FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

[robbies]

 

CHAPTER TWO, PART 2: THE LIVING ISLAND

Everything you never wanted to see.

YOU CAN’T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO ENOUGH | JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY | DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH | YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH | COME AND PLAY WITH ME

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YOU CAN'T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DO ENOUGH

Perhaps you’ve been on tenterhooks since you woke up to find that your friends, your family, your neighbors somehow went missing in the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitting the pavement and knocking on doors trying to find them. So far, your efforts have been for naught. There’s been neither hide nor hair of the missing, and every attempt to find them has met with a dead end.

Until February 13.

In the afternoon, a strange, unsigned message goes live on the network. What is the meaning of “Living Island”? Does it have anything to do with what’s going on? There’s no elaboration… until midnight, when every neighbor’s television set turns on at full volume, hissing static and garbled noise as the dials turn and adjust. Several disjointed clips follow, ending on a mural that depicts the same words from the post.

“Living Island.”

The following morning, you’ll find that stranger things are beginning to happen. Some of you will be woken up to the blankets and sheets being yanked off your sleeping bodies by a powerful force. Others will find that when they step out of their morning shower, a message has been written in the steam on their medicine cabinet's mirror. Depending on how quickly you shower, you may only be able to see part of the message — but running the hot water longer and allowing the steam to fill the room will reveal it in its entirety:

“LIVING ISLAND.”

As time passes, you’ll find that the same message shows up every time the bathroom steams up, whether you’re in the shower or not. The same force that turned your TV on seems to insist that you pay attention to what it’s trying to show you, and its behavior escalates the longer you refuse. Characters will find that books go flying off of bookshelves, drawers are yanked out of dressers and desks, and breakable objects are smashed. Trying to prevent the spirit from destruction won’t go your way: If you try to catch or grab something that’s about to be thrown, you’ll find it ripped out of your hands anew and smashed anyways. If you tried to take all of your chairs down from where they’ve been stacked on top of the dining room table, you’ll find they’re back atop it the instant you look away.

All that’s to say nothing of the rumbling. It doesn’t start until the end of the first day, but from time to time you’ll feel the house beginning to shake on its foundations, a dull groan as it struggles to keep itself from collapsing in under its own weight. As time goes on, this will get louder and louder until the house seems to roar of its own accord, an unyielding shriek that can’t be stopped until the force causing it backs down.

Attempts to make contact with the spirit will never go well. It does not seem to be able or willing to communicate with you beyond its own tantrums, and characters who try may find that the attempt rapidly goes out of control. Candles flare up and burn wildly, Ouija boards are ripped into pieces and planchettes go flying, offerings of food are knocked over or thrown, and the lights flicker manically in turns. While you may be able to get some sleep at night if you’re lucky, the only thing that will reduce the poltergeist activity is to pay attention to the message it’s sending you and figure out what it means.

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JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY

Living Island. If ever there were a first step to stopping this madness, it’s figuring out what those words mean. But starting is always the hardest part, and with nothing else to go by than two seemingly unrelated, nonsensical words left behind by a force you can’t see much less communicate with, an already arduous task seems even more impossible. This is furthered by the reactions you get when you hit the street and start asking people if they know anything about Living Island. Most of them can only look back at you blankly, as if waiting for a punchline that never comes. Others actually take you seriously enough to consider the question, and to their credit, they do take their time racking their brains to remember where they’ve heard that name before, why it sounds so familiar. But the most you’ll get back from them is a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and a reply that it sounds like something from TV. It gets to the point where their answers blend together, each one more unremarkable than the last. Save for the one you get from the last person you haven’t asked. Living Island. I’m sorry, what was that? What the fuck did you just say? Dale Harding and Rosemary Craven might be as far away from each other as possible, doing things around town that couldn’t be more different, but their reactions are the same. When they overhear you asking what feels like the hundredth person you’ve seen that day about Living Island, they look your way — Harding in the middle of his patrol or lunch break, Rosemary in the middle of grocery shopping. Harding looks honest-to-God surprised. Rosemary simply looks confused, even somewhat concerned. That's such a... strange name. Where did you hear that from? When they hear your explanation, they go quiet, mulling it over. Rosemary’s expression turns thoughtful. Harding’s, suspicious. If I remember correctly, that was a clubhouse the children around town used to play in. I haven’t heard about it in… goodness, I can’t even remember. Years, perhaps. It’s a play on “safety island” — another name for a bomb shelter — and the name of this… stupid kids show that used to be popular. I guess they thought it was cute, calling a place like that something fun. But where is it? Well, most of the shelters in town are still in use, and children aren’t allowed in them unless there’s an emergency. The only place I can think of is… The grade school. Administration ran out of funding before they could finish it, so they just scrapped it. Closed it off and just hoped for the best. Didn’t stop people from sneaking in. I used to bust them for playing down there all the time, the little shits. Harding’s mouth twists into a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are soft and miserable, while Rosemary waits patiently for any other questions and, when you have no others, excuses herself to go back to her groceries. Now you have something even better than an explanation: you have a destination.

Finding Santa Rosita Elementary is as easy as a fifteen minute drive from North Santa Rosita to Shadyside. Getting in is a different story. By day, the school is open for business and humming with activity, so you can’t very well go barging in and not expect to be reprimanded for disrupting class. This leaves you with three options: go before it opens, wait until school is over, or come in the middle of the night. Each have their own pros and cons, but all of them will get you the same result.

After hours, the school is desolate and still. The wind, the occasional slap of a naked branch against a window, and the squeak of your footsteps on the shiny, clean floors are the only sounds you’ll hear as you navigate the empty hallways. Most of the classrooms are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have anything any more unique or worthwhile to them than the occasional lunchbox left behind by a student or the classroom frog croaking in its tank. In a way, this is a good thing — it doesn’t leave that many places to investigate and makes your path that much more linear as you finally, inevitably and silently make your way downstairs into the bowels of the school.

The long corridor that awaits you in the basement is, in theory, not very different from the hallways upstairs. There are lockers lining both sides, dented and darkened with age and dust. The tiles are cracked, dirt and pieces of stone kicked up from exposed areas of the floor. Seemingly, this appears to lead to a dead end. But look closely at the wall and you’ll see the impression of a door, painted to match the walls. The lock is flimsy — in fact, depending on when you find it, someone may have already broken it. All that’s left is to enter and descend down the tiny room’s only feature: a ladder under a rusty steel hatch door, stretching down into darkness.

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DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH

CW: gore, surgery

Stepping into the old shelter, the first thing that hits you is the stale, uncomfortably moist air. This first room is cavernous and dark, and your footsteps and whispers echo in spite of how quiet you might try to be. There’s a faint smell in the air, a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol that might make your eyes water, making your mouth feel unpleasant as it hits your tongue. As you get your bearings and begin to pick your way through the dark, you’ll notice traces of another smell — something simultaneously spicy and cloyingly sweet, a scent that seems to assault your senses and leaves you with a headache pounding at the base of your skull. Thankfully, there isn’t enough to do more than make you nauseous, but the smells warn of what’s still yet to be found.

As you continue through the labyrinthine warren, you’ll begin to find signs of human presence — some of the trashed rooms may be fitted with tables and supplies one might expect to find in a laboratory, meticulously labeled with typewritten strips. Several of these boxes appear to be old, covered in grimy layers of dust, while others are fresh and clean. All of them contain medical supplies. Eagle-eyed investigators might note that the untouched supplies tend to be the type contained in first-aid kits — acetaminophen, antibiotic ointment, simple adhesive bandages — while the ones that have been opened are for heavy duty surgical work — coiled IV lines and tubing, empty syringes, surgical gloves. One room in particular seems to have been fitted out for someone’s personal use, boasting a stripped-down bed, a chair and desk, and a comfortable recliner.

The trickle of water can be heard in the depths of the shelter, and as you emerge from one corridor that filters into a large chamber, it becomes immediately obvious where you are: This is an operating theater, with a table stationed beneath all manner of lights that can be adjusted and moved. A faucet drips monotonously in the back of the room, over a sink stained with blood with bits of grey, pulpy matter stuck in the drain. A bucket filled with blood and viscera ferments on the ground beside it. There are smears of blood, both dried and fresh, on the cloudy tiles, and a cabinet full of surgical instruments is slightly ajar. Looking at the instruments, characters will find that a couple of scalpels and a pair of tongs have dotted blotches where the metal was cleaned with water; whoever used these tools last didn’t dry them before putting them away. A small table near the operating area has a turntable sitting atop it, with a record already set under the needle: a single of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel.” There are a few other records sitting in the cabinet beneath it, including Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog,” Frank Sinatra’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely,” and James Brown and the Famous Flames’ “Think!”

In a separate area of this room, an oversized desk is piled with books and empty food containers that look as though they’ve been repurposed for one reason or another. These books are chiefly on anatomy and the medical sciences, though there are a number of books on psychology and how the brain functions. Though some of these books are water-spotted and dog-eared, there aren’t any notes written in the margins, nor are there any papers to be found. You can turn this area as much as you'd like, but all you’ll find is a couple empty cigarette boxes and some broken and bitten pens; the trash can next to the desk, filled with soggy ashes, seems to suggest that any papers that might have given you a lead were destroyed before you got here.

But the lab, with all its instruments, isn’t what you came here to find. There’s still at least one more room to be found…

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YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH

CW: gore, surgical trauma, amputation, lobotomy, brainwashing and interrogation, mouth trauma, eye trauma, ear trauma, body horror

The missing are being held in small, sturdy cages in a single room connected to the back of the operating room, dim and dank. The cages are placed equidistant around the room, ensuring that even if you try, you can’t reach out and make contact with your neighbors. The missing will find that they wake at approximately the same time, curled up on the ground in uncomfortable positions. Unlike your rescuers, your nightmare began far earlier than when you first awoke in this room, sore and disoriented. In fact, you could argue it started the moment you went to sleep on February 9th, leaving empty beds and concerned family members behind.

With no clocks or watches available to tell the time, you may not be able to tell how long you’ve been here. You sleep and wake, sometimes to a bowl of what looks like sticky rice lying in your cage that wasn’t there before. Sometimes, an overpowering smell will fill the room, faint at first; by the time you register it, it’s already overwhelmed you and sent you into a deep sleep. And when you wake, one cage will be empty. The inhabitant will be returned the next time you go to sleep and wake up, but not quite the same as they were before. They seem heavily drugged, discombobulated — or perhaps there's something visibly different about them. Whoever has taken you is doing a lot of work in their lab — and from the smell of things, meat work — and before long almost all of you will be sporting dressings of some type or other, fresh red seeping through the sterile cloth within a matter of hours.

Maybe you should try to keep each others’ spirits up. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, after all.

All of this goes on for a while — days, although it won’t be easy to count them given that there are no windows in the room. But nearly a week later… you wake to find that the front of your cage is unlocked. Unlatched. Open just an inch. Looking around the room, you’ll find that yours is not the only cage to have been opened — all of your cages have been unlocked.

Is it a mistake? Or are you really free?

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COME AND PLAY WITH ME

CW: blood and violence

Whether you’ve released yourself from your cage, or were discovered by a well-meaning friend before you could, or you’ve simply had your fill of exploring the shelter-turned-laboratory, the time has finally come to leave. Unfortunately, if things were that easy, you wouldn’t even be around by the time the scuttling sounds begin — somewhere down the hall, in the room behind you, fleeting and sly. It’s not an animal sound, a creature picking its way through the garbage and debris littered around the shelter. No, with the way it stops and starts every time you start and stop walking, this is a very deliberate, human sound. And if you don’t believe that, you’ll see soon enough when you see the naked, bone-white figure walk into view at the end of the hallway as casual as you please, their body smooth and sexless like a department store mannequin. They turn (your) their head and stare directly at you with (your) their wide, glassy eyes crinkled in thousand-yard delight. You hear your voice echoed back at you, airy and chirpy and so indescribably wrong it makes your blood run cold.

"Hi!"

Much like the Doppelgangers you encountered in January, these ones look and move like dolls, their limbs connected with ball-joints. However, whereas those ones were near perfect imitations of you and your friends, these ones look like they just fell off the assembly line. Their faces are unnaturally flat and plastic, like all the imperfections have been ironed out of them, but they are unmistakably yours. And when they open their mouths to squeal at you before running with all the unnatural speed not having a pair of lungs affords them, you’ll find that even their voices are perfect imitations — and not necessarily of your own either.

There’s no way to tell how many of these Doppelgangers are down here with you, hiding in the dark. They’re stealthy and sneaky, only coming out to attack when they’re sure you’re alone. Even if you’re not, they’re intelligent enough to come up with ways to separate you from your group, calling to you from another part of the shelter, mimicking a voice from someone they know you’ll listen to. Even if there’s no possible way they could be in Santa Rosita.

"Help me!"

"Is that you...? Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Please, don't leave me!"

Other times, they’ll take a more aggressive approach, allowing their limbs to pop out of place so they can sprawl on the ground, imitating a heap of discarded doll parts. Once you get close enough or turn your back on them, they’ll pull themselves together and attack, speeding towards you on fours like a crab.

There are two ways out of the shelter. The first one is the hardest: go back the way you came. With the low visibility, the number of Doppelgangers, and the confusing layout of the area, you’re more likely to get turned around and go in circles than you are to find your way back to the ladder — a location made even more difficult to discern since the hatch door has been lowered, blotting out all light from the room above.

The second way is the longest but also the easiest: head deeper into the shelter, past the operating room, through the rooms filled with broken furniture and ruined floors that are very easy to trip on — especially when you’re in the middle of running away. Eventually, you’ll come to another ladder, this one leading to an open hatch that deposits you into a dark passageway. The air up here is more fresh, but not necessarily pleasant smelling. There’s only one way to go — forward.

After what feels like an hour of walking, you’ll see a light at the end of the passage. Follow it and you’ll find yourself exiting a storm drain that drops you into the heart of Old Growth, just outside of West Santa Rosita.

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the second part of February’s event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to utilize the log and network communities as well.

There will be a top-level posted for NPC interaction tied to the second prompt below, wherein you can request to play out your character’s interaction with Harding or Rosemary. If you would like to have your character interact with either one of them, comment to the top-level with the name of the NPC you would like to thread with. You may only thread with one NPC. The mods will respond to NPC tags until February 28th.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

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Comments

D

[monalisasmile]

[Da Vinci's seen a couple of the results of this kidnapping by now. Her outfit, once a smart little blouse and skirt combination that would have given away her librarian day job, is torn and disheveled from her encounters inside. But she's far better off than some of the others, all becoming what she could only describe as "experimental subjects". To what end, she has no idea; she's more concerned with the sheer horror and brutality of it right now.

And among the other escapees, outside, is a familiar figure. A bloodied familiar figure, with obvious signs of injury and mistreatment.

Da Vinci's face twists into a rare horrified look, her voice barely holding back a tremble. Even she can't mask it entirely.]

What... What the hell?!

[In an instant, she's by Kiara's side, torn between offering her support if she needs it and getting in closer to examine what's been done to her.]

What happened? And be careful... you might still be bleeding!

[It's not that she's more concerned for Kiara than the others, exactly. Not even because of the rough shape she seems to be in. It's just... complicated. Like it hits home more with someone who also used to be a Servant.]

[thotsandprayers]

[For a moment, Kiara's a little embarrassed about having another Servant show concern for her like this. Servants aren't supposed to go through this kind of thing, and if Servants aren't, then she's pretty sure Beast candidates are supposed to go through this kind of trauma even less. But without most of her powers, it really couldn't be helped.]

I appreciate the concern, but surely the others...

[She's going to say the others are worse off than her, and she truly does think that. But that doesn't really seem to be a popular argument with people worried about her, so that thought won't be completely voiced.]

...they've gone through similar experiences, and could use proper care as well.

[There, that's close enough to what she'd like to say without trying to downplay her own suffering. If Da Vinci wants to inspect the damage, she won't protest, but she also won't act like she received the worst from their captors.]

[monalisasmile]

[She's not sure how she expected Kiara to respond. Altruistic concern for the other victims? Doesn't seem entirely likely, but then Kiara's surprised her a few times already since they came here.

She quickly pulls herself together, not entirely snapping back to the professional facade she's grown accustomed to putting up. But definitely closer to it.]

We'll do our best to help everyone, of course. [There's no one immediately nearby who desperately needs assistance, though, so she's going to indulge her curiosity.] For now, just... tell me what happened. Were you even aware of what they were doing?

[Even as she asks, she examines the obvious signs of surgery, with absolutely zero concern for Kiara's personal space. A replaced eye, bloodied cloth over her chest... was there anything else she was missing?]

[thotsandprayers]

[If she were to be completely honest, it's part altruism, part if she backslides, those are her people to prey on thank you very much. But mercifully she hasn't had much reason to be that honest with anyone here.]

Not entirely. I can recall some of it, but...

[For obvious reasons, she doesn't sound quite happy about this trip down memory lane. It's definitely not about having Da Vinci in her personal space, Kiara doesn't really care if people get in her personal space, though she doesn't try to do the same to others these days.

As far as signs of any procedures, those are the main two that most would notice. On closer inspection, there's some needle marks showing she was injected with something a few times, so there's that as well.]

I woke up in the building along with the others. I have no idea how I was taken, and every so often they would release some sort of...most likely a gas into the room to knock us unconscious. Then we would be taken from our cages and subjected to this sort of thing...

[She trails off, trying to decide what details to tell and which not to. It's not out of a wish to conceal anything, it's just unpleasant to dwell on.]

Perhaps most importantly to you, I was questioned about a number of things. My past, my home, my abilities. I'm sorry, I may have told them things I shouldn't have. I found myself unable to conceal anything from them.

[That's not to imply that Da Vinci doesn't care about the physical damage or anything, but she figures that would be concerning, even if Kiara can't imagine what anyone would do with that info. Or in regards to her powers, why they wouldn't have it already if they're able to suppress them.]

I wasn't conscious for this though. A small kindness, I suppose.

[She'll raise her hand up to the glass eye, using her finger to keep it in place since having it fall out during this conversation is something she'd like to avoid.]

[monalisasmile]

Gas?

[That's the first thing she keys in on, while she examines what she can see of Kiara's skin. Especially the needle marks.]

So these aren't from anesthetics or sedatives? If you were interrogated...

[She just lets that trail off, the various possibilities left hanging in the air. She can't imagine what someone who has the power to bring the two of them to this place, in ordinary human bodies, could have to gain by learning more about their pasts and abilities either. But Kiara's right, it is something to be concerned about. Perhaps there are even multiple forces at play here?]

Well... nothing we can do about that now. Just something to be aware of, moving forward.

[She watches Kiara cover her glass eye with her finger, a wave of comparatively more mundane concern crossing Da Vinci's face.]

Do you feel up to walking, at least? You'd probably like to get home and rest, after all of that. I might be able to do something about the eye too, if you give me some time. At least to make it more comfortable...

[There's a genuine pang of regret there that she can't just heal Kiara's injuries, and whatever else might have been done to her, with magecraft.]

I apologize for Kiara being Kiara

[thotsandprayers]

I believe so. There was a strange smell and then suddenly I was unconscious. And no, they're from injections of adrenaline. I can't say I'd ever experienced a heart attack before.

[She's not going to say that sucked, but...yeah, it sucked.]

After the last round of it, I found myself like this.

[She'll point at the blood on her chest.]

It's rather cruel really. If I get too worked up, it's like an electric current running through my body. Normally, I could find some delight in that sort of thing, but at the moment...

[A crestfallen look crosses her face because of course it does. Of course this is Kiara's concern that right now she can't enjoy getting shocked by the pacemaker.]

Well, I'll just have to take things slowly from now on. Or slower, as it were.

[So yes, she can walk. Sorry about the weird detour getting to the answer.]

Ah, but do you think that's possible? Here I was expecting to have to manage with this until I were resummoned, but having a less difficult replacement would be nice.

[Because she really has no idea where in town to buy a glass eye that fits.]

she can only hold herself back so much...

[monalisasmile]

Hm, that does explain it...

[Adrenaline shots are consistent with the location and type of injections she seems to have received. But the concern in her eyes flares up again at the mention of heart attacks. So that... explains the chest surgery too. What did they do, create a problem only to experiment with a crude solution? Or was it all really just to torment Kiara?]

Yes, well... [She pauses, trying not to think too hard on Kiara's logic. She's not here to kinkshame.] Ideally, we could find some solution to the other problems too. Eventually.

But for the eye, assuming the surgical foundation is good enough, all we need is to craft an aesthetically convincing replacement to more exacting measurements. What kind of genius do you take me for, if I can't manage something so simple?

[Granted, she'll need to be careful to make sure it's made with the right materials and tools for use as a medical prosthetic. It's not how she usually does things, but it does play to what skills she still has!]

[thotsandprayers]

I suppose that would be an easier start than removing the pacemaker. And easier for me to manage as well.

[She's honestly not sure on how feasible that would be with 1961 stuff, but she figures if anyone could figure something out, it'd be Da Vinci. The same thing goes with the replacement for this glass eye of hers. She's got some medical training from her volunteer days but it's not like too much she did involved trying to figure out what was medically feasible decades before she was born.]

Still, I'll be in your care. I imagine given some of the others, your talents will be in high demand, so you may be quite busy from now on.

[Kiara can't help but think it must be nice for Da Vinci to be able to put her talents to work here. Not like Kiara who if she does, depending on regains could end up causing some sort of giant mess. Must be nice not having to worry about that kind of thing!]

[monalisasmile]

Not exactly an ideal way to occupy my time. But if I can find the materials in this era... of course I'll do what I can for everyone.

[It would be nice to have an actual medical professional they could trust on hand, for this sort of thing. Any number of the remaining Chaldea medical staff would have done. Or, if things could have gone differently back then, maybe...

... Well. There are limits to how much even she can make up for his absence, it seems.]

Maybe I won't even charge them. Much.

[Suddenly, her tone is lighter, mischievous. It's almost like she's covering for serious private thoughts by inappropriately joking around!]

[thotsandprayers]

[Kiara's laughter is a little shakier than it would be otherwise, but she definitely finds that a little amusing.]

I think you'd have quite the monopoly even with there being a hospital around. So really it'd be quite gracious to keep the prices low.

[Alternatively Da Vinci becomes the town's first billionaire.]