( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

[officialnotice]

INTRODUCTION LOG

waking up

There was an accident. That's basically the only thing you know for certain. Maybe a car wreck - metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the screaming. Or maybe there was an explosion. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. You can't can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can remember.

It's also the last thing you remember from before you wake up here.

When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed. You're sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember getting, not to mention the vaguely-healed remnants of any wounds you might've had before.

It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog if not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.

Whether or not the room's 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. Welcome to Wayward Pines, 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 placating speculation of head trauma “from the accident”. 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. The hospital's population is quadruple the usual, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. You can even leave your room without much fuss - whichever doctor or nurse intercepts you gets called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.

Mingle, visit your fellow patients, even poke around for a few basic answers. Or maybe, maybe just stroll right on out the front door.

heading outside

Outside, the birds sing a joyful song, and though the air is awfully crisp to be wandering around in your hospital gown, the sky's as sunny as you've ever seen it. It's bright enough to make you squint for a moment before you feast your eyes on the quaint little town of Wayward Pines, though that might be in part because of the glare off the scattered patches of snow along the sides of the street.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured. Cars cruise by at a safe and respectable speed. Pedestrians spare you glances, some wary and some concerned.

This isn't even the picturesque city center, though a colorful nearby sign reads "Main Street" with an arrow pointing due south, followed in smaller font by a list of businesses you don't recognize and one that you might: Wayward Pines Police Department. Whether you asked for yourself or simply overheard, you've likely caught wind by now that all of your earthly possessions now lie with the Sheriff until you see fit to claim them.

Might as well head that way, right?

items reclaimed

So you've visited the Wayward Pines Police Department and reclaimed... well. Most of your stuff, anyway, though you can't quite remember what's missing. Best to put it out of mind, as you head down the steps toward the Main Street sidewalk. At the very least, pedestrians have stopped looking at you like you're sick or crazy. (Then again, depending on what you're wearing, maybe it's gotten worse.)

The sheriff also forked over what looks like the key to a house ("A cozy place to stay while you're here in town."), plus the address that it belongs to. You could check it out, see what kind of digs they're putting you up in.

Or you could stick around Main Street and sight-see a little. Also a perfectly viable option. Hell, maybe it'll jog your memory a little. A few of the shops do feel inexplicably familiar...

( ooc notes )

Welcome to the first newbie mingle log! We apologize for the minor delay.

This log is meant to cover characters' first day in Wayward Pines. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although the first couple of false Wayward Pines memories might begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the day wears on. These memories, as noted in the FAQ, feel very real and are accompanied by as much emotion or sentiment as a real memory would be.

Any questions about the log or its contents can be addressed to our FAQ or the intro log's designated Plurk.

Comments

[overfivethousand]

waking up:

[Consciousness comes all at once, and it isn't friendly about the visit. His eyes open wide at the sound of a door opening, and he scrambles to sit, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain the movement brings in his abdomen. Where is he? What's he doing here? Eyes lock on the...nurse? Entering the room. Can he remember his name, she asks, and that's when he realizes he can't remember anything else.. Ten Thousand, he tells her, and he doesn't get more than a single other syllable out of his mouth before she's explaining where he is and what's happened. He's been unconscious a few days, he was brought in after an accident--hunting accident, they say, to explain the ache in his abdomen, the ache in his head. He should lie still, he'd been shot in the stomach, unconscious for a few days now. Don't worry about the lack of memories, you had a concussion, you'll be fine. It'll all come back but it's better to not talk about it. Don't worry.

It takes all of five minutes after she bustles back out of the room for him to decide he isn't staying. There's someone he has to find, something important he was doing, and besides, being in a hospital is a bad idea. He vaguely remembers something his dad told him, the words 'big pharma,' but nothing else comes even as he strains. He keeps trying as he climbs out of bed, pulling the IV out of his arm and moving carefully. Nothing comes. Nothing except one thing, a name.

There's another person dressed like him ahead, another patient, he guesses, and that's as good a place as any to start. The nurses are too busy to force him back to his room right now, but that doesn't mean they won't if he starts asking questions and getting in their way. Pushing a hand through black hair already standing on all ends, he asks the other patient:]

Sorry--do you know anyone named Cassandra? I have to find her.

post-item reclamation

[Frankly, he hadn't even been sure what they handed him inside the Sheriff's office was his at all. The clothing looked like it had been through a war; worn boots, cargo pants dusty and worn at the knees, a vest with one arm ripped off, and was that....a license plate? Shoulder pad?? One thing's for sure, at least, he feels more himself once he's dressed (pants are a definite must, things have been a little too breezy under that hospital gown), and even better once he reclaims his slingshot, tucking it into the waistband of his pants where a little groove in his belt suggests he's carried it for a while. Not that he needs weapons in a place like this. There aren't any...Any what? Any dangers, maybe. He isn't sure how the rest of that sentence was supposed to go, only that he's sure that this isn't everything he had.

He's only more sure as he steps outside to take a better look at the town and one hand lifts to his shoulder to adjust a strap that isn't there. Didn't he carry something there? Maybe the rifle to go with the scope that's in his pocket? Someone else is standing not too far away, adjusting the rest of their belongings, and he ventures yet another question.]

Did they keep any of your stuff? Not give it back to you, I mean.

[greyaria]

[In Emily's case "adjusting her belongings" involves figuring out how to use the heads-up features of her helmet's interface, all of which feel frustratingly familiar. When he turns to her he sees...a strange set of futuristic armor, which looks much less dangerous than it might, because the wearer has her arms folded and is rocking back and forth from heel to toe. Hard to say what she's looking at, if anything, but the body language suggests whatever eyes are under that helmet are probably focused on nothing.

And yet, when she turns her attention to him, it's with no hint of surprise (Motion tracker is cheating, Emily.) Her hand goes reflexively down to her hip...where a gun would be. Still, her body language remains unthreatening, the gesture more like checking pockets for a phone or wallet than reaching to draw a weapon.

To the astute listener, the very perky voice would also suggest a lack of hostility.]

I'm fairly sure they did, yes! Though I can't for the life of me remember what I'm supposed to have. Probably a gun!

[She can't remember at all, but what else would you keep...strapped?--no, it's probably magnets--to the thigh of your power armor, really?]

[overfivethousand]

[The motion makes him tense, just a little, a reaction he doesn't know the reasoning for. This doesn't seem like a violent town--maybe wherever he's from is? Whatever the reason, he feels the urge to reach for his shoulder again, and again he misses whatever it is he used to carry there.

Her voice helps settle him, just a little; despite the armor, she sounds nice, and not at all irritated by his question. And even better, what she says actually clears some things up for him, too, as he pulls the rifle scope out of his pocket.]

I guess that makes sense. They probably don't want people who can't remember what's going on running around with guns.

[Although, maybe that's just him, so he hastily adds:]

Unless--do you remember how you got here?

[greyaria]

[She leans in a little to look at his scope, hands clasped behind her back like a child in a museum who's been told not to touch anything.]

I walked from the hospital!

[Yes, Emily's aware that's not what he's really asking about, but she thinks she's funny.]

...No, they just told me I was in an accident. But if that's the case and I was in an accident bad enough to hospitalize me, why is my armor completely undamaged?

[It doesn't seem to have occurred to her that she might not have been wearing the armor at the time.]

[overfivethousand]

[He's not the sort to get his back up over an answer like that, as long as it's not coming from someone like--like who? He struggles to complete the train of thought, gets only a brief flash of a sulking face colored an unhealthy shade of blue. Anyway, it's not a bad thing. Everyone copes somehow, he thinks, and it's not annoying.]

Maybe you weren't wearing it when the accident happened? But if that's right, then why do they have it, anyway?

[Asking all the important questions here. Unfortunately, the more questions he has, the fewer answers he can find.]

I don't know. I just wish I could remember how I got here. I'm sure there's something I'm supposed to be doing. There was a woman--do you, um, know anyone named Cassandra?

[greyaria]

That's not unfamiliar....

[Emily's dubious. "Cassandra" is a perfectly normal name, but that doesn't mean she knows anyone who has it. On the other hand, it seems like she's pretty lucky she knows her own name right now, so a lack of memory is hardly conclusive.]

...buuuuut it's not familiar, either. Sorry.

[overfivethousand]

[He looks disappointed, but that's to be expected. No one's known her so far--or at least, the couple Cassandras he's been pointed to by locals definitely don't match the impressions in his head. Shaking his head and adjusting the goggles perched there, he tries for a smile.]

It's okay. Guess I couldn't be that lucky. I'm Ten Thousand. 10K. Are you a soldier?

[She's gotta be, with that armor, right?]

post item reclamation

[pungi]

They did, yeah. My knife, for one. [And a pendant with pretty significant sentimental value for another.]

It's bullshit... [She sighs, lugging her backpack over her shoulder and straightening up.] Guess they're not big on trusting people here or something.

[overfivethousand]

[Knife makes him think, makes him reach back to touch his back pocket, empty of anything at all. He doesn't remember having a knife, but something about it just rings a distant bell.]

I mean--I can't remember much about before. They told me I was in an accident, and I heard a nurse saying something about other people with amnesia. Maybe they think we're gonna go nuts.

[That's reassuring, isn't it?]

[pungi]

They told me the same. Ptff, [She pulls a face.] well, if we are all going crazy, offering no explanations and stealing people's shit is sure help with that. Jeez.

[overfivethousand]

makes you wonder why they let us out of the hospital at all, they were so worried about us getting into trouble.

Do you, um, remember anything from before?

[pungi]

A little. [Not all she's willing to share, admittedly.]

I remember the switchblade they stole. And I know I can't swim? [She rolls her eyes a little.] Yeah. Really useful information...

[overfivethousand]

Still better than me. All I've got're names. Murphy, Cassandra. My name. I'm Ten Thousand. My friends call me 10K. Don't ask me ten thousand what, I'm--still trying to work that out.

[He shrugs, adjusting the way the armor plate on his right shoulder sits. It feels a little weird, but he can't tell if that's because he put it on wrong or he just doesn't remember being used to it.]

post-item reclamation

[smudging]

[ Maybe the most frustrating thing about Noah getting his things back was the fact that everything looked familiar, everything felt familiar, but it felt like there were vital pieces missing that should have connected them all together. Noah doesn't venture too far from the Police Department, opting to sit on the edge of the sidewalk and look through his things instead of heading directly to what they had informed him would be his new home.

(He might have been putting off going there because of how ominous it sounded. His new home.)

Inside of the messenger bag there were schoolbooks of subjects that Noah remembers -- Classic English Literature, World History, Latin, Pre-Calculus. All of the books bearing a stamp on the inside cover that read 'Property of Aglionby Academy' and featured the same crest that was embroidered on his sweater. -- and a mess of looseleaf papers that were a mixture of forgotten assignments and lost notes.

But there's something else that's wrong. Something that feels... off. Just as the thought goes through Noah's head, he hears someone speaking to him and he looks up. ]

Yeah! [ He pauses a beat. ] Well, I think so. I can't really remember what I'm supposed to have but... Something feels missing.

[ His features briefly knit together in frustration, returning his attention to his bag and digging through it more. ]

[overfivethousand]

Yeah. Exactly.

[10K stands there a moment longer, inventorying his clothing from boots to the goggles perched on top of his head. There are places that feel empty, for lack of a better word, parts of his wardrobe where his hands expect more than just fabric and leather. His right boot, a cargo pocket on his left side, the small of his back, his left shoulder. Sighing, he takes a seat on the curb himself, looking out at the street before shifting his gaze to the boy sitting nearby.]

Do you, uh, remember anything?

[If it's not just him, maybe there's something else going on here. His dad's voice sounds briefly in his head. Pay attention to your surroundings. Even the nicest places got a dark side to 'em.]

[smudging]

[ Noah's gone through the contents of the bag at least twice since he'd been sitting out on the curb, and every time the result was the same thing. An eerie feeling in the back of his mind that there was supposed to be something else inside of it. He'd thought about going back into the police station and asking, but what was he supposed to say?

"I think you forgot to give me something back, but I don't know what it is."

Yeah. That'd get him far. ]

Like...? [ Noah pauses in his -- now fourth -- surveying of the things inside his bag and turns his head to meet the other's gaze, curiously. ] What do you mean? How I got here, or this town? Not really....

But even the stuff I do remember is kind of fuzzy.

[overfivethousand]

I dunno. Any of that. Anything. All I've got is my name, really--I guess I was kinda hoping someone else might remember more.

[Might remember me, he doesn't say. Or might know the name Cassandra, or even Murphy. Might be able to help him connect names to faces, anything to spark a memory. He can't help but feel frustrated at all of this, at the failure of his own mind. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, trying to push those feelings away and prioritize.]

Do you remember your name?

[smudging]

[ The problem with the things that Noah remembers is that they don't quite fit. Like a random assortment of puzzle pieces from an equally as random assortment of puzzles all thrown together and forced to make a picture. Some things lined up, while others seemed completely out of place.

At least the other was starting with something easy. Noah at least remembers his name, it was one of the few things at the hospital that hadn come as a surprise to him. ]

Yeah. [ He nods. ] Noah. Noah Czerny.

[ And because it seems like the obvious thing to ask here -- he said he remembered it, after all: ] What's yours?

[overfivethousand]

[That's it. A bunch of pieces in his head, and none of them are connecting. None of them explain why he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin, why his hands feel empty, why he keeps watching the horizon and the people that occasionally walk by like he's expecting them to be somebody else. It's frustrating.

He looks over at Noah, offers a small, quick twitch of his lips that might be a smile if you tilt your head to the side and pretend real hard.]

Ten Thousand. I remember my friends call me 10K, but that's about it. Weird, huh?

Waking Up

[keephimtalking]

[ The creature stretched out on the too-small hospital bed looks up at 10K with an air of quiet bemusement. His strange, angular head is wrapped up in several layers of bandages, covering his temples.

He doesn't seem quite as inclined to try escaping the place, but, after a moment of contemplative staring, he speaks. ]

No one named Cassandra in this room. Wouldn't know about outside of here.

[ Closing his magazine, he sets it on the bedside before slowly sitting up, bright eyes narrowed. The kid smelled like blood. Upon closer inspection, he can see a red trail of it going down the pale wrist. ]

First aid kit's in the hallway.

[overfivethousand]

[Wow. Now that he gets a closer look, this guy doesn't exactly look...well, human. That thought isn't as shocking as it probably should be; Uncle Eddie, he thinks, and is surprised by that thought more than anything prior. Another memory, though he can't trace it to its source.
Whatever it is, he's staring, too, and shakes his head briefly as the man--man??-- speaks, glancing down at his wrist and lifting his arm, wiping the trail on the inner sleeve of his ground and pressing on the bandage.]

Not a big deal. I'll live.

[He's not sure why that's as funny as it is.]

Sorry. I just...I don't really remember how I got here. I only remember a couple names, and I just thought--I dunno. Maybe if I find them, I'll find answers. Were you in the accident, too?

[keephimtalking]

They stick those IVs in you for a reason you know.

[ Still, he's not exactly making a move to get up and hassle 10K about it. If anything the man is settling back down, resting head gingerly against the pillow, peering at the other with something like exhaustion. ]

Yeah. Got shot in some hunting accident. [ Lantar closes his eyes and exhales quietly. ] So the nurses say anyways. I don't really remember anything either.

[overfivethousand]

Yeah, well, I'm not real good at doing what people tell me--

[It takes a second, but the guy's words finally process, and he looks at him again, squinting a little. Is that why he isn't bothered by that weird face? Because he was--?]

A hunting accident, really? That's what they told me, too. I'd been shot. I think--I think I remember that, sort of, but I don't remember going hunting. Do you remember anything at all? Your name?

[Maybe it'll make something click in his memories, too.]

[keephimtalking]

[ That draws Lantar out of his tired haze, avian eyes refocusing sharply on the kid. He's silent for a moment, then inhales slowly and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead, curling up against the ache. ]

I remember this... human woman. Red hair. [ There was something in her eyes, something sad. Something dark. They were the last things ever he saw. ] I remember- I remember being shot too. The gun was... an M-92 Mantis?

[ He remembers its weight in his palms. He remembers the sound it made, it was so familiar, like he'd heard it a hundred times before- ]

Lantar. My name is Lantar Sidonis.

[ Another beat of silence and then he looks up at the dark haired human standing across from him, expression slowly fading back into bone-deep tiredness. ]

What's your name?

[overfivethousand]

[Sidonis. The name sounds almost familiar, but it shouldn't, should it? Maybe it's this memory loss. His brain's just...trying to make connections where there aren't any. Doc would say--Doc? The name is gone before it ever even really surfaces, leaving him lifting a hand to his head much like Sidonis, only his fingers clutch at spiky black hair poking in all directions.]

The woman I remember--she had black hair.

[Cassandra. And his name is--]

Ten Thousand. My name's Ten Thousand. You said she was human--you aren't?