Mid-late Week 3

[brokers]

[The broadcast goes out in the latter half of the third week of mass markings. Liara's voice is likely familiar, but where her telepathic communication is usually crisp and clear, this time it has an odd, echoing quality, almost as though she's livestreaming a recording of speech. There isn't much by way of inflection - it sounds, perhaps, as though she's reading from a screen, or repeating something over-rehearsed.]

I am certain that by now, most of you have seen the media room that makes up the third stage of this iteration of Liminal Space. It is a reproduction of a portion of a place we refer to as Moebius, and the location of the first Jaunt the oldest of us remember.

The computer banks within that room do not hold information about the Jaunt itself. They do not hold information about our captors. They only hold records of our own deaths. I would...

[There's a brief skip, as though the connection has faltered, though there's no evidence of disruption.]

I would strongly advise everyone to leave them alone. And whatever you do, do not attempt to Interface with them. The accounts are quite intimate.

Comments

[itsananimalthing]

Seconding this. I did the same thing. Anybody wants a cleaned-up version, instead of the servers direct, I'll be around.

[Reading between the lines of that statement: he'll be hanging around the media room to actively prevent people from interfacing on a whim. If they can take a preview version from him, then maybe. But otherwise, he'd rather not traumatize half of liminal.]

[Action]

[brokers]

[Liara's still in the room, though the spooled tension in her frame and the blue-violet glow of the barrier that had only faltered when she'd actually Interfaced with the system are indication enough that she'd rather be anywhere else. Her scales are dull, and though she's no longer weeping, the flesh beneath her eyes is still dark and slightly swollen.

She snaps the display on her omni-tool off now that her broadcast has been sent - and it had taken more tries than she cares to think about to get through the recording without her voice breaking.]

I am not certain whether to hope you do not have any takers, or to hope the voyeurs at least have the self-preservation to accept your offer.

[fruitknife]

That sounds pretty fucked up.

What's an interface?

[brokers]

A method of direct data transfer with a computer system, or with another person.

[The reply is clipped, clinical, but lacks the echoing quality of the original broadcast.]

[fruitknife]

Oh, from that Grid place? [That makes a lot more sense.

He'd ask why anyone would want to do that with an unknown computer, but... probably the same reason Mitsuru's grandfather thought experimenting on Shadows was a great idea. People can be really, really stupid if they think they'll learn something cool from it.]

[brokers]

Yes. From that Grid place.

[fruitknife]

Got it. [Look, he's mainly heard about the Murdercube.]

Hopefully nobody else pokes the things, now they know.

[brokers]

That is a very optimistic sentiment. But if they do, they are at least forewarned.

[Not that forewarning is going to help much. Experiencing dozens upon dozens of deaths isn't something anything is really going to make easier to cope with.]

[itsananimalthing]

Or I could just hit 'em until they give up.

[Riddick can be pretty straight-forward, sometimes. He's watching her, though, rather than the rest of the room. After a beat, he holds out a hand.]

C'mere.

[brokers]

[Her laugh is short and sharp, and just this side of sobbing, and she cuts it off with a small, strangled noise as though she's afraid it won't stop otherwise.]

That is certainly preferable to what they'll find in there.

[It takes her a second or two longer than it should to process his meaning, but then she steps into reach, a brief flick of a mnemonic dropping her barrier and calling a larger dome into place over the both of them.

There probably isn't anything lurking and hoping for a chance to strike, but "probably" isn't enough right now.]

[itsananimalthing]

[He touches her shoulder, then uses that to reel her in for a one-armed hug, tucking her against his side.]

Ain't gonna ask if you're okay.

[Because he did the same thing she did, so he knows she's not. He just did it earlier, and without doing the smart thing and warning everybody else. So instead, he asks:]

There somethin' I can do?

[ayiyiyi]

They're keeping records of our deaths?!

[mysunnydisposition]

...well that's not encouraging.

When you say our deaths, do you mean... just the deaths that happened during Moebius? Or everyone's deaths, from all the jaunts?

[brokers]

All of them, from the very beginning.

[brokers]

[She's trembling, faintly enough that it's not obvious on sight, but does transmit through touch. Her arms wrap around him in return, tight enough that it's no great stretch to assume the same part of her that insists on the barriers is afraid that they'll be ripped apart and pitted against one another, as they had when this place was real and not just a recreation.]

No, I... I just need time. Space. I will be all right in a little while.

[brokers]

Yes. Very...detailed records.

[Understatement of the century, right there.]

[mysunnydisposition]

Great. Awesome. Not at all creepy.

Are you okay?

[solvethepuzzle]

[How fortunate that others have spared him the trouble of having to do it himself.]

Oh my. That sounds deeply unpleasant. All of our deaths from the beginning, then?

[brokers]

I am just a little shaken.

[Also, water is a little wet, and the surface of the sun is a little warm.]

[brokers]

Or perhaps from this round of their game. They certainly predate anything I can remember.

[mysunnydisposition]

Yyyeeaah, I would be too. But... thanks for the warning.

[brokers]

It seemed...inadvisable to allow anyone else to stumble over this unprepared.

[Particularly when so few of the remaining Travelers would actually recognize the media room as Moebius, and thus an inevitable source of some kind of horror.]

[itsananimalthing]

[The trembling elicits another arm around her, as if warmth were all she needs. It's not, but it's probably still a little helpful, anyway.]

I can move the door to my forge here, if you wanna get away for a little.

[Then she'll be nearby, and he doesn't have to leave his "post". Her seeing this place can't be easy for her. It's not easy for him, and he deals with this shit better than she does to begin with.]

[private - protected]

[fearinahandfulof]

Liara? Where are you?

[private - protected]

[brokers]

I am in the media room. Riddick is also here. We could...

We could use some assistance ensuring that no one is foolish enough to ignore our warnings and attempt to Interface directly with the servers.

[And she could use the reassurance that her friend is still here, and still intact.]