dualislogs | Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

WHO: All residents of Dualis + special guest stars
WHAT: Strap in, kiddos, it’s a ~memshare~
WHERE: In your head. Or, you know. Everywhere you go to escape that.
WHEN: August 15-24
WARNINGS: Don’t forget these if they’re applicable!

It’s been a few months, Dualis, how are you settling in? New arrivals, we know it’s sudden, but we hope you’re making new friends already and settling in well! You’re all gonna fit in juuuust fine around here.

Things have calmed down after the supposed terrorist attacks during the Dualis Days celebration, and there’s still no news about that strange network broadcast. But maybe that’s for the best, right? See, the Head really does have everything under control.

But speaking of heads…

Over the course of these next few days, yours might be feeling a little funny. Maybe you just aren’t quite feeling like yourself. Or there’s an ache that just won’t quite go away. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine! Which is completely optimal, honestly.

Except--that memory you suddenly have. Is that really yours? And what about those fainting spells that seem to come with premonitions...or are you perhaps remembering something you repressed long ago? You’d probably remember something like this, though, wouldn’t you?

It’s perfectly natural to be concerned. However, if you approach your friendly neighborhood MedBot or clinician, they’re going to be pretty stumped. It appears there's nothing really wrong with you, but hey, here's some mild painkillers if you want them. And if you try and consult the Head, all it’ll be able to do is give you it’s most sincere condolences. It seems that there may have been some complications with the transfer process, but these should definitely wear off soon! In the meantime, why not visit your local clinic for a sedative and some painkillers?

Good luck, denizens. Looks like you’re in for a bumpy week or two...

[[As a reminder, these memory shares can happen at any point in time during the span of the event, not just when your characters are sleeping! You're also welcome to have them experience no side effects at all, all the way up to fainting spells and headaches a la Cordelia circa season 2 of Angel. Feel free to reach out to your friendly neighborhood mods if you have any questions!]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I know it. See you there in an hour?

[Connor'll be there already in half an hour, but an hour seems generous enough.]

Perfectly agreeable.

[ Much like Connor, Michael showed up earlier but more closer to about 45 minutes instead of an hour, he was still in his suit from work with his long coat over it. His hands in his pocket and sunglasses to hide his red eyes as he moved to the counter to order some black coffee. Not quiet sure what Connor looked like he took a seat at a table, only then removed his sunglasses, the red eyes did always tend to give him away.]

[It did occur to him that he should have described himself - the traffic cop with the blue light on his temple, something like that - but it didn't matter: he didn't see himself in a mirror in the memory, but the person torturing him (don't think about it) was his mirror image anyway, or quite close to.]

[So the man with the sunglasses has his attention just from the hair and pallor of skin - but when he takes his sunglasses off, that cinched it: Connor gets up from his own seat and makes his way over. The cop uniform - not even his android uniform - makes him look more human than ever, only the blue circular LED on his temple giving anything away.]

Dr. Morbius? I'm Connor.

He should have remembered Hank's uniform but he hadn't really bothered, Hank himself was simply a riot and he'd remember the man more than his clothes. When the other approached him he had just taken a drink of his coffee. So quickly swallowing it he motioned one of those long clawed hands out towards the other seat. ]

It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Connor, you may call me Michael if you wish, and how may I be of help to you?

Nice to meet you, Michael.

[He takes a seat, serious but still naturally pleasant and unassuming. Or rather, programmed to look that way.]

Hank didn't tell me much about you except that you were a doctor and you were interested in the disease that killed the original population...

[He's still trying to decide if he should say what's preying on his mind - that Hank didn't say anything, but there are still things Connor's seen and shouldn't have. Things his brain thinks it had done to it because Michael did have those things done to him.

He doesn't want the heavy conversation, or to lie, even by omission.]

[ It's a good program. Michael nodded when Connor sat down. ]

Both are indeed true, I am always curious when it comes to such huge levels of illness. I am a bio-chemist by trade, but I also moonlight in medicine.

[ Michael took a drink of his coffee, careful of his claws before he sat it back down. ]

So, what can you tell me of the illness, Connor?

[His eyes followed the movement of Michael's hand for a moment, his claws clasped around the cup, and for a second Connor remembered seeing those hands before his face, sinking them into flesh as ripping it to ribbons--]

I saw an alien. Arlo Moybek.

[He had to compose himself very slightly, but despite the slightest tremor in his control he managed a steady voice when he spoke.]

I guess the symptoms might not be the same if a human caught it. This alien was grey-skinned - probably from the disease, but maybe naturally, I couldn't quite tell. He had wings.

[His gaze became slightly distant as he described the symptoms. The memories were android-sharp - he somehow recognised the thoughts as an AI - combined with Connor's own photographic memory, it's easy to go into precise detail: the black fluid. The sores. The rot settling into those wings, and probably one of his legs judging by its uselessness. Hypoxia, cataracts. Coughing up what might well have been lung tissue along with that black stuff, and the wet gurgling of his voice.]

I remember MINDSEYE - the AI who saw all this - thinking about cases of mania as well, but it was hard to tell if the victim was really suffering from mania or just mad with grief. His whole family was dead already.

[He met Michael's eye again, expression grim.] In the end, it looked like he drowned on his own rotting lungs.

[ Those claws were very deadly, but also a pain with day to say living, but he had had ages to learn to work around them.

As Connor spoke, Michael pulled a small notebook from his bag on the floor and wrote the name down and little notes, shifting his eyes between Connor and the paper now and then.]

Grey skin and wings... Strange, but important to know.

[ The pen was sat down once Connor finished. ]

So he was a test subject of some kind?

[Connor slows down to let Michael write. He'd offer to do it himself - he can write as fast as most people can type - but also, being faster at something doesn't mean he has to do everything.]

Right. It's not a species I've seen here...

[But if they all died out, that would make sense.]

He wasn't a test subject. He created me-- I mean, the AI, MINDSEYE. I remember thinking about that. He was trying to destroy its drives when MINDSEYE came across him. This was near the end, I think - most of society was dead or dying.

[ He was thankful for that but doesn't acknowledge it. Michael was quick with his short hand anyway, so it didn't take to long. ]

Nor one I have seen myself.

[ Michael looked confused a moment before nodding and setting his pen down. ]

Very curious indeed, young friend. And what else can you tell me?

[He thinks about it, leaning his crossed arms forward on the table.]

The AI wasn't concerned the population at all. It was letting the virus wipe out the population - it decided that was an acceptable way to let the virus die off as well.

It was in control of everything. In the hospitals, government, homes, everywhere. It's what became the Head. Or it was the Head all along, I'm not sure.

[He says this thoughtfully, putting together things he's still trying to sort out from the memory.]

Oh-- [He looks up.] It said if the doctor struggled too much, the virus would act more quickly and it would hurt more.

Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

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