RocketBoat!
The steering wheel didn't move; he was disappointed about that. Once upon a time, this would have been a real wildcat in the open water. It was interesting, though. The steering wheel seemed to be covered with authentic leather, not the crappy pleather stuff that looked more like plastic than it did real, dead animal-created leather. There was a small amount of give as he turned it from side to side, but only a bit. Otherwise, it was locked in place. The rudder wasn't going anywhere, not unless he had a key.
He'd checked his things. No key.
Quite an axe; a boarding axe if the instruction manual were to be believed — it was, he knew what a boarding axe was — but no keys. It would have been quite the feeling, ripping the boat away from the flotilla and cruising out towards the seas. The sun beating down upon his neck, sending UV rays into his skin and starting the process towards burning his flesh, along with the obviously old paint job that had never once been touched up. It was a boat that could go places, take him anywhere he wanted to go.
((ROCKETBOAT GAME START))
However — there was a problem.
RocketBoat wasn't going anywhere, and for the time being, neither was he. Seated in the captain's chair, He had unbuttoned the cover to gain access to the insides shortly after he'd awoken. Oh, that's right. He wasn't a RocketBoat at all. Shame, that. Sometimes he felt like he could speed anywhere, go anywhere, and even more, occasionally he felt like more of a thing then a person.
Only sometimes, though.
Releasing his hands from the steering wheel, he tapped on it a few times. The sound didn't travel very far, likely because of the open water around them, but it was a pleasing pitter-patter and he repeated it. There was a beat in there, so he tapped a few more times, and then used his other finger to drum a bit more. Not-RocketBoat could keep a beat, but he wasn't a drummer. Maybe someday, had been his thoughts on the matter.
Well, maybe not anymore.
Right — Survival of the Fittest had snatched them up. His class, he himself were to be famous. Somebody else's betting odds, somebody else's YouTube channel topic. Pop culture historians would mull over what the pattern he'd just tried to tap out meant. Was there a bigger meaning, could anyone explain it? The boy who wasn't actually a RocketBoat thought it would have been intriguing to try.
At least, maybe if it weren't him.
Oh, right. That — his name. He'd almost forgotten himself again. The enthusiasm for RocketBoat had been overwhelming. Zachary Harlow wasn't nearly as cool a name as RocketBoat would have been, but then again, his parents probably hadn't expected their son to get taken away by a last-man standing game show. Much like his mother hadn't expected to be a widow and his father probably hadn't expected to die in a senseless accident. Weren't all accidents senseless by definition?
What a weird turn of phrase.
Zack tapped on the steering wheel some more and added another beat by way of the axe that was sitting in his lap.
((ZACHARY HARLOW GAME START))
"What up, SOTF?" He said to no one and everyone all at once.
After all, the cameras were always watching.
The Boy Who Wasn't Actually a RocketBoat
open
MM02: SARAH LILLIAN WHITLOCK – CONTINUED FROM Don't be Swallowed by The Abyss
The beat drew her forward.
Not because of any particular quality of the rhythm itself, but because anything that irregular yet consistent had to be coming from another human being. As for why she was heading towards the sound of another human instead of away from them? She didn’t rightly know. She didn’t know what she was planning on doing yet, aside from the driving need in her heart that compelled her to do something.
It led her upwards from her starting position, towards where she assumed the driver’s seat (captain’s seat?) was located. Those were at the top of boats weren’t they? So the captain could see where they were going?
Regardless of the reasoning, she was right. The captain’s seat was at the top of the boat, previously covered to protect it from the elements but not uncovered to make way for the boy who now sat in it. He was drumming his pitter-patter beat on the steering wheel without a care in the world.
“What are you doing?”
The beat drew her forward.
Not because of any particular quality of the rhythm itself, but because anything that irregular yet consistent had to be coming from another human being. As for why she was heading towards the sound of another human instead of away from them? She didn’t rightly know. She didn’t know what she was planning on doing yet, aside from the driving need in her heart that compelled her to do something.
It led her upwards from her starting position, towards where she assumed the driver’s seat (captain’s seat?) was located. Those were at the top of boats weren’t they? So the captain could see where they were going?
Regardless of the reasoning, she was right. The captain’s seat was at the top of the boat, previously covered to protect it from the elements but not uncovered to make way for the boy who now sat in it. He was drumming his pitter-patter beat on the steering wheel without a care in the world.
“What are you doing?”
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delicateMachine
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: void
((A girl who was no longer a camera was also watching.))
With every careful footstep Lark took on the jetties (she didn’t trust them to not have rusty nails sticking out at random, and she certainly didn’t trust her sandals to protect her from harm) it became more and more clear that she’d already made her first vital decision.
She wasn’t going to be boring. Not on purpose at least, not out of spite. If she’d wanted to be forgotten, to have the least amount of eyes on her as possible, she would have curled up into the fetal position on her boat and stayed there until she died. By leaving, by seeking out others, she was already becoming a character, not just another number on the roster. It wasn’t much of a direction, but she could work with it.
The RocketBoat naturally drew her eye, and there was something appealing about its obnoxiousness, the thought of her yellow dress clashing horribly against the garish, orange backdrop. The people she could vaguely see seemed promising, too. Someone had sent in the comic relief - the percussionist captain of a derelict ship and a girl who was abducted by aliens.
Moment of truth, bated breath, who were they to her? Lark knew, of course, but to the viewers there was a world of possibility between the three of them before someone opened their mouth and shattered the illusion. Were they best friends, bitter rivals? Embroiled in a love triangle or some sort of polyamorous mess?
The real answer was boring, of course. It usually was. The two were nothing to her - well, that was rude. Zack was nice, and they had drama club together, and there was a certain camaraderie there. Lark had always been interested in Sarah, too. Not in a mean way! It was always from a respectful distance, but conspiracy theorists had always fascinated her; and the alien angle was a refreshing change from the typical obsessions with SOTF.
They were nothing to each other, but maybe they could make something of each other, now - or just use each other as stepping stones, easily discarded. Only time would tell.
Lark approached, crab bandanna tied around her collar, idly shifting the heavy burlap sack of ball bearings around, floppy hat nicely blocking the sun. She called out:
“Sisters! Brothers! Small boats of fire are falling from the sky!” She smiled. “RocketBoats, that is.”
"So, how's this going to go? I don't feel like killing anyone today, if that's alright with you guys."
With every careful footstep Lark took on the jetties (she didn’t trust them to not have rusty nails sticking out at random, and she certainly didn’t trust her sandals to protect her from harm) it became more and more clear that she’d already made her first vital decision.
She wasn’t going to be boring. Not on purpose at least, not out of spite. If she’d wanted to be forgotten, to have the least amount of eyes on her as possible, she would have curled up into the fetal position on her boat and stayed there until she died. By leaving, by seeking out others, she was already becoming a character, not just another number on the roster. It wasn’t much of a direction, but she could work with it.
The RocketBoat naturally drew her eye, and there was something appealing about its obnoxiousness, the thought of her yellow dress clashing horribly against the garish, orange backdrop. The people she could vaguely see seemed promising, too. Someone had sent in the comic relief - the percussionist captain of a derelict ship and a girl who was abducted by aliens.
Moment of truth, bated breath, who were they to her? Lark knew, of course, but to the viewers there was a world of possibility between the three of them before someone opened their mouth and shattered the illusion. Were they best friends, bitter rivals? Embroiled in a love triangle or some sort of polyamorous mess?
The real answer was boring, of course. It usually was. The two were nothing to her - well, that was rude. Zack was nice, and they had drama club together, and there was a certain camaraderie there. Lark had always been interested in Sarah, too. Not in a mean way! It was always from a respectful distance, but conspiracy theorists had always fascinated her; and the alien angle was a refreshing change from the typical obsessions with SOTF.
They were nothing to each other, but maybe they could make something of each other, now - or just use each other as stepping stones, easily discarded. Only time would tell.
Lark approached, crab bandanna tied around her collar, idly shifting the heavy burlap sack of ball bearings around, floppy hat nicely blocking the sun. She called out:
“Sisters! Brothers! Small boats of fire are falling from the sky!” She smiled. “RocketBoats, that is.”
"So, how's this going to go? I don't feel like killing anyone today, if that's alright with you guys."
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Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
It was yet another beat to the chorus of taps that were audible further than he'd expected, but each footfall added a secondary percussive element that he hadn't counted on. He wasn't much of a drummer, all things considered, but he knew how to keep time and he bobbed his head to the beat. Each time his finger struck the axe in his lap, it was more of a dull clang than anything, but it did the trick. Some melodies could come from the most unexpected of sources. It was one of the things he appreciated the most about music — most anything could be musical if one put their mind to hearing it.
Suddenly, the song had lyrics. That was unexpected. Not unwanted, because most popular music these days did, but unexpected. With the footsteps though, it made sense. Either that or a sudden attack, which given his current situation, wasn't entirely out of the question. With one final tap, he stopped, leaving his hands in the air with a flourish for a moment before resting them on the steering wheel. The leather was warm to the touch, matching the temperature of the air. Whomever had once owned the RocketBoat was obviously not someone who cared much about heating up their steering wheel. Ah, yes. The lyric had been a question. He continued to peer at the steering wheel.
"Drumming. I'm not very good but," he trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence.
More footsteps; these footfalls were different than the first, so RocketBoat — no, not RocketBoat, Zack — finally looked away from the wheel to see who had joined him and who was joining them. All three had different coloured bandannas, Zack's own tied around his left wrist shortly after he'd awoken. The beeping had been an intriguing sound to which he'd listened for a few moments. It was more of a shrill squeal than a true beep, and he'd tried to place it for a few moments. The sound had intensified after a point, something which only accentuated how shrill the sound truly was. They had obviously not spent a ton of money on a speaker within the collars; the sound was cheap. Unlike the bandannas, which were of a far higher quality than he expected them to be, if he were being honest with himself. His was an electric blue; striking though not entirely the colour of electricity. Roc—Zack understood why people called it that, but it was really just a shade lighter than powder blue. Which again, strange name for a blue. He supposed it was better than really light blue. Most powder he'd seen was white.
They did, after all, live in Miami.
Smiling at his own private joke, he wondered what the official titles for the greenish-blue bandanna that Sarah — yes, Sarah was her name, wasn't it — and the orange one that Lark wore was. Orange was a tough one. No matter what shade of orange you came up with, it always just seemed to be orange. Too dark, and it was brown. Too light, and well... it was still just orange. Burnt sienna? Was that a thing. Ah yes, the third person was Lark.
"I'm really sorry, by the way," he remarked to Sarah, seeing her for the first time. He modified the intonation of his voice to project sympathy, looking at her for a moment along with it.
His eyes then scrolled over towards his fellow actor. Lark Wilson was familiar to him. Familiarity was important, particularly now and in this situation where trust was shaky between even the closest of friends. These girls were acquaintances at best, though Sarah had always intrigued him a little bit and Lark was a fellow member of the drama club, so he knew her better than many. Like many, she knew how to make an entrance, her usage of his na— of the boat he sat in's moniker made him smirk.
"Not today, Satan. Not today."
The words were haphazardly chosen, but the levity he assigned to them indicated his intentions. He had no real interest in doing the things to Sarah nor Lark that tended to happen to people on SOTF seasons. Not that he hadn't thought about how difficult it would be to pick up the axe and remove Sarah's arm from its socket while managing to strike Lark across the throat with it.
That would be messy.
He was wearing a white sweatshirt; his band shirt, actually. Red didn't go very well with that. Assuming that Sarah's purported extraterrestrial experience hadn't left her with some unusually coloured blood. Perhaps he'd ask her about that, later. That was an unusual symptom, but the idea had to have come from somewhere. Later, though. Which meant that all would remain peaceful. It all worked! Zack — not RocketBoat, though he still wished he could have seen that on a driver's license — sat, satisfied with his choice of words. Not today, indeed.
"Maybe tomorrow, but no, not today. You've got nothing to fear over here."
He smiled, his eyes back to the steering wheel. Leather. Such a strange choice!
He tapped once more.
Suddenly, the song had lyrics. That was unexpected. Not unwanted, because most popular music these days did, but unexpected. With the footsteps though, it made sense. Either that or a sudden attack, which given his current situation, wasn't entirely out of the question. With one final tap, he stopped, leaving his hands in the air with a flourish for a moment before resting them on the steering wheel. The leather was warm to the touch, matching the temperature of the air. Whomever had once owned the RocketBoat was obviously not someone who cared much about heating up their steering wheel. Ah, yes. The lyric had been a question. He continued to peer at the steering wheel.
"Drumming. I'm not very good but," he trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence.
More footsteps; these footfalls were different than the first, so RocketBoat — no, not RocketBoat, Zack — finally looked away from the wheel to see who had joined him and who was joining them. All three had different coloured bandannas, Zack's own tied around his left wrist shortly after he'd awoken. The beeping had been an intriguing sound to which he'd listened for a few moments. It was more of a shrill squeal than a true beep, and he'd tried to place it for a few moments. The sound had intensified after a point, something which only accentuated how shrill the sound truly was. They had obviously not spent a ton of money on a speaker within the collars; the sound was cheap. Unlike the bandannas, which were of a far higher quality than he expected them to be, if he were being honest with himself. His was an electric blue; striking though not entirely the colour of electricity. Roc—Zack understood why people called it that, but it was really just a shade lighter than powder blue. Which again, strange name for a blue. He supposed it was better than really light blue. Most powder he'd seen was white.
They did, after all, live in Miami.
Smiling at his own private joke, he wondered what the official titles for the greenish-blue bandanna that Sarah — yes, Sarah was her name, wasn't it — and the orange one that Lark wore was. Orange was a tough one. No matter what shade of orange you came up with, it always just seemed to be orange. Too dark, and it was brown. Too light, and well... it was still just orange. Burnt sienna? Was that a thing. Ah yes, the third person was Lark.
"I'm really sorry, by the way," he remarked to Sarah, seeing her for the first time. He modified the intonation of his voice to project sympathy, looking at her for a moment along with it.
His eyes then scrolled over towards his fellow actor. Lark Wilson was familiar to him. Familiarity was important, particularly now and in this situation where trust was shaky between even the closest of friends. These girls were acquaintances at best, though Sarah had always intrigued him a little bit and Lark was a fellow member of the drama club, so he knew her better than many. Like many, she knew how to make an entrance, her usage of his na— of the boat he sat in's moniker made him smirk.
"Not today, Satan. Not today."
The words were haphazardly chosen, but the levity he assigned to them indicated his intentions. He had no real interest in doing the things to Sarah nor Lark that tended to happen to people on SOTF seasons. Not that he hadn't thought about how difficult it would be to pick up the axe and remove Sarah's arm from its socket while managing to strike Lark across the throat with it.
That would be messy.
He was wearing a white sweatshirt; his band shirt, actually. Red didn't go very well with that. Assuming that Sarah's purported extraterrestrial experience hadn't left her with some unusually coloured blood. Perhaps he'd ask her about that, later. That was an unusual symptom, but the idea had to have come from somewhere. Later, though. Which meant that all would remain peaceful. It all worked! Zack — not RocketBoat, though he still wished he could have seen that on a driver's license — sat, satisfied with his choice of words. Not today, indeed.
"Maybe tomorrow, but no, not today. You've got nothing to fear over here."
He smiled, his eyes back to the steering wheel. Leather. Such a strange choice!
He tapped once more.
Sorry? What was he sorry for?
Sarah took a step back from Zach. He’d never wronged her, as far as she could remember; she didn’t think she’d ever spoken to Zach, who she only kind of recognised from his drama stuff. There was no reason to apologise for past actions so that was… kind of ominous.
The extra distance likely wouldn’t make much difference if he tried something however; they were on a boat surrounded by smaller boats, with not many places to run or hide if things came down to it. She unconsciously tightened her grip on her knife as she thought of it, but it wouldn’t do her much good when she was, well, her.
At least she wouldn’t be alone if anything happened; Lark was here too, another person from the drama club. But with the way she was talking Sarah wasn’t sure if her presence was a good or a bad thing. Lark and Zach probably knew each other too; better than she knew either of them for sure.
She tried not to let her thoughts wander too far down that path, however.
This situation wasn’t to her liking; it felt off. Zach was too calm and was saying weirdly threatening, vague things and Lark was too chipper and blasé about the fact that they might start killing each other. Neither felt like the appropriate reaction here, if there even was one. She couldn’t discount the fact that she might be reading too much into things, letting her fears run wild, but if there was ever a time and place to trust her gut it was here and now.
“Right, no killing. I don’t want to kill anyone either.” She hoped that went without saying and that the feeling was mutual. She couldn’t be certain however. Oh god, is this what it felt like to be the most normal person in the room? She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“I don’t want to die either, though, so… I’m thinking about escaping.”
Sarah took a step back from Zach. He’d never wronged her, as far as she could remember; she didn’t think she’d ever spoken to Zach, who she only kind of recognised from his drama stuff. There was no reason to apologise for past actions so that was… kind of ominous.
The extra distance likely wouldn’t make much difference if he tried something however; they were on a boat surrounded by smaller boats, with not many places to run or hide if things came down to it. She unconsciously tightened her grip on her knife as she thought of it, but it wouldn’t do her much good when she was, well, her.
At least she wouldn’t be alone if anything happened; Lark was here too, another person from the drama club. But with the way she was talking Sarah wasn’t sure if her presence was a good or a bad thing. Lark and Zach probably knew each other too; better than she knew either of them for sure.
She tried not to let her thoughts wander too far down that path, however.
This situation wasn’t to her liking; it felt off. Zach was too calm and was saying weirdly threatening, vague things and Lark was too chipper and blasé about the fact that they might start killing each other. Neither felt like the appropriate reaction here, if there even was one. She couldn’t discount the fact that she might be reading too much into things, letting her fears run wild, but if there was ever a time and place to trust her gut it was here and now.
“Right, no killing. I don’t want to kill anyone either.” She hoped that went without saying and that the feeling was mutual. She couldn’t be certain however. Oh god, is this what it felt like to be the most normal person in the room? She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“I don’t want to die either, though, so… I’m thinking about escaping.”
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delicateMachine
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: void
Diagram the scene. Three people - two on the boat looking down on the one on the dock. Not strangers, but not friends. Not teammates. Two of them have obvious melee weapons, and if the third has a gun, she isn’t waving it around. The tension is inherent just from those abstract variables, no personhood needed. It has happened a thousand times and will happen a thousand more - the viewers aren’t watching because it’s interesting, not yet. They watch because they can ask themselves - how many ways can this play out? Will I be surprised? Will the dull ennui of my miserable life be swept away for a precious few moments of genuine shock?
Elsewhere, people were certainly already fighting. Probably dying. Breaking new ground, doing things that have never been seen before on live television. Here, the three made the death game equivalent of small talk, but everyone knew they were delicately perched on a razor’s edge. Most of the viewers would probably get bored in a few minutes and switch over to catch a glimpse of some explosions, but for a patient few, the dull air was just an appetizer for the delicious moment when they finally broke and bled.
One of the inequalities was easy enough to fix. Lark climbed aboard the RocketBoat, leaving her bag and her sack behind on the dock, thus creating another as she felt the boat sway under her weight as she steadied herself on its deck, still a little ways away from the captain.
What did they think of her? Did they assume she had an angle, getting this close to the others, unarmed? Did they think she was just in shock, talking so casually, walking in the open where anyone could pick her off with a rifle and a steady hand? Or did they sneer and call her too dumb to be alive?
Another decision clicked into place. Lark wouldn’t talk to the audience, to the cameras, to her self that was now a camera. They had no right to know her innermost thoughts, and besides, knowing what she was up to would just ruin their fun, wouldn’t it? There wouldn’t be any suspense at all, she smugly thought to herself, having no clever gambits or any malicious intentions towards her fellow boatmates.
“Tomorrow, huh? I can live with that!” Her smile held steady as she looked at Zack. Oh, the comedy inherent to using any once-innocent phrase about ‘living’ now. She could honestly laugh herself to ‘death.’ She turned to Sarah.
“Sounds like a good time. What’s the plan?” A crueler yet very uncreative person would have implied that maybe Sarah expected to be beamed away by a little gray man, free from the arena and the game and Earth as a whole, really. Lark still thought that, so she wasn’t fully absolved.
“I’m not really a scientist, myself, but I remember your name was pretty high up in the rankings, right?”
Elsewhere, people were certainly already fighting. Probably dying. Breaking new ground, doing things that have never been seen before on live television. Here, the three made the death game equivalent of small talk, but everyone knew they were delicately perched on a razor’s edge. Most of the viewers would probably get bored in a few minutes and switch over to catch a glimpse of some explosions, but for a patient few, the dull air was just an appetizer for the delicious moment when they finally broke and bled.
One of the inequalities was easy enough to fix. Lark climbed aboard the RocketBoat, leaving her bag and her sack behind on the dock, thus creating another as she felt the boat sway under her weight as she steadied herself on its deck, still a little ways away from the captain.
What did they think of her? Did they assume she had an angle, getting this close to the others, unarmed? Did they think she was just in shock, talking so casually, walking in the open where anyone could pick her off with a rifle and a steady hand? Or did they sneer and call her too dumb to be alive?
Another decision clicked into place. Lark wouldn’t talk to the audience, to the cameras, to her self that was now a camera. They had no right to know her innermost thoughts, and besides, knowing what she was up to would just ruin their fun, wouldn’t it? There wouldn’t be any suspense at all, she smugly thought to herself, having no clever gambits or any malicious intentions towards her fellow boatmates.
“Tomorrow, huh? I can live with that!” Her smile held steady as she looked at Zack. Oh, the comedy inherent to using any once-innocent phrase about ‘living’ now. She could honestly laugh herself to ‘death.’ She turned to Sarah.
“Sounds like a good time. What’s the plan?” A crueler yet very uncreative person would have implied that maybe Sarah expected to be beamed away by a little gray man, free from the arena and the game and Earth as a whole, really. Lark still thought that, so she wasn’t fully absolved.
“I’m not really a scientist, myself, but I remember your name was pretty high up in the rankings, right?”
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Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
Zack wasn't a scientist, either. That would have been quite the feat for a high school student, to already be accomplished enough to declare that he was one, but sadly science wasn't really his forte. Music, absolutely. Theatre arts? One could make the argument. But science was one of those subjects that he had to put more of his mind towards and focus on. It was a challenge — which he didn't altogether hate — and thus wasn't the apple of his eye.
"What I meant was," he paused as Lark boarded the boat, the motion causing it to rock to and fro in its place, "one abduction is enough for most people's lifetimes. Two is just unlucky."
Things seemed uneasy, if not precarious, though Zack supposed that being taken from one's home and fitted with an electronic explosive collar was probably enough to throw most people for a bit of a loop. His own personal experience hadn't been overly dramatic. Zack had been walking home after class, paying particular attention to how many green cars drove past him on the road. He'd read an article online that had said that green was more of a 1990s colour for vehicles and had fallen out of style. An interesting hypothesis to be sure, but one that could be easily proven. It was only the second green car that had driven past him when the white van pulled up with the SOTF logo on the side. The second that it had come to a halt, he'd known.
Zack may have been a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He allowed the men who jumped from the car a smile; many of his classmates were probably anxious and frantic, so he gathered he'd spare them a display. An anxious display wouldn't have done anything for him, just made the abduction more of a spectacle. There was a time for spectacle, that didn't seem like it.
So right — they were anxious. He wondered if Sarah or Lark had broken down in a panic when SOTF had come for them. That might be a good subject to prod into later on, provided the three of them stayed together for any length of time. Zack drum rolled on the steering wheel, painfully out of time and aware of it. He really wasn't a very good drummer.
"Escaping is good, much better than the alternative." His offer at the conversation was devoid of emotion, disinterested. Escape as a concept was a great idea, of course. Those who escaped got to live, forever wearing the label of an SOTF escapee. His own personal knowledge of the program held those who did so in high esteem as escapes were rare.
Though in their current predicament, the hardest part likely wasn't leaving the arena.
"If you can get the collars off, the water is cold, but it's not that cold. I think."
But he wasn't certain. Hm. Furrowing his brow, Zack leaned over the side of the boat and reached for the water.
Only one way to know for sure.
"What I meant was," he paused as Lark boarded the boat, the motion causing it to rock to and fro in its place, "one abduction is enough for most people's lifetimes. Two is just unlucky."
Things seemed uneasy, if not precarious, though Zack supposed that being taken from one's home and fitted with an electronic explosive collar was probably enough to throw most people for a bit of a loop. His own personal experience hadn't been overly dramatic. Zack had been walking home after class, paying particular attention to how many green cars drove past him on the road. He'd read an article online that had said that green was more of a 1990s colour for vehicles and had fallen out of style. An interesting hypothesis to be sure, but one that could be easily proven. It was only the second green car that had driven past him when the white van pulled up with the SOTF logo on the side. The second that it had come to a halt, he'd known.
Zack may have been a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He allowed the men who jumped from the car a smile; many of his classmates were probably anxious and frantic, so he gathered he'd spare them a display. An anxious display wouldn't have done anything for him, just made the abduction more of a spectacle. There was a time for spectacle, that didn't seem like it.
So right — they were anxious. He wondered if Sarah or Lark had broken down in a panic when SOTF had come for them. That might be a good subject to prod into later on, provided the three of them stayed together for any length of time. Zack drum rolled on the steering wheel, painfully out of time and aware of it. He really wasn't a very good drummer.
"Escaping is good, much better than the alternative." His offer at the conversation was devoid of emotion, disinterested. Escape as a concept was a great idea, of course. Those who escaped got to live, forever wearing the label of an SOTF escapee. His own personal knowledge of the program held those who did so in high esteem as escapes were rare.
Though in their current predicament, the hardest part likely wasn't leaving the arena.
"If you can get the collars off, the water is cold, but it's not that cold. I think."
But he wasn't certain. Hm. Furrowing his brow, Zack leaned over the side of the boat and reached for the water.
Only one way to know for sure.
“Right.” Good. This was good. Both Zach and Lark seemed open to the idea of escaping, or at the very least neither of them had laughed in her face at the suggestion of it. They were actually listening to her instead of dismissing her out of hand and Lark even seemed to know where she was on the school’s rankings; her good grades actually gave her some credibility here.
She had their attention. This was good. Now she just needed to hook them with her plan and earn their trust and cooperation.
Too bad she didn’t have one.
The thing about wanting to escape had kind of just… slipped out. Sarah hadn’t given any thought to the idea, she’d only just woken up on this boat and then followed the tapping here. All she knew was that she didn’t want to kill and she didn’t want to die, even though it was inevitable, and she wanted to do something that she would be remembered for so… it was the first thing that came to mind so she’d said it.
She was going to escape.
Somehow.
Now that she’d said it though, she felt the pressure to follow up on the idea. Zach and Lark were both looking to her, metaphorically at least, for answers, for a plan. If she couldn’t come up with something that satisfied them then they would walk away, leave her behind, and nothing would change. And that was the least of the bad options.
The boat rocked as Lark stepped aboard and approached them; she left her bag and some heavy-looking sack thing behind but Sarah still felt a little uneasy to have the girl draw closer to her. What would she do, what would Zach do, if she got their hopes up with an escape plan and then told them she didn’t actually have one?
Zach offered her a brief distraction by explaining why he had apologised a moment ago; her confusion must have shown through on her face or something. It was because this was her second time being abducted and he felt sorry for her; that was kind of amusing and she could imagine the thought process that led him to that point. Sarah > aliens > abduction > SOTF > sorry.
“Oh… yeah, I guess this is my second abduction.”
Sarah didn’t tell them that she didn’t consider her first abduction unlucky exactly; it was just something that had happened to her. Something monumental, something extraordinary, which had altered her outlook on a lot of things and made her completely change her stance on whether or not they were truly alone in the universe (they weren’t), but it was neither good nor bad in and of itself. Everything that had followed after it had kind of ruined things, but the abduction itself wasn’t so bad.
It was definitely much better than her second abduction at any rate; though at least no one would question it if she told them about this one.
Zach mentioned the water and Sarah followed his hand with her eyes as he leant over to test its temperature for himself. Wasn’t the ocean meant to be really cold? People wore wetsuits for the insulation as well as the protection right? Trying to swim out of the arena, even if you were a strong swimmer, was probably a very bad idea. But then, why swim when they were sitting on a boat?
“Leaving should be easy. This whole place is literally made of boats; we can just take one.” She spoke slowly at first, sounding out each word as it came to her, her cadence speeding up as she reached the end. “The hard part, like Zach said, is getting the collars off.”
Hard, but not impossible right? It had been done before; she knew that much about SOTF at least. “I have some ideas for that… but I’ll need a few things first.” She needed a lot of things, but for now she’d settle for some time to think so she could come up with a plan that at least sounded like she knew what she was doing. “What do you guys have? What can we work with?”
She had their attention. This was good. Now she just needed to hook them with her plan and earn their trust and cooperation.
Too bad she didn’t have one.
The thing about wanting to escape had kind of just… slipped out. Sarah hadn’t given any thought to the idea, she’d only just woken up on this boat and then followed the tapping here. All she knew was that she didn’t want to kill and she didn’t want to die, even though it was inevitable, and she wanted to do something that she would be remembered for so… it was the first thing that came to mind so she’d said it.
She was going to escape.
Somehow.
Now that she’d said it though, she felt the pressure to follow up on the idea. Zach and Lark were both looking to her, metaphorically at least, for answers, for a plan. If she couldn’t come up with something that satisfied them then they would walk away, leave her behind, and nothing would change. And that was the least of the bad options.
The boat rocked as Lark stepped aboard and approached them; she left her bag and some heavy-looking sack thing behind but Sarah still felt a little uneasy to have the girl draw closer to her. What would she do, what would Zach do, if she got their hopes up with an escape plan and then told them she didn’t actually have one?
Zach offered her a brief distraction by explaining why he had apologised a moment ago; her confusion must have shown through on her face or something. It was because this was her second time being abducted and he felt sorry for her; that was kind of amusing and she could imagine the thought process that led him to that point. Sarah > aliens > abduction > SOTF > sorry.
“Oh… yeah, I guess this is my second abduction.”
Sarah didn’t tell them that she didn’t consider her first abduction unlucky exactly; it was just something that had happened to her. Something monumental, something extraordinary, which had altered her outlook on a lot of things and made her completely change her stance on whether or not they were truly alone in the universe (they weren’t), but it was neither good nor bad in and of itself. Everything that had followed after it had kind of ruined things, but the abduction itself wasn’t so bad.
It was definitely much better than her second abduction at any rate; though at least no one would question it if she told them about this one.
Zach mentioned the water and Sarah followed his hand with her eyes as he leant over to test its temperature for himself. Wasn’t the ocean meant to be really cold? People wore wetsuits for the insulation as well as the protection right? Trying to swim out of the arena, even if you were a strong swimmer, was probably a very bad idea. But then, why swim when they were sitting on a boat?
“Leaving should be easy. This whole place is literally made of boats; we can just take one.” She spoke slowly at first, sounding out each word as it came to her, her cadence speeding up as she reached the end. “The hard part, like Zach said, is getting the collars off.”
Hard, but not impossible right? It had been done before; she knew that much about SOTF at least. “I have some ideas for that… but I’ll need a few things first.” She needed a lot of things, but for now she’d settle for some time to think so she could come up with a plan that at least sounded like she knew what she was doing. “What do you guys have? What can we work with?”
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delicateMachine
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: void
It was a little funny. Morally speaking, escape was the easy way out, an answer so obvious that it was almost insultingly automatic. You wake up on live television - you don’t want to die, but you don’t want to kill your friends, either, so the only thing left to do was get out of the game with your hands clean. Simple.
In reality, most escape attempts were just an extra stage of grief for those who woke up without a gun. Unless you were lucky enough for the producers to spoon-feed you a solution, or for the malfunctioning hand of God to reach down and declaw the bomb around your neck, you failed. Because you gave up, before you were stupid, because you were unlucky, because there was a reason the list of escapees was shorter than the list of winners. You had to be exceptional to be an exception.
Well, Lark didn’t want to kill her acquaintances, and she didn’t want to die, so she might as well do her best to be exceptional, right? There were worse ways to spend her last days. After all, she was disappointed that Sarah’s escape plan was… to escape. That meant she was stupid enough to hope. That meant she had no room to feel superior and detachedly judge those who had fallen apart before her.
Zack turned his back on them and leaned overboard, and Lark could hear the viewers playing along at home shouting for her to push him off. Maybe he’d just be soaked and furious, maybe he’d hit his head on the jetty and drown ignobly and pointlessly. She wouldn’t have done it either way, but he was making it so easy to imagine. His trust wasn’t misplaced - but did that make him a good judge of character, or just naively lucky?
“I’m not the strongest swimmer,” she said. She preferred water that was frozen, which made her home state rather inconvenient. “I don’t suppose you’ve got the RocketKey, captain? I’m curious if any of these things even have engines in them.”
“Anyways,” Lark said, turning back to the mastermind, “I’ve got a sack full of,” she cut herself off after having a sudden mortifying premonition of her life and death being overshadowed by the memetic potential of clipping the voiceline ‘I’ve got a sack full of balls,’ wannabe comedians making a stupid musical remix out of it, replacing her last words with it-
“A sack full of steel. Probably only useful for hitting things or making a really complicated trap.” She shrugged. Their starting inventories were very low on the long list of things that’d sink their dreams.
“Look. If you wanna escape you need a corpse, a test subject, or a martyr, and I’m not volunteering for any of those roles, sorry.” Lark carefully watched Sarah’s face. Her response would probably determine if Lark even stuck around long enough for them to fail miserably. “So where’re you gonna find them?”
In reality, most escape attempts were just an extra stage of grief for those who woke up without a gun. Unless you were lucky enough for the producers to spoon-feed you a solution, or for the malfunctioning hand of God to reach down and declaw the bomb around your neck, you failed. Because you gave up, before you were stupid, because you were unlucky, because there was a reason the list of escapees was shorter than the list of winners. You had to be exceptional to be an exception.
Well, Lark didn’t want to kill her acquaintances, and she didn’t want to die, so she might as well do her best to be exceptional, right? There were worse ways to spend her last days. After all, she was disappointed that Sarah’s escape plan was… to escape. That meant she was stupid enough to hope. That meant she had no room to feel superior and detachedly judge those who had fallen apart before her.
Zack turned his back on them and leaned overboard, and Lark could hear the viewers playing along at home shouting for her to push him off. Maybe he’d just be soaked and furious, maybe he’d hit his head on the jetty and drown ignobly and pointlessly. She wouldn’t have done it either way, but he was making it so easy to imagine. His trust wasn’t misplaced - but did that make him a good judge of character, or just naively lucky?
“I’m not the strongest swimmer,” she said. She preferred water that was frozen, which made her home state rather inconvenient. “I don’t suppose you’ve got the RocketKey, captain? I’m curious if any of these things even have engines in them.”
“Anyways,” Lark said, turning back to the mastermind, “I’ve got a sack full of,” she cut herself off after having a sudden mortifying premonition of her life and death being overshadowed by the memetic potential of clipping the voiceline ‘I’ve got a sack full of balls,’ wannabe comedians making a stupid musical remix out of it, replacing her last words with it-
“A sack full of steel. Probably only useful for hitting things or making a really complicated trap.” She shrugged. Their starting inventories were very low on the long list of things that’d sink their dreams.
“Look. If you wanna escape you need a corpse, a test subject, or a martyr, and I’m not volunteering for any of those roles, sorry.” Lark carefully watched Sarah’s face. Her response would probably determine if Lark even stuck around long enough for them to fail miserably. “So where’re you gonna find them?”
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Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
The chill as his hand splashed in the surprisingly cool water was a small jolt to his system, though he kept it submerged, feeling the dull throb of the temperature as he did. It wasn't arctic-cold, but it definitely had that feeling of being uncomfortably cold enough to discourage any swimming.
"No keys to be found," he called over his shoulder as he splashed in the water, much like a cat playing with a new toy. The sound the splashing made was unique, different from the dull ambient sound of waves brushing up against the boats, jetties and other things in the water. Bodies, eventually — he assumed.
Sarah had a good point, escape in theory would be simple - even without a motorized escape vessel, all they'd need to do would be to detach one of the boats and then use a board, plank, anything like that to paddle away. Their arms would hurt like the dickens the next morning, but they would certainly lament that later. Maybe his arms wouldn't necessarily hurt. He had at least mild muscles from having to hold up an instrument. A saxophone wasn't heavy per se, but it still required a bit of manual dexterity.
His hand was starting to chill.
Right — they'd asked another question, hadn't they? Something about equipment... of course. With his left hand, he grabbed hold of the axe, picked it up and wiggled his wrist as though to show it off. His eyes never diverted from the water, his hand's temperature cooling more and more as he did so. Even with the movement and the activity, it still seemed as though being in the water for long periods of time was unadvisable. Anyone who fled to the water to escape a fight or an injury would probably have a tough time of it.
Zack raised an eyebrow. He wondered what kinds of sea life were poking around. If he had to guess, there were likely some basic fish, gathering after the arena was put together and hung here — likely for more than a few days, he gathered. While the odds of a shark or other large predatory ocean-goer were unlikely, he didn't know enough about sea life to rule it out. That would have been a thing. A shark, chomping down on some poor sap who was unlucky enough to bleed in the water?
The season would get full marks solely for that visual.
He could see it in his mind's eye — bleeding, treading water and waiting for the threat to pass, the poor student was blissfully unaware of the approaching predator, starved and hungry enough in this area that was devoid of the usual prey to approach something large. Something bleeding. The first bite was liable to cause panic to whomever's leg — it would likely be a leg — was caught in the shark's jaws. Unlike the so-named movie, the shark was liable to be firmly down on the list of intentional killers lurking about, but as its initial bite would likely draw more blood, it would go to work on the hapless student. Maybe they'd get lucky and drown before the shark could finish the job. Even more likely, the shark would drag them out to sea and their explosive collar would do them in. Would that hurt the shark? The producers would probably hesitate on blowing the collar just for the visual's sake, but then again, perhaps they were automatic. It was a shame that he didn't know that particular piece of information, considering where they were now.
Such a visual would undoubtedly leave their season known as 'the Shark season'. He nodded approvingly at the water, his hand unconsciously starting to shiver. He had stopped splashing about and his hand now just sat in the water, waiting.
Begging.
The Shark Season. It was a shame, because realistically, the season could have been called the RocketBoat season — it was such a great name for a boat, something noteworthy would undoubtedly happen on it — probably long after he'd departed. Zack still wished that his name was RocketBoat. Speaking of names, whomever the hapless victim of the shark was, they would be immortalized in SOTF lore forever. They would never know, of course, but sometimes one has to die to be famous.
Wait a second.
Zack slowly removed his numb hand from the water and shook it a few times to try and warm it up. Remembering his two classmates' presence, he held his hand up as though to show them.
"It's chilly."
Corpses; they'd been talking about corpses. How had their conversation gotten there? His mind had gotten there, too. They hadn't seen any yet — that would have been more noteworthy and he would have been interested in that. Selecting a cheerful expression, he shrugged at the two, only now looking in their direction.
"We're in Survival of the Fittest. Corpses are just a matter of time," maybe the cheerful look was the wrong one. He let his face fall a bit. "I don't think any of us need to volunteer, per se. I'm good with avoiding death or dismemberment, shark attacks or otherwise."
No one had mentioned sharks. Right — oh well. Another thought tugged at his memory, and he glanced at Sarah, his voice casual, polite rather than truly interested.
"What will you need? You said — you needed something?"
"No keys to be found," he called over his shoulder as he splashed in the water, much like a cat playing with a new toy. The sound the splashing made was unique, different from the dull ambient sound of waves brushing up against the boats, jetties and other things in the water. Bodies, eventually — he assumed.
Sarah had a good point, escape in theory would be simple - even without a motorized escape vessel, all they'd need to do would be to detach one of the boats and then use a board, plank, anything like that to paddle away. Their arms would hurt like the dickens the next morning, but they would certainly lament that later. Maybe his arms wouldn't necessarily hurt. He had at least mild muscles from having to hold up an instrument. A saxophone wasn't heavy per se, but it still required a bit of manual dexterity.
His hand was starting to chill.
Right — they'd asked another question, hadn't they? Something about equipment... of course. With his left hand, he grabbed hold of the axe, picked it up and wiggled his wrist as though to show it off. His eyes never diverted from the water, his hand's temperature cooling more and more as he did so. Even with the movement and the activity, it still seemed as though being in the water for long periods of time was unadvisable. Anyone who fled to the water to escape a fight or an injury would probably have a tough time of it.
Zack raised an eyebrow. He wondered what kinds of sea life were poking around. If he had to guess, there were likely some basic fish, gathering after the arena was put together and hung here — likely for more than a few days, he gathered. While the odds of a shark or other large predatory ocean-goer were unlikely, he didn't know enough about sea life to rule it out. That would have been a thing. A shark, chomping down on some poor sap who was unlucky enough to bleed in the water?
The season would get full marks solely for that visual.
He could see it in his mind's eye — bleeding, treading water and waiting for the threat to pass, the poor student was blissfully unaware of the approaching predator, starved and hungry enough in this area that was devoid of the usual prey to approach something large. Something bleeding. The first bite was liable to cause panic to whomever's leg — it would likely be a leg — was caught in the shark's jaws. Unlike the so-named movie, the shark was liable to be firmly down on the list of intentional killers lurking about, but as its initial bite would likely draw more blood, it would go to work on the hapless student. Maybe they'd get lucky and drown before the shark could finish the job. Even more likely, the shark would drag them out to sea and their explosive collar would do them in. Would that hurt the shark? The producers would probably hesitate on blowing the collar just for the visual's sake, but then again, perhaps they were automatic. It was a shame that he didn't know that particular piece of information, considering where they were now.
Such a visual would undoubtedly leave their season known as 'the Shark season'. He nodded approvingly at the water, his hand unconsciously starting to shiver. He had stopped splashing about and his hand now just sat in the water, waiting.
Begging.
The Shark Season. It was a shame, because realistically, the season could have been called the RocketBoat season — it was such a great name for a boat, something noteworthy would undoubtedly happen on it — probably long after he'd departed. Zack still wished that his name was RocketBoat. Speaking of names, whomever the hapless victim of the shark was, they would be immortalized in SOTF lore forever. They would never know, of course, but sometimes one has to die to be famous.
Wait a second.
Zack slowly removed his numb hand from the water and shook it a few times to try and warm it up. Remembering his two classmates' presence, he held his hand up as though to show them.
"It's chilly."
Corpses; they'd been talking about corpses. How had their conversation gotten there? His mind had gotten there, too. They hadn't seen any yet — that would have been more noteworthy and he would have been interested in that. Selecting a cheerful expression, he shrugged at the two, only now looking in their direction.
"We're in Survival of the Fittest. Corpses are just a matter of time," maybe the cheerful look was the wrong one. He let his face fall a bit. "I don't think any of us need to volunteer, per se. I'm good with avoiding death or dismemberment, shark attacks or otherwise."
No one had mentioned sharks. Right — oh well. Another thought tugged at his memory, and he glanced at Sarah, his voice casual, polite rather than truly interested.
"What will you need? You said — you needed something?"
This had been a mistake. Why did she think she could handle people looking to her to save their lives, scrutinising everything she said or did, when she could barely manage to make it through lunch period without wanting to run and hide? The way Lark was staring at her now, she nearly paled under the intensity of it; the girl in the sundress was searching for something and Sarah could only feel like she would find her lacking. “A corpse? Um…”
A corpse, a body, a test subject; why was Lark bringing that up now? A martyr? What?
Wait, no, of course; she was talking about the collars. They would need to try and get the collars off eventually, if her non-existent plan ever made it that far, and if they made a wrong move at that point the bombs around their necks would explode. So it only made sense to test it first on a dead person or someone not too bothered by the idea of dying for the cause. Lark was asking where she would find such a thing, or testing how far she was willing to go.
Sarah was thinking how she should respond to that when Zach answered before she could. She jumped on the opportunity, piggybacking off of his answer to help formulate her own.
“Zach’s right. There won’t be… won’t be any shortage of bodies.”
Turning away from Lark, Sarah’s eye drawn to the massive cruise ship at the centre of everything and thought about everyone else who was stuck in this game; no shortage of bodies, right. People would be killing and dying even if they did nothing; it didn’t matter what they wanted. She’d said it so flippantly in the moment, but it was her classmates who would need to provide the corpses they would use.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “No killing. No martyrs. We’ll just… take advantage of what this show produces naturally.”
If they made it that far, she would likely regret saying those words.
That was the second time Sarah had used something Zach said as a jumping off point. She was grateful for the assistance, unintentional or otherwise, even if a minute ago she had been concerned that he would try to decapitate her or something. That was still kind of a concern to be honest, but if it was just her a Lark the other girl would likely have abandoned her by now.
What did she need? Oh, yeah, she’d said something like that a moment ago and now it was coming back to bite her because nothing was coming to mind. She wracked her brain for an answer before saying the first thing that came to mind. “Tools, I’ll need tools.”
Of course she would need tools; that was so obvious as to be a non-answer, but what else was she supposed to say? What kind of tools would you need to defuse a bomb? “Something to work on, like, the electronics inside the collars. They… they probably don’t have anything like that here, but we can look for something anyway. Something small.”
Hopefully that made enough sense; she wouldn’t be able to disarm the collars with a knife, an axe or a bag of steel. She wouldn’t be able to do it anyway, but that was beside the point; Sarah just needed to sound like she thought she could for now.
It might help if she actually knew anything about SOTF from the past few years so she could at least play the role a bit more convincingly. How did escape attempts in SOTF normally go? It had happened enough times that there must have been a formula of some kind, right? Knowing the specifics of past attempts wouldn’t help because anything that worked once likely wouldn’t work again, but knowing the general path of progression would be nice. Removing the collars and then escaping the arena were the obvious ones that they’d already covered, but what led them to those moments?
Wasn’t there a huge escape not too long ago, where half of the contestants had survived or something like that? The season had been infamous enough that even she had heard of it despite not watching the show or knowing anyone who did. The collars had failed for reasons she couldn’t recall, but she remembered people talking about a planned flaw in the collars that had played a part in it.
It was probably too much to hope that a similar problem might lead to their season being cancelled in the same way though. Still, if the producers of this show were in the habit of leaving flaws in their designs in order to make escapes possible then she could pretend to have had some idea about what it was, right? Something that they had added this season, that was different from other seasons, as an intentional weakness.
Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the sleek band around Lark’s neck as he hand reach up to touch the one at her own beck. Dull and grey and smooth, it had no visible seems or screws or anywhere that looked like it could be opened up so they could play around with the inner workings; she couldn’t feel anything with her fingers either. The only thing of note was the section of black that made up the middle third. She wondered if that was the place where they’d hide the cameras that they mentioned during the…
“Oh.”
A corpse, a body, a test subject; why was Lark bringing that up now? A martyr? What?
Wait, no, of course; she was talking about the collars. They would need to try and get the collars off eventually, if her non-existent plan ever made it that far, and if they made a wrong move at that point the bombs around their necks would explode. So it only made sense to test it first on a dead person or someone not too bothered by the idea of dying for the cause. Lark was asking where she would find such a thing, or testing how far she was willing to go.
Sarah was thinking how she should respond to that when Zach answered before she could. She jumped on the opportunity, piggybacking off of his answer to help formulate her own.
“Zach’s right. There won’t be… won’t be any shortage of bodies.”
Turning away from Lark, Sarah’s eye drawn to the massive cruise ship at the centre of everything and thought about everyone else who was stuck in this game; no shortage of bodies, right. People would be killing and dying even if they did nothing; it didn’t matter what they wanted. She’d said it so flippantly in the moment, but it was her classmates who would need to provide the corpses they would use.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “No killing. No martyrs. We’ll just… take advantage of what this show produces naturally.”
If they made it that far, she would likely regret saying those words.
That was the second time Sarah had used something Zach said as a jumping off point. She was grateful for the assistance, unintentional or otherwise, even if a minute ago she had been concerned that he would try to decapitate her or something. That was still kind of a concern to be honest, but if it was just her a Lark the other girl would likely have abandoned her by now.
What did she need? Oh, yeah, she’d said something like that a moment ago and now it was coming back to bite her because nothing was coming to mind. She wracked her brain for an answer before saying the first thing that came to mind. “Tools, I’ll need tools.”
Of course she would need tools; that was so obvious as to be a non-answer, but what else was she supposed to say? What kind of tools would you need to defuse a bomb? “Something to work on, like, the electronics inside the collars. They… they probably don’t have anything like that here, but we can look for something anyway. Something small.”
Hopefully that made enough sense; she wouldn’t be able to disarm the collars with a knife, an axe or a bag of steel. She wouldn’t be able to do it anyway, but that was beside the point; Sarah just needed to sound like she thought she could for now.
It might help if she actually knew anything about SOTF from the past few years so she could at least play the role a bit more convincingly. How did escape attempts in SOTF normally go? It had happened enough times that there must have been a formula of some kind, right? Knowing the specifics of past attempts wouldn’t help because anything that worked once likely wouldn’t work again, but knowing the general path of progression would be nice. Removing the collars and then escaping the arena were the obvious ones that they’d already covered, but what led them to those moments?
Wasn’t there a huge escape not too long ago, where half of the contestants had survived or something like that? The season had been infamous enough that even she had heard of it despite not watching the show or knowing anyone who did. The collars had failed for reasons she couldn’t recall, but she remembered people talking about a planned flaw in the collars that had played a part in it.
It was probably too much to hope that a similar problem might lead to their season being cancelled in the same way though. Still, if the producers of this show were in the habit of leaving flaws in their designs in order to make escapes possible then she could pretend to have had some idea about what it was, right? Something that they had added this season, that was different from other seasons, as an intentional weakness.
Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the sleek band around Lark’s neck as he hand reach up to touch the one at her own beck. Dull and grey and smooth, it had no visible seems or screws or anywhere that looked like it could be opened up so they could play around with the inner workings; she couldn’t feel anything with her fingers either. The only thing of note was the section of black that made up the middle third. She wondered if that was the place where they’d hide the cameras that they mentioned during the…
“Oh.”
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delicateMachine
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: void
Lark’s companions agreed to go the sickeningly moral route, but who could blame them? Why dream in half measures? Ruthless pragmatism might bump up their odds of success by a percentage point or two, but that didn’t make much difference to an artificial miracle. Like Zack said, there’d be corpses enough without having to make any of their own.
“No killing, got it. We might have to go fishing, soon.” She glanced at the water, wondering how many had already accidentally auditioned for the role of Ophelia. Normally corpses had the decency to stay where they were put, but nothing about their arena was set in stone. Literally. She smiled.
“For the record, if I die first, I donate my body to science.” She’d never liked the thought of having an open-casket funeral, anyways. What right did some white-gloved merchant of mourning have to make her corpse their idea of presentable? Just burn it all and be done with it and stick a photograph on top.
“Anyway. There have to be toolboxes around, unless the producers confiscated them all, since basically anything can go wrong at sea. I bet the cruise ship has entire closets worth of useful stuff but I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to look around in that deathtrap.”
She would’ve continued a bit longer with logistical brainstorming, but Sarah was obviously preoccupied, and Lark could obviously relate. She caught the other girl's eye.
“You can cover it up, if you want. It hasn’t beeped at me yet or anything,” she said, tapping the team bandanna she’d tied over the camera,
every inch of her being was screaming get out get out get out you are going to die here her skin was crawling off her bones her soul was escaping her body like dragon’s breath if she could somehow survive ripping her own head off to get the fucking collar off she would do it in an instant
“And I could, like, adjust it for you so it blocks as much as it can. No need to let them get too close to you, right?”
“No killing, got it. We might have to go fishing, soon.” She glanced at the water, wondering how many had already accidentally auditioned for the role of Ophelia. Normally corpses had the decency to stay where they were put, but nothing about their arena was set in stone. Literally. She smiled.
“For the record, if I die first, I donate my body to science.” She’d never liked the thought of having an open-casket funeral, anyways. What right did some white-gloved merchant of mourning have to make her corpse their idea of presentable? Just burn it all and be done with it and stick a photograph on top.
“Anyway. There have to be toolboxes around, unless the producers confiscated them all, since basically anything can go wrong at sea. I bet the cruise ship has entire closets worth of useful stuff but I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to look around in that deathtrap.”
She would’ve continued a bit longer with logistical brainstorming, but Sarah was obviously preoccupied, and Lark could obviously relate. She caught the other girl's eye.
“You can cover it up, if you want. It hasn’t beeped at me yet or anything,” she said, tapping the team bandanna she’d tied over the camera,
every inch of her being was screaming get out get out get out you are going to die here her skin was crawling off her bones her soul was escaping her body like dragon’s breath if she could somehow survive ripping her own head off to get the fucking collar off she would do it in an instant
“And I could, like, adjust it for you so it blocks as much as it can. No need to let them get too close to you, right?”
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Cactus
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:25 pm
- Location: Toronto, Canada
- Team Affiliation: Malcolm's Mariners
Right — cameras in the collars. Zack's hand instinctively touched the collar around his neck once Lark started waxing philosophical about the cameras installed in them. Every time he'd seen a first-person shot used in a television show or a movie, it had seemed disorienting, a conceit. The producers of the Survival of the Fittest television show were obviously hoping to use them to get down and dirty with the contestants, get an intimate look at what they were going through.
"Tools and bodies. Got it. If we look hard enough, that won't be a tall order."
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something to keep them occupied and Zack was fine with that. The cruise ship would be a decent place to look, but most of their classmates would likely be thinking the same thing. At least, the ones who hadn't decided to zealously murder their fellow students. There were always a few.
"Should I — would you like me to cover mine up too?"
Zack hadn't been concerned with the cameras in his collar, but considering the two girls were, perhaps it was a good idea to follow suit.
"Tools and bodies. Got it. If we look hard enough, that won't be a tall order."
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something to keep them occupied and Zack was fine with that. The cruise ship would be a decent place to look, but most of their classmates would likely be thinking the same thing. At least, the ones who hadn't decided to zealously murder their fellow students. There were always a few.
"Should I — would you like me to cover mine up too?"
Zack hadn't been concerned with the cameras in his collar, but considering the two girls were, perhaps it was a good idea to follow suit.
“Cover…?” It took a moment for Sarah to surface from her thoughts and realise what Lark was trying to say. The other girl tapped a finger on the collar, or more precisely the bandana covering it, to clue her in.
“Oh, that wasn’t… that’s not what I was thinking about.” She’d hadn’t been, but now she was. Up until a moment ago Sarah had forgotten the cameras in their collars existed and even the rest of the cameras filming them were something at the back of her mind. Logically she knew that she was on a TV show right now, even this ‘escape’ plan was for the audiences benefit in a way, but the fact that meant she was being watched constantly hadn’t fully settled in.
She tried not to let it set in now, like she’d been doing so far, lest the weight of it pin her in place. That feeling of being in the spotlight would paralyse her if she let it. It was too easy to second guess her every decision if people were watching her, even if she was kind of doing it so they’d see it in the first place.
Yes, that was a contradiction. Try not to think about it.
Should they cover their collars? Was there a benefit to it, other than personal privacy? She didn’t have an answer but even though it did make her uncomfortable she felt that taking action to cover the cameras would just make her more aware of their existence. “Um, you can cover it if you want Zack. It won’t affect my plan.”
Her plan, which right now had something to do with the cameras. She was still working on exactly what that was, but she felt like that was the right kind of idea. The cameras were a new addition to the collars, something brand new this season; the perfect place to slip in an intentional defect, if one existed at all.
The area around the cameras was plastic, by the feel of it, while the rest was metal; that section would likely be easier to break through than the rest … but it couldn’t be as simple as that.
Unless that part of the collar didn’t have any explosives in it. The collars were rigged to explode, but that didn’t mean the entire thing was a bomb, right? It didn’t have to mean every inch of it was stuffed with explosives; maybe the part with the cameras was just cameras, nothing else, nothing to explode.
That was probably a stupid idea, but it was something to try if- when they found a body.
“Do you know much about cameras? Either of you?”
“Oh, that wasn’t… that’s not what I was thinking about.” She’d hadn’t been, but now she was. Up until a moment ago Sarah had forgotten the cameras in their collars existed and even the rest of the cameras filming them were something at the back of her mind. Logically she knew that she was on a TV show right now, even this ‘escape’ plan was for the audiences benefit in a way, but the fact that meant she was being watched constantly hadn’t fully settled in.
She tried not to let it set in now, like she’d been doing so far, lest the weight of it pin her in place. That feeling of being in the spotlight would paralyse her if she let it. It was too easy to second guess her every decision if people were watching her, even if she was kind of doing it so they’d see it in the first place.
Yes, that was a contradiction. Try not to think about it.
Should they cover their collars? Was there a benefit to it, other than personal privacy? She didn’t have an answer but even though it did make her uncomfortable she felt that taking action to cover the cameras would just make her more aware of their existence. “Um, you can cover it if you want Zack. It won’t affect my plan.”
Her plan, which right now had something to do with the cameras. She was still working on exactly what that was, but she felt like that was the right kind of idea. The cameras were a new addition to the collars, something brand new this season; the perfect place to slip in an intentional defect, if one existed at all.
The area around the cameras was plastic, by the feel of it, while the rest was metal; that section would likely be easier to break through than the rest … but it couldn’t be as simple as that.
Unless that part of the collar didn’t have any explosives in it. The collars were rigged to explode, but that didn’t mean the entire thing was a bomb, right? It didn’t have to mean every inch of it was stuffed with explosives; maybe the part with the cameras was just cameras, nothing else, nothing to explode.
That was probably a stupid idea, but it was something to try if- when they found a body.
“Do you know much about cameras? Either of you?”
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delicateMachine
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:26 pm
- Location: void
“I don’t know much about cameras, no,” Lark said to her fellow cameras. Sure, she had thought a great deal on their results, about the impartial lens and the partial eye behind it, how they can give you glimpses of yourself from the outside that live ageless and forever discounting any filters subtly alienating people from their own bodies, but, none of that was relevant to the mechanical matters of plastic and glass.
“And, yeah, covering your collar is just a personal thing. It’s not like we’re gonna be hiding much from the producers, either way.” Even though there wasn’t any risk of them being blown apart for daring to think about leaving, their odds of success were still annoying reliant on the show-runner’s whims.
There hadn’t been an escape since the disastrous malfunction of Season 60 - well, it was overly generous to call that escaping. It didn’t take anything special to stroll out of a prison cell with its walls crumbled from an act of God. Still, the point was, maybe it’d been long enough for the technicians to stop living in existential fear of a show-stopping disaster, long enough for a few careful flaws to be introduced back into the schematics.
Lark had no useful answers, so she elected to instead ask another question. It might seem like a sidestep, but priorities and ground rules were almost more vital to their survival as an organized group as any clever ideas about engineering. Sarah was a stranger, and Lark had certainly never discussed any life-or-death philosophy with Zack. In the miraculous event they were on to something, she didn’t want to be surprised by any last-minute arguments.
“Side note, but - Is there anyone you two couldn’t leave without? We’d need to find them as soon as we could, maybe while gathering tools? I’m pretty unattached, personally,” she said, smiling to soften the jab at herself. It might sound sad to an outsider, but she was genuinely glad that most of her friends had wound up at other high schools and weren’t going to die atop the unforgiving sea.
“And, yeah, covering your collar is just a personal thing. It’s not like we’re gonna be hiding much from the producers, either way.” Even though there wasn’t any risk of them being blown apart for daring to think about leaving, their odds of success were still annoying reliant on the show-runner’s whims.
There hadn’t been an escape since the disastrous malfunction of Season 60 - well, it was overly generous to call that escaping. It didn’t take anything special to stroll out of a prison cell with its walls crumbled from an act of God. Still, the point was, maybe it’d been long enough for the technicians to stop living in existential fear of a show-stopping disaster, long enough for a few careful flaws to be introduced back into the schematics.
Lark had no useful answers, so she elected to instead ask another question. It might seem like a sidestep, but priorities and ground rules were almost more vital to their survival as an organized group as any clever ideas about engineering. Sarah was a stranger, and Lark had certainly never discussed any life-or-death philosophy with Zack. In the miraculous event they were on to something, she didn’t want to be surprised by any last-minute arguments.
“Side note, but - Is there anyone you two couldn’t leave without? We’d need to find them as soon as we could, maybe while gathering tools? I’m pretty unattached, personally,” she said, smiling to soften the jab at herself. It might sound sad to an outsider, but she was genuinely glad that most of her friends had wound up at other high schools and weren’t going to die atop the unforgiving sea.