[ There are people here, and buildings — surface buildings. Simon’s lizard hindbrain may have gotten a recent experimental port, but it can still recite its lines but good. The roaring heartbeat, the icy panic at a sudden sense of inherent Wrongness that forces the air from your chest, when he scrambles to his feet from what moments ago was grimy tile — it’s a very convincing simulation, until of course his vision starts to jerk and tear into displaced pixels and strobing pain. ]
What the hell? Catherine? [ she’s plugged in. She can explain this, right? This is supposed to be hallways and pneumatic doors, sickly screen-glow and broken machinery. ] What’s—
[ and then he feels impossible heat singeing the back of his arm and yanks it away, turning to see some kind of fucking dragon-man — no, two of them, flames shooting from their mouths. He ducks clumsily under another stream of fire and suddenly his vision is obscured by... what he can only assume is smoke because he doesn’t breathe and wouldn’t know toxic gas from a hole in the ground.
So he runs, blindly, as only a guy in a specific ‘I have no weapons and my brain can fucking melt, I think’ type of life situation can.
It may be in your general direction, but that shouldn’t complicate things any. I mean, you can tell the difference between a friendly sprinting haunted 22nd-century diving suit with an ivy-like overgrowth of tentacled metal nodes and glowing red robotic eyes behind an eerie, unnaturally dark faceplate and a hostile one, right? ]
wildcard:
[ Though I didn’t write starters for them, I’m all the way open to the other two prompts (you know you want to traumatize your characters... bring them back to childhood and then ruin it immediately... imagine....,,,) and anything else you feel like throwing! i’m on plurk at honchkrow if you want to suggest anything specific! ]
simon jarrett | SOMA
[ There are people here, and buildings — surface buildings. Simon’s lizard hindbrain may have gotten a recent experimental port, but it can still recite its lines but good. The roaring heartbeat, the icy panic at a sudden sense of inherent Wrongness that forces the air from your chest, when he scrambles to his feet from what moments ago was grimy tile — it’s a very convincing simulation, until of course his vision starts to jerk and tear into displaced pixels and strobing pain. ]
What the hell? Catherine? [ she’s plugged in. She can explain this, right? This is supposed to be hallways and pneumatic doors, sickly screen-glow and broken machinery. ] What’s—
[ and then he feels impossible heat singeing the back of his arm and yanks it away, turning to see some kind of fucking dragon-man — no, two of them, flames shooting from their mouths. He ducks clumsily under another stream of fire and suddenly his vision is obscured by... what he can only assume is smoke because he doesn’t breathe and wouldn’t know toxic gas from a hole in the ground.
So he runs, blindly, as only a guy in a specific ‘I have no weapons and my brain can fucking melt, I think’ type of life situation can.
It may be in your general direction, but that shouldn’t complicate things any. I mean, you can tell the difference between a friendly sprinting haunted 22nd-century diving suit with an ivy-like overgrowth of tentacled metal nodes and glowing red robotic eyes behind an eerie, unnaturally dark faceplate and a hostile one, right? ]
wildcard:
[ Though I didn’t write starters for them, I’m all the way open to the other two prompts (you know you want to traumatize your characters... bring them back to childhood and then ruin it immediately... imagine....,,,) and anything else you feel like throwing! i’m on plurk at