Memmmmoriiiiessssss of the way we were

[ima_npc]

Who: Everybody
When: Day 02, evening
Where: The Heart Chamber

[Suddenly, the computer's voice comes back online, filling the ship.]

— sting, testing, testing— success.

Attention, crew. Please listen for an important update:

Automated computer self-repair is proceeding without errors. The process has recovered a cache of encrypted data. Decryption of these items is relatively low priority, as they do not directly pertain to the safety of the ship or the crew. However, based on their original indexed locations, this data appears to contain the old crew roster, the computer's original personality matrix, and backups of the current crew's memories.

In addition to being encrypted, the crew's memories have been badly corrupted. Before further decryption can be completed, it is essential to determine which set of memories belongs to which member. One memory from each set has been isolated. Please proceed to the heart chamber and enter a pod to experience the memories. After you are finished, please indicate which belong to whom.

((Ask questions of the computer here
Deposit memory write-ups here. When in a pod, everything feels very real, as if it is happening to them in real time, but is on a set course that cannot be changed. There's an IC pause between each one, so feel free to react to them. Their own memory will feel slightly more "correct" than the others.
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[ima_npc]

Memories

[ima_npc]

Running from hitmen

[court_chesster]

[You're begging for change in the park when you first spot the men in suits. You don't wait to see if they're the ones that are after you; you just run. Unfortunately for you, they take chase.

At first you think maybe you can find some other kids to blend in with, but you quickly abandon the notion; you've been homeless for awhile and it shows. So you instead do something drastic and dash directly across a busy street, ducking and weaving between honking cars as their angry drivers slam on the breaks. It's dangerous, but not any more so than what those men will do if they catch you, and in fact buys you a little time to duck into an alley.

It's a dead end. There's a dumpster you could hide in, but that'll be the first place they look. There's no turning back and there's no way you could fight against two grown-ups. You have to think quickly. Luckily, it's hot out, and there's a second-story window open above the dumpster. It takes some doing; even from atop the dumpster you have to leap to reach it and scramble to pull yourself inside, but you still manage to shut and lock it before anyone sees you.

You wait, and soon you can hear them calling out for you. Come out, little boy. We won't hurt you. We only want to talk about what you saw. Against your better judgment, you venture a peek outside and watch one them draw his gun as the other opens the dumpster lid. Not finding you inside, they argue for a bit about where you went and leave to continue their search.

Whew. Now all you need to do is get out of here, and whoever's in this building probably doesn't want to murder you, at least not specifically.

...Maybe they have some food you can steal.]

Being taken to the orphanage

[fandisservice]

[ The autumn cold bites into you, like the sharp grip of an adult's hand at your wrist pulling you and your younger brother forward. Your eyes sting— teary. You've lost your father already, but your older brother is just watching impassively as the man in the red coat pulls you through the cobblestone street. Your younger brother is trying to pull away, bawling, but you're just looking back at your older brother, staring, dumbfounded.

He's not even trying to stop him.

He's not even trying to take you and your brother back. He's not coming with you to the orphanage either. No. Without your father here he's supposed to be your guardian but he's decided laboratory assistant is a fancier title. Doctor Faker has offered him a place in Heartland, continuing in your father's work. You heard them, hushed harsh voices on a video conference and felt better, just a little— if Chris was going to Heartland, why wouldn't all three of you go? Guardian. Of course you'd get to stay together even with your father gone.

But the door bell had rung in the evening anyway. Just like social services had promised. Chris swung the door open to show the man in the red coat from the orphanage inside. You'd run then, and your brother drug you out from under the bed, forced you out as you shouted protest, kicked, tantrummed—

It might be the dim evening light, the street lamps above not yet bright but he's watching and you don't see anything in his eyes. Their blue might as well be steel shutters, his mouth hard as the man from the orphanage takes you to his car. All the fight has gone out of you, and you walk with the man, not trying to run back. He'd just turn you back around, wouldn't he?

Chris doesn't want you. He's not even teary at the edges. Dry eyed, impassive, while Mihael bawls.

Why?

But you keep quiet, not saying anything. He's not responding to Mihael at all, and Chris always listens to Mihael. He's more impassive than he was when you took scissors to the black suit you wore at the funeral after it was over because you hated it and never wanted to see it again. He'd scolded you for that, but now you could replace him with a statue for all the difference it'd make.

You're shoved in the backseat, jammed between a suitcase Chris made you pack days ago and Mihael, and the car starts. Staring at the back of the seat as the driver keys in the orphanage to the car's navigation, the shock, the sadness comes together to a solid leaden mass in the pit of your stomach.

You dig your nails into your palms, balling your fists as you think with venom that bastard. ]

Holy shit eldritch horrors

[the_rogue]

[You're in a golfcart being driven by an unfairly handsome southern man. There's a monster somewhere—you know there is, even though it isn't here now. You're bait, and all you have to do is brag; show your pride.

Unfortunately you are definitely a very modest person, so this is definitely a very difficult task to complete. It's a good thing the man with you is so good at pushing your buttons, reminding you just how much better looking you are than he is! (That isn't what he said at all, but it certainly sounds like it to your perfect ears.)

Naturally, once you start talking about your good looks it's only natural to mention how blessed you are to have the brains to match it. Oh, and the best thieving skills on the planet, basically. And the—

Your speech is cut short when the air itself rips open with an angry orange tear, and a MASSIVE FUCKING TENTACLE surges out in an attempt to snatch you up. It misses, narrowly, but now it's on you to keep it here. You've got to give them (whoever them is) time to finally get rid of it.]

welcome to the art gallery. where are the grownups

[scribbly]

[Once memory roulette is over with, it might strike you as strange that a small child is wandering alone in a dark art gallery—but for as long as you are that small child, this is as normal as anything, this is home. Your footsteps echo down the empty hall, you've got a stack of papers clutched to your chest and a box of crayons in one hand.]

Big Sis? [Your voice echoes, too, and nothing answers it.] Hey, Big Siiiis...

[How much she understands your art at all varies, but she should be able to recognize that you've drawn her. It seemed like it would be a nice surprise.

You take a deep breath, and shout:] Big Sis!

[...Nothing. She wasn't in her usual place when you checked earlier, so she must be busy elsewhere.

A little defeated, you plop down to sit in the hall. She'll come this way on her way back, and you don't want to go back to your room right now. You spread the papers out in front of you. There's a scribbly drawing of your older sister in her red dress, smiling and sitting like she usually does with her hands in her lap. You've drawn a girl with bright blue hair, Carrie from one of your storybooks, a few times on one sheet of paper and surrounded her with scribbled candy and cakes. There's a beach, or what you think one must be like from everything you've read, with giant cresting waves and puffy clouds and pink sand and a spiral shaped sun. Maybe you'll get to see one someday soon.

You dump your crayons out on the floor next to you, start a new drawing on a blank sheet of paper: someone's smiling face, their dark hair and a blue dress. Someone with short hair that curls like yours. Someone in a big jacket. All smiling, all standing next to each other.

You draw yourself in the middle; green dress, blonde curls, holding hands with the others on either side of you.

With a long sigh, you prop your face up on your free hand.]

Won't somebody come soon? Won't somebody come soon...

[The art gallery has no answer, offers no sound at all.]

Bad choice arena

[whenitrainsitstorms]

[The arena is stone, packed with men and women here for the show. On one end, they're in high collars, too-showy-to-be-tasteful spills of expensive fabric, and entirely too many buttons. On the other, the clothes are plainer, worn by the sun and by work. You're not paying attention to any of them. You're paying attention to the two young men at the center of the arena, in elaborate armor, busy fighting off four equally-armored opponents.]

[One of them is very good; he moves like he knows his way around the dueling grounds. The other, the smaller one in spectacles, barely knows how to hold his sword. They're losing, badly.]

["You can watch this?" says an older man in the audience, with a trim beard and hair streaked with white. He wears a military-style jacket in cobalt blue. "My sons fight alone! There are Shardbearers among you. Is there not one of you who will fight with them?"]

[No one moves. No one steps forward. You do look out over the audience now — over the lighteyed faces who watch the scene, indifferent. You're not surprised when none of them move to help.]

["What has happened to us?" says the man. "Where is our honor?"]

["Honor is dead," you say, "But I'll see what I can do." A minute more, and you're there on the sand of the arena floor beside them, spear in hand, unarmored against men in full plate.]

[Again, you think – and aloud you mutter, "This had better end differently than it did that time."]

["It will," says a young woman's voice, somewhere near your head. "Trust me."]

[You breathe in, and sudden strength fills your body. You lunge between two of the Shardbearers and ram your spear into a crack in the armor. The man shouts, and you twist between the attackers to join the duelist, the one facing three opponents. He glances you over, then turns to put his back to you.]

["What are you doing here, bridgeboy?" he hisses.]

[You set your own back to his. There's blood on the tip of your spear, but not enough of it. "Playing one of the ten fools."]

["Welcome to the party," he says.]

When the pods open...

[ima_npc]

[court_chesster]

[Carne gets out right away, having learned the valuable lesson that memories are awful.]

[the_rogue]

So...uh. Did you get more than one too?

[court_chesster]

I think I got everybody's. Which one were you?

[fandisservice]

[ The Tactical Officer climbs out, already running his mouth. ]

So what was this place, the little lost ex-orphan's support network?

[court_chesster]

Apparently! But hey, at least nobody's crying over us back home.

[fandisservice]

Are you sure? Mihael looked like he had a decade's worth of tears still left in him.

[the_rogue]

[Charming, meanwhile, is trying to figure out who the hell allowed giant horror tentacles to be a real thing.]

[fandisservice]

Going to out which is yours?

[the_rogue]

It was the monster-hunting one.

[scribbly]

[Rose needs a few seconds; she looks a little overwhelmed and disoriented. She's still sitting up in her pod when her face scrunches up and she declares to no one in particular:] That was dumb.

[court_chesster]

[With a dark chuckle:] It was, wasn't it?

[scribbly]

Are we all done? Can we do something fun now instead?

[fandisservice]

Try having less dumb memories, then.

[ Calling from his pod, reflexively argumentative as he sits up. ]

Re: When the pods open...

[whenitrainsitstorms]

[Stepping out from the pod, expression thoughtful.]

That didn't answer much of anything.

[court_chesster]

Well, we all got to know each other a little bit.

[Humorless chuckle.]

[whenitrainsitstorms]

Which one was yours?

[fandisservice]

It answered the pertinent question of could shit get worse around here.