CWs: medical experimentation, forced combat, space horror
You're in a port, in a futuristic city. Ahead of you is a a door marked "BAGGAGE CLAIM". Behind that door is a man. Behind that door, is a windowless room.
You enter. Looking upward, you see two signs - neither one written in any recognizable language. There are no windows. The atmosphere is at once both frigid, and stifling. A long chute enters from the center of the ceiling, dropping down to the floor below, to the pile. The pile of luggage. Dozens of pieces of luggage, an airport's worth of suitcases, trunks, and crates.
Shiro is there. He's busily sorting trunks. Each one comically oversized, looking like they weigh a ton, and yet, Shiro is hefting them one by one, mechanically, from one side of the platform to the other. There does not seem to be any order to what Shiro is doing. One moment, he hauls a big metal crate to the left. The next, he's dragging it back to the right. He does not stop moving. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair unkempt, exhaustion dragging lines in his features. Back and forth, he moves. But nothing ever changes. No one comes to pick up the bags, there are no carousels waiting to take them away to their owners.
He is here, he is alone, and he is constantly in motion.
Briefly, he leans against one of the suitcases, a duffel bag overstuffed, indiscernible writing all over its canvas surface, bracing himself. He is breathing hard. No sooner does he stop, no sooner does he take that small moment for himself, then one of the packages - this one an old medieval trunk in pale blue and red leather - creaks open. From that small opening, flowers begin to spill out, their petals dripping to the floor like water. Another one, this one more like a fish tank wrapped in layers of protective, cloudy tape, swirls with an unseen occupant - until yellow eyes appear, glowing through the fluid. All around, other suitcases begin to open, begin to release their contents.
Shiro jumps back to work. As fast as he can. A sudden blur of motion, throwing heavy boxes here and there - his expression abruptly shifting from exhaustion to terror. In the moment he moves, the boxes shut. The fluid clouds.
Everything goes back to normal.
((ooc: brackets or prose is totally fine! CWs are potentially going to come up in the threads, and I'll warn for any, but I wanted to be clear ahead of time!))
Shiro | OTA
You're in a port, in a futuristic city. Ahead of you is a a door marked "BAGGAGE CLAIM". Behind that door is a man. Behind that door, is a windowless room.
You enter. Looking upward, you see two signs - neither one written in any recognizable language. There are no windows. The atmosphere is at once both frigid, and stifling. A long chute enters from the center of the ceiling, dropping down to the floor below, to the pile. The pile of luggage. Dozens of pieces of luggage, an airport's worth of suitcases, trunks, and crates.
Shiro is there. He's busily sorting trunks. Each one comically oversized, looking like they weigh a ton, and yet, Shiro is hefting them one by one, mechanically, from one side of the platform to the other. There does not seem to be any order to what Shiro is doing. One moment, he hauls a big metal crate to the left. The next, he's dragging it back to the right. He does not stop moving. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair unkempt, exhaustion dragging lines in his features. Back and forth, he moves. But nothing ever changes. No one comes to pick up the bags, there are no carousels waiting to take them away to their owners.
He is here, he is alone, and he is constantly in motion.
Briefly, he leans against one of the suitcases, a duffel bag overstuffed, indiscernible writing all over its canvas surface, bracing himself. He is breathing hard. No sooner does he stop, no sooner does he take that small moment for himself, then one of the packages - this one an old medieval trunk in pale blue and red leather - creaks open. From that small opening, flowers begin to spill out, their petals dripping to the floor like water. Another one, this one more like a fish tank wrapped in layers of protective, cloudy tape, swirls with an unseen occupant - until yellow eyes appear, glowing through the fluid. All around, other suitcases begin to open, begin to release their contents.
Shiro jumps back to work. As fast as he can. A sudden blur of motion, throwing heavy boxes here and there - his expression abruptly shifting from exhaustion to terror. In the moment he moves, the boxes shut. The fluid clouds.
Everything goes back to normal.
((ooc: brackets or prose is totally fine! CWs are potentially going to come up in the threads, and I'll warn for any, but I wanted to be clear ahead of time!))