kira straightens her pony tail. she's exhausted, the training is intense but she knows it's what she needs. still she can't help but wonder if she'd be better off doing something else. but at the same time it's kind of fun to at least pretend she is a bad ass.

she's at the firing range, where she's been for the entire day and where she'll stay until she's able to hit the center of her target. her powers are gone, not that she would really know how to use them anyways - so all things considered that might be a good thing. ]

[ OOC; or feel free to use one of the other prompts! i'm game for anything!! ]

The, uh. The people in combat positions get priority with Tango. Sir.

[Which is to say he's waiting for his turn, but in the meantime has been told to get on the range and just work on firing in a straight line, for the love of whatever coddled civilian god you pray to.

Still, he does his best, little half-smile still hanging on gamely as he squares up in his best impression of how he'd been taught to hold his rifle, then looks back at his newfound interrogator.]

Like this, right?

You...are a goddamn tragedy.

[He grimaces at the loose and awkward lilt of the kid's shoulders, the too tight clench of his wrists, the damn near white knuckled grip of his hands on the rifle. This is dismal.

Jojo would've been able to hold a gun better- and that black thought has him swamped in misery for half a second before he steps up behind the kid and starts making the adjustments needed to actually hit something. ]

Loosen up. It's gonna recoil and that's gonna sting until you get used to it, but you will get used to it. Line up your shoulders but don't lock up. Elbows tight but not clenched, loosen your grip on the rifle. It's not gonna jump down and bite you.

[Jack feels his arm unlock as it's pushed, a creaky-old-man stutter of a sensation that has him laughing self-consciously, low in his throat. He does his best to move to the position he's being nudged into, though he's clumsy in his newness to it, all elbows and uncertain looks until he settles in.]

Oh, man. All this flattery is going to go right to my head.

Keep that head on the target. You miss, you die. You look'n?

[He's stepped back to see if the kid's paid any kind of attention to what he's adjusted or said, looking from him to the target at the far end of the range.]

Aim.

[If there are any words built to piece Jack's dedicated front of lackadasical cheer, it's those. You miss, you die. Absolutely true. Though sometimes even when you didn't miss - when you were always a good, steady, reliable shot - you still died.

He swallows and looks toward the target, forgetting that he's even supposed to have a clever retort. Forgetting that he's not supposed to tense (being ready to run was always more important than being ready to shoot), forgetting that he's supposed to keep breathing (breathing made noise and made plumes in the air and was too close in pitch to those first distant staticky hisses).

He aims, if it can be called that. Even though what he's aiming for, what his focus keeps flickering back to like the visual white noise of figures lurching inbound, isn't even on the range.]

Fire.

[It's gotten worse- everything he'd just done locked up tight- at least the lines were right. He'd hit his own damn target- maybe. He needs to see how he's used to catching recoil. Needs to watch how he reacts to firing, where his mind goes with the slide of a finger on the trigger and the crack of a bullet in the air.]

[He hits the target, at least - even if he's barely looking, done with the shot before he's finished pulling the trigger, not wanting to see where the bullet hits or what it does. The recoil hits the locked-up rigidity and he drops his sights toward the ground immediately, looking back to his self-appointed tutor.

There's nothing shattered or haunted-looking in his gaze, just curiosity and the hint of lingering tension, strung so deep it's out of his forebrain and into his bones and sinews. If anything, he looks a little pleased, even as he's rubbing idly at his numbing shoulder.]

Wow, that . . . actually felt a bit better. Thanks.

It'd feel better if you didn't fudge the shot.

[He scrubs his face with his real hand and sighs, callouses working at the lines of scarring around his bionic eye. Every time he has to teach someone not to fucking die the edges of his socket, reinforced with steel plating, aches. He could walk off or keep on.

Considering that no one else has the sense to teach this kid a damn thing he huffs a sigh and motions for him to get back into position.]

It doesn't stop with one bullet. You don't quit fir'n until they're down. Two in the skull, two in the chest. Get up and aim again.

Two in the- seriously?

[Jack lifts his rifle again, though he's still looking sidelong at the other man, shoulders once again hunched and toes planted in the way of a man ready to throw down his burdens and sprint.]

Four altogether? That's how you're meant to do it?

I was stuck outside for two goddamn months- one isn't always a sure thing. Two in the head, two in the chest. You need them dead.

[More murmuring behind them because if anyone that wasn't sure he was THAT Whiskey was still around, well, now they all know for sure. He grunts and adjusts the kid's shoulders, mutters at him to loosen up his grip, christ, it's a gun not a throat don't strangle it.]

Aim.

[Two months. Maybe the done thing is to be incredulous, or impressed, or conciliatory. But all of those feel too shallow when you've been out there even a week, pinned in place half your days and doubling back to a new route every third or fourth.

So Jack just whistles, low and soft, lifting his eyebrows as obligingly wiggles his shoulders back into relaxation and aims again.]

Yes sir.

Try aim'n for the gut this time. You're hopeless for headshots right now. Center mass first and foremost, we'll fine tune shit after you can actually hit the damn target.

[He rests a hand on the kid's back, straightening him up a bit.]

Breathe- then squeeze.

[ he's mostly at the range for the same reason; he doesn't have his powers anymore, his abilities, and so he needs to know how to defend himself. he'll never have allison's aim or her eagle-eye for shooting things, but he can work on his technique a little. he can try to figure it out, for as long as he's here. he has stiles back - and a second stiles, though it hurts his head to even think about it for too long.

and, as far as kira's concerned - well, it bothers him that she's from a point in time he hasn't even lived through yet. he knows he shouldn't feel bad about it, that she doesn't hold it against him, but the more he gets to know her, the more he wants to kick himself - or this place, somehow - for keeping him from the life he's supposed to be living.

though, from what she's told him, it hasn't turned out that badly somehow. ]

[Jack half-grins again, and a bit of it is probably the momentary, distracted awareness of that solid pressure on his back, and the the immediate intimidation settled down enough that his brain is just starting to pick through secondary details. Like how extremely easy on the eyes his tutor is.]

Oh my god. Posture and breathing? This is all too much.

[He aims even as he talks - and somehow. that takes him out of his head enough that he locks up a little less, follows instruction without intervening conscious intent and eases into the shot. And the target jerks, as a neat hole punches through the flank.]

Posture, breathing, and aiming. You're not pay'n attention to where the bullet's go'n, kid. Adjust and fire again.

[He offers no real instruction on how to adjust his aim to make the shot better. Not at first. Let the kid figure it out on his own, if he can. If he can't? Then he'll step up and say something.

Someone behind them mutters something about wanting lessons from a Callsign and earns a baleful glare from Whiskey- they shuffle off soon enough.]

[The actual mechanics of shooting, where to look and how the bullet goes, how to adjust? Jack's already received the lecture on that. Multiple lectures, really - all he's been missing is any kind of steady foundation to adjust from, any instruction that does not still leave him stranded between his own ears.

He aims again, just a tic closer to centre, holding off on shooting as he murmurs his reply. Whatever's being said behind him, be barely hears it, caught in the focus still flitting between his sights and the target.]

You say that as if I'm psychically equipped to know where it's going to land.

You got two eyes, don't you? Don't matter if they're upgrades or natural, you got eyes to see and a work'n brain. If you know your environment, know your weapon, and know your target? You know where the bullet is gonna land.

[He reaches out, metal hand cupping the kid's elbow to pull it up a hair, steadying him.]

Again.

[There's something just-barely off in the touch, enough that Jack's back to thinking about it, unconsciously comparing it to the warm palm still holding up where the curves of his spine meet, and he almost pulls the trigger with his eyes halfway to turning backwards.

Then he catches himself. Breathes, first.

_{(how many times did he tell you to take a deep breath and think)}

Aims, from the first point to the second.

_{(how many times did you come up with exactly what you needed)}

Fires, first shot wide almost to the edge - stays up, adjusts the fraction of a degree that geometrically translates to a foot inward - and a second later hits somewhere solidly in the ribs.]

Edited 2014-02-07 00:32 (UTC)

[ kira fires her gun again and frowns - she managed to hit the target but off to the side. it wouldn't be enough to do any real damage, probably none at all. it's weird using a gun, she's actually kind of uncomfortable. she glances over at scott - it's weird, him being here. actually it's weird having so many people from beacon hills here and none of them knowing who she was - not that any of them really noticed her or knew her anyways, but scott did. it's not his fault, she's not going to blame him for something they have no control over. on the bright side at least this time they can meet without her dad embarrassing her.

thinking about her dad makes kira's heart hurt. she misses him, she misses her mom too, but maybe it's better this way. she wouldn't want them to be here. really, no one should be in a place like this - it wasn't fair, and really it sucked.

so, scott and the others didn't know her. at least she wasn't alone here. because that would suck even more. ]

This looks so much easier in the movies.

[He has to lean in to get a better view of where the kid is sighting, to pick off where he's looking, where he's going wrong. There's a moment where he's quiet and still, trying to sort out what's still off aside from the kid's focus before his hands move- nudging the boy just a little. Warm pushes forward, pushes up, the stiff contours of his metal hand curl and adjust the line of his arm just so.]

Again. Three shots, aim for the sternum. Remember-

[It's more of a rumble of vibration, weary and weighted.]

Breathe, squeeze.

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( MEMES ) TEST DRIVE >> 003.

5 and 6! Choose your own adventure~

5

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kira yukimura (teen wolf)

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omg kira hi sorry scott doesn't know you

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/sobs. but she's still happy to see him!

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