THE MARK OF THE ATLAS
Into the heart of the city you go.Down below the lowest levels of the city, somewhere beyond the twisty maze of passages, several of the paths converge in a huge underground cavern. Here the air is blissfully cool compared to the desert above. A single shaft of light shines down from somewhere on the surface; motes of sand drift lazily as if suspended in the light. Elsewhere, the cave is lit by small clusters of glowing fungus that live off the moisture collected down here. Dim but navigable for most.
But perhaps the most striking items in the area are the
monoliths. Great fragments of stone over three meters long, too smooth to be natural but too jagged to be whole either. Several of them glow from the pulse of energy running through them. Others, while dark, have recessed notches large enough for a person’s hand. And still another group seems nearly shattered, a larger fragment surrounded by smaller ones. All of them react when the interlopers draw close enough...
LIGHT
Upon closer inspection, the lit monoliths have a curious pattern worked into the tone. The symbols are rather arcane, but perhaps they make sense if one tilts one’s head and squints. This one has strokes that resemble tongues of flame. That one is covered in cascading, fluid lines. Another … well, that look more like a
warning sign than anything else.
Interacting with these monoliths results in a warning crackle and the scent of ozone before the monolith
opens. Something comes pouring out of it in response. Gushing water is the most common, matching up with the cascade monoliths; others open to flame or greenery or other odd things. And one
definitely opens up into a vacuum. Careful with that unless you want to have something sucked out into space.
Whatever connection they make is brief and non-traversable, but whatever comes through stays on this side.
DARK
The unlit monoliths aren’t nearly as flashy as their glowing brethren, but they have their own stories to tell. With the help of a little light (and the suit), the interlopers will find that these monoliths are covered from top to bottom in alien script. Most have at least one solid crack or chunk in them - at the juiciest parts! - but there may be enough left to be intelligible, given a little luck.
VISION
The last set hum with an ominous energy that belies their dilapidated appearance. Interlopers who approach these monoliths trigger strange images that float in the air. No two visions are alike, though they all share common themes. Silhouettes descending to the surface of the planet and spreading out across it. Exploring and interacting with an alien environment. There’s something deeply familiar about these shadows despite the variety of body types represented by them. The shape of their clothing is reminiscent of your own suit...
Other snippets are set in space. Here the silhouettes are a darker patch of black against the darkness of space. The mood in these images is strangely pensive, somewhat tense. These figures are searching very desperately for something.
There is one, though, that’s different from all the others. No silhouettes, no searching, no space. Only a shaft of light starting from a point beyond this planet’s moon. At first it’s a too-bright star; then, a solid beam stretching down to the planet itself. The light increases in intensity and breadth exponentially until it impacts physically with the surface of the planet itself. The eruption kicks up huge clouds of dust that race towards the city with all the heat and speed of a pyroclastic explosion. It rises up like a wave...and then crashes down, burying the city.
Eventually, each of the images go dark once again.
BROKEN
Amidst the myriad of strange monoliths and now-flowing water? Is some sort of chassis. The ruined frame of an old robot of some kind, easily as large as a cement mixer's chamber and just as tall. Most of it lies buried beneath the sand, stuck near the far end of one particularly large chamber within the caves' network. It takes a bit of walking to get there, but there's a reward to be had for those who find it:
The room is not empty.Standing in the exact middle is a strange, hulking figure. It stands at eight feet at least, a massive frame encased in black. Whether it's carapace or suit is impossible to tell, and whether or not it's
alive is another story altogether. It stands perfectly motionless, skull-like face staring ahead at the robot's husk as water pools in through cracks and recesses, giving the ground a glass-like appearance through which
tiny grass-like eels can be seen rising from tiny holes in the sand.
For all intents and purposes the figure seems nothing more than a statue.
Eerie.
OOC
There will be an
24-hour event encounter which runs from
Nov 26th at 8:00am EST to
Nov 27th at 8:00am EST. Feel free to let characters toy around & thread in the innermost areas of the city before the main event! Sections will go up in this entry and will be linked here when they are ready.
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I'm doing well. [ And it surprises him to mean it. ]
Do you need help with something?
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And, actually, yeah. I heard you might have something useful. [He cocks his head to the side inquisitively.] You remember when those bugs went a bit crazy on us?
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That experience would be hard to forget.
[ He pauses, assessing Bucky. ]
Are you talking about the fact that I can translate parts of the language? We haven't made much headway so far.
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I did get a couple of transmissions myself though. During the hubbub. Dunno how much they’d help, but I’m certainly curious myself what any of it means.
One of ’em mentions something about the “ATLAS” or whatever.
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We've run into a few like those. Though we're not sure what Atlas might be. Or who. Can you play it back for me?
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[He raises his arm and bumps his chin against the side of his communicator trying to activate the playback. It’s the only thing he managed to get it to do aside from send out an alert, but it isn’t the most straight forward thing for him to use either with just the one arm.
Eventually, it picks up the interaction and plays back one of the transmissions he received.]
« ...ara vlouseoc ym Cosgelc γ, Θ. Helquulja chlacgol junuto ug: oyutfgi-cyz kolso... »
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Something about sectors and . . . going forward. There's a number in there as well. Eighty-six.
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Eighty-six is...hm...
[Well. It’s helpful knowing what at least some of it means, even if it only makes Bucky infinitely more curious as to way it was relayed to his communicator.]
Y’know, you’d think that whoever the hell wants us to find this atlas thing would know better than to dump us somewhere without a map. Unless it’s some kind of test. Or competition. [Squint.] Not that I'd wanna be your competition. You seem like a really swell guy.
[Which usually isn’t enough for Bucky to feel camaraderie with anyone, but he’s seen the way Clark focused on trying to protect the others during the swarm. If he’s acting, then he’s a helluva good actor, but Bucky’s usually a good judge of that these days, and Clark seems to be the real deal. Hell, more so than Steve was sometimes before Bucky went under, which is jarring enough on its own.]
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Thank you. But if there was a competition, I wouldn't be taking part.
[ He's dead . . . sort of. He remembers dying vividly. Clark can imagine what the ATLAS would offer him in exchange for a fight: his loved ones, his world, his future. None of that is worth the life of another, even a stranger. He learned that with Bruce.
It won't happen again. ]
I'm on your side.
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Shrugging his shoulders after Clark says he wouldn't take part, he opens his mouth to reply with something cheeky, to maybe put some distance between them after having accidentally shared a smile, but what Clark follows his initial words with makes Bucky freeze, tensing as his faux playfulness quickly fades into strained bewilderment.
No one’s ever said anything like that to him before. He’s always the one on other people’s sides. So... Why?]
But you barely know me. You don’t know what I’ve done. Who I was.
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Clark isn't sure what kind of integrity or kindness he can offer. He can only do what he feels is right and this feels right so far. ]
Saying I don't need to know would feel . . . like a farce. But I think it's important to let myself see a person first.
I won't tell you who you were and what you've done doesn't matter because it does.
[ He pauses, carefully gauging his own words. ] But I understand needing someone to believe in the best.
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James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t need all his memories to know how much he needed someone to say those words to him. It was easy living under the illusion that he’d never need them, the amount of people who would have such goodness in them being few and far between to begin with. But it wasn’t only goodness that was needed; clarity was also necessary. It was something he knew Steve would never have for him. James told himself that it was all for the better, that if he needed to bear his penance, even unheard, it was what he deserved for every death, every tear he had unknowingly caused. But he hears these words, and he knows—remembers—that everything he is now is a lie, a facade he forged to protect himself and survive.
“Who’s Bucky?” he recalls asking a memory. A ghost. A ghost in a shell.
He can’t hold the false pretense any longer. Not when his genuine emotions have been pried free from the layers of deceit. His face grows slack, brows furrowing, as he grips on to what’s left of Bucky. He wants to lash back, regain his footing and replaster to wall. His left shoulder aches.]
You’ll hurt yourself. Believing in people like that. [It’s a weak retort. He knows it never stopped him from believing in Steve.] Not everyone is worth the trouble.
[Lies, lies, lies. He lies to himself. It's easier like this. Nothing to fear, not even death.]
Sometimes, you just have to leave people behind.
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He's fallen short of that. But that doesn't mean he's ready to stop. ]
Some hurts are worth the experience. They're worth the trouble, the bruises and the difficulties. But they're also worth getting up in the morning.
[ His death was worth the world he lost. Because Lois was still in it. ]
Sometimes you do. I have. But that doesn't mean I'll make that decision today.
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He laughs quietly in moderate disbelief.]
Not today, huh? [A smile breaks out, a real one that feels like his face might split in half.] You’re really something, Clark. [He nods with the remark and lets the smile fade.]
Yeah. Not today. [He tells himself this time, and suddenly it’s not so hard remembering who Bucky is.
But all of this isn't what he came over for. He makes a quiet sheepish noise and tries to activate his communicator with his chin again.]
Uh. There’s another message too. [A small beep follows. The first one plays again. Bucky makes a face and tries again.] Well, if I can get it to play for you...
[Another replay. But after the third, it decides to cooperate.]
« ...mur kequol cakkri ug: chloo kolsomg. Cerul kumorc ehhryumo. Krouco ozseumt... »
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Something about . . . power being offline. And panels.
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He huffs quietly after a moment in defeat.]
I thought I'd be okay with just knowing bits of it, but now it just makes me even more curious about what the hell is going on here. [Which he says mostly to himself, so after a breath,] Thanks for giving it a shot for me anyway though, Superman. Sorry that they weren't more useful.
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Carefully, he moves away from that. ]
It might mean control panels. This ability is . . . improving. The more I hear, the more fine-tuned it becomes.
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Well, there've been lots of those around, but it ain't like any of ’em really work as it is.
Does it help if it's repeated? Or does it need to be a new clip entirely?
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[ He's guessing but it's an intuitive guess. ]
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Guess we'll just have to hope something else comes up.
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That would be more convenient. But we're not doing too badly. Considering we can make some of it clear is a decent start.
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[Eh. Passible.]
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Don't strain yourself.
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Slow day today. I’ll try think of something better for ya.
[He gives Clark a friendly nudge with his arm.]
Now, I don’t suppose you could teach me how to do that flying thing you do, can you?
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I don't think if you'd want me as a teacher. I crashed into a mountain the first time I flew.
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