Open DR post

[texelations]

A fold in the universe exists in the ether of the fifth dimension. This place, because it is somehow a place, consists of nothing, exists nowhere and nowhen.

Yet you find yourself in it.

To the eye of the mortal mind, this space appears to be a white, featureless room, and the portals that have brought you here appear to be nothing but empty thresholds. How you arrived is anyone's guess. Perhaps you were transported while in the throes of death; perhaps it was something so simple as passing through a doorway in your own world.

While here, others may be transported into this dimension join you. At there mere thought of your most treasured or needed possession, the item may appear on the pedestal within. Visitors can freely go to another world contained within one of the portals if they wish, but you must have a companion for the dimensional shift to work. Otherwise passing through the thresholds will be of no effect.

This is no dream; this is no afterlife. And you are in it. What happens next is up to you.

Comments

Agent York | RvB | AU

[logicunlocked]

It was a breakthrough when Delta and Sigma had teamed up. Their plan to become like full AIs seemed strong, and an alliance with Maine and Tex meant bringing Church in to provide a complete code for them was the final step.

But things had gone sideways when the final plan was executed. Church and Tex had been incapacitated, and though Maine held the line, York was captured. Their plan had been foiled and York is immediately taken to the lab to have Delta forcibly removed. He puts up a fight, tries to prevent the inevitable, but they subdue him and take the AI from him.

The last thing York remembers is being taken to the brig on the Mother of Invention. This wasn't supposed to happen; instead of finding himself in the holding cell he'd seen through the doorway, he's in this place of blinding whiteness instead.

He peers through the doorways, tries passing through them once or twice. Nothing works, and eventually he settles for leaning his hip against one of them, arms crossed, trying to figure out what kind of hallucination this is. Had they drugged him when they took D away? He can't remember.


(( AU summary is here. ))

[tactical_alert]

((Sup want some Agent Vermont AU because that's what I'm throwing at you.))

He's running. Leaving behind Wyoming unconscious in the locker room had been a split second decision. Could have killed him. Could have. Should have? Yet to be determined. The ship is crashing (he's pretty sure he has York to thank for that, god damn it), and a couple of holes he's made in walls thanks to a few less than ideally placed grenades sure doesn't help the structural soundness. He needs to get to--to someone. Find York, or Tex, or North, or hell, get to the bridge and find the Director and--

Vermont dives through a doorway when the ship gives a shudder, and when he pops back to his feet, he's no longer on the ship. He'd gotten so used to the shaking that he's actually momentarily unsteady with the lack of it. It's a few long seconds, too long, before he draws his pistol, taking a sweep of the area.

"Phi: status update."

I don't know.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

It means I don't have any information to help us out. This isn't the ship. Go find a way back.

"Working on it."

[logicunlocked]

York's standing in that same position when the red-and-blue armored soldier appears and he stays dispassionate as the dialogue between the soldier and his AI take place. Well, this is certainly unexpected.

"Hey," he says. "Who're you?"

[tactical_alert]

The pistol's trained on...an unexpectedly familiar face, and the barrel drops again. "York, thank god. Any idea where we are?"

Exit would be good any time now.

Vermont waved aside the red-tinted holographic armour. "It's just me and the big guy here. I don't think anyone followed us."

[logicunlocked]

"You might have noticed, I asked who you were, fella," York says. "I've never seen you before in my life. Guess you know me though." This is really strange.

[tactical_alert]

"What do you mean never seen--it's me. Vermont. Monty? We practically live in this armour; it isn't as thought I--" He frowns under his visor. "Nasty head injury?" he speculates. "Drugs? Something to do with this place, whatever and wherever it is?"

Definitely not dropping his weapon, at any rate. "What's the last thing you remember before ending up here?"

[logicunlocked]

York spreads his hands. "Hey, buddy, you don't need to point your gun at me. I don't know you, but that's no reason to shoot me." He slowly stands to an upright position and takes his helmet off—a gesture of good faith, he hopes. He dangles the helmet off one hand as he finishes his reply. "I don't know what side you were on when shit went down but the last thing that happened to me was being thrown in the brig for being on the losing end."

[tactical_alert]

"You don't know me. York, you gave me my stupid bloody nickname!" At least he'd grown so used to 'Monty' that he actually kind of liked it. Or at least tolerated it.

If he doesn't have a way out of here, we--

"Give it a rest, Phi. Priorities." Vermont tilts his head. "Your eye isn't busted," he observes. "But shit is going down. I don't understand this; there's shit going down right now. Where I just came from. And your left eye is busted, and you definitely know me."

[logicunlocked]

"My eye?" he says uncomprehendingly. "What shit is going down? Last thing I knew of happened last night."

[tactical_alert]

"When Tex showed up. A grenade ended up landing by your face. She tried to help, but you still ended up getting an injured eye. And what's going down now is, as far as I can tell, the Mother. It definitely felt like we were losing altitude, anyway. A coup of sorts. Picking sides. Hopefully not the losing one."

[logicunlocked]

"But we were... on the compound..." He shakes his head. "This might sound nuts but I think we're from different realities. Shifts in dimensions and all that. I think we're in some kind of nexus now."

[tactical_alert]

"...That would explain a few things," Vermont starts with a shake of his head, "an interesting theory, but how did we even end up here if that's the case?" After a moment of hesitating thought, he storms back through the doorway he came through uselessly. "And how do we get back to our own timelines?"

Agent North | RvB

[bothbarrels]

He remembered the fight, being shot on the oil platform in defense of his sister. He'd lost consciousness, laid out flat on the ground. It wasn't until he was inside the Pelican that he awakened, and he came up with a daring plan. Use the dome shield, prevent the missiles from hitting, save everyone's life. And it worked—at least, he thinks it did. He braced himself, activated the shield, watched the bright flash of the world becoming nothing but explosions and light—

and then he's blinking against as impossible brightness as he falls through a doorway, and empty featureless white frame. Tumbling to the floor is his only option, as exhausted and injured as he is. His armor is dented into his chest and he's bleeding from his cheek.

He's a mess. And he needs something, anything to deal with the aftermath of what he's been through.

At the mere thought of bandages and antiseptic a container of each appears on the pedestal. He approaches, untrusting, but in pain. There's nothing to do but remove his upper armor and begin the process of patching himself up.

[pain_train]

Nothing quite like getting pinned to the wall by shrapnel. Large pieces of shrapnel, one right through the side, and this had been a Bad Idea. An exceedingly Bad Idea. Why had they been sent outside the dome? Nodis was dead, why did they need to go there?

And find unexploded ordnance, apparently. To go with all the dysthropes.

When she opens her eyes, it's a surprise. Hadn't the wall been crumbling? Hadn't-- but this isn't the dead city. It's too bright. This isn't the place she closed her eyes on. It also can't be death, because death is supposed to be painless. She is still in a lot of pain.

But doesn't make a sound as she slides down the wall to the floor, leaving a bright smear of blood against the wall. She looks around, eyes wide, and there's someone else. She doesn't recognize that armor, and she doesn't trust it in the slightest. Maybe there was more left in Nodis than they'd thought.

[bothbarrels]

By this time he's peeling down the black undersuit to get to the bloodied spots that had been left on his chest—for the most part the armor had done it's job deflecting the bullets, but the spots where the bullets had hit had dented into his flesh. Someone appears, just as simple as that, faster than the blink of an eye, and he is startled as she slides down against the wall.

She appears hurt, but for all he knows she's dangerous, so he sets the bandages down on the pedestal and takes his pistol of the mag strip at his thigh. It's only a precaution. He keeps it gripped in one hand as he approaches.

[pain_train]

Wrath's eyes are on his for a moment, flick down to the gun, then back on his. Her own eyes widen, then narrow. One hand slides across her hip, settling onto the hilt of a combat knife strapped to her thigh.

She licks her lips and tastes blood. But she's still alive, and Wrath's never been one to go down without a fight. She pushes herself back up to her feet, listing to the side, back firmly against the wall.

Waiting. He's got the ranged weapon. He's got control of the situation for now.

[bothbarrels]

"Hey," he says, spreading his hands. "I don't want trouble if you don't. You look like you're in bad shape."

[pain_train]

"Then put the gun down," she says evenly, eyes not leaving his. It's always in the eyes, what the next move will be. For all that she's in bad shape, the grip on her combat knife is very certain. "I don't like guns. They make me nervous."

[bothbarrels]

He stick the gun back to the mag strip and shows that his hands are empty. "See? You can let go of your knife. I want to see how badly you're hurt."

[pain_train]

That's not much of a putting it down. But she slides the knife back into its sheathe. Her other hand is pressed against her side, blood squeezing between her fingers. "What do you care? Who the fuck are you?"

[bothbarrels]

She has a bit of an advantage should he approach, considering his upper half has been stripped of its armor. "Give me a reason not to care and I'll stop," he says. "Otherwise I don't want you to drop dead before either of us can figure out where we are and what we're doing here. ...I assume those are things you don't know. If you do I'd sure like to hear it."

As for the other question he answers after he kneels beside her. "I'm North."

[pain_train]

...okay, good point. She's not about to tell anyone they shouldn't want to care about her. Her lips twist into a wry smile. "Fine. Good argument."

She takes a careful breath. Right out of combat, every nerve is just screaming to get the hell away from him. "I'm Wrath."

[bothbarrels]

"Okay, Wrath. I have some bandages over there. Maybe it'll be enough for the two of us." He sets a hand at her side and tilts his head to get a better look. "Good-sized gash here. You feel light-headed at all?"

[pain_train]

"If it's not I guess I'll have to fight you for it." Squinty-eyed look. "You're not that big." Her breath hisses out. "Shrapnel. Yeah. Well. I feel like I was just standing next to an artillery shell when it went. Which I was."

[bothbarrels]

"Your injury is worse than mine," he says. "Come on, let's get you over there." He offers his arm for her to lean on as she arises.