Panem Events (
etcircenses) wrote in
thearena2016-05-10 07:54 pm
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Entry tags:
The Last Flower Girl
Who| The rebels and a scientist from the Districts. For now… (later: EVERYONE)
What| The Revival Mechanism is discovered. Things fall into place. (A Whole Lot Of Meta.)
Where| A facility nestled in the mountains between District 2 and the Capitol.
When| Now.
Warnings/Notes| Please put warnings in headers. The Scientist’s spot will unfreeze for commenting when this log reachers 20 comments or when time is up.
Regardless of whether District two became a win or a loss for the rebellion, they’ve managed to claim the most important of prizes while the Capitol and District was distracted. In the mountains just between the many cities of District two and that of the Capitol itself, a secret base has been uncovered and claimed. Offworlder-loyal rebels call for it to be investigated personally by them. Though the call itself had been vague, it’s not hard for the rebels arriving now to see why they were called.
Nestled in a cave carved out of the mountain, the secret base features a number of hovercrafts at its entrance, and inside, stark white lab rooms lit up bright with many offices to the front. A wide hall cuts straight through them with wheeled hospital beds sitting unused to the sides.The hall opens to a cavernous area, the walls and ceiling all made of the mountain’s natural stone. Desks for scientists, mechanics, and medics are all around but it’s the center of the room that truly pulls the eye.
An enormous metal machine with a circular frame sits in the center. Within it lies a vortex of such color and light it becomes difficult to look at after mere seconds. Yet for all it deters the eyes, it calls, especially to the offworlders. The closer one gets, the stronger the sense that passing through it will correct some cosmic flaw. It is for this reason that it seems to be well blocked off with clear gates. These gates can be pushed through but sticker signs upon them warn not to do so. The sign, drawn like a typical hazard warning, shows a person being disintegrated into little dots by the portal upon reaching it. A note explains that only pure energy can pass through the Revival Mechanism. Attempting to pass anything through the portal will reduce it to energy. It seems things may come out but not go in-- without being turned to energy first that is.
Over along the side of this are many rather massive machines and computers. The computers show many a near-indecipherable code. Others are a little more recognizable as showing coordinates of sorts. Upon further investigation, rebels may find these coordinates are not for any place in the Districts, but for worlds and times far beyond. It maps out like brain synapses, stretching on eternally. Certain coordinates have been marked with red and are noted hazards. The ones lit with gold seem to be ones with a missing person or two-- people that may very well be standing there and looking at said lights. Many others have a blue-ish-grey light. These seem to indicate another issue entirely; “Energy seize. Port no longer reachable”. If one takes a particularly close look they’ll notice familiar names in the blue-grey sections, people who haven’t come back for a long time. They may also notice one of the golden lights has the coordinates for… Panem itself. The name of the person is encrypted heavily.
Not everything is kept on the computers however. There are many, many complicated and detailed notes left upon the desks. Some discuss things like Tribute vital signs. There’s a long analysis written in clinical terms of how the pull-process of the Revival Mechanism essentially kills the person by reducing them and their closely associated items on pass-through to pure energy. However, in bringing them to Panem, the Revival Mechanism quickly reassembles that energy. It seems that the process of destruction and recreation is the major cause of Offworlder unconsciousness when being revived, allowing Offworlder Transport to bring them back to the Tribute Tower before they ever wake.
An electronic wipe-board over by a set of table and chairs goes over the nature of what can and cannot pass through the portal. There are scribbled words on the edges, formulas, circled sentences, and lines that criss-cross over the page. It seems that purely material items cannot be pulled into Panem. At least, not on their own. All items passing through have some strong and close connection to the spirit or “energy” that is grabbed. How this works seems a mystery even to the scientists involved but is suspected to have to do with memories. There is a hypothesis with many question marks that a memory chip, if reduced it to energy and sent through the portal, could possibly go back to the worlds offworlders came from, allowing them to keep memories even back on their world. This is noted to be untested however.
A second board looks at why bodies may duplicate but seemingly not objects. It appears inanimate objects are too identical for physics to function properly and the items simply merge, preventing a paradox, while living tissue is changed enough after being in Panem even for a short time that this only happens to non-living objects that are pulled, not people. There is further aggressively scribbled debate on whether robots count as people. The conclusion is that “they damn well must be if they’re here at all”. A paper on the table explains how most of the robots are transferred via chip to a mutt-body and the brain registers the chip to fill out personality and memories based upon it, thus making the robot essentially human. This is done for further study in reviving people.
Former Capitol-soldiers may recall that robots aren’t the only ones with muttation bodies. Some are animals and others, like Venus Dee Milo, have a portal transfer very specific to them. On one of the mechanic’s desks, blueprints lay for making much smaller portals that may be put within the mutt body and transfer the soul into it stating Venus’s name on the first prototype designs but not on the last. The blueprints note a disintegration system with these so the portal doesn’t stay within them. More blueprints can be seen for another full scale portal, using the one in the mountain there as a prototype. One final blueprint can be found, not for a portal, but for what looks like a weapon. Though it has the shape of a gun, it doesn’t appear to fire bullets. Apparently, it’s a relatively recent invention, from late december. The finalized design is dated for February.
By what looks like a station for hovercraft pilots to collect their gear is a clipboard and typed out list. The oldest ones to the back show revival deliveries from the arenas. As one flips to the front, these lists become those offworld soldiers who died in battle and were revived with all the relevant timestamps, serial numbers, and delivery location (the Tribute Tower and the Detainment Center). However, there are some anomalies, like names that have been blacked out leaving only serial numbers, timestamps, and, curiously, an entirely different location. This location is only listed as Center V. The timestamps date from the start of the war to a mass exodus very recently.
Rebels rush in to investigate the area, quickly capturing anyone working there. Despite the size and clear need for more hands in the facility, there’s only a handful of individuals left behind. One, a scientist, is ready to speak to the offworlders in charge as offworlders finish the investigation of the Facility. Something in here is sure to explain the mysterious “illness” offworlders have been facing. Hopefully rebels can find it fast, before it’s too late…
What| The Revival Mechanism is discovered. Things fall into place. (A Whole Lot Of Meta.)
Where| A facility nestled in the mountains between District 2 and the Capitol.
When| Now.
Warnings/Notes| Please put warnings in headers. The Scientist’s spot will unfreeze for commenting when this log reachers 20 comments or when time is up.
Regardless of whether District two became a win or a loss for the rebellion, they’ve managed to claim the most important of prizes while the Capitol and District was distracted. In the mountains just between the many cities of District two and that of the Capitol itself, a secret base has been uncovered and claimed. Offworlder-loyal rebels call for it to be investigated personally by them. Though the call itself had been vague, it’s not hard for the rebels arriving now to see why they were called.
Nestled in a cave carved out of the mountain, the secret base features a number of hovercrafts at its entrance, and inside, stark white lab rooms lit up bright with many offices to the front. A wide hall cuts straight through them with wheeled hospital beds sitting unused to the sides.The hall opens to a cavernous area, the walls and ceiling all made of the mountain’s natural stone. Desks for scientists, mechanics, and medics are all around but it’s the center of the room that truly pulls the eye.
An enormous metal machine with a circular frame sits in the center. Within it lies a vortex of such color and light it becomes difficult to look at after mere seconds. Yet for all it deters the eyes, it calls, especially to the offworlders. The closer one gets, the stronger the sense that passing through it will correct some cosmic flaw. It is for this reason that it seems to be well blocked off with clear gates. These gates can be pushed through but sticker signs upon them warn not to do so. The sign, drawn like a typical hazard warning, shows a person being disintegrated into little dots by the portal upon reaching it. A note explains that only pure energy can pass through the Revival Mechanism. Attempting to pass anything through the portal will reduce it to energy. It seems things may come out but not go in-- without being turned to energy first that is.
Over along the side of this are many rather massive machines and computers. The computers show many a near-indecipherable code. Others are a little more recognizable as showing coordinates of sorts. Upon further investigation, rebels may find these coordinates are not for any place in the Districts, but for worlds and times far beyond. It maps out like brain synapses, stretching on eternally. Certain coordinates have been marked with red and are noted hazards. The ones lit with gold seem to be ones with a missing person or two-- people that may very well be standing there and looking at said lights. Many others have a blue-ish-grey light. These seem to indicate another issue entirely; “Energy seize. Port no longer reachable”. If one takes a particularly close look they’ll notice familiar names in the blue-grey sections, people who haven’t come back for a long time. They may also notice one of the golden lights has the coordinates for… Panem itself. The name of the person is encrypted heavily.
Not everything is kept on the computers however. There are many, many complicated and detailed notes left upon the desks. Some discuss things like Tribute vital signs. There’s a long analysis written in clinical terms of how the pull-process of the Revival Mechanism essentially kills the person by reducing them and their closely associated items on pass-through to pure energy. However, in bringing them to Panem, the Revival Mechanism quickly reassembles that energy. It seems that the process of destruction and recreation is the major cause of Offworlder unconsciousness when being revived, allowing Offworlder Transport to bring them back to the Tribute Tower before they ever wake.
An electronic wipe-board over by a set of table and chairs goes over the nature of what can and cannot pass through the portal. There are scribbled words on the edges, formulas, circled sentences, and lines that criss-cross over the page. It seems that purely material items cannot be pulled into Panem. At least, not on their own. All items passing through have some strong and close connection to the spirit or “energy” that is grabbed. How this works seems a mystery even to the scientists involved but is suspected to have to do with memories. There is a hypothesis with many question marks that a memory chip, if reduced it to energy and sent through the portal, could possibly go back to the worlds offworlders came from, allowing them to keep memories even back on their world. This is noted to be untested however.
A second board looks at why bodies may duplicate but seemingly not objects. It appears inanimate objects are too identical for physics to function properly and the items simply merge, preventing a paradox, while living tissue is changed enough after being in Panem even for a short time that this only happens to non-living objects that are pulled, not people. There is further aggressively scribbled debate on whether robots count as people. The conclusion is that “they damn well must be if they’re here at all”. A paper on the table explains how most of the robots are transferred via chip to a mutt-body and the brain registers the chip to fill out personality and memories based upon it, thus making the robot essentially human. This is done for further study in reviving people.
Former Capitol-soldiers may recall that robots aren’t the only ones with muttation bodies. Some are animals and others, like Venus Dee Milo, have a portal transfer very specific to them. On one of the mechanic’s desks, blueprints lay for making much smaller portals that may be put within the mutt body and transfer the soul into it stating Venus’s name on the first prototype designs but not on the last. The blueprints note a disintegration system with these so the portal doesn’t stay within them. More blueprints can be seen for another full scale portal, using the one in the mountain there as a prototype. One final blueprint can be found, not for a portal, but for what looks like a weapon. Though it has the shape of a gun, it doesn’t appear to fire bullets. Apparently, it’s a relatively recent invention, from late december. The finalized design is dated for February.
By what looks like a station for hovercraft pilots to collect their gear is a clipboard and typed out list. The oldest ones to the back show revival deliveries from the arenas. As one flips to the front, these lists become those offworld soldiers who died in battle and were revived with all the relevant timestamps, serial numbers, and delivery location (the Tribute Tower and the Detainment Center). However, there are some anomalies, like names that have been blacked out leaving only serial numbers, timestamps, and, curiously, an entirely different location. This location is only listed as Center V. The timestamps date from the start of the war to a mass exodus very recently.
Rebels rush in to investigate the area, quickly capturing anyone working there. Despite the size and clear need for more hands in the facility, there’s only a handful of individuals left behind. One, a scientist, is ready to speak to the offworlders in charge as offworlders finish the investigation of the Facility. Something in here is sure to explain the mysterious “illness” offworlders have been facing. Hopefully rebels can find it fast, before it’s too late…
no subject
He’d sworn to all of the family he had left here - and some of the ones that’re gone - that he was in this war for good. Because of Porrim, and Bucky, he’d gotten himself just as invested in the outcome of this world as if it were his own. He’d promised them that this fight was his, just like he’d promised the other natives of this world in his support groups. That they were all in this together, that he’d never leave them before the war was over. And the war sure as hell isn’t done with, even if they’ve passed a point where it maybe feels like they can see the end.
But it’s more than that. Even if the war was over. When he’d told Albert he planned on leaving, that was when he thought Jet and Albert were going back home, when he thought he could take Kurloz and Terezi with him. Before a victor who’d forgotten how to smile looked at him with hope and stole his heart, before he held his partner close and confessed that he didn’t know where home was anymore.
He knows now. Home is with Jet, the only one who gets flying the way he does, who understands what the sky means to him. Home is with Albert, who knows him better than Sam’d ever planned, who calls Sam on his shit and opens up to him in a way that reminds Sam to do the same. Home is Kurloz, in all the things they promised each other and all the ways they’ve brought each other back from the edge, the way he knows without saying that they’re in this for the long haul. Home is with Terezi, his little sister who he isn’t willing to lose again, and with Porrim, when his love for her overwhelms the guilt he feels that it isn’t the right kind. Home is Clint, his partner until the end, whose heart beats in the same rhythm as Sam’s and who Sam knows he could never let go. Home is with Steve and Bucky, and it’s thoughts of them that hold him back the most, but not enough to change his decision, as his eyes sweep over the line and find the rest of his family.
Home is the man reaching out to him, the gleam of gold and green on one of his fingers a reminder that Sam doesn’t need of the promise he made him. He’d told Bucky a long time ago that the only future he wanted was one with him in it, and that hasn’t changed.
His hand curls around Bucky’s, fingers lacing together at the same time as he reaches blindly out behind him. His wings spread out, as though shielding the two closest to him, as he squeezes Bucky’s hand in reassurance.
I’m not going anywhere.
With that he looks to his other side, knowing exactly who he’ll see, a silent question in his mind.
You still with me?
no subject
Sam had promised Clint he'd get him home, once. After the memories, after Laura and the kids, guilt and shame and an unending need to see this through. It should feel like a betrayal, giving that up, staying here when he has so much waiting for him. But it isn't, it can't be. Natasha would understand, Laura would see, the kids, the farm -- well, it wasn't really his home anyway, in the end.
This isn't home either, really. Clint's not sure he has a word for that any more, not after everything. But maybe, maybe -- maybe ghosts and memory and the ache of those he'd lost, those he'd failed. Bitter, tender, a jagged sort of redemption beneath the birdcage of his ribs. The shells of his ears ring hollow and honeycomb, aching in the static of the room, still unused to this sense even months after the fact. How could he go back to his world, when he'd long ago promised to help save this one?
But home -- Maybe it's lightening in his palm and a hand around the ruined mess of his arm. Maybe it's blindspots and booze filled hugs, long moments and silent conversations, purple feathers and metal ones, cages and chains and a trust so deep it can supersede all of it.
Fight for what you want, Panem. And they had. How could he do any less?
So Clint doesn't hesitate, doesn't bother to think. Sam's hand reaches out blindly, and Clint's already moving to meet him. Mind pressed close, blueblueblue, the familiar ache that soothes with their shared pulse. Always, he swears, clasping Sam's hand in his. They're immovable, metal creaking beneath skin, fingers laced together like two pieces of a puzzle. Nothing will tear them apart, Clint will make sure of it. He repeats, determination written in every gilded bone.
Always
Still, Clint turns, palm held open for the next in the chain, blue eyes gleaming neon.
"C'mon," He reassures, "I've got you."
no subject
Fuck that.
He refused to be a slave anywhere, and he had a much better chance of freedom here. He had decided to risk his life for Signless and his cause on Alternia, even before they'd become friends. He knew for certain that Signless intended to not only fight for equal rights in Panem, but also build a life here, a life that included Psii. Neither of those things was anywhere near finished.
He extended his hand to Sam's oddly augmented friend, minding his claws. Only Psii could smirk at a moment like this.
"Jutht don't blatht my head off again and we'll be fine."
no subject
Back home he's lost everything. His niece won't speak to him. His former best friend and part-time lover won't associate with him. The rat race of villainy has left him surviving, not thriving, as he starts to stare down the barrel of what most men his age would consider retirement.
Here, he'll have to rebuild. He's got enough government secrets from his time with the Peacekeepers to keep from being executed, but he won't have much in the way of power - it's an escape hatch, not a campaign. But he's done a lot of scrapping in his life, and he'll scrap again if that's what it takes to get to the top here. At least he won't be scrapping alone.
"Molotov!" he yells, not even hoping but knowing that she'll join him, because the universes bent to place them together and no science or madness will tear apart what fate wrought.
no subject
For some, that means remaining even when they have the chance to go home, and though Linden was never the touchy-feely type, he joins the throngs of strange and familiar faces and reaches for the nearest hand. It might not be the hand that Tom expects or wants to hold, but if time is of the essence, looking for a spot he'll be welcome isn't a luxury Linden can afford or a comfort he can demand. There have been a lot of sacrifices and heartaches lately, and moving resolutely forward might be the only way to keep the good things in perspective.
no subject
Molotov's fingers can't catch Tom's before Linden's. She only barely remembers her from her time as a Tribute, as she never once sought advice or even conversation from him, and knew him only as the gaunt, useless addict floating around the Suite. Then she was gone and never looked back, never gave him another thought past a cruel joke at his expense on Panem Nightly. She grabs his hand all the same, her grip almost cruelly tight.
"If your skinny little arms fail us, I'll kill you before anything else can."
no subject
But something in him could not abandon these people. Al Mualim often talked of the war of ideals between the Templars and the Assassins, but Altaïr had always been driven less by philosophy and more by compassion for those who suffered. The names of the factions were different, but the conflict was the same. He was needed more here. Altaïr had already severed ties with men who were once his friends through his own folly. Al Mualim still had them to continue their work. The Brotherhood could carry on without him, but the fight for a free Panem was a struggle every day.
And what of the information he had given the offworlder Alain Johns? In a way, he felt responsible for him now that he'd told him of the Creed. There was so much to discuss, with him and anyone else who could garner his trust. He wondered if, after the war was over, he should start keeping a journal.
For once, it seemed no person or faction was forcing another to do their bidding. Each person in the room was free to choose their course. He risked his life to protect this freedom. Whatever Molotov's alliances, they were her own. He grasped her forearm, more secure than a hand, calloused fingers locking and inviting her to take the same sure grip.
"Killing him will help no one," he countered pragmatically. In Altaïr's opinion, Linden had performed well during their assassination mission together. Flicking his gaze over to the as yet undecided stragglers, he spoke, "Choose quickly."
The urgency of the situation did not need to be explained.
no subject
He sees his other there. The savage, the monster, his bad side, the way he felt his father wanted him to be. And yet he takes hands just as everyone else. Meulin takes his hand. His Meulin, sweet Meulin. She does it easy, like this is all worth something.
Anna and Roland are ahead, Porrim, Ellis, Phi. He doesn't even look for Chuck and Derek, but feels they must be somewhere.
And there, just four people ahead, a familiar face he's not seen in a long time. It's not Mituna, but he hears Mituna in his head. What's his choice? What's his move? If Mituna were here, he knows what would be said. And if not for himself, what about his brother, his Uncle, District four? What about Latula, Meulin... what about him?
He remembers the last time. He remembers the screaming and the terrible crunching sounds, as he stood there frozen for so long, too long, and it cost his brother. He remembers his own voice, come too late; "Stop! Stop it, Da, stop! Please! Tuna, brother-"
He didn't know what he was anymore, what he was supposed to be. But he could remember what he used to be. The line of shore and sea, yes, but more than that. He was a friend, a brother, a son. A prophet. And all his faith had been for good. For every mark by Caiaborus, Da, Snow, the Capitol, there was his brother, Mituna, his family... and faith. He turned away from the gods whom he could never hear, but that he knew cared for him. No more hand to hand in prayer. Maybe it was time to try again. Maybe he just needed to pray in a new way.
Though it shakes, his hand takes Altair's. This is what he wanted back then, he realises. Only then does it mother fuckin occur had bad he's wished for something like this. A moment of peace in the storm. They can work together, all of them, even those of them who were broken.
He turns to the very last few people left. With a hoarse voice just above a whisper, he says, "...Almossst... motherfuckin there. Take... my hand...!" He stretches out, reaching for that last bit to save them all.
no subject
He may never have known what it meant to be a hero had he not come here. He might not have bled and cried and struggled and overcome without the horrors and majesty of the rebellion and the Games. He's forged in fires of Panem now, even if the original metal was from some other Earth.
He grabs Kurloz' hand and squeezes.
no subject
Today… Tomorrow… Forever...