thecapitol | Once Upon A Dream

Once Upon A Dream - 4th wall

The Tributes will not be warned for when their injections will occur. For those who are known to be compliant and willing to work with the capitol, they may be taken aside and told they are getting a shot or whatever else may convince them. Others may be injected within their sleep (and have been drugged earlier to keep them that way).

If you are not a tribute, your injection comes on your decision, having cashed in your ticket at Hypnogogia for a good rest and stay.

Everyone is ushered to bed at once and everyone will be quick to discover why.

The first effect is a sort of paralysis - not the terrifying inability to move, but a signal to the brain that says why move? Moving is so much effort. It's quickly followed by drowsiness, and then a chill that radiates from the needle into the body, and finally, unconsciousness.

This shared dreaming carries on whenever you sleep for seven total days, with the Expos running during their waking hours. Those with Vistors will meet them within the dream.

Day 1: It starts as a typical day in the tower. You may very well not realise it to be a dream. The only difference is that there are others here, ones who won't be around when you wake. They've been instructed to wait for you. You can show them the whole of the Capitol in this time, if you wish.

Day 2: On this day, the world is... yours. Some of the world will bleed into the mini worlds of others, so long as you have the wish in mind to visit them. Some details about the worlds may be off but it will initially seem as though you've finally returned home.

Day 3: A paradise. Any paradise. Whatever your characters would personally deem as a paradise. Like with day 2, the dream worlds will bleed into one another.

Day 4: On day four, it starts off somewhere inspired by a District. It's been tailored to suit the Capitol of course but

̨̙̟͒̒̔ͬ̄̌̓̓s̋͒ͩ̈́ͯ́̾ͭ͑͘҉̮͈̪̲̼̜̟͡ó͔͔͖̼̂̓̌̓m̰̹ͩ͑̽̆̽̚͟͞e͙̰̬̻̋ͣ͑ͭ̄̌̀ṭ̡͈͔̺̀͂̈́ͯ̎͛̓́́ḣ̍̉͌҉̮̖͔͉̜͉̘͓į̶̥̼͙͒̏́̈n̼̬̼͖͖̳͊͐̈g̷̱͈̦̀ͣ͒̒̅͛ͯ̐̿ ̵̡̻̳̯ͫ̓̃ͭͨg̵͚͚͖̏̒̏ͨ̐̏ͦ͞͡ȏ͚̳͓̱̩̞͚͙ͮ̊̄̐̂͊e͇͇̦̳̦ͥ̽͌̆͂̇͆ͤͅs͙͙̠̝͍̹͔͓͛̽̾͑͂͆ ̠͖̘̥̤̑ͧ͘w̛̰̰̗͕̻̯̰͕̃͌͘r͖̰͚̋o̵̭̺̺̘͈͕͆̐̇̌ͣ͆͗͟n̷̫ͦ̆ͯ̀g̛̥͖͎̺͙͈ͮ̓͐̄̇.

The dream world seems to distort. From the setting, to those in it, for five seconds everything is warped and wrong, caught in an echo chamber. Then it goes dark and silent. From the dark, the nightmares crawl out. The nightmares may have things taken from memory, but most of it is a new and horrible scene where making sense isn't mandatory.

Capitolites are quickly awoken and refunded. They are given a (poor-tasting) drink that will offer them totally dreamless sleep. But they don't have to drink it if they do not wish...

[OOC: This is the day that D13 players will finally be able to participate and on every day following. You are allowed to post for this early.]

Day 5: The Capitol tries again to take back control of the dream, starting out with a fun and cute arena with super-soakers, glitter bombs, and weapons made from foam. It's happy and colorful. But it doesn't last long.

Soon enough, the dream warps again into a nightmare. The arena loses its harmlessness, becoming one that's very much a threat. This may be an arena from memory or something totally new.

Day 6: The Capitol hasn't given up fighting District thirteen's interference but they've taken to a new tactic. In attempt to drive them out, or at least pin some of the blame on thirteen, the sixth round of sleep is set in a bad memory. It can be any memory at all; something in the arena, something offworld, even things around the capitol or area around so long as it could've been caught on camera. Essentially, unless it's a blind spot, it's fair game.

Individuals who are free of or manage to fight through this torment are free to help the dreaming characters as they will-- or make things worse.

Day 7: War. Terrible war. This is what will be heard on the final day. It will echo out over the dream world. And that dream world will reflect the very terrible war spoken of. Is that your friend over there, looking shell-shocked? Is that your family laying there motionless? Who is that in the fray crying out? Could it be the one you love most?

This dream will leave very few survivors and will not last long. Those that do, will hear this: "Know the cost of selfish acts. Consider what you stand for."

[OOC: With this you may consider the fourth wall live! All tributes and any guests, Capitolites, and D13ers who are signed up may tag in here. Alternately, you may make your own logs! If you are tagging in here, you MUST warn with headers for any relevant topics that may upset players.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The bag on his head allows him to see some things, but the hatching blocks out just enough, he can't actually tell what Albert's doing. He sees a raised arm and hand but he can't see the bullets that could be launched from the end of those fingertips. He can't tell he's facing down a one man firing squad.

But that aside, it's clear that there's something going on here. There's a good possibility he may not walk out of this unscathed. That's fine. As long as he can still walk out of this.

"You know, we can start small. Like, Hi. I'm Riley. Pararescueman, 58th Rescue Squadron. I've been pancake free for six weeks and it sucks ass. Now you say, hello Riley, my name is..."

Riley. That clicks and in doing so the text scrolling through his vision shudders for a moment before popping up with entirely new information that his so-called handlers didn't ask for.

/QUERY: RILEY

NAME: LAST NAME UNKNOWN, RILEY
AFFILIATION: UNITED STATES AIR FORCE AIR COMBAT COMMAND, 563D RESCUE GROUP, 58TH RESCUE SQUADRON
RANK: UNKNOWN
PARTNER: WILSON, SAMUEL
STATUS: DECEASED

Sam's wingman. He knows the name, knows who this target is that the Capitol is trying to make him take out and with a name to the voice Albert redoubles his effort to fight against the hold the Capitol has on him. He won't do this to Sam. Won't be responsible for murdering his partner in cold blood.

The information across his vision shudders again and scrolls through the rest of the diagnostics. Or tries. Instead it shudders again and again as Albert uses his knowledge of Riley as a connection to the rest of his systems, working new mental pathways past the cybernetic modifications the Capitol had tried to build over those Gilmore had developed. Snow's scientists are no Black Ghost; the work is amateurish and inelegant and it doesn't take Albert long to find work arounds and other connections. Finally, he gains something partial. Not full control, not yet, but at least he has his voice again.

"My name is Albert Heinrich. I am being controlled but I will not let them use me as a weapon. I-I-I-" His voice begins to skip like a worn recording. "S-Sam--fr-alli--s-s-s-wiLSon---"

His vision goes black and his voice cuts off. They're trying to shut him down.

What the hell.

Sure, he was a man that could fly, sure that might have given plenty ways of possibility for someone to be controlled by someone else like a robot but still. What the hell.

The cutting out of Albert's voice is a contender for top creepiest things he's heard and he's listened to his brother's singing.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't cut out on me now! What do I need, a quarter? I got lots of those. I got a couple thousand quarters back home!"

Come on, come on...

"Talk to me Heinrich! You know my partner, Sam. Tell me, do you know if he got away?"

Oh shit, he better have got away.

"You were trying to say you were friends right? How about we make that you and me? Friends all right? And friend don't let friends shoot friends or whatever it is they're using you to do."

The crack about quarters brings a spark of annoyance to Albert - he's not some carnival oddity - but ultimately he decides it's good to feel that annoyance. It gives him strength somehow, gives him a focus for his efforts in fighting the Capitol's attempts to reroute and gain complete control of him again.

He throws up blocks, firewalls, whatever an educated onlooker might call them against the Capitol scientists' efforts. Again and again they try and access his mind, to shut him up, shut him down, and technologically browbeat him into submission. But Albert has something now he didn't before those long years ago when Black Ghost had first played merry hell with his body.

He has willpower.

Despite his dark vision, Albert knows where they are. He can hear the buzz of the forcefield even over Riley's yammering. His hearing has always been good, but with his cybernetics it's flawless, giving him the ability to zero in and target.

/TARGET ACQUIRED

Slowly, mechanically, Albert turns towards the seating box on the wall of the training room.

/ATTEMPTING LOCK...

It's eerie how he moves, modular and with measured slowness. He has to fight for control over his own body but he manages by degrees. Two of the three scientists, the ones not typing furiously on the computer, get up and inch towards the door.

/TARGET LOCK

Albert's vision clicks back on like an old television and shows the computer the remaining Capitolite is typing away on directly centered. Commands scroll across the text box of his heads up display, coming frantically and with spelling errors.

/INITIATE EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN PROTOCOL
/EMERFRNCY SHUTDWN
/STOP
/ENDPRGRM
/PROGRAAM END
/END
/SHT

The bark of a brief rapport of gunfire sounds and the computer explodes in a shower of sparks. The scientist cries out, throwing his arms up to protect his face and disappearing from view under he window's ledge. A second later, Albert can be heard panting hard, but his movements are more normal, more human.

He makes his way over to get Riley out of his imprisonment, grimly triumphant.

It's not slow motion but he has the sense that it should be. He watches through dark fabric as Albert's hand moves up above him. His own hot breath keeps being blown back into his face. He feels heat and fire that isn't really there.

He thinks he keeps talking but he's not sure. His ears are ringing and his mouth is dry. He doesn't even think about the people up there as he hears the gunfire and sparks.

He swallows and hears himself again at last, just over Albert's panting. "Holy shit."

A moment later and Albert has the bag off of Riley's head, ignoring the muttered curse from the man as he goes to work on the wrist restraints.

"Are you alright? Do you remember how you got here?" It's curious that he would be here in Albert's dream, after all, when he'd never met the man before in his life.

And it is a dream. Albert knows this now when he'd been unaware before, but the test is over and he'd beaten it and with that knowledge comes the fact that this is, for better or worse, a dream. He's not sure if that takes something away from the achievement or not.

He gets his first clear view of his savior/would-have-been-executioner. Silver hair and a stern looking face but what's more interesting is the flash of metal on his hand. That both explains a lot and explains exactly jack shit.

"Well I'm--" Not dead. Not Going there. "--Currently here, breathing, and reporting for duty. Gives fair point to being alright, I'd say. Should be asking you, man. What the hell just happened?" He watches as the restraints are dealt with.

"Me? I was with my wingman on flight. You said his name. Shit went south. I--" Hesitation again. "It's a long story man. I don't know it's gonna make any more sense if I tell it all to you. All I know is that it's been a weird few days."

Edited 2015-10-05 03:55 (UTC)

"He's told me." Albert frowns, finishing cutting Riley loose and wondering if he's a figment or actually here and dreaming like the rest of them. Considering he doesn't know what Riley actually looks like, he's leaning towards actually here, but that could mean nothing. People he doesn't know pop up in dreams all the time, and since he has no frame of reference, he doesn't know if this is actually what Riley looked like or not.

"About you. You were shot down midflight." He says it cautiously, watching Riley closely for any indication one way or the other if he's real or not.

Riley goes still, his eyes round and distant, as fire licks up his limbs, though he knows on some level that should be impossible, it can't be real, he'd have never have survived, he'd have never have felt a thing let alone been left as anything, but still his image warps all the same to blackened ash and--

He jerks back with a cry. The sparks trail off his hair and fade back to nothing. They're still in that room, shattered glass crunching beneath his feet from the forcefield that could only have been glass that was shot at because forcefields don't exist.

As broken as the glass around is his struggling smile, forced up to be something that isn't real. "Come on man, not funny. Shot down? Me? I'm faster than any bad guy's gonna be able to blink. Wouldn't happen, bet you all I got on me." He's got nothing on him, but that's not the point.

He shakes his head. His breath starts to ramp up, on the verge of panic but not quite tipping.

Edited 2015-10-06 04:11 (UTC)

From the look on his face, Albert's not much of a joking man. He couldn't have been anything but serious, and he suspects they both know that, but the visual of Riley beginning to burn up, the flames licking at his extremities and crawl towards his face, it's too much a reminder of Jet.

He hadn't watched, hadn't been able to either time his partner had met his untimely end falling back to Earth from incredible heights, but he can imagine it. Imagine it much the same as Riley's brief flash before his eyes, all smoke and fire and heartbreak. He knows what that loss did to him, what it did to Sam, and he can't contribute to it. Not here, not now.

Likely not ever.

"You're right, I apologize," he offers in what he hopes is a consoling tone, trying not to show how shaken he is. It's easy with the residual effects from overcoming the Capitol's brainwashing still plaguing him, his breath still a bit heavy, his posture still a bit rigid. It's easy to blame it on other things.

"I must have heard wrong. Regardless, we should make our way out of here. Peacekeepers will be coming any moment."

There's a surge of gratitude, something he's not going to examine too much because then he'll have to think about what for. If he can just stay in the present, stay out of that, he can keep breathing. He'll be alive just a little bit longer. As far as he's concerned, that past minute didn't happen.

When he finally manages a breath he says, "Alright Heinrich, for the next twenty four hours or however long it takes to get us out of here, you're my wingman. Laugh at my jokes, and be grateful for the chance to bask in my presence while we outrun these peacekeepers who aren't sounding so peaceful." He's already starting at a run. He may not know the way out but he'll find one.

"Tell me what you know and I'll tell you what a great buddy you are." He leans down quick, gripping a shard of glass in hand in lieu of any other sort of weapon. "Especially if it's anything about the past few days. I've been in this swanky hotel and you would not believe the trouble I had finding front desk management."

It seems that, having caught his breath, he's returned to babbling.

Edited 2015-10-06 04:45 (UTC)

He's not a pilot, but he's fairly certain that's not how being a wingman works. But he'll indulge Riley regardless. They don't have time to argue, frankly, and he's not inclined to with a dead man.

"This place is simply called the Captiol. It's the seat of a totalitarian regime in a country called Panem and has been systematically subjugating its citizens through the institutionalized use of death games, wherein people are 'reaped' for use as Tributes. Within the past few years, they've turned their pool from the people of Panem to those from outside this world, pulling across time, space, and universal boundaries. In my time here, I've met an American west cowboy, Sherlock Holmes, a doctor from the Korean war, and literal superheroes. Supposedly this was to make the Games more exciting and distracting for the populace, but I believe it's more to do with the government having applied too much pressure to the outlying Districts, where most of the populace lives, and having to find a less hands on method of fear."

All the while Albert's talking, he's moving too, forging their way from the training center and into the tower proper. It's dark, the lights all dimmed out and eerie, and the corridor from the training room seems so much longer than it ever was in his memory.

So he's suddenly in a new country he's never heard of in his life where people preform ritual sacrifice, through use of supposed time-world-space travel machinery bits, and some sad sap named their kid Sherlock fucking Holmes for the kicks. Well that goes on the list for top ten weirdest things.

He reaches out a hand and pats Albert's shoulder twice. "You are such a great buddy," He says as promised. "We should hang out more. You know. When you can better appreciate the gift of my company."

God he misses his gun right about now. The little shard of glass isn't doing much for him with the idea of a totalitarian government waiting just beyond to nail him. They've made quite clear by the chains that he's not exactly an honored guest.

"One more question; do you know a way out?"

The shoulder pats are largely unwelcome but considering he doesn't really feel them thanks to his cybernetics, he just grits his teeth in an unhappy grimace and keeps moving. He can't decide currently if Riley is funny or just obnoxious, but he has other things to think on right now.

For example, he does know a way out. In reality, the exit to the training hall is another several yards down this corridor to a bank of elevators and a door to the emergency stairs off to the right. But in reality, it would already be teaming with Peacekeepers.

But this isn't reality, it's a dream, and moreover it's his dream, or so he thinks by being present in it that it has to at least partially be his, which means he can effect it. In theory. In theory it would be wonderfully convenient if there was another emergency door just before the turn to the elevators, one with a softly glowing red exit sign and a bar door that won't set off alarms when they go through it and won't alert the Peacekeepers undoubtedly waiting to shoot them down if they turn the corner to the elevator bank.

It really would be ideal...

"Yes," he grunts, trying to exert his will over the dream world.

The noted lack of any spoken direction is troubling. He waits but it doesn't come. He's at the mercy of this guy who was probably going to kill him, albeit against his will. He thinks. There's no real proof the guy won't just kill him some other way, under control again or having always been so and playing a game.

"Alright, if that's how it's playing, you're all we got for getting out of here. I'll watch your back and you lead the way. I trust you." He slips a little in behind, running with eyes checking the backs of them.

They near the corner and he darts back ahead again, making sure he's the first to check around the corner for anyone there, as well as behind them. He didn't expect to spot an exit. "...Seriously?"

He waves Albert over. "And they're not gonna see this are they? What about my pack, you don't know where that is?"

"No, they're not going to see it," he has some certainty on that because he created it, and if he wants to he assumes he can wipe it from the dream too. It's a strange and heady sort of power.

"Weapons and items from our own worlds are put in some kind of secure facility. I'm not sure where it is." He hates himself a little for saying that, even if it's true. It's true in the real world though, it doesn't have to be true here. Unfortunately, Albert's just a little too grounded in reality to force too much all at once.

In the door they go and there's a stairwell towering above them. Riley wouldn't know, but it's the same fire stairs as beside the elevators, Albert's just imagined them in a more convenient location. "We need to go up a floo- no. Up six floors. I have something I need to get."

A disguise, and not from District 3's suites. They'll be expecting that. They'll be expecting him to visit Jet's room too (nevermind that they haven't lived in the tower for months) but he knows the District 5 floor just as well and there should be enough clothing in those closets for their purposes.

But not yours, apparently, is what he thinks, carefully avoiding a glance back at those metal hands. He gets the sense that that would sound both low and highly uncalled for, rather than a question as to what those hands are even about.

He eyes the stares above with apprehension even as he's going up them. It'll be a lot harder to spot anyone coming here. "I'm going out on a limb here and assuming whatever it is you need to get is something really awesome."

He was always the chattier one between he and Sam, but he's gotta say, he's pretty sure Sam would still fill him in more than Surprises Mcgee here. Which reminds him.

"You know, I don't think you said how you knew Sam."

"He's been here for awhile. Time is strange considering they can pull you from anywhere or when. I'm from several decades in your future, for example, and probably an alternate universe." He thinks he's being rather open with everything, actually. He's not generally this loquacious when in a hostile situation. "We've grown close."

Albert peers up the stairwell for a moment, then looks at the handle to the door. After another short deliberation, he points his right index finger at the locking mechanism. There's the sound of a gunshot and the lock smokes, having melted from the concussive force of the hit.

"And we need to get disguises. Come on." Up they go.

"Well in that case I guess I have to give him shit for not being here first and introducing me. That jerk." His words are weakly facetious. There's a note in his tone, a want under his breath to find where he is, and more importantly, Sam himself.

He goes still as Albert points his finger at the door. His eyes go from Albert and back down again. The gun shot fires, surprising him. It shows on his face but he manages, miraculously, not to make a sound. Right. Ok. Jesus.

"Disguises! Sweet! I call the wealthy Baron." There's a pause before he goes, "So... Pistol fingers..."

"Machine gun, actually, but I can control it more cleanly than just a pull of a trigger." He ignores the outburst about playing some silly role with the clothes. He's finding that not every bit of Riley's babbling needs to be addressed. He's clearly like GB; it just makes him feel better to run his mouth.

"Being from a world where gods wield electricity-focusing hammers and meek scientists turn into green ragebeasts, you certainly are surprised by something as relatively ordinary as a cyborg." He tosses Riley a smirk, still plodding upwards.

That smirk is met with even more confusion. A dash of alarm and hint of incredulity mixed into that pot and it's a whole big serving of what-the-hell goulash. Finally, he simply laughs.

"Ha! I don't know what world you're talking about but it certainly sounds wild. You got it confused. Most exciting thing in my world is me. And maybe Sam. Not every day you meet a guy who can fly." He grins right back. Only for that grin to fade and for him to press his mouth in a line.

"...Though probably even less likely to meet a Cyborg. No offence or anything."

"None taken, though I know of at least one man from your world who's a cyborg. Perhaps you're from a time earlier than general knowledge of him or the Avengers though. Even so, your world is home to many super-powered individuals."

"And I'm married to a guy who can fly," Albert replies in an utterly deadpan tone, but there's a smirk behind the words.

The blankness of his face should be telling enough. He's never heard of any of this. Not even a little. Exactly jack fuckin shit. "So the world goes to superhero hell in the future, good to know. You know, some people would call this spoiling."

He stares right back at Albert, matching his expression to say, "...If you and Sam got married and I didn't get an invite I'm gonna be pissed."

The idea that he could be married to Sam is so amusing that Albert actually gives a bark of a laugh as he turns the next corner in the stairwell. "No, someone else. Sam and I are close but not that close."

Not like you are, is the implication, and there's a hopeful note to it. Riley could be somewhere in the Capitol dreaming, even if he's dead in his own world. So many are and yet live on here, and maybe will get to continue if they can overthrow the Capitol and turn Panem into somewhere worth living. It's a nice thought, changing the totalitarian dictatorship into a country of new hope and life.

He's about to say something else, but a hissing sound starts from the fused door below. A cursory glance reveals the Peacekeepers have gotten their hands on something to cut the door open with forcefully, as evidenced by the white-hot glow sparking from one edge of the frame.

"Hurry." Albert starts taking the stairs three at a time.

"So there's more flyers. You'll have to introduce me some day," He says, like there's a day to be introduced in. There could be. He's here now.

He does hear that little implication. It maybe adds to the things he's refusing to think about because he can't. Seeing Sam again, well that's always good. What would they guy even do without him he does know. He wouldn't want to know, he thinks. That would mean figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do without Sam.

He hears the hissing just as Albert does and doesn't need fancy robotics to see the other guys don't either. The hurry is welcomed but unnecessary and he's following at just the same quick pace. Albert says he knows a way out. He believes that.

It's all they've got anyway.

"Y'know, it's been a real pleasure talking to you, Heinrich. We should hang out more."

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