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3, 2, 1...
WAKE UP
The soft, rhythmic whoosh, whoosh of air is what you hear first, perhaps it's a breeze? The cyclical beep beep in the distance doesn't really jive with a lot of nature scenes, though. A moment or two later your vision comes back to you, blurry in the beginning but becoming clearer with each breath you take. All around you is an opaque blue dome, and when you can wrest your limbs to move, the blue retracts and you're met with a staid metal room.
What happened? Where are you? Your memory is fuzzier still, there being no easy way to jog it like your vision. What you can remember is that there was an accident: one minute you were in your home world, and the next you were in this foreign place surrounded by people you've never seen in your life. Not just any people—scientists, who were trying desperately to create matter, to break the laws of physics and chemistry, in order to save their world. Because their world was dying, and they had tried everything else and then some. Their experiment was a failure, but not all is lost—translocation is a valid solution, after all. They could just send all their people to a non-doomed world, and start anew. And they would have, if the machine they used to bring you here hadn't short circuited. Your combined luck isn't terrible, though, somehow, because there exists one more copy of the machine squirreled away in the space colony floating in a distant solar system somewhere, the Plan B of this dying civilization.
That's why you're here, waking up in this pod in a cloud of cold air and colder remembrances to the murmuring of other strangers around you. You don't recognize any of them (vaguely you remember something about keeping the other travelers separate for quarantine purposes), but a soothing, sonorous electronic voice interrupts your thoughts.
Also, stand by to meet your friendly neighborhood NPC on Sunday at 1 PM EST. Be there or be square!
What happened? Where are you? Your memory is fuzzier still, there being no easy way to jog it like your vision. What you can remember is that there was an accident: one minute you were in your home world, and the next you were in this foreign place surrounded by people you've never seen in your life. Not just any people—scientists, who were trying desperately to create matter, to break the laws of physics and chemistry, in order to save their world. Because their world was dying, and they had tried everything else and then some. Their experiment was a failure, but not all is lost—translocation is a valid solution, after all. They could just send all their people to a non-doomed world, and start anew. And they would have, if the machine they used to bring you here hadn't short circuited. Your combined luck isn't terrible, though, somehow, because there exists one more copy of the machine squirreled away in the space colony floating in a distant solar system somewhere, the Plan B of this dying civilization.
That's why you're here, waking up in this pod in a cloud of cold air and colder remembrances to the murmuring of other strangers around you. You don't recognize any of them (vaguely you remember something about keeping the other travelers separate for quarantine purposes), but a soothing, sonorous electronic voice interrupts your thoughts.
GOOD MORNING. WELCOME TO THE WILD DELIVERANCE. THE ONBOARD TEMPERATURE IS 25 DEGREES CENTIGRADE AND THE DAY IS SATURDAY. WE WILL BE ARRIVING AT OUR DESTINATION SHORTLY, SO PLEASE SIT BACK AND RELAX. THE CAPTAIN WELCOMES-OOC: Welcome to Convive! All characters wake up in the pod room, completely naked, though their color coded space suit and personal effects are in a storage compartment attached to their pod. Additionally, all characters will naturally understand each other due to a totally innocuous implant!
No I fucking don't. Wakey, wakey, you formerly comatose cryptids. We've got a bit of a problem, and no I'm not talkin' about the end of this world, or how you miss your bed and just wanna go home. It's a bit more immediate and simpler than that, ain't that grand?
There's fucking parasitic aliens on this ship and they're not friendly. Just ask our two engineers, Kelvin and Calli—wait you can't, because they're DEAD thanks to our local alien assholes.
Don't worry though, I've got a plan. But hey, if you can solve this on your own go for it—might wanna start with the basic profiles on your new fancy PDA. Maybe you can just ask someone if they're an alien? Hahahahaha.
Talk to ya later!
Also, stand by to meet your friendly neighborhood NPC on Sunday at 1 PM EST. Be there or be square!
no subject
You do...? Well, I can't say anything against balanced nutrition. That is the most important.
[ Another skeptical look at the packages... ]
I don't think I've ever really seen rations like this in person...
no subject
Oh? Well, I imagine you are hardly in the minority in that regard. These sorts of things are common in military settings, but not so much outside of them.
no subject
[ Does Gjallarhorn, the prestigious elite military, eat these rations when they're out in space? That seems unfitting for their luxurious image. ]
no subject
[ His facility was also privately owned, but clearly they had different approaches! ]
Were you employed as a cook there, then?
no subject
Yes! Well... I kind of decided by myself and the boss agreed and took me, that would be most accurate to say.
no subject
My, it sounds like you're more forceful than you look.
no subject
[ Cue a bit of fidgeting with her fingers because she is both awkward and forceful at once. The multifaceted nature of Atra. ]