jackin | test drive

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test drive | 1

test drive

Welcome to the first test drive for Systemwide! We are excited to have you. All prospective players are welcome to tag in and test out their characters, be they unplugged or free born. We would like to offer a range of scenarios that can be expected during gameplay, which are also useable prompts for app samples, and of course, if something else about the setting strikes you, feel free to come up with your own!

Please put your character name and canon in your subject line, and indicate which prompt you are launching from.

simulation | maybe this is your first time. perhaps you've been here countless times. it's a room, as confined as a boxing ring, as expansive as a battle field, whatever you need it to be, whatever you're here to train for.
1.

Before you is a city of rooftops, empty of human life. This is a safe place, because while it may hurt you, at least it won't kill you. Perhaps you are practicing your influence over reality, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Are you successful, or are you failing to free your mind? Perhaps you're helping someone else overcome their fear of heights.

And of course, an operator can always load up some Agent-like training programs to make it interesting.

2.

Congratulations, you know kung-fu, or maybe some other system of combat, like crazy parkour archery, cartwheeling with guns, or sword fighting on horse back. Perhaps you're trying out something even more fantastic, a magical skill or a superpower.

Show me. Or a friend.
mission | whether on board a ship or with your mind sunk deep into a Matrix, you will have to join the battle eventually. sometimes things go terribly wrong. what are you gonna do about it?
3.

Something's gone wrong with this extraction.

There's a lot of information to process. Your target's been extracted, and that's the good news -- your ship, in reality, is heading to their location now -- but the bad news is your team has been scattered. You could be anywhere within this Matrix, deep in the jungle, or lost on a subway train, or staggering out of the crashing waves of a night time beach, and the operator needs a minute to figure out your exact location before they can direct you to a port out of here, or send another operative to collect you.

All you have to do is stay alive for that long. Easy, right?

4.

You were warned of this. You've been prepared in endless simulations, with a dozen cautionary tales, training sessions with the EMP. Still, it's nothing like you imagined, when the operator shouts: "Sentinel closing in at seven o' clock. It's gaining."

And then the shriek of metal.
reality | as much as many Matrixes are designed to be a comfort, you have to face the real world sometime. or maybe this is the world you have only ever known.
5.

Annual celebrations are rare to come by, but the anniversary of Neo's Truce is one that always draws in the crowd. The event takes place in a massive cavern in Zion known as the Temple, and there is music, and there is dancing [a little NSFW].

Everyone is there.

Where are you?

6.

The wind on your face, up here on the desolate surface, tastes bitter, different to what it feels like in a simulated reality. It's freezing cold and always dark, but sometimes, you need a reminder about what it is you're fighting for. Or maybe you're seeing the wasteland of Earth for the first time.

Either way, you shouldn't be out here for too long. The machines might find you.

wildcard | choose your own adventure.
7.

Perhaps you're riding with the Dothraki, or sitting under the Sorting Hat for the first time. Maybe the pleather bodysuit is pinching under your armpits as the traffic of the 90's roars by, or the Nova Empire's sprawling city glitters, towering above you. Maybe you're showing someone around the place you called home for your entire fictional life.

Or perhaps it's nothing as fantastical as that: the Council meeting droned on for two hours, and you're just happy to be home, even if it's a tiny enclosure with rust-edged furniture. Maybe someone's coming over for lunch, and there are real greens in the protein slurry today; maybe you're about to ask to join a crew.

There are infinite worlds to explore, but try to remember that only one of them is real.

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It was a miserable machine, an inefficient machine, she thought, the human apparatus for painting or for feeling; it always broke down at the critical moment; heroically, one must force it on.

[ his quote is answered with another. the footsteps are light and barely there and when she comes to sit, she is all business attire in dark blue; well-tailored pants and a matching jacket, the shirt beneath is made to look like silk. jamie moriarty's hair is well kept and her lips are painted a very subtle red.

it is all art, this place, this being. creation and reconstruction and at times, demolition. ]

[The unwritten life is, as it turns out: not so great.

But Bloom isn't wandering, not anymore. Stephen's voice drew him here, to this room, where Stephen is talking, like always. That same familiar gesture. Tug up on his sleeves, a flourish: ta-dah. In profile, from behind, from the front, Bloom would know his brother, who is not his brother at all.

And Bloom doesn't miss anything, and he doesn't want it written. He has been sitting, just sitting, and every now and then he touched his fingertips to the back of his neck, to the cold metal port that mades the tips of his fingers sing, a little, like accidentally touching a live wire. Except, it didn't. It was just cold. He just wanted a little of that electric feeling. Maybe that's what Stephen's voice is, that electricity.

Everything else seems quiet, and hushed, a dead chill of dead air. He can't sit alone. He wants to be alone. In the door, when he looks at Stephen, whose skin does not look as grey as he knows his does--Stephen, who still looks alive, who still smiles the same way, even here--Stephen, who is not really his brother. Who was never his brother. Bloom folds his hands over each other and remembers the pressure of Stephen's hand, an echo, a memory that never really happened. Just a pulse of electricity in his brain.]

It was all written already. Someone else wrote it.

['Someone'. The corner of his mouth tugs, up, and then very quickly down. Brittle, he folds his arms over his chest, and he does not shuffle into the room, and he does not shuffle out, just-- stands.]

You can't do it over.

You can't punch the cold, Rogers.

[ A little dry, because ostensibly he should mean the machines, but she doesn't think that's really why he's out here. He's testing this small, broken body — and Natasha gets that, because she does the same thing. Every morning, waking up to go another round with a body she's determined to remaster. That probably makes her a control freak, but whatever. ]

So, you're really buying all this? The robot uprising?

Wow.

[ She's trying so hard to be equally nonjudgmental, but clearly struggles, pressing her lips together with no small degree of strain to hide her smile. Steadily, she builds up to a nod, eyebrows raising because she doesn't trust herself to give feedback in actual speech yet. ]

That's … That's really sad. [ Though amusement still twines with it, she does have some chagrined sympathy for him worming in there, and she stops her nod. ] God, what's the protocol on that? I mean, do you think he's, like, a person in a pod somewhere who just thinks he's a raccoon or is that just a program?

[ So sensitive and understanding. ]

[ She crooks a finger, beckoning him closer. Like maybe she really took him up here to be seduced. She runs her hands over his chest and loops her fingers into the material, looking up at him and holding him in place. When she speaks, it's soft. ]

We're from the same one. The same "matrix".

[ No bunny fingers, but the dubious quotation marks are audible anyway. She isn't supposed to know that, but she got the information out of some native operator that couldn't stop staring at her tits. Natasha had thought it was just her and Steve, but instead there's this guy. Who the fuck is he?

So maybe she wasn't dancing up on him because she was interested in his musculature. ]

What's your name?

Everyone lies. The truth isn't always important.

[Cole is really wishing he had his hat right now. It still startles him that everyone can just see him, even when he doesn't want them to. Makes it hard to sneak, and harder still to help anyone without them noticing-- now he has to be noticed. It's still good, but... uncomfortable, somehow. His hands worry slightly at the hem of his dirty tunic shirt, suddenly self-conscious.]

Do you find purpose in it? In what you think is true?

[Cole doesn't seem offended at all-- he sits, patiently, almost, as though he's used to people generally being louder and more enthusiastic about everything than he is. His stare follows the little square contraption, although he hasn't the faintest idea of what it is, it seems important to Peter.]

No, it's not from there. All that meaning, it wouldn't fit. How could it?

[...eerie, but it's as if the kid knows more than he's saying. Or maybe he is saying it, and it's just not making any sense. Not that Cole seems concerned by that one way or the other. He just wants to help.]

Don't tell me you're havin' second thoughts now.

[ but he looks at her, waiting for the answer, expecting her to give him an honest one. he knows it's not exactly what she asked, but she's not the only one who knows how to cut to the heart of the matter. ]

mission // 3

You know, sometimes I think these machines have more imagination than we give them credit for. I mean honestly, who comes up with these places?

[ Hawke's gesture is as expansive as time and space allow, which isn't much since she's dodging right down a narrow corridor lined with brightly-striped canvas, a clamor of pursuers hot on her heels. Sure, she could start jumping over the tents instead of running between them, but for the moment it's not agents chasing, and she'd prefer to keep it that way if possible. But she can hear the crack of a whip too close for comfort, and the heavy, slavering huff of breath that's even more unsettling.

The extraction's accomplished, that's something, but otherwise this mission isn't exactly going to plan. She supposes as captain that means there's no one to blame but herself. Or does that mean she gets to delegate blame? She's heard it both ways. ]

Do you have an extraction set up yet? I did mention the lions, didn't I? [ She continues grumbling almost under her breath, though since her breath is coming quick as she leaps over crates and dodges around bales of straw, it's difficult to tell whether she's talking to herself or her crew. ] A circus world. I hope our new friend's trapeze act is more impressive than the moment I saw, since I'm likely to lose a virtual limb for it.

reality // 4

[ No matter what world she's in, Hawke's favorite place to be at a party is up at the bar. Nothing about Zion resembles Kirkwall's Hanged Man except the dingy corners and occasional smell, but she's still leaned against the bartop, hip cocked, posture lax, the toe of one boot dug intermittently into the floor. The ubiquitous earth-toned sweater has been ditched for the ubiquitous earth-toned tank top and the ports on her arm scrape quietly against the stone as she gets one elbow propped up, a cup dangling casually from her hand.

She's good at casual. Each sip looks sort of absent-- like she barely remembers she's drinking-- and her attention on the crowd looks non-existent too, eyes heavy-lidded, dark bangs in her face only adding to the air of apathy. (They actually take quite a bit of effort to get that way, not that she's likely to ever admit it.) In actuality she's putting this drink away at a steady pace and has been carefully scanning the crowd for familiar faces, but she still looks ripe for interruption. ]

{ooc: prose is totally cool, and in #3 being operator or fellow extractor both work for me!}

Edited 2015-01-26 05:07 (UTC)

It's just not what I was expecting.

[ What was she expecting? Hard to say. When she'd first started investigating she thought maybe this was HYDRA, or something like HYDRA. Finding out everything she knew wasn't real isn't that much of a leap either, because its not the first time the rug has been pulled out under her. But the explanation for the real history of the world... that's taking her more time to square with. ]

I don't want to go back in.

[The program resets and there they are, back on top of that roof, Peter looking at him like he's the world's biggest idiot because birds of an asshole flock together, apparently.]

Thanks.

[He returns dryly, unimpressed. But even so, yeah, no, Quill's spot on with his assessment. He'll take sarcasm and douchery over hair stroking any day of the week.

Six times isn't a reassuring number. When he hears it, he glances over the edge and frowns, trying to imagine falling off of that damn thing half a dozen times and cringing internally. He'd nearly pissed himself after the first and somehow? That doesn't make the second one seem all that much easier. It's a relief, at least, to know for a fact that he's not going to break every bone in his body and then die, but damn if the drop doesn't still suck.

The question pulls him away from his thoughts, a confused little divot dipping into his brow as he tries to figure out the angle behind the inquiry.]

Once or twice.

[He says, though there's an amusement in his tone that suggests the number's way higher. Back home, shouldn't-be-standing-here kind of crazy was basically Tuesday.

So, yeah. Definite yes on that. He tacks on a suspicious:]

Why?

[He's unimpressed by the excuse, it shows as much on his face, a sort of ironic, deadpan expression that practically has you're so full of shit scrawled across it in digitally looping letters.

Whatever. Figures. Besides, he'd hate to let Crowley have that over him, the little victory of knowing he took the leap when Winchester couldn't.]

Sounds like the title of your first crappy book. Better get to work.

[He replies absently, turning his attention back toward the drop again.

Yeah, no, if one of the two of them's gonna pull this off, he'd rather not look like the coward of the pair. He sighs, gives his head a resigned shake, and peddles backward a few steps.]

Alright. Fine. What's a ten story drop anyway?

[He asks darkly, directed more at himself than the other man, and claps his hands together.]

You wanna count me off? On three.

[It's probably definitely the wrong tactic. It's about as effective as Mr. Miyagi trying to teach the wax-on wax-off method to a blind, elderly horse. It's about as effective as Yoda trying to jedi-train a slightly hollow tree stump. Telling Dean he just has to believe will never get him further than a foot off that ledge.

On the other hand, sheer stubborn tenacity and annoyance at the poetic speeches just might.

That last little piece of information is both comforting and incredibly disconcerting, and he whips his head back toward the stranger in disbelief.]

Why the hell would I want it to hurt?

[Who would?]

That's not some kind of... hippy philosophical round-about way of saying if I think it's gonna hurt it's gonna hurt, right? Because I've had it up to here with this mind game bullcrap, seriously.

But this is a game in your mind. Like a dream, one that you can take control of.

[Cole doesn't take offense, he's used to being yelled at by people who don't understand what the heck he's babbling about. Or don't like what he's babbling about. That's an option too. Hm.]

It's not a difficult game. You're only playing against yourself.

[The only thing you have to fear is fear itself, etc., Dean. Getting annoyed at the weird not-a-spirit kid isn't going to make it go away! Or maybe it will, and it'll help him jump? In that case, Dean makes his trajectory and learns control and Cole gets to help, so everybody wins! Sorta.]

I've lost count.

[ Will admits, unpeturbed. In this specific simulation it probably was only a few times, but other sims, missions, there have been plenty of times where he's taken a leap of faith, or opened his mind in other ways.

And now he's here. Considering nudging the man off the edge of the building with his foot, just to help him overcome that first instinctual belief that anything he perceives here is real. But this is only the first exercise of many, and he's given to understand they're supposed to trust each other. ]

It's easier if you don't think too hard about it.

[ In his defense, he's still working on said musculature in the so-called real world, so.

Peter seems entirely convinced she's brought him up here for the obvious reasons that lead to feeling up his chest and pulling him close. There's no reactive tension when she speaks, eyebrows raising in curiosity — it isn't what he was expecting, but it's still interesting. He's had worse surprises, anyway.

Besides, it could mean a lot of things. A lot of planets, a lot of aliens — they'd look human here, right? Be human. ]

That's funny, because you don't look familiar.

[ No name, even if his tone's friendly. ]

You first.

[ She asked to be there when he woke up, assured like she has any idea how to handle the Winter Soldier. I know him, she explained, even though that wasn't true inside the Matrix and is now thrown further into question — she doesn't even know if they shared the same delusion or just something similar, one variation among the infinite. He might wake up not knowing her. Knowing anyone. Again.

It seems better if she finds that out before Steve.

There's one chair, and she's been camped out in it since they detached the sedative from his IV drip. Occasionally she does stretches, straining against her own weakness while there's no one around to see when she's forced to her knees on the steel floor. Most of the time she watches him, scrutinizing the lines of his face like she can glean something from them, this man who was a ghost story. It's strange to have him laid out vulnerable before her. But when Bucky stirs she's sitting with her legs crossed, reading, seemingly at ease.

There's something bird-like about Natasha like this, elfin-faced and short-haired, her limbs skinny and dotted with those metal plugs like scars from her own rebirth. Normally she wears head-to-toe black, but she's dressed simpler here, non-threatening in soft browns, skinny legs and arms exposed. No weapons. She stays out of arms'-reach but within the Soldier's line of sight. ]

You're safe.

[ Is the first thing she says, voice soothing. And: ]

You're free.

[ Because she would have liked those to be the first things she heard, once upon a time, even if she wouldn't have believed them then either. ]

[ Wow, what if she was saving that seat for a friend?

(She wasn't. Spoilers: Natasha doesn't have any friends.)

Natasha doesn't even flinch at the slap of the tray against the table, but her eyebrow lifts. ]

At least it's guaranteed not to be made of people.

[ Unlike every other thing they've ever eaten in their lives. For that reason alone, she's practically relishing it. She puts a spoonful in her mouth with deliberate slowness. Mmmmmm. Puppy chow. ]

Don't see how I could, even if I wanted to.

[ it could be moralizing, but it's not; he says it more like a confession, under the whipping cover of the wind. he'd tried his damnedest to find his place in that world, and the fact that his inability to do so was what ultimately freed him doesn't exactly make him feel any better about it. but— ]

It's not what either of us expected.

[ Natasha had come to him with it, and he'd thought, if she was right, it could lead him to Bucky. maybe even bring an end to HYDRA once and for all. he still believes that, even if the how is nothing like what he would've imagined, so he can't regret it. ]

Romanoff.

[ No reaction. Which is unusual in and of itself: after the debacle at the Triskelion, everyone knows about her. Her entire history was pored over by the international media. ]

Of SHIELD.

[ She adds, flicking up an eyebrow, because surely that will get her somewhere. ]

[ In an unprecedented moment of physical affection, she leans into him, presses her shoulder tighter against his. Doesn't lean her head there, or touch his knee, like she might if she were being dishonest with her body. Instead she just stays solid. ]

Been back in yet?

[ Because she thinks that's going to be the real deciding factor, the slick temptation of the fake world pulling at everything she understands about reality. She tried one simulation, doesn't want to try again. ]

[ Will rubs at his jaw for a moment. ]

The point of the exercise is not to fall.

[ He points out, like he's not sure Steve is aware of that. But he looks more amused than exasperated. ]

[ they're about the same height now, the circumferences of their limbs not so different either, and her arm presses a straight line of warmth down his own. he lets his hand relax from its fist. ]

Not yet.

[ he hasn't told her that in his own simulations he's still in supersoldier form. it's not necessarily a secret; he just doesn't know what he'd say. besides, she'll find out soon enough, and he suspects it will be plenty revealing then in all the wrong ways, if he understands correctly and the serum doesn't truly make any difference at all. ]

I want to soon.

( there have been a great many equally false sunrises in benevenuta's long life, and she regards the one lestat has come to see with a somewhat jaundiced eye. it looks much like another sunrise, and that seems somehow wasteful, if it should be so purposefully designed. )

All you'd hoped? ( --a touch sardonic. )

Well, if you’re certain.

[ No judgment.

Metzger has already seen it: the wind, the wreckage, the heavy black clouds. He’s German, no taller than 5’7” -- dwarfed by the ship idling at his back -- and older, grizzled silver about his whiskers. The pulse of his hovercraft’s jets thrums through through the ground into his boot heels while he unpockets his network device.

He’s been slithering in and out of these tunnels for thirty years, give or take. ]

Climb back in. [ He hooks a thumb back at the hatch, busy checking his messages. ] I’ll return you to your snot bucket.

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test drive | 1

A|

angry

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Hawke | Dragon Age

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[reality]