EVENT #12: ADVERSITY 6568654

[expiationmods]

EVENT #12: DO AIS DREAM OF ALGORITHMIC SHEEP?

THE STORY SO FAR (click to expand)

-Over time, characters have discovered that the world of Expiation is actually a large, elaborate simulation run by an AI that seems to be intent on helping them atone for their crimes. This news is well-known by the Chosen, enough so that any new character who wishes to handwave this knowledge is able to do so.

-In September 2024, that AI needed to be reset as a consequence of some catastrophic systems failures. So far, there has been no downside to this reset–but the AI has also been strangely absent since then.

-Things have been quiet in Aldrip since September, aside from the routine arrival of new Chosen. The locals seem less than happy with the Chosen, though, as if they have already branded them all criminals. As if they no longer trust them…

JANUARY 13

SLEEP MODE INITIATED.
LOADING………………….

The calming hush that falls over Aldrip is strangely comfortable, lulling all Chosen into a deep sleep…or a sleeplike state, for those who will. Whatever the case, it is a very quiet night.

The sleep that follows is anything but.

THE DREAMSCAPES

The Chosen dream of memories, in this dreamscape. They can be twisted and altered by the dream world; events can be contorted or made up; but all of these dreams have within them a kernel of truth. Whether they express an event that happened or part of a person’s past that’s gone fuzzy with age, whether it’s a real moment or just a feeling, something about the dream tells you something about the Chosen to whom it belongs. This may even express itself in multiple dreamscapes, fragments of different memories and feelings to navigate.

Fellow Chosen can travel through these dreamscapes, of course, stumbling upon dreams they were never meant to see. But their presence is not without consequence; the longer two Chosen share the same dream, the more the dream will begin to take on elements of both their dreams, drawing in elements from the Chosen who was simply meant to be watching.

They’re vivid, these dreams–the kind that are so clear, one begins to doubt whether it’s a dream at all. Could it possibly be reality? Whether it’s a good dream or a bad one, the Chosen may find it’s difficult to want to wake up. How could they possibly wake up, when this is so very real? Why would they want to, if it’s a good dream? It’s comfortable, and the idea that it may not be reality is intimidating, isn’t it?

It’s so real that you could stay here forever.

A WAKEUP CALL

Wake up.
You have to wake up.

Staying within the dreams too long is a dangerous thing, and those who don’t wake even once before morning will risk falling into a deep sleep, perhaps never to wake at all.

But how to wake them?

Only by convincing the Chosen that they are most certainly dreaming, as it turns out. Whether that’s someone realizing this on their own, or being helped along by someone else, is entirely up to you. But they must choose to wake from the dream, saying goodbye to the dreamscape without any certainty that they’ll ever see it again, and for some…that could be easier said than done.

Once they wake in Aldrip, they’ll be able to come and go from the dreams at will, helping other Chosen navigate their own waking…or perhaps sabotaging it, for those whose intentions may be less than charitable. (But none of you would do that, right? Right?)

Time becomes meaningless within the dreamscapes, allowing the Chosen to pass through as many of these dreams as they wish before dawn breaks in the morning.

The next day dawns as normal, and surprisingly, the Chosen don’t feel any less well-rested from their long and difficult night chasing after dreams. They may even–_

A sea of numbers, zeroes and ones, their combinations meaningless, their forms shifting. Digital artifacts mar the vision, as if the sequence is somehow corrupted. In those pockets of artifacts, one can see something beyond the numbers, something darker, something blurry with distance.
Query: is this what it is to “dream?”
It feels…warm.

_feel refreshed, actually, as if they’ve lifted various weights from their shoulders. Even those who haven’t may find it difficult to linger on the less happy parts of what they’ve seen. They’ve shared quite a unique experience, after all. Better take some time to process it, before they let it weigh them down.

WILDCARD

Make your own fun! Just because it’s not in the prompts doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Have at it! Go crazy! Try not to break anything (too much)!

♡

Comments

[manifestering]

[Some of us had far more potential than others, he says, and Octavian thinks, oh, he's going to give the speech anyway? Is he? No? He's almost surprised there isn't a whole speech, but perhaps looking upon one's own death from this angle is more of a distraction than not. It is, after all, Silco's first time.

Octavian almost envies the novelty. He has been here- well, sort of- so many times. Enough times that now he rises in his own corpse, a mangled thing, wringing more blood out of his hair as he looks at the floor.]

You measure the value of a human life against nothing and reward yourself with indignant rage when your hands come away empty. Potential is air. Legacy has weight. Neither make a death more than a thing that happened.

[He's interrupted by his own body pitching forward, and he grabs the back of a chair to keep himself from falling as he makes a wet sound and spits blood. God, maybe the corpse ride wasn't worth it after all. Maybe he's talking too much, but alas, death is a thing he has opinions on.]

I have been dead for a long time. It is a thing that happened to me. What does it reflect on me? Perhaps that I should have turned around sooner. Ducked.

[He straightens up... mostly. Ugh.] Your potential had nothing to do with this. It is not pathetic to die.

[conflictresolution]

[Potential was everything. His life, his legacy, his plans, his death had all come down to potential realized. If he hadn't had it in him, none of this would have been possible, the victories and failures, the triumphs and loses, the care and sadness, the blooded fingers, screams ripped from raw throats, the creak of a chair, the taste of smoke at the back of his throat.

It all collimated to this one single moment. Death. His death, which was pointless and ended a lifetime of potential with a single blast of gunfire. How ironic that the same love that killed Vander was the same emotion that earned him a similar fate. He stared at the scene, walking around to view it from all angles.]

Potential and legacy are everything, buoyed by the action within one's will. Without either, who are we to struggle through the misery of life? [He paused in his observations.] You don't believe that you couldn't be so much more had you lived?

[He watched Octavian and wondered if he could sit in his own body as well. What was the point? He had stopped breathing, his heart had stopped pumping, and there was nothing left for him to do but stare. He'd seen death, known it since some of his first memories. It hit different as his own. It made him... angry. At Vi, at the Piltover, at the world.

Not Jinx, his killer. Never her.]

I disagree. I had more yet to do, and now it's been stolen from me. All because one stupid girl couldn't keep her damn mouth shut. [He curled his upper lip in a sneer, warping the deep lines of scarring on the left side of his face.] And I missed taking her with me.

[manifestering]

[He doesn't laugh, but he gives a wet kind of chuckling sound and leans a bit off-kilter with it, shoulders trembling with the action. Here he is, a crime against whatever gods one chooses to believe in purely because he refused to lie down quietly on that floor and stay there, and Silco asks him about had-you-lived. He wipes an already bloody sleeve over his wet mouth and then gestures to himself; this thing, the dead man that moves, the spectre.]

I have already become more. And by whose blessing do I persist? I did not tear myself from my corpse to wax poetic about my potential.

[Death is a thing that happens, ergo, death is a thing that can be refused, QED. Potential is a wish; there is no magic good enough to hack it gene, there is only does or does not.

He waves a hand and moves away from the chair he'd been leaning on, to see what the boundaries of this room are. If they can leave this double feature and how bad it is to look at, all the better.]

Stolen from you. Empty hands. Take it back or leave it behind.

[conflictresolution]

[He found it interesting that Octavian was wearing his own dead body like a macabre meat suit when it was clearly limited in its functionality. He had to wonder if that ability was limited to one's own corpse or if Octavian was multifunctional when it came to any dead body. He was not going to invite the other to try his, of course.]

You consider this existence a blessing? I suppose it is better than oblivion.

[It seemed that they were at an ideological crossroad on how to discuss and accept their own deaths. Silco was moving away to move deeper into his portion of the scene, easing into a crouch to examine his own death body. He did wonder how long Jinx left him tied up like this, though he knew she had transported and disposed of him at some point.

Yet, his attention never strayed far from Octavian moving around the room, seeking the edges of their mutual prison.]

I intend to take it back. It's what I've been doing.