TEST DRIVE

[henleinmods]

Welcome to Henlein's first Test Drive Meme!
Feel free to give anyone you'd like to bring in a whirl. Threads here are also welcomed when giving samples in your applications.

Before we get to the prompts, here are a few important reminders:

• Your character doesn't know their name or the name of anyone in their canon. On their wrist is a prison id number that is formatted as follows: The letter of their crime (M-murder, A-arson, TH-theft, TR-treason, B-battery, D-destruction), the number of their cell (01-09, 10-32), and then three random numbers. So an id that reads M23-879 lets you know this is a murderer who lives in cell 23. Even though names are impossible to recall, they can recall the faces and voices of castmates if a mun chooses.


• They don't remember doing the crime that sent them here, or how they arrived here at all. The presence of other memories is up to the mun, as long as characterization isn't sacrificed.


• There's a new shallow metal slot in the back of their head.


• This is a prose game, so please keep the formatting traditional. "Dialog goes in quotations." Actions happen outside.

The Prison

Welcome to Henlein, prisoner. Feel free to explore the prison. The circular hallway stretches on past 32 cells and comes to an end at the lobby. A glass wall welcomes you inside, showing a magnificent view of The Turner, a giant clock in the center of the prison. Over its face stretches a large and thick layer of glass. A section of the lobby's glass wall opens, allowing entry but there's nothing to gain other than a closer look at the cogs underfoot.

Besides cells, the hallway also passes a men's and a women's shower, a old dim cafeteria, and two store rooms. In the cafeteria is an Eye machine. Hold up your bracelet under its lamp and it will dispense one ration pack. In the store rooms are jump suits in all crime colors and sizes as well as shoes and very little else. To the south, by the lobby are also rooms 101 through 104. Each of these strangely ornate doors are locked. Too bad.

The Labyrinth

If you venture past the lobby's exiting hallway, you'll enter into the labyrinth. The walls are warm and still pulse with The Turner's beat. We hope you don't get too lost as you travel its curving pathways. If you're lucky, you might find a ration pack at the end of some sorry dead end.

If you're unlucky, you may find a needlepoint spider instead. These small clockwork pests hold a mild sedative in their fangs. It helps slow you down so that by time the swarm comes, you won't get away. While they don't eat you, they are very territorial and will kill to protect their areas. Also lurking these dim halls are metal scorpions. Though they travel alone, they're just as poisonous as their organic counterparts. If you see a flash of light speed past an entrance, run. Run and don't look back. Lava hounds like to play hunt through the labyrinth, but if they see you they will attack you. These beasts usually travel in small groups of three, so be prepared for a fight. Removing their magma heads from their bodies or cutting out their obsidian hearts are the key to finishing these puppies off.

The Streets

It's bright out here, hot and glowing. The city exhales steam from a nearby vent in the bronze street by the labyrinth's exit. The avenues stretch before you, radiating from the curved line that cuts through metal street and solid sidewalk. You're free to wander down any you'd like.

If you travel north, you'll have the pleasure of seeing Exhalo stretch above the city's skyline. The volcano is especially beautiful tonight, ablaze with fresh magma. All you'd have to do is climb a forgotten fire escape to catch a glimpse of the lava fields just past the city's massive wall.

A breeze welcomes you if you travel south, making the hot and bitter air all the more humid. The steam that bellows up from the ocean passes just past the tops of the buildings and obscures the night sky. However, the pipes that snake overhead here drip with welcomed condensation and leave puddles in the streets below.

To the east are stores, though almost all of them are empty and dark inside. A cafe shines with a soft light and beckons with soft music playing over the ambient ticking of Henlein. If you venture inside, there are a few special treats inside. Come and enjoy fresh coffee and stale cakes and breads. As for attendants, there are none. Take what you like; you're already a criminal.

To the west the lights are fewer and far between. In the darkness, the ticking fades away, leaving rare silence in the shadows. If you venture this way, you'll find a warehouse. Inside isn't much, but there are a few good mattresses, far better than those what were in the prison. You might even find a few useful tools out here, a wrench, a crowbar, a roll of medical bandages. It's almost as if someone else was living here and happened to step out. Will you take what's not yours? Perhaps you'll claim this bed as your own. Whatever you do, just know you may not be alone for long.

Feel free to make up your own as well. Want to play out your character's first prosthetic? Go for it. Want to share a memory or experience the first memory cog insertion? Please do! For more information on any of these things, please stop by our FAQ

Comments

Joel | The Last of Us | everyone please yes

[surething]

Nearly a day had gone by with minimal environmental change. He had unclasped the bracelet and tucked it away after the first few hours, but the fucking identification number had burned its way into his permanent memory for good anyway. M02-344 didn't mean shit to him in any way but the obvious, and even if the concept of numbering humans for sorting wasn't unfamiliar, it did feel antiquated. He had long outlived the days of social security and driver's licenses: even before the sudden and frustrating gaps in his memory those had been replaced with more important concerns.

The unwelcome sight of one of his scratched X in the wall pushed him to abandon that useless train of thought. He sank down to the floor and propped himself up against the uncomfortably warm wall, mind turning to the ration pack jammed down into one of his pockets. When he finally heard the faint echo of footsteps he had already begun to worry at the edge of the packaging.

The labyrinth had offered a fair number of corners to hide behind during his exploration, but bad planning left him with little option to stand and square his shoulders, stuck between the approaching footsteps and a long, curving hallway that simply ended.

[hey_brother]

A man in a green jumpsuit stumbled from around a corner, his frame short and round, eyes obscured by sunglasses. The heat was getting to Zeke and all this wandering was getting the better of him. Hell, it took him a moment to even notice Joel. When he did, Zeke pushed from the wall he was leaning on and took a few steps closer.

"Hey, buddy," he panted. "Don't guess you know the way outta here, do ya?"

[makeiteasy]

A makeshift shiv broke into the light- a needlepoint spider's leg and other parts held together by some of the fabric of her red jump suit. Its glint was the first welcome before Tess slid from the shadows and into the dim light.

"Just hold it right there, buddy." Her eyes turned him over from across the distance between them, finding him formidable, though seemingly unarmed. It was when she finally glanced at his face when Tess felt it. Something strange or familiar.

Now was not the time to think about it. With her free hand Tess waved towards herself. "Whatever rations you have, hand 'em over."

[keepsfighting]

"Ah, shit, shit, shit."

Ellie cursed under her breath, quickly turning into the corner in attempts to hide. Whatever was chasing after her had left her out of breath, but there was no room to try and catch her breath once she realizes that she's stuck in front of another possible threat.

Unarmed, her heart begins to sink, "Okay, dude, I'm not here to fight..." She takes a quick glance around the corner she came from, lowering her voice as she continued, "There's something following me."

[epicfailure]

Yosuke skidded around the corner, sneakers kicking up dust and noise. He just wanted to find the stupid office! Every prison needed a warden, right? There was no room in his plan for a long, unending, death-mazes and their creepy crawly inhabitants!

It was without much grace that he wound up nearly nose to nose with Joel, neck still craned behind him to see who (or what) was on his heels. It certainly didn't help that the strange man was pretty well concealed by the shadows, enough to startle Yosuke into an unstealthy yelp.

"H-hey!" Yosuke took a step back, falling in what might've been a play on some sort of ninja pose. "Watch it!"

alina starkov ( grisha trilogy ) so very open

[harsh]

She hates being inside the prison. She hates that she doesn't really know why either. It's a feeling that settles deep into her bones, but every time she tries to grasp at why the memory slides further back from her mind.

Then again, outside isn't much better. But it makes her feel a little better. It's more open, makes her feel like less of a prisoner. She hates that smothering feeling. She wonders if it has anything to do with the collar around her neck that doesn't seem to have to do with the city made of metal. Something from home but... she can't figure out what the antlers might possibly mean.

She gives up trying. It's a waste of effort anyway. She won't remember without the proper cogs that go into the hole in the back of her head. She almost wondered if that had always been there, but memories of her childhood in Keramzin told her otherwise. At least she remembered something.

Caught dwelling again, she opts for a distraction. She follows the streets around city as they take her west. The darkness starts to settle in and she feels a sharp pain in her shoulder from a bite she can't remember receiving. She flinches, putting her hand to her shoulder. Even the dulled touch through the red jumpsuit helps to some extent. For now, she keeps walking and hopes to find something useful she can store for when things go bad around here.

Which seemed to happen a lot.

Re: alina starkov ( grisha trilogy ) so very open

[ex_scramasax975]

The boy in green normally does not wander west because as the darkness and stillness grow more pervading he feels an ever-more-pulling cold dread. The same feeling lures him out to investigation, and the further he goes, the more his nerves set on end, all muscles tense and senses on peak alert. He's been taken by surprise by the assorted creatures and demons outside the prison before, and has managed to avoid coming to a struggle by running, straight away - followed by, with what little he remembers of what he was in life assuring him that he can count on it more than fighting, an injection of pride along with the thrill and relief.

He stops dead on seeing another "prisoner" instead, most likely a girl or a woman, clothes in the dark made out as most possibly red, also appearing to be heading along further west. He's still chilled by the dark, and quiet, and space, finds the thought of staying alone in it all ominous; it is the red that makes him ambivalent to approach - he's become wary of red, blue, and ironically green. He coaxes himself forward regardless. He has no memory of how or even why he might have committed his claimed crime, and everything that he has gathered has him believing that no human here would be if they could not redeem themselves.

A long, stabilizing breath in through his nose, quiet as possible, and his most steady face for his beginning to stride forward.

"...Do you need -- " Pauses - partly to allow reaction and partly catching a mistake; it would've been better to make his presence obvious with a greeting first. " -- another - to accompany you? ... -- I assume you're venturing further down this road."

He's still not used to addressing the others. However much poise he tries to enter with his tone tends to float airy and unsteady.

amy pond | doctor who | ota.

[sharp]

B. She runs her thumb over the bracelet, twisting it around her wrist. It has to mean something, and she wants to believe it's related to her name; she knows it was a really good one. Someone told her so, too — he doesn't have a name either. That's a shame. It's a gap in her mind, a hole like the one at the back of her neck. (Had it always been there?) Perhaps even more frustrating is not knowing how or why she was here in the first place. All she can remember is travelling before. At least she knows that this wind-up, hellish city would not be on her list of destinations to visit.

Outside the cells, the streets are scorching and it feels like the place itself is breathing. She wants answers, but every corner she turns only brings up another burning question. She just wants out. Her feet keep walking toward the city's skyline. There's a volcano in the distance — maybe it really is hell. If only she could see over the wall, she might find hope for escape. Or maybe a reprieve from the constant tick, tick ticking.

Re: amy pond | doctor who | ota.

[xochipilli_cursed]

"You don't seem like a criminal."

The voice comes from above. No hello. No idle small talk. The brown haired teenager grins down to her as he finds his taunt amusing. He grips the edge of an open window on that dark and seemingly abandoned building. The boy leans far enough out that a light nudge might send him tumbling two stories down to the pavement. Still in a grimy green jump suit, his own bracelet hangs loosely on his wrist.

Aaron Taylor | Original Character | cWoD | OTA

[xochipilli_cursed]

The Prison
TH is both confused and curious about the big clock, but there are a lot of things to figure out here. With so many hallways and rooms, he focuses on the one that seems the most important. He’s still stuck in the one place where he can get food. Right now he's in the mess hall trying to wave his bracelet at the big eye as if that'll convince it to dispense more rations. It doesn't seem to be doing him any good.

"Come on! I can't get very far with just that."

The Labyrinth
Wandering the Labyrinth might be dangerous, but if you do so you can come upon TH in his green jumpsuit, crouched down and watching the mechanical spider. He isn't moving close enough to trigger an attack from it. With his hands on his knees, it seems he is trying to talk with the thing.

"Now you're just being stubborn. I've offered you plenty; all you have to do is tell me the way or point me on the right path."

The Streets
TH has found the tallest building he can climb and has found himself on a precarious perch on a poorly maintained fire escape, far above the streets. He’s looking around for something. He doesn't know just what yet, but he's convinced he'll know it when he sees it. His green tunic doesn't blend in so well with the environment and he's not even trying to hide himself from the threats that might lurk out here. Maybe it'll be worth the risk.

Something about this place is setting off bad vibes with him. It is more than the desolate and foreboding feel, there's something he should be worried about. If only he could remember who, or what it was that this reminded him of. If only he knew what he did to get himself stuck in this place.

Labyrinth

[makeiteasy]

"You're joking, right?" She stood just a step or two behind him, arms crossed across the chest of her red jumpsuit. "You're not going to get any answers from that thing."

Tess moved past the crouched man and with little hesitation brought her boot down on the spider again and again until it crumpled into pieces. "You better keep movin'. Might be others nearby."

Prison

[burningfan]

He's not entirely sure why he's engaging anyone else here. Why not simply accept it in silence? But perhaps there's a thread of commonality between the two of them, green-dressed as they are. One traitor to another?

"You can get farther on less than you know." His tone is calm, almost... teacherly? This place is an awakening, after all. No comfortable illusions here.

The Labyrinth (Who's got two thumbs and half a journal with no icons? This chick!)

[trouble_hunter]

Oh hey there, Treason buddy. This place is way too muggy, so Darran's stripped to the waist and tied the arms of his green jumpsuit around his waist and out of his way. He's jumpy as hell and trying not to show it-- where the hell is... err... his pack? Not being able to remember their names is doing precisely nothing for his nerves.

"Whoa there. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Cyril Thackary | OC | Open

[artificing]

A prison.

Cy felt incredibly uncomfortable here. He wasn't even sure why he was here. They claimed he did something to deserve such punishment but he couldn't remember having done anything. He thought himself too much of a coward to ever hurt anyone or do anything to break the law. But maybe he had... Certain people in his life were becoming a bit of a bad influence.

Scared and unsure what to do he began exploring the prison in which he awoke. At first he paid no attention to The Turner. He remained focus on getting a lay of the immediate area. But that really didn't take too long so his focus turned to the giant clockwork device. Having a mind for the mechanical he had to get a closer look.

Finding the entry into the devices housing was easy. But this wasn't the kind of closer look he wanted. He wanted to see everything about the machine but so far he wasn't finding a way any closer. After a few moments of looking everything over he gave up on getting any closer and moved to explore further. All the while he was trying so hard not to just go curl up in a corner and break down over it all. He had to brave for a change.

[xochipilli_cursed]

"Have any smokes?"

With a forced smile, the teen asks the stranger while seeming uncomfortable in his fitting green jump suit. His bracelet hangs from his outstretched hand as he leans back against the wall. This place is warm. Far too warm for anyone normal to be comfortable. Then again, who would want to meet someone who is comfortable in a prison anyways?

Batchonne Vasazinaco-Therii | OC | Open

[postured]

Confusion had been first in Batchonne's mind. But that confusion had quickly turned to anger. She wanted answers but none beyond her supposed crime for being in the prison was given.

Murder.

She didn't doubt that. She was a warrior after all, a trained killer. It probably didn't help that she had a hair-trigger temper. So if that's the reason they gave her for being here she could deal with it. But it didn't make her happy. Human law meant nothing to her. However, she didn't remember killing anyone recently.

The tall Atlantean woman could not be anymore uncomfortable in the red jumpsuit she awakened in. Already she'd disposed of the boots, the hot floor beneath her feet bothered her little. She's torn the sleeves clean off and had tried to shorten the legs of the suit but they didn't rip as easily given there were no seams to tear from. So she had had to settle for rolling them up. The front has down as far as she cold possibly get away with without the suit falling right off her. It helped with the heat and made her feel a little more comfortable in such confining clothing and spaces. She even used a strip from her torn off sleeve to tie her dreads back.

She'd already explored the prison area a bit, finding it boring. Happening upon the tunnel into the labyrinth had been a complete fluke. Deciding the rest of the prison was pointless to explore she had decided to wander the labyrinth. The use of her echolocation abilities made it easier to get through and avoid any monsters but her anger at the whole situation made her want to fight. For her blood to sing as she battled some dangerous creature. So when she happened upon one of the spiders she couldn't help but want to tear it apart. She did, it wasn't easy, it'd even bit her before she'd managed to destroy it. She knew more were coming and luckily for her she has some resistance to poisons and drugs. But still, she was slowed by the sedative, but not enough that she couldn't get away. She'd even taken one of the legs as a trophy of sorts. At the moment that leg was helping her keep upright as her left leg was practically numb.

"The exit has to be around here somewhere," she muttered to herself, loud enough that anyone in her general vicinity might have heard her. Perhaps they'd answer her if they were willing to approach the blue and pale teal skinned woman.


((ooc: sorry for the lack of icons, still working on those))

Darran Death-From-Above | Werewolf: The Apocalypse OC

[trouble_hunter]

((ooc: I'll forgive yours if you forgive mine XD;; Until I find suitable icons, have a wall of text: Darran is 5'8, brown (some German, some Sioux, a little Mexican, and a lot of mutt), and has an orange fauxhawk. He's also holy shit scarred all over his chest, arms, and back-- various old bullet and blade scars, and even a brand-- and has two tattoos on his right bicep. I don't have an image for the bottom one, but it's similar in style.))

Darran was wandering the Labyrinth in much the same black mood, looking for things to stomp. The heat was really irritating him-- he'd stripped to the waist, tying the arms of his green jumpsuit so they'd stay out of his way. He was trying to keep his panic unease in check, but that was getting harder and harder as time passed. He knew he had a pack out there somewhere, and it couldn't be good that he'd separated from them. But why couldn't he remember their names? Why hadn't they found him yet? And what the fuck did "treason" mean? Of everything he'd ever done, he was no fucking traitor.

Despite spoiling for trouble, he'd found nothing whatsoever until he overheard a woman speaking around the corner. He grinned; he'd be willing to treat her as neutral for now, but if she turned out to be a fight, so much the better. And though he wouldn't admit it, deep down it was a relief to find a sign of real life amidst all the clockwork. "Hey there," he called as he stepped around the corner. Might was well be polite enough to give warning.

Clara Oswald | Doctor Who | OTA

[parallels]

This isn't a typical prison.

She may not be able to remember her name, or where she came from, or very much at all. But she knows this place isn't normal. Prisons were dark and dank, not filled with glass and clockwork. It was a pity, really, this place would be beautiful if it didn't taint itself with the ugly connotations of the word prison. If she had felt she could spare it, she would take time (haha, she laughed to herself at that) to marvel at the beauty of the Turner in the center. She has a fondness for clocks, she has a bracelet of watch faces around her wrist. Good things, waches, practical and yet somehow pretty; and the ticking sound is a calming rhythm in her ears. It's funny how she could remember that this isn't a prison and such a silly thing like an appreciation for clocks and yet so little else.

But no, there were two very important things preventing her from taking the time to marvel at her surroundings. The first was that she was absolutely and entirely she that she did not belong in this prison. The memory of any crime or accusation of such was gone from her head like so many things, but she could feel that she was not some sort of thief (as indicated by the color of her clothing).

The other thing was that she needed to find a man. A man who's name she couldn't remember and who's face she couldn't picture. But he was there, lurking in the edges of her mind, memories that were fuzzy and out of reach. Finding him was the most important thing and so she began her journey out of the prison and into the lobby.

[xochipilli_cursed]

This prison is strange enough as is. The clockwork mechanism at its heart and the lack of prison guards are just icing on the cake when one takes in the memories they've lost. More disturbing is the thought of how they were lost. Something is definitely wrong here, and there is more to this prison then bad climate control and strange tech. The prisoners are also a tad out of place in this. Still, no more out of place than the animal she’ll find in the lobby.

A coyote sits off to the side, licking a fresh burn on its leg. Other than the burn, and a strange metal plate on the back of its head matching that found on other prisoners, it seems like a normal coyote. Not mechanical, and not on fire. The missing patch of fur around the burn and still freshly singed hair can be a warning that what waits ahead may be dangerous. It looks up as she enters but makes no move to leave its spot for now. Just watching her.

Lady Eboshi | Princess Mononoke | Open to all?

[deiciding]

If one were to walk into the lobby they might find a site that truly shouldn't be the most odd of things around here. Eboshi had found a chair there, and was studying her hand, finding it curious that she had it and not remembering any reason why she shouldn't at the same time. She would certainly remember losing a limb...would she not? And yet here it is. How curious.

[xochipilli_cursed]

There are far stranger things in this place than a woman looking at her hand like it is an alien limb. The voice of another, though, is far preferable to the sound of the clockwork at the heart of this prison. The teenager in a green jump suit walks over and waves to the woman in the chair. "Around these parts, we call those fingers."

He grins, though for all he knows the people of this land call things by completely different names.

Uchiha Itachi | Naruto | please come pester him

[burningfan]

A young man sat on the floor of his cell.

TR04-713. It wasn't much to regard as a name, not really. It was strange, though; the man wearing it felt almost as though it were proper. To have an identity stripped from him, to be reduced to nothing more than this, a number, a green jumpsuit accusing him of his crime, a prisoner locked away in what could easily be understood as hell.

He didn't actually remember committing any sort of treason, but he didn't think that it mattered to much; what his spotty, shredded memory did show him was more than enough to sentence him to an eternity in this hot metal hell.

And if this wasn't the repose of the grave, at least he was locked away where there were no more innocent to harm.

He spent most of the first day simply sitting in his cell, not caring very much to move about or explore. A prison, yes, he understood that, and agreed that it was where he belonged. But the fight for survival held little appeal to him. Why bother?

Eventually, though, hunger did drive him forth from the confines of his cell. Though what the cafteria yielded proved to be disappointing fare, he quietly took it as no more than his due. A ration bar... he could recall eating ones like this before. Not the same, no, but the concept differed little.

He sat, eating mechanically, torn between the professional wariness of a lifetime and the simple, inescapable apathy he felt toward his own existence.

[sankta]

Alina didn't feel like a prisoner much, she felt more like a... scavenger. Yes. That was a better word for it. She felt like a scavenger scraping up any meager items that might be used as a means for survival, searching for the pieces that slid so perfectly into that slot at the back of her head and restored the things that she had forgotten. Things like why she was here. Idly she wondered if she really wanted to know. If she had done something so horrible to end up in this place, did she really want to remember it?

At least food she didn't have to scavenge as much. The rations were measly but they were provided at least. She should probably take up hunting if she could stomach the meat off the creatures. She'd need to find a weapon for that, though. Rations would work just fine in the meantime.

She slipped into the cafeteria, small and unnoticeable in her red jumpsuit. She retrieved her food and then found the nearest empty seat she could. In and out. It was only after she had found her seat that she realized someone else was sitting not far from her.

"Sorry," She said, glancing up at the man. "Do you mind?" She was wary to trust the other criminals and stay among them. Although, maybe they should be more wary of her red and she shouldn't judge.

Yosuke Hanamura | Persona 4 | everyone please!

[epicfailure]

His head was killing him, and that wasn't the worst of it. Everything was hard, and cold, and sort of... dingy, in the way only cold stone could be. That distinct smell of mildew and rot that grew up between small cracks in the masonry. It had to be a dream, right? The smell of fresh laundry and bed linens were still in his nose, even as they were slowly drowned out and erased by everything else.

He drew one shoulder up, balancing himself on his forearm and wincing at the very thought of opening his eyes. This wasn't just an ordinary headache, this was full-blown, yes-I-would-take-an-icepick-to-the-forehead-over-this, migraine-level pain.

"Ngh... so not cool."

Yosuke ran a hand back over his head without thinking, rubbing where the neck met the scalp, only to jump at the clink of metal meeting metal and the cool slotted smoothness under his fingers. He ripped his hand back, staring with freshly opened eyes at the weird bracelet around his wrist. It was with alarm that Yosuke focused in on the M. Murder. Despite the fog covering every other inch of his mind, there was no hesitation when it came to this. He knew what that meant, and suddenly the grim surroundings made all the more sense.

But it was wrong. There had to be a mistake. He wasn't a murderer! If anything, he was the opposite of one! Yosuke stood up, a little shaky but propelled by blind panicked determination. He'd find who was in charge, explain the mistake, and then he'd go home!

... Y'know, wherever home was.

The cell door was open, which was weird, but he wasn't about to question it. Peering down at his bracelet, the teenager got about three feet before running straight into another inmate, with all the force a lanky 127 lbs can produce.

"O-Oh, jeez! Crap, sorry!"

[burningfan]

Would have run straight into him, but half-blind or no, sickly or no, dead or no, the man who was now TR04-713 had better reflexes than that; instead of barrelling into him, Yousuke would find himself caught securely in one wiry arm.

"You would be wiser to proceed cautiously," he told the boy, his tone hovering between apathetic and cautionary. "But no harm is done."

sephiroth | final fantasy vii | open

[youwillrot]

There is a man with muted eyes—disturbing eyes, more befitting some hellish cat's face than his own—and a broken black wing ambling through the corridors, keeping quiet and to himself as he assesses his new environment. Memories are fuzzy and inconclusive; he recalls bits and pieces, flames and twisted metal, blood and screams of anguish, but little else. He feels as though he both does and doesn't belong here, unable to shake prickly feelings of dysphoria, the running, restless mantra I was meant to fly.

I was meant for something greater, his foggy mind whispers to him, taunting. Beyond that, he knows nothing, and a large part wishes not to know.

Yet a larger part compels him to keep going, steadies feet that might've otherwise proven shaky and propels them onward. Every now and then, he peeks down at the bracelet tied to his wrist, D20-532, contemplating its meaning in between furtive glances around at the huff, puff, puff of his mechanical surroundings. Contrary to the uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach, it fascinates him, this machinery. He's tempted to touch but knows better, observing from afar instead. Walking the streets and alleyways with a detached air, senses no less sharp despite appearances. Don't let your guard down. They're watching you.

Somehow it seems right, circling about like a hawk, waiting for the chance to strike, rather than diving straight in. Like predator's instinct reawakened. He still doesn't remember anything, but maybe he doesn't have to.

Maybe this really was where he belonged.

(( Sephiroth is wandering just about everywhere, so tagger's choice where you'd like to encounter him! Or I can set the scene if you'd prefer. ))

[xochipilli_cursed]

The teenager in the green jumpsuit has been exploring to the best of his ability. Much more like a scavenger, he picks about and changes between the high ground and low as he scours the city. He keeps the streets, walls, and even the volcano to the North in mind as he tries to get his bearings on it all. And then there's the tall, silver haired individual stalking the streets.

Aaron, even if he doesn't know his own name, knows predators. He knows them and he remembers being told when to be wary of them. If he did everything he was told his life might be far less interesting. Still, not wanting to confront this one like he has others, Aaron follows along. He's not hiding himself, he's just tailing this guy at a distance. The teenager just lets himself be seen for now and hopes he has enough ground between them in case the other takes violent offense.

Anthony | Eternal Darkness | Wide open!

[ex_scramasax975]

The boy in green still only remembers a little. He remembers that he should be dead. He even spent some time as a ghost. He has been made aware, meanwhile, that the crime for which he is here is treason - and he remembers a life as a grateful, reverent, and direct servant to the empire that housed him in life. Not a treacherous thought in his mind.

By now he's bent to the thought and "accepted" that he needs to be here - deserves it, and while he stays within the prison it's in some terribly anxious hope that he might begin to learn exactly why, what he'd done and where he'd been drawn into it through and in spite of everything he knows. In spells his nerves have been vibrating hot with anticipation for the appearance of a warden or keeper figure who might be convinced to begin to let them know how to begin to atone - he can only imagine that's what they're here for, and since he's arrived and understood, it's been his helpless intention.

Restlessness still draws him out fairly regularly. He finds himself morbidly, of course, but almost wonderingly investigative nearly any place on this plane he happens to find himself going through at any case. He tends not to go too far west often, as a sense of dread and anxiety bears down as it gets stiller and darker, but he still goes. Otherwise, the harshness and smothering heat and entire purpose aside, it does not seem enough like Hell that he strictly dreads anything he might happen on, also hence the holding onto intent to bear this and some hope that there are and will be answers. The architecture and constructs keep on as fatally distracting.

He keeps on guard to the best that he can, though - with senses that are still easily distracted or spurred for a jump, but open. He's had a few encounters with monsters and assumes he'll sharpen up on any cue for active danger; he's been able to trust himself to run admirably well. He hadn't lost all good, evidently, from his life as a messenger.

((OOC: Giving it a go~ Open to a run-in anywhere!))

Darran Death-From-Above | Werewolf: The Apocalypse OC

[trouble_hunter]

((ooc: Sorry for the lack of icons! Until I find suitable ones, have a description: Darran is 5'8, brown (some German, some Sioux, a little Mexican, and a lot of mutt), and has an orange fauxhawk. He's also holy shit scarred all over his chest, arms, and back-- various old bullet and blade scars, and even a brand-- and has two tattoos on his right bicep. I don't have an image for the bottom one, but it's similar in style. He's wearing a green jumpsuit, but has stripped to the waist and tied the sleeves up to keep them out of his way.))

Darran's decided to sweep the whole building and get a good idea of what exactly constitutes this jail he appeared in. One thing's for sure: if someone put him in that cell, he's not gonna hang out to greet them if and when they come back. Maybe other people share his thoughts on that-- he passes several empty cells, enough that it's jarring when he passes a cell that still has an occupant. That piques his curiosity a bit, and considering that everyone he's met so far has been of the clueless variety rather than malvolent and in charge, he figures it might be worth asking this guy's story. He pokes his head back around the doorjamb.

"Hey-- you know there's no jailers here, right? You don't gotta stay in that shitty little cell."

The Tenth Doctor | Doctor Who | OTA

[keepsrunning]

Murderers aren't supposed to look this cheerful, are they? Or, if they are, they probably should be avoided. Still, the tall, gangly bloke looks so friendly, nibbling away at his ration pack as he stares through the glass at the Turner with rapt fascination.

On the inside, however, he is not quite as cheerful. He can't remember his names, either of them. Did he have more than one? Maybe he made one up when he went on the run after committing...whatever crime it was he committed. His bracelet has an M on it. Probably murder, then. Or mutiny? Money-laundering? No, that's just silly. Definitely murder. He is fairly sure he's a murder, even if he can't remember committing the crime.

The fact that deep down, despite not remembering much of his life, he somehow knows he's guilty of so much is rather worrying. What kind of a monster is he?

And yet, he has friends. No, had friends. Warped his friends. Led his friends to their deaths, or worse.

Oh.

The cheerful exterior fades, as does his appetite. He idly tucks the remainder of the ration pack in his crisp, new red jumpsuit and begins to pace back and forth in front of the glass like a big cat in the zoo. Something about the clock just keeps calling to him.

[publicrelations]

Red.

That's the color of this dumbass jumpsuit they put him in. They; some unknown thinks they can just stick him here and he'll stay quiet? Fat chance of that, he thinks with disgust. Perhaps there's no profit in making trouble when he can't even remember his gorram name, but there sure as hell ain't no profit in sitting still neither.

But the red. There's something about that color that feels like a tickle in the back of his throat, like a sneeze that's just sitting there, meant to torment and aggravate. What is it? And why does he think he can recall that, when he's forgotten so much?

Yes, he can tell there are gaps, missing parts like holes in mouths where teeth should be. He was somewhere else, somewhere cold but with the sense of...belonging. And then...then the gaps. His name...faces, but no names for them either; a junk heap of metal and wires dares call itself a ship...but her name is gone too. There are flashes, memories that come and go like a fresh breeze in a stale land.

He stares down at the band around his wrist, M and a string of meaningless digits. And then he remembers.

A young girl's face, blank and bloodied, the deep red drops trailing down her chin. "He looks better in red"; she states it as a fact.

Well, she's got her wish. He's covered from head to toe in the damn color now. Would it make her happy? Would he care? Those are things he cannot yet recall though.

Wandering through the prison, he comes across another man in red, pacing back and forth before a giant clock. Walk, stop, turn, walk, stop, turn; he swings consistently like a human pendulum.

He can only watch for a few minutes before it drives him up a wall. "Can you give it a rest with the gorram pacing, you're gonna make me sick!"