thenightroom | MISSION ONE: THE TIME MACHINE

Entry tags:

!ic,
!mission log

MISSION ONE: THE TIME MACHINE

MISSION LOGS

MISSION ONE: THE TIME MACHINE

▐ OBJECTIVES ▐

The machine has malfunctioned, resulting in the random splintering of individuals across time and across the vast expanse of possible realities. Each person pulled has subsequently been recruited temporarily until a solution to return them home has been reached.

The first mission is simple: return to the last splinter point the machine reached and retrace the steps of the team to locate any temporal anomalies and record them. Record anything strange or out of the ordinary for missions. The year is 1993, and you are going native.

In the 'present', the team should begin a physical document mapping out where the new recruits come from and try to determine if splintering back is possible with their current technology.

▐ OUTCOMES ▐

Characters will have experience using the time machine and players will have chance to explore the past or explore the facility in the 'present'.

A brief comprehensive idea of where everyone comes from should be starting to form, with Dr. Jones conducting individual interviews. You can be as vague about your characters personal circumstances as you like, as Dr. Jones will be more interested in the world itself, the year and will make quick character judgement's based on the conversation itself. At the end of the mission, characters should be starting to form connections, however small or significant.

SETTINGS

▐ 1993 ▐

Before you leave, you will be interviewed by Dr. Jones. This can be hand waved for inconvenience. She will ask you only the most pertinent questions: your name, your age, the year you are from. She will ask for as in depth description of your world that you can provide. If you want to elaborate on your personal circumstances, you can. If not, that's fine too.

Before you leave, normal protocol takes place. The machine will be explained to you, as will the injections required before hand. The machine itself is dangerous, but the danger of being catapulted across reality again is 0.000001%. Reassuring in every way, of course. You will travel to 1993, Seattle. The only relevant information about this previous mission is the places the team were and anything odd they can recall. You will, however, be free to explore the State and note anything odd.

There will be vague temporal anomalies, but nothing big enough to cross the multiverse.

▐ PROJECT SPLINTER INTEL GATHERING ▐

Interviews conducted by Dr. Jones are mandatory. Until you complete it, you will be held in the brigg quarters which, compared to the rest of the facility, is hugely uncomfortable. It is the same process as above. In turn, Dr. Jones will brief you on the current state of this world. She will only share relevant and confirmed information.

After you're done, you are free to also share these experiences with the new 'volunteers. '

▐ EXPLORING YOUR SURROUNDINGS ▐

The obligatory wild card. Explore the facility. The rooms, the kitchens, the shower rooms. Head up to the roof and look upon the vast wasteland that has become of the world. Do whatever you want!

table code by

optimisty

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Weeks.

[There is something else, perhaps, that she thinks about saying, but decides against it for now. Something to broach, after her own curiosity is satiated. ]

-- There is and has never been anyone with extranormal abilities in this world, as far as I know. This machine is the first exceptional thing to happen in decades. [There is something else, there too, that she does not say. That she might not ever say, because she would rather deal in facts than the superstitious beliefs of an enemy she cannot get ahead of. But the information is there, on the big board behind her. It's documented in files, that she comes back to every now and then when something does not make sense or seems impossible.

Ghost stories have no place here; these people have been through enough. ] I'd like to know what kind of abilities are common, where you are from.

[ He's not quite so arrogant as to suppose this entails a real advantage. After all, what use are his considerable abilities if he has to consume upwards of 5000 calories every time he uses them? To say nothing of the sheer uncertainty he still has them at all, in a timeline presumably without Barry Allen. Paradoxes upon paradoxes, honestly. His fucking favorite.

It's a shame he doesn't know her at all, and can't tell how much she's holding back. (He does assume she is, though.) Playing at chessmaster always looks easy when you created the board, built in the trapdoors, picked out the pieces, and nudged them all into place yourself.

Harrison Wells is here to field the immediate concerns, however, while he muses on the others. ]

I'm afraid it's a relatively new phenomenon, and thus far they've mostly been quite idiosyncratic. An expression of individual circumstance and possibly genetic variance, with interplay from ... well, to be frank, offensively mystical factors.

[ Personally, he finds all the superheroes to be charming in their nonsensical, colorful way, but Wells is a man of science. ]

Increased speed, manipulation of electricity, various physical transformations.

[In the grand scheme of things, she has to say that super powers really aren't that separated from time travel, or how the serum she's perfected affects the body. But it's still strange. Slightly inconceivable to think that the human form could mutate or evolve beyond the limited capabilities it has now. Jones leans her cheek into a knuckle, brows pinching together; subtly re-configuring her attitude towards anyone else who might appear.

But, for now: at last, the barest hint of a smile. ] Abilities suited to causing the most trouble possible, then. [Is that slightly cynical? Maybe.] If you would not mind, we could use fresh eyes on why this is happening.

[And, sitting back up straight,] My team is stumped and I fear, stretching themselves thin. Perhaps you might see something we cannot. [She won't say mystical, but you know. Maybe. ]

[ At some point he'll have to play the repentant doctor once more, whenever he gets around to explaining who "caused" the metahuman population of his city to explode. It can wait, however, for a more useful time. For a more careful staging of emotion, when he knows her better.

Now he only watches her think, the slight shifts in expression, and makes a vague allusion to potential future conversations with a half grimace, half smile in response to hers. ]

Sometimes despite themselves.

[ The possible metahuman nature of anybody else who's unexpected arrived here is a topic he'll wait to breach as well. He'd like to suss them out himself first. ]

I'd be glad to be of use. [ Dryly: ] I left the running around after metahumans to my considerably younger colleagues.

[ A brief, shuttered pause as the Wells he should be considers what may or may not be happening for the people in his life without him, and then visibly puts it away in a drawer. ]

I'm at your disposal.

[ Meaning he's willing to start now, or understands if it must come after the other obligations he's no doubt she has. ]

We have delegation in common, then.

[Common ground, in making other people do things. Though, the difference, perhaps, is that Jones would jump at the opportunity to take their place. Someone has to stay behind, though, and make sure things do not go anymore awry than they have in the last few weeks.

A goal, though. For some other day. ] I won't have you running around, Dr. Wells. But I will ask you to start today, if that is -- suitable. [This isn't really a test; she's been going easy on all these new arrivals, in comparison to everyone else she has doing her work. None of them are trained, after all, or familiar with the outside world in any capacity. She's yet to determine if general history is even the same as their own, here. ]

I think the others will appreciate a voice that is not my own asking questions. And I -- [a beat, while she pats down her pockets; smiling and then, a pinched frown,] Have run out of cigarettes. Come, we can walk and talk.

[ Common ground, certainly, and the difference is secretly small. Jumping at the opportunity to play along has led Thawne to where (when) he was before, and arguably where and when he is now. Fifteen years of the twenty-first century has taught him the value of keeping things straight for others, or at least, as straight as he wants them to be. ]

Whatever I can do.

[ He unfolds himself from the chair, waiting for her to rise first before following suit. He's direct with his next comment, guessing that frankness will be preferred over too much diplomacy. ]

I'm also interested in studying the machine, for the obvious reasons. But I appreciate the difficulty of allowing me any access. Whatever you feel appropriate to share with me, I'd be grateful for.

[She rises, collecting her folders in hand. She nods towards the door before walking, and then once he has caught up, she offers:] Eventually, perhaps. We have the scematics on hand here, and my team have become well versed -- but. [A pause; a frustrated one, because while it's all well and good to say even if one thing were to go wrong, it could be the end, things have already gone awry. She glances to Harrison with a slightly exasperated look. Not with him, but with everything, generally.] We are wary of tampering. You would think, at the end of world, there would be little left to feel paranoid about Dr. Wells.

[Evidentally, hope has fuelled the flames. The unspoken implication is, of course, that she hasn't rulled out any one of their unexpected visitors being responsible in some capacity.] In time, Dr. Wells. We have plenty of it.

[The rest of the corridors are just as bleak as the ones he has maybe already wandered down. There are men and women in more frequency the further they go, arming doors and heavy shutters. Harrison is led to a door with a glass window, and once unlocked, inside is filled with filing cabinets. One large coffee table sits in the middle and a couch sits opposite. It might have been a storage room, once, but now it's -- comfort, she supposes. A space of solace when a headache is looming. ] Most of our information is here, [she explains, giving the couch a hard shove to reach a lower shelf. Inside, she rummages, until her hand reemerges with a tabacco tin in hand.] But this, you tell no one about. Thiefs, all of them.

[ This is just about what he was expecting to hear, the level of caution involved due to suspicion of others. This is how things work, in his eyes. The struggle for power and control.

And the environs she leads him through, they're not so bleak to him. If he has to work with the military, he prefers them to be a little downtrodden, not full of themselves, and certain they're not getting everything they deserve. ]

Well, you can trust me with that much.

[ Dry, fine-grained humor. He's not a smoker, and maybe she can tell. He examines the filing cabinets with some nostalgia, as Wells might. All the information in STAR Labs kept in a floating cloud, flung about the Cortex in effortless arrangements of light, and now they're back to papers in metal boxes because who would waste energy on information display at the end of the world? ]

I assume there are parties not entirely on board with your mission with the machine.

[A pause to lit up: Jones has long stopped asking if it's polite. Somewhere around fifty, if memory serves right. She leans back against one grey filing cabinet and folds and arm over the over, cigarette held between two fingers.] There were some in the earlier days who did not think it would switch on. And then that it would operate successfully. And then that it was a waste of time or a slight against nature.

[Sometimes, she's still on the fence about the latter.] My belief has always been, as long as there is hope, this mission is worth it. And if history cannot be changed, then -- at the very least, we will get to the end of the investigation to why the world was allowed to go to shit.

[A moment to take a draw and then, puffing out smoke:] If you like conspiracy theories, we have a thousand. [Or it feels like, anyway.]

[ He leans against the side of the couch she edged aside, arms folded comfortably across his front as he listens. How curious, to hear the the same old story of the combative nature of scientific ambition repeated across time and space. And arguably, her machine (as he thinks it fair to call it now, no matter her former husband's involvement) could do far worse than his particle accelerator. Or perhaps they really accomplish the same thing, in the end.

He can see himself liking her, given enough time, not that it's relevant. She isn't dead to him like Cisco and Caitlin ultimately are. Not a ghost with whom he has to go through motions, although the motions themselves did generate affection despite everything. ]

"Like" is a strong word.

[ He'll hear all of them, though. As for the other things, he seems to be choosing his words carefully when he responds. ]

Personally, I believe that history can indeed be changed. The possibility of my experiences being limited to my own universe notwithstanding, and with the caveat that my experience is far from definitive...

[ Just spit it out, Wells. But she'll probably understand why he includes these cautions before getting to the important parts. ]

... we did uncover some. Indications. That time travel had occurred. But of course, there would be no evidence of changes, had there been any. Not from our perspective.

[Between the next drag and the ensuing puff of smoke, Jones leans forward with what is genuine interest. Sometimes, as he will likely find, it is hard to read her or it is very easy to read her. ] Fascinating.

[It is; she has always considered other methods of time travel and the implications of it. She's known full well, too, that should the suceed -- well, from everyone's perspective, nothing will have changed at all. Except for the travellers returning from the past.] The serum we use, it changes the body. Time moves around you. The best explaination is to watch a blood sample in action. [Which she can provide, probably soon.] But anyone returning, they remember the details that we cannot. Though, I think in time it fades. New memories push their way in, and the old are eventually rewritten.

[Another drag, and on the exhale:] We have only one example, a traveller who returned to a drastically different future. He was forced to return and undo whatever he had done. Evidentally, the other timeline was worse.

[A beat, cigarette pointing towards Harrison.] What evidence was left that you came to know about time travels existence?

Edited (whoops hit enter by accident) 2017-07-15 08:48 (UTC)

[ It's clear from how closely he listens, the resumed stillness where he sits slightly hunched on the edge of the couch, how fascinating he finds this as well. Things square up quite closely, despite the vast differences in method. The brute force elegance of machine and serum versus the absurd defiance of physical law that is the Flash. ]

Sometimes I wonder if anything really ever does get "undone."

[ Between the cesspool that is human memory and the chaos of living, it's difficult to tell. ]

No evidence. Nothing I can accept as such. Paraphernalia, no matter how compelling, can be faked.

But there is a metahuman whose speed can approach that of light, under the right circumstances. More than one. And like you, we have to rely on his word that he caused certain changes.

[In the end, it's always a matter of trust under any given circumstance. He's right: physical evidence is just as easily faked as the spoken word. But she believes, of course. She has to. Hope has been driving her forward for years now, even during her most cynical and most skeptical times. What this particular period is, is ... to be determined. Failure or possibility remains to be seen. ]

I suppose we both must rely on our character judgememt, to determine truth among fiction. [Though, possibly her judge of character has become skewed in the face of necessity.] How does he keep his physical structure, when moving so fast?

[ It's interesting to realize that that's what it really seems to be. She believes. She has hope gripped hard in one hand and locked away in a box of troubles. Unless, like him, she knows something more and must keep it back. ]

It's difficult for us to determine. [ He allows, some residual disappointment audible in the admission. A failure of science. ] But it's almost certainly one of the mystical factors I mentioned.

I suppose I accept his word, despite that. That he has performed actions he at least believes have changed events in our world.

[ Almost more to himself, tightly controlled concern moving just beneath the surface of his words, especially toward the end: ]

And of course he believes it. He has superpowers and he's 25. Everything is still possible to him.

[ Despite his calm demeanor, it seems there is still a crack or two to hint at internal worries. He's like her, though. Old enough to have a handle on such things.

That's the Wells that he hopes Jones will take to, anyway. ]

The young have the luxury of believing what they want.

[The youngest faces in the facility are the men with guns, and the women her daughter spends her days with. They believe their own ways with such ferocity that sometimes, Jones is envious. All they know is this life, where they take what they can and live in the moment.

Sometimes, Jones fears that she is simply chasing ghosts. ] We carry the burden of realism for them, it seems.

[That's -- odd, how she says. Wry and affectionate, to a degree. ] It seems that I should not be ruling out mystical properties, when reviewing this phenomenon. [What a bizarre turn of the books: magic in her time travel. ]

[ One hand creeps up to rub the back of his own neck, a real stress response he uses now as a signal, a response to that odd tone of wry affection in her tired commentary. Wells desists after a moment, making himself straighten back up, return to the topic at hand with less emotion. He's unaware of this other possible commonality that he will try to use later, her daughter and his assortment of adoptive children.

There, maybe, he might fail, seeing as he's willing to sacrifice two of them and has outright tried to kill the third, though that isn't the plan anymore. An actual parent might perceive some discordant tone in his careful displays of affection, as Joe had. But all that is for the future. ]

I still debate whether it's better there be no viable explanation, versus. That.

[ Another resigned little gesture of well, fuck it. ]

Any place in particular I should start?

[ And maybe if there's no surveillance in here, he can spare the calories to speed-read. For now, he'll be cautious. ]

Temporal anomalies, I think. There are always some, when splintering, but we have been looking for common properties between them in recent splinters.

[And there have been, she thinks, common spikes at certain times. In certain missions. But not enough to say, yes, this is a definite pattern of strange temporal behaviour. Frustrating, overall, but perhaps he can offer something new. Or a new direction altogether, if nothing is to be found.]

Dr. Addler might better brief you. He also might have a better idea of where to begin. I -- [and there is that wry expression again; slightly mirthful, as though she's found a funny side to all of this, ] I have more people to speak with. [And notes to consolidate, eventually. A long night ahead of her, she thinks, staring at the written testimonies of where these people have come from. She can't wait, genuinely. ]

[ Wells stands (less creakily than one might expect), taking the cue that she'll be on her way. ]

I'll check in with him, then.

[ Ask some of those nice young soldiers for whom Dr. Jone accepts the burden of reality where the doctor in question might be found, scope out more of this place, and get to work which will occupy enough of his mind to pass the time while freeing other parts to consider a longer term strategy. Though he doesn't particularly want there to be a longer term. ]

[Jones pockets her tabacco tin and, before she moves to leave, kicks the lower filing shelf closed with a heel. It might be hard to picture an ex-military facility as lived in, but it has all the right elemenys for it. The casual way Jones approaches the furniture, for example, or the way people seem to fill up the halls without it seeming like there's too many of them. In the longer term, if there is one, Jones doesn't imagine that it's an uncomfortable place to reside, even for those coming from houses. But then, she doesn't share a room with anyone.

A nod towards the door, before she nudges it open with a shoulder.] I can take you back to where Addler's work is. This place takes some getting used to. [Lots of hallways, lots of rooms. A lot of locked doors that haven't been opened in years. And, while she appreciates the efforts of her soldiers, they're only human in their pursuits to pass the time, and anyone new is an easy target for cheap laughs.

It's a short walk back, however: an office, just a few steps before the one they'd left, the door cracked open and the faint sound of chatter inside. Two men in labcoats bickering over their work, a familiar sound these days. (Or a familar sound always: if they are not bickering, are they even truly working?)]

[ Sharing living space with a bunch of strangers won't be enjoyable, though it will simplify the matter of figuring them out. Otherwise, he doesn't foresee comfort being a big concern of his.

Wells agreeably follows her out, fiddling idly with the strap of his watch, adjusting it or something. It would be quite something for Gideon to have come with him. Alas, that is not the case.

Meanwhile, while they near the door of the office: the sound of scientific progress, although whether it's being made or stymied is a matter of (further) debate. ]

Ah. I see the nature of collaboration remains unchanging.

[The noise breaks away as one by one, they glance up in acknowledgement. Jones nods, in return, and then, to Harrison:] Productivity at its finest, as you can see.

[And then, to her likely very tired and caffiene deprived team:] Where is Dr. Addler? [Maintenance, is her answer, in unison. It's fortutuous, she supposes, that she has a team so willing to get their hands dirty with heavy lifting. Not so, however, when they are never where they ought to be. To Harrison, she gives a friendly pat on the shoulder, and to everyone else: ] Dr. Wells is here to assist you. Brief him, give him whatever he needs.

[Good luck her eyes seem to say, to Harrison specifically. The bickering has stopped, for now, in lieu of distraction. Small blessings. ] You know where to find me, Dr. Wells, if you need me. [Stowed away in what she might as well officially call The Briefing Room, for the foreseeable future. She turns, to leave, and over her shoulder:] Be gentle with him, he has come from a time were coffee is not in short supply. [Just a cheerful thought, to get him through.]

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MISSION ONE: THE TIME MACHINE

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