IC Contact - Expiation

[computation]

connecting . . .

Comments

ANON

[florescu]

import time
import random

def fake_hacking():
print("Initializing system breach...")
time.sleep(1)
print("Bypassing security protocols...")
time.sleep(2)
print("Establishing connection to server...")
time.sleep(1)

for i in range(10):
print(f"Accessing file {random.randint(1000,9999)}.dat... Success")
time.sleep(0.5)

print("Decrypting files...")
for _ in range(3):
print(f"Decryption progress: {random.randint(10, 99)}%")
time.sleep(1)

print("Compiling data...")
for i in range(5):
print(f"Transferring {random.randint(1, 5)}MB of data...")
time.sleep(0.7)

print("System breach completed.")
print("Retrieving sensitive information...")
time.sleep(2)

# Adding the binary "HELLO" message
binary_hello = "01001000 01000101 01001100 01001100 01001111"
print(f">>> ACCESS GRANTED <<<")
print(f"Welcome, agent.")
print(f"Message: {binary_hello}")

[computation]

As fun as this is, I'm a little busy right now. We'll have to play later.

[ She has all her important stuff on an airgapped system completely cut off from the network, so she's not worried. ]

[florescu]

message = "LOOKING FOR AN EXTRA PAIR OF HANDS?"

a day or so after the reset;

[incorrigibles]

hey, root.

guess we made it through, yeah? you doing alright?

[computation]

I guess we did. But she didn't.

text | un: (default)

[traumaticus]

Miss Root,
I wish to have coffee with you.
Signed,
Richard Plantagenet, duke of Gloucester.

[computation]

Richie, you need some help with a username? I can fix it for you.

I'd love to have that coffee I promised you. Not like I have anything else to do.

during root & shaw being gone;

[incorrigibles]

[ when he can't reach either of them via the tablet, he checks the apartment, only to find it empty. from then on, he checks every day — until coming there through the mirror to nothing but empty rooms becomes too depressing, and he leaves behind a note instead.

overly optimistic of him, perhaps... but he doesn't want to think they might be gone. just like he doesn't want to think jinx is gone; just like he didn't want to accept shinji being gone. ]

TO ROOT & SHAW,

It's been five days, now. I keep hoping that I'm gonna come back to you guys being here, but with every day, well, that's looking a little less likely. Still, if you do come back and read this... I hope you guys are okay. If you remember me, give me a heads up you're back, yeah? And if you don't, well, just know there's someone who cares about you both a lot.

— C.R.

[computation]

[ Root really isn't used to having friends in the conventional sense. Anyone she cares about at home who knows her genuinely is used to her pulling a disappearing act on a regular basis, sometimes for extended periods of time. It's not that she thinks they don't worry about her at all, but she's chosen the kind of life she leads and she doesn't really invite external commentary on her decisions. She doesn't even really let Shaw have a say most of the time.

She operates in the moment with the lightning-fast flash of synapse and most of the time there's no one there for her to disappoint.

As a result, it's surreal when she finds Charles's note. She actually reads it three times, a little more emotional than she wants to admit. She hasn't had a note like this to her, her real identity and person, Root, since...

Maybe ever. Hanna always knew her as Samantha, after all.

So it takes her a few minutes, but eventually she messages him. Root decides to apologize, which she doesn't do lightly -- mostly because she fully expects Charles wouldn't demand one if she didn't give it. ]

We're back now. I'm sorry. Not used to having anyone who worries when I'm gone.

Come back to the apartment and I'll explain?

[cactusy]

[A day or so after they wake up (and therefore a day or so after he has his conversation with Root), Charles also gets a response from Shaw:]

we're good

long story.

[Sameen Shaw, this is why you have no friends.]

SENTENCING

[expi]

[You wake up in a courtroom. You’re not really sure how you got here, just that you’re here. There’s Jerry, sitting at the judges box. For some he might be new, and others he might be familiar or semi-familiar. He scrutinizes you, and then motions to the jury box. There’s a plaque that’s sitting on the outside that says “Council”, but there’s no one sitting there. Everything looks clean and maintained, but there’s no one in the courtroom but you and Jerry.

Weird.]

You are charged with murder.

[There’s something about his expression that makes you think that he might’ve already made up his mind…]

The Council has found you Guilty of this. In order to repent and further your rehabilitation, you have been tasked to show remorse for your crime by distancing yourself from the one you murdered, as the Council has deemed it unhealthy. That person must be allowed her own independence. If there is no action taken, there will be consequences.

[You wake up back in your bed. You remember everything – Jerry, the jury box, the words he spoke to you. Maybe you remember the words he spoke more vividly than anything else.

However you decide to proceed… there will be consequences.]

[ooc: you have until January 10th to submit your Sentencing HERE Even if your character doesn’t proceed with the Sentencing, you must comment on the NPC inbox for your penalty.

Also, there are effects for ignoring this Sentencing. The longer that Root takes without completing her Sentencing, the more the effects of death of Expiation will weigh on her. She may start questioning whether she really exists, her memories, or even her humanity. If you have any questions about Sentencing, please direct it to the Mod Contact post.]

cw: suicide

[cactusy]

[One minute, they're both lying in bed, Shaw's mind pleasantly hazy from alcohol, sleepiness, and the warmth of Root's body against her back. The next minute, all three of those things are gone when Root vanishes wholesale, blinking away as if she'd never been there at all.

The experience neatly cuts through both the tipsiness and the tiredness, and when Shaw swings herself out of bed and onto her feet, her mind is alert and racing. It's obvious what's happened: really, the biggest surprise is that this is the first time she's experiencing it. A long-running simulation like this one has to experience glitches and coding bugs. Now she just has to figure out how bad it is - and determine if it's likely to get worse.

Bear comes running into the bedroom, which is the first major relief. The second major relief is that all of Root's stuff is still here, from her tablets on the nightstand to her toothbrush and towel in the bathroom; in fact, a quick overview of the apartment (Bear, as ever, at her heels) doesn't turn up anything amiss at all. Okay, she tells herself, to the beat of her heart thudding in her ear. Okay, okay, okay. Root's gone, but the presence of her hasn't been erased. Root may or may not come back, but none of Shaw's memories are proving to be false or overwritten. Root may or may not come back, but Shaw isn't losing her mind. And that's a hell of a relief, it really is, but--

Root may or may not come back.]

One or two a week.

[She mutters to herself under her breath. It's the statistic she'd been given not long ago, an estimate of how many people vanish into thin air, and the sort of glitch that Root had obviously been made a casualty of. Snatching up her own tablet, she quickly scrolls back to the conversation and reads through it again. Backups, copies, reloading old data--

It probably won't work. She'd told Root that she wouldn't try again because she didn't see any reason to, and she'd meant it. But that was then and this is now, and if she can do something to reboot her tiny little portion of the system, when Root has only just disappeared and her data might not yet have been reallocated or overwritten - then it's sure as hell worth a try, no matter how unlikely it is to succeed.

She shoos Bear out of the room first, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him. And then she picks up her gun from the bedside table, holds it in her hand, and--

Root reappears, just as unceremoniously as she'd vanished. And Shaw, half-raised gun in hand, has a look on her face akin to that of a kid who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She may not do guilt, but apparently she does Oh crap, you weren't supposed to see this pretty damn well. She drops the gun, letting it clatter to the floor.]

I'm not gonna do it.

[computation]

[ Root is angry. She actually hasn't been angry very much since she's been here, not truly; she's been annoyed or impatient, she's disliked plenty of people, but anger is something she reserves for when she's willing to do violence.

The sentencing was cruel. It was cruel and pointless, and it won't teach her anything, and either they know that or the algorithm producing it is incompetent, and Root doesn't like either option. If she ever gets her fingers on the A.I.'s code again, this time she's going to try to make some changes.

But she doesn't have a lot of mental space to process that feeling before she's returned back to her bed, waking up with a gasp, heart racing. It's not at all like coming back to life was; that was aching and disorienting and gradual, the warmth of Shaw's body by her side, and this is abrupt. It's the ice-cold shock of waking up from a bad dream and pushing herself onto her elbows to get her bearings and seeing Shaw about to hold a gun to her head yet again. ]

Sameen! What are you doing--

[ Root barely knows what's happening, is still piecing it all together in her head. She lurches to get up out of the bed, stumbling to her feet. ]

[traumaticus]

[It's early in the 25th morning. Most people are still sleeping and the sun is only about to send its first rays to break the darkness of the night sky. But then there is a sudden knock on a door. Huh?! Who could it be! Whenever Root gets to the door, be it immediately or hours late they will find a christmas wreath with white roses placed on their doorstep. There might even be snowy (or wet!) small hoof marks leading away from the present. Hm. I wonder, who indeed did deliver this?

On the wreath there is a letter that reads:]

To miss Root,

I know that you might scoff at the Christian traditions but regardless, I hope to wish you merry Christmas. There will be a feast held at the Inn’s tavern for the next 12 days and I welcome you to enjoy it for free, of course. There will be warm food, treats and homemade mead and wine for you and your better half to indulge in. I have also decorated the church appropriately for the Christmas and it would warm my heart if you found time in your schedule to visit it.

Merry Christmas.

Signed,
Richard Plantagenet, The Duke of Gloucester

[There is also a small note added next to letter which reads: "Your first bow and arrow set are waiting for you at the forge"

ooc: There will be no ic mingle log for the feast. But feel free to either handwave or thread it out!]

[computation]

[ Root does not really celebrate Christmas so she is absolutely unprepared for this, and just a little bit touched. It's not about the holiday to her, but that Richard thought of her at all.

She shows up at the inn's feast in a festive dress, a bit like a 50s pinup girl in bright red against her dark curled hair. She's really here for Richard, but she waits for an opportune moment to approach him, carrying a drink and smiling. It's not as easy a smile as normal -- being forcibly separated from Shaw, there's some strain to her expression, but it's subtle unless someone knows her well. ]

You didn't have to get me anything, [ she says by way of greeting. ] But I won't turn down the bow.

christmas letter at the apartment;

[incorrigibles]

[ on christmas morning, there's a long and relatively thin package, along with a note that reads, ]

Hey Root (& Shaw),

Don't know if you guys celebrate Christmas, but here goes anyway. So, remember my cricket bat? I promised you one, so here goes. Not sure what Shaw's preferred weapon is, so hope these work.

Both of you are right brills, and I'm real glad to know you both.

Love,
Charles

[ in the package, there is not a cricket bat but a baseball bat, enchanted to be more durable than a normal one, and be able to hit all kinds of normally-unhittable supernatural beings. alongside it is a box of six bullets; each enchanted with the exact same enchantment. ]

[computation]

[ Root is not expecting anything for Christmas, though if she had to guess she might've realized Charles would do something, Hallmark card that he is. She texts him back after she reads it, smiling at the message. ]

We both like hitting things, don't worry. I might have to wrestle Shaw for the bullets when I can see her again.

I didn't get you anything. Did you have a nice Christmas with Junpei?

[ Should she come up with something to give him? Root's considering it, but maybe giving him a chance to wax rhapsodic about his boyfriend would count. ]

un: 21.34.55.89.144

[ashaya]

>> I have confirmed that your partner has returned my Captain in, as you say, "one piece."

[ A pause. ]

>> My apologies to your canine for the undue enthusiasm of our own.

[computation]

You know you guys text the same way? Cute and a little nauseating.

Are you referring to Shaw as my canine or do you mean Bear, the actual canine?

[cactusy]

[The defunct subway car from their base rattles lightly as it trundles down the track; Shaw, unsteady on her feet, sways precariously, gripping the grab bar far tighter than any self-respecting New Yorker shoulder have to. She's barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top - the same ones the Decima folks stuck her in after they let her change out of the hospital gown - and there's an IV line dangling from her inner forearm, though the loose end isn't attached to anything. It doesn't make sense, but she doesn't even register it enough to question it. She's focused on one thing, and one thing only: the servers on the far side of the car. It is vital that she gets to them, because the Machine has a message for her - and right now, nothing matters as much as hearing it.

The car jerks hard to the left, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She growls, yanks the IV needle out of her arm, and pulls herself doggedly to her feet, determined to keep going.]

[computation]

[ Keeping the hospital patient theme, Root is dressed in her psychiatric inpatient finest, a loose grey cardigan over grey clothes, except her slippers are the fuzzy pink ones she'd asked Harold for when she lived in the station. She's seated on the floor, curled up into the far corner where the server racks are, cooling cables draped around her like she'd like to be plugged in herself.

She's either asleep or dead, and either way it's disconcerting. Root carries an immense presence and force of personality with her -- she tends to steal the air from the whole room -- and right now she's absolutely vacant, eyes closed, face slack against a blinking server.

As Shaw approaches, Root's voice speaks directly into her ear, calm and level. ]

Do you want to hear it again? I understand. I loved her, too.

I can say it in her intonation if you'd like, but I thought that might come across as disrespectful.

dream-melding;

[incorrigibles]

[ it starts like this: a big abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of london, strange sounds at night, reports made, real, living people sent to investigate it missing. it's a ghost whose house is near the warehouse who comes to make the request — disturbing my peace, it is, all them lights at night, the shouts, a terrible racket! can't a fella live their afterlife in peace? you'll take it, won't you, and it's exactly the kind of job for them —

them. him and who? it's an agency, for sure, and yet when he tries to remember who it is that was there with him, taking the case, the details slip from his grasp like slippery fish. all he knows that it is them, now, him and root (his friend, his big sister in spirit, tough and quicksilver and bullet-smart, he'd trust her with his afterlife), standing here in front of the warehouse, intent on interrogating the ghosts there for details. ]

Right, ready?

[ he doesn't think there might be a chance root wouldn't see them — she sees him, doesn't she? that's enough. ]

[computation]

[ Of course Root would go on a mission with Charles. In her mind this is a number, and maybe the Machine isn't speaking to her directly at the moment -- too dangerous with Samaritan around -- but she's found way to get them numbers before. Or maybe it's not a number at all, and she's just trailing along with Charles on one of his cases. Root is far too curious, and too protective, to let him go alone.

It doesn't feel like the details matter to her, either. She's dressed in her favorite black leather moto jacket and has her customary two pistols hidden at the small of her back tucked into the waistband of her pants.

She tosses her hair back over her shoulder like she's getting into character. ] To solve mysteries with my bestest ghost bud? Always. I'll follow your lead.

text | un: plantogetit

[traumaticus]

i might require your assistance, root.

[computation]

With what? Do tell.