APRIL 3RD - 5TH | AFTER THE ACCIDENT |
There was an accident. The details are hazy and obscure, but it's still the first thing you remember. Maybe a car wreck — metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the
screaming. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. Maybe something less mundane, even impossible seems to have happened to you. You can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can truly remember.
It's also the
last thing you remember from before waking up.
When you open your eyes, the accident is gone, replaced with white sterility. Perhaps somewhat alarming at first, until you blink at your surroundings and realize that you're in a hospital bed. You try to move but are sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember receiving, not to mention the possibility of the partially healed remnants of other, seemingly older wounds.
It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog where they're not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.
If the room happens to be empty when you wake, it's not for long. Nurses bustle in, taking your vitals and asking your name and anything else you might remember. Don't worry, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here. Much of what you say (especially anything unusual, anything about monsters or magic or outlandish technology) will earn a quiet, pensive look and a gentle suggestion that you avoid trying to force any memories or hazy impressions, that everything will be explained in due time, after you've had the chance to sufficiently recover. You'll be told to stay put, not to push yourself, and to wait for the doctor to clear you before you leave.
Then you'll be left alone. Or maybe you'll find yourself visited by loved ones: family, or friends. Of course you have those things. And of course they already remember you being here, remember visiting you in the hospital while you were still unconscious. You've lived here much or all of your life....
As far as you can tell, anyway.
Either way, the hospital's population is busier than you'd expect in a small town, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. It seems as though an extremely unlikely number of people were in 'accidents' in the last couple of days, though many patients appeared to be well enough to be released the same day, and the same might be said of you. Or at least the staff doesn't seem to be too concerned. You can even leave your room without much fuss, any doctor or nurse that might try to intercept you getting called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.
Of course, it's not so unusual to settle in until you're discharged, either. You may choose to wait for loved ones to come pick you up, even speak to your fellow patients, whether roommates or others wandering the halls. The more enterprising and suspicious might even consider it an opportunity to poke around for a few basic answers.
APRIL 3RD - 8TH | GETTING USED TO "HOME" AGAIN |
However you get there, outside the birds sing a joyful song, the sky is clear, and the warm sun on your skin is a pleasant contrast to the pervading chill of the hospital now at your back. It's bright enough to make you squint for a moment before you feast your eyes on the quaint little mountain town of Wayward Pines, though that might just be some sort of side effect from your accident.
Fellow pedestrians spare you glances, some wary, others concerned or just friendly. It's as if they're watching for something, or tat least trying to do so without alarming you - watching to see if you're okay, maybe, or to see how you're handling things so far, or maybe just watching to see if you'll realize you've left the hospital without putting on actual clothes. A boy in his late teens is the first to actively engage, standing at the bottom of the hospital steps and handing out fliers to some sort of orientation on Monday in one of the lecture halls down at the U. "Trust me," he says, catching your eye with a look that suggests he absolutely understands how confused you're feeling. "You're gonna want to go to this."
But first it's time to get home, to recover from your ordeal and try to sort through your memories. Do you remember this house, the pictures of family on the walls and how to navigate to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Maybe it's easier with loved ones living with you, helping you get settled, or maybe you're on your own. Either way, over the next few days you'll have plenty of time to try and sort through your confusion and misgivings. Maybe your friends and family in the town are just as confused and unsure as you are, maybe their familiarity is jarring, but somehow still some sort of comfort when
so much still remains unfamiliar and strange to you. Or maybe they take you aside with a knowing look in their eyes and start to explain. The memories and the destruction and the confusion.
Either way, it might be a good idea to get out and finally visit
Main Street if you haven't already. Maybe you even remembered that you work in one of the more familiar sounding shops, or elsewhere in town. Whether you trust those memories or not at this point, it probably wouldn't hurt to get back to work some time soon. Your co-workers might have some explanations for you as well, after all, and you have to be able to put bread on the table
somehow.
APRIL 8TH | THE APOCALYPSE AND YOU |
Though the new arrivals tend to still be fairly discombobulated this soon, there's not a chance in hell that they haven't heard
something about the situation at hand (the hospital staff tend to be gentle and ambiguous, but many of the other townsfolk aren't so much), and there's something to be said for giving them any necessary information before they have too much time to wallow in the void of its absence.
This month, they've opted to host an orientation.
It's impossible to miss - flyers and poster-boards all but lead you to Wayward Pines University by the hand, with any number of arrows directing your way to the central lecture halls once you reach the campus. The hall in question is moderate size, with more than enough seating for as many attendees as might decide to come. A table at the door has programs for the orientation, outlining the topics to be addressed:
Wayward Pines: A Haven, An Ark.
Ortech & You.
Our Memories, Explained.
Abberrations: What They Are And Why We Shouldn't Eat Them. Each has a different lecturer listed, most of which are recognizable (to those with relevant false memories, anyway) as well-loved (or at least well-known) local educators from the University itself or the nearby high school.
The orientation lasts about an hour and a half, covering the basics of what's known so far from the perspective of fellow Wayward Pines residents:
- The town is (and was intended to be) the last ark of humanity in an apocalyptic world, meant to be a bastion from which civilization would slowly be rebuilt.
- Ortech are responsible for that ark, and for basically everything inside it, with one primary exception: They seem largely confused about how individuals from other worlds wandered into their cryogenic collection radius. (This implies, the current lecturer noted, that either Ortech isn't being straightforward with them or else the technology that brought them here exists out there, arguably nearby but unaffiliated with Ortech in any way.)
- And yes, to address the elephant in the room, a decent percentage of most of our memories are fabricated. At one point, they seemed to be a means to an end. Now that they aren't, and Ortech seem very willing to assist in removing those memories, but the process is invasive and may destabilize the memories that are supposed to be there. For what it's worth, they've mentioned the memories being fabricated and corroborated by an AI rather than by an actual human being poring over the deepest crevices of our minds.
- Aberrations are pretty much the worst. They're what happens when someone turns an evolutionary mutagen loose on humanity and gives it a thousand years to simmer. They will murder the living hell out of you. Also, exchanging fluids with them in any way (their saliva in your wound, their blood in your wound, any part of their body in your mouth for attempted consumption) has a close to 100% chance of infecting you with that same mutagen. Suffice to say it has produced some deeply unsavory side effects thus far, so if that does come to pass, report back to the hospital ASAP.
Not everything can be covered in such a short time, so they're absolutely handing out a transcript of the
Ortech-released FAQ for further reading before
turning everyone loose to mingle around the spread of veggie platters and mini-sandwiches provided for the occasion.
Those who attempt to ask questions after or during the lectures get the general impression that these individuals are just doing their best to pass on what they've heard. They unanimously seem to recommend some form of, 'Rest and let your memories recover,
then strive for further information. And if you do hear anything new, consider passing on what you've learned," with a gesture to the email address or phone number on the back of one of the programs.
MOD NOTES
Welcome to our first intro mingle log for newbies and oldbies alike!
This log is meant to cover characters' first five days in Wayward Pines. Characters for this round will appear staggered in the hospital between the
3rd and the
5th, and some sort of Happening will appear on the
8th, after everyone has had a suitable amount of time to get settled in town. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although further real memories + their false Wayward Pines memories may also begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the week wears on. These false memories, as noted in the FAQ, feel very real and are accompanied by as much emotion or sentiment as a real memory would be.
NOTE: As detailed in your acceptance notice, characters can reclaim their belongings + a complimentary smartphone at the hospital's outpatient desk upon departure.
Not mentioned (although it will be in future rounds) is the fact that
if you've claimed housing for your character, a house key will also be included, along with the address to which it belongs!
PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE:
Character Name,
date,
location, and
Open or
Closed, to help keep things organized and make your character easy to find.
If you have any questions regarding this intro log, feel free to ask them on the FAQ or the relevant plurk.
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pineslog2019-04-04 02:34 am
INTRODUCTION LOG
( hospital )
He has a functional vocabulary, he can sit up, walk a little -- outside of the basic miscellaneous knowledge that's necessary for everyday life, though, there's a decided emptiness in his mind. Not that he minds at the moment; there are more important things to deal with. Namely, getting out of this awful hospital gown.
What flashes of recognition, any memories beyond very base level knowledge, do appear are very brief. Some are unsettling, others just seem bland. Not worthy of much more exploration. Something that is worthy of explanation? The hospital -- it's time to blow this popsicle stand; there are only so many needles and vials of blood Emil is willing to give.
He pads through a few hospital halls with a faux purpose, more lost than actually looking for a specific location. Someone here has to have instructions on getting out of here -- but most doctors and nurses now just give him a simple finger and rush to a different room. What awful service, honestly.
One more corridor he turns down seems as unimportant as any of the other ones, albeit there's someone non-medical standing there. They're having a moment, and Emil initially passes by them with only a morbidly curious glance until he stops and doubles back a pace. Something about this face is already in his mind, although what relationship or knowledge he has of it is lost to him.
The sudden familiarity piques Emil's interest, absolutely, which causes him to stare more than he'd like to let on. He's not sure how to approach this person, but a simple tug of the sleeve extending towards the familiar face seems...safe? Please don't lose your shit or something, other!patient (?) )
no subject
then comes the unexpected tug to his sleeve, and his eyes flicker over the point of contact to dart up to the man's face.
and there it is - there's the floe. emil may have been staring before, but now lalli's staring just as intensely as an inexplicable sense of relief floods through his chest and tightens his lungs. he knows this man, he does, even if right now he doesn't. even if right now he doesn't really know anything except for the newfound truth that he can't let the two of them get separated.
so without thinking, his hand shifts to wrap around the not-stranger's wrist. he takes a step off down the hall as if to lead him somewhere, but then seems to realize (there's a definite glance at emil's gown) that maybe he should have clothes first. and lalli knows where to get those, so instead he's leading him back around the corner to the outpatient desk and pointing to the clerks.
(the kitty, meanwhile, rubs enthusiastically on all four of the available legs. she remembers, even if neither of her humans do.) ❱
no subject
Maybe it'll be okay. There was that moment of recognition somehow, even if there wasn't any sort of basic acknowledgement. As the person moves to go somewhere, hand still clamped on his wrist, the panic rises. )
You don't-- ( --have to grab me to take me somewhere. Like if you're thinking "Hey, I think I know you, let's get one of the less shitty hospital fruit cups to talk about this over," you can just say that and he'll gladly go along, bro. The stranger is determined, however, since they move from one direction to the other, walking without any sort of consideration to Emil's mental vibes or half-spoken sentence.
Emil follows quite easily, though he stumbles a little to look down at something tickling his bare leg. Oh --- there's a cat there! And that feeling of nostalgia and memory comes back to him quite quickly: he recognizes and remembers this animal. )
I...think you have my cat? ( Why else would he remember it? And why isn't it at his house being taken care of by someone? What does his house even look like? )
no subject
lalli's brows knit, and his gaze drops down to the cat for a second before lifting back to emil - emil, that's his name, isn't it? should lalli tell him? his eyes cast back down to the kitty, and he shrugs a little. 'my cat, too' he almost said, but that doesn't feel quite right. like he's been around the cat for ages but it didn't belong to him. maybe not to anybody. lalli can't piece it together.
so instead, he returns his gaze to emil and points to the outpatient desk for a second time. ❱ Go, ❰ he urges, with a vague shooing motion. observing the desk for just a few short seconds will explain what it's for much better than lalli could, so he leaves that one for emil to piece together. ❱
no subject
Emil stares somewhat expectantly. He's been told to "Go," but why? What new adventure will this bring? It turns out not to be one that's very exciting. Frustrating, rather. It's been discovered that he's a rather impatient person, standing in line with a sigh and an eyeroll with every person in front of him that takes their sweet time. In the end he's given his clothes and a plastic drawstring of some belongings. Shouldn't he have had immediate access to these things in the first place? Bureaucracy makes everything so complicated, even if this is his first time experiencing that everything. In his mind, anyway.
It's second nature to come back to his pseudo-companion after ducking into one of the locking bathrooms for changing; Emil's doing his jacket buttons up with a huff as he approaches. )
They can easily just keep these things in the rooms and save everyone the time. ( He talks naturally. His first instinct isn't to investigate further at this point. He's got a few things figured out and that's good enough. ) It's like they want people to stay here longer than necessary.
no subject
immediately emil seems to launch into some kind of complaint, and there's something inexplicably familiar about that... yet not, at the same time. like this is the first time he's ever really understood his complaints, but that doesn't make sense because lalli's not entirely sure he understands the point of it even now. he hadn't questioned the rooms or the desk, just accepted them as the way of things and left them as quickly as he could.
outwardly, lalli blinks twice before realizing he should actually probably respond, so... ❱
Stupid, ❰ he agrees with a little shrug, eyes turning back to emil for not the first time since he's returned to the desk. he's trying to shake something loose in his head, because this haziness is more irritating than any desks or lines or strangers, but nothing seems to get any clearer from it.
so he supposes he'll stick with what he does know. ❱ Emil, ❰ he says - less to get his ally's attention than to show that he at least knows his name. then his hand lifts to rest on his own chest in gesture. ❱ Lalli.