dualislogs | i've been bitten by the bug ...

i've been bitten by the bug ...

WHO: Open to all residents
WHAT: Inoculation Season, plus your regular monthly NAPs session
WHERE: Throughout the city, with NAPs held at The Ax Hole.
WHEN: Sept. 10-30 for plague shots and associated side effects; Sept. 10-14 for NAPs
WARNINGS: Please use if applicable!

So tell me, what do you prescribe for these symptoms?

Remember that awful plague that wiped out the city's entire original population? You know, the entire reason you've been brought here? Well, the medical science community of Dualis has been hard at work concocting a cure for as long as anyone can remember, with minimal results. But during the morning of the 10th, news of a breakthrough is announced is a special city-wide bulletin. All media channels are overtaken with this message, and alerts hit every citizen's phone. The best part? Science needs your help!

There's no formal approval process for new vaccines and medications, just a series of volunteer trials before it's determined whether what's being tested is effective. All residents are invited to participate in these trials, with a bonus of 200 extra duos as compensation for their time and possible suffering. Simply head down to your nearest MedDualis clinic and inform the MedDroids supervising that you're reporting for your civic duty. Participants will be given a quick, easy, and practically painless inoculation shot in the arm, and will walk out the door 200 duos richer. Neat, huh?

Participants will be warned that like all experimental drugs, there may be side effects. A non-comprehensive list of those possible side effects includes: minor appearance changes (hair/skin/eye color), enhancing or reducing senses (smell, taste, hearing, sight, etc.), sudden mild development of extranormal abilities (telepathy, super strength, super speed, etc.), the ability to share dreams (if you're not tired of that sorta thing after last month), and/or loss of control over abilities you already possess, or those abilities misfiring. Hey, at least death isn't included on this list!

Any intrepid Dualizen who comes down with a case of weirdness as a result of doing their civic duty will find that weirdness will wear off by the end of the month. The Head thanks you for your sacrifice!

Don't you feel the fever like I do?

Look at all of these bright, shining new faces! There’s even a few less bright, less shining faces - maybe even a few folks without faces - but hey, this city welcomes all types. Chances are, if you’ve just arrived, you're seeing some pretty crazy things, unless you're used to an eye-blinding amount of neon, robots, weird-ass technology, magic, and an omnipresent police force...and hey, if you are, congrats, you're gonna settle in juuuuust fine. But for the rest of you, the Head knows this has gotta be pretty overwhelming, right?

Well, since your quaint individual processing units are probably having a hard time, why not link up with another one? By which the Head means...

Hello, new citizens of Dualis,
and welcome to your monthly Network Adjacency Protocol~!

NAPs are a monthly community networking event similar to the Earth concept of speed dating! Two citizens (new arrivals and old hands alike) are placed at a table together with a handy cue card of queries to help break the proverbial ice. Ask queries and receive results, or ignore the card and yeet yourself straight into a brand new friendship! But don't be too shy, you've only got ten minutes together, and if you just sit in silence for the whole ten, the Network Admins are likely to come supervise and try to repair the uplink through a mild shock to the ol' central nervous system. You might find yourself saying all sorts of unintended facts about yourself if that happens...probably better to just make friends, right? Who doesn’t like friends?!

This month’s event is held at an exciting new establishment called The Ax Hole! The 'Hole is an indoor ax-throwing range plus bar plus mid-price grill-type restaurant, the first of its kind to find a home here in Dualis. You must be at least 18 to drink and/or throw axes, and if you are throwing axes, there is a limit of one drink per hour. The bartenders are very strict about enforcing this rule, and employees are available to give safety instructions on proper ax-throwing technique and supervise activities.

This is a family-friendly establishment, so anyone under 18 is welcome in the restaurant section and the viewing room between the restaurant and range to watch the ax-throwing action, but they are absolutely not allowed inside the range, even just to watch. In fact, anyone who wishes admittance to the range must sign a waiver stating that they understand the risks of participating and agree to hold the Ax Hole free of liability in the event of any accidents that cause injury or death.

If that hasn't scared you off yet, come on down and meet your new neighbors! Oh, and do try to exit with at least as many fingers and limbs as when you entered, OK?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Loki attended this first NAPs session readily enough. When one finds themselves suddenly stranded in an as yet unknown reality with more questions than actual answers, one seeks out friends. That they were required to do so was something Loki was doing his best not to think about, and instead decided to try just enjoying the evening. The 'ax throwing' at this particular establishment seemed a pale reflection of the gratuitous violence so common to his people, but it was amusing nonetheless.

He hadn't paid Hank much attention at first, though he did watch the older human (at least he assumed the man to be human) long enough to memorize his face. He'd directed his attention to other things, but Hank commentary caught his attention. He references are lost on him, but not the mental image and he laughs, crossing his arms.

"But wouldn't it be Hilarious?"

A fully sober Hank might just squint, disagree on default, because naturally someone taking an ax to the head isn't funny. But here? A little tipsy? There really is a very good chance someone could make a full bullshit recovery from ax-to-the-fucking-head disease. Probably why a place like this could pass any sort of regulatory restrictions.

So he makes a so-so motion.

"I wouldn't envy the waiting staff when they had to clean that shit up. But give 'em a month and I'm betting brain detail is gonna at least be a bi-weekly thing."

Hank is a notable pessimist. Sure every asshole here in the Axhole is ninjaing it the hell up and whacking those targets like Daniel Day Lewis's stunt stand-ins there's gonna be just as many office secretaries that 'accidentally' nail their supervisor.

Anyway. "Nice to meet you. I'm Hank Anderson." He offers his hand up to Loki to shake, friendly as a crotchety fuck as can be to a guy that just expressed enthusiasm to beaning someone with a blade. You know. When in fucking Rome, he guesses.

"Isn't that their job?" He was, most likely at least, being facetious. While he did, that one time, attempt to conquer the world with an army, and he murdered quite a few humans before that, he doesn't really do murder simply for death's sake. "Surely they knew what they were signing up for when they applied to staff such an establishment." He makes a motion with his hand indicating the spectacle they were presently watching.

He smiles at the offered hand and nods, taking it with a firm but not intimidating shake. He's here to make friends, not enemies. "A pleasure, Hank Anderson. I am Loki of Asgard."

"I got some sympathy for shit jobs, and this Head fucks up jobs sometimes. It has a pretty badass kid fuckin' takin' shit from rich bastards at a pompous grocery store. Kid deserves better than that." They all probably do. There are a lot of great people working their way up from shit jobs. "Never know who they got on blood detail here."

When he has his hand back, he gives Loki what's only a marginally incredulous look. "...Loki of Asgard. ...Seriously." He can't even accuse him of being a drunken madman. He's probably actually a damned Norse god.

"Well if I'm in the presence of a guy who can end the world might as well offer to cover a beer. Unless there's some other Loki of Asgard that just works at Vallhalla Thriftway." He gestures to the seat next to him. "Eh, I'd still offer Thriftway Loki a beer."

"I have some idea." He smirked in bemusement and made a gesture between the two of them. "It is not you or I." And he beamed at the recognition, even more so at the respect it apparently commanded. He could still recall how annoying it was to be constantly recognized as the 'brother of Thor'.

"Oh, don't worry yourself too much. I've ended more than one, and this one has at least one mystery as yet unrevealed before I go about orchestrating its demise. I'll take that drink, though, Hank, as long as its not the barley water Americans pass for beer."

He may have been an adopted frost giant, but he was raised among Asgardians. He had a standard.

Hank's knowledge of comic books is fiercely limited. He knows them mostly by movies, by cartoons that were on as he was a kid, by posters on walls. He's not really a true fan, so a Loki that's in any shape for or fashion that's been slapped around by the Hulk has escaped bis awareness. He can remember the obvious, having been a person that retained basic World History in an American Public School.

To him, Loki is a god that, you know, is tricky and so happens to destroy worlds. And is apparently here.

"Try not to destroy this one. I fuckin' hate paperwork and I'm sure somehow I'd have to file a report at the end of everything." He jokes pretty lightly.

As for the beer, he makes a so so motion. "Tastes German so it seems about right. Gimme a moment." He puts his down so he can go grab another for Loki. It's just easier to snag it at the bar himself than wait for serving staff when it's just beer. Especially when it's on apparent playdate day.

Hank wasn't far from the mark, only they weren't actually gods, but simply otherworldly beings from another planet. Of course, their longevity, durability, and metabolisms gave them, by comparison to humans, decidedly godlike qualities, along with their other abilities, so it wasn't a far stretch for the man to make.

Loki was a master of magic, of illusion and transformation. He loved playing tricks on people. The God of Mischief was a fitting enough title, and he was the sort of man who liked to press all the buttons of an entire planet just to see which combination made it explode...

"Heavens, no." He shook his head, grinning as he returned with the beer. "At least not yet. Do try not to bore me."

"I don't see how you could get bored here. I mean, not just a bar with ax throwing. They've got people that come back from the dead and angry robots. And all kinds of people that are probably assassins but now gotta be baristas or something."

He gestures loosely with his free hand, poking fun at the harsh forced domesticity of this world. It's honestly abrasive.

"Pretty sure they're setting themselves up for a corporate mutiny or fuckin' something." And he's a cop, alright, he doesn't want people to die. But he does not mind them having the shit shaken out of them when they've gotten used to an awful world and just take it as rote.

Loki did raise his eyebrows with a bit of interest at the information. "Resurrections and angry robots are more interesting than kidnapping and medical research to be sure."

Loki hadn't been subjected to this forced employment as of yet, and to be fair, he wasn't willing to do many of these mundane tasks for these people. Hank had piqued his interest, though. "And what is it you do here?"

"Not met the iterations yet, huh? I don't know if their tasers are set to 'god', but if they arbitrarily decide they have a problem with people's behavior they'll put 'em down. I'm uh... I'm a patrol officer with the Dualis Police Department. I'm barely a glorified fuckin' meter maid at the moment. But I've met the cops that are actually people at the department? You ever need the police? Go to the ones that have an emotion."

And then he gestures over Loki. "Not that the god of mischief's gonna need or want the cops. But you know, the offer's there."

He looks around at everyone perfectly nailing the targets. So many people way too good at this. "Seems like the Head wanted people recently with good aim."

"Define 'putting them down'." At the very least, that sounded unpleasant, and at its worst, highly inconvenient. It was interesting to note, though, that this Hank was employed by the local law enforcement. He seemed like a decent sort, willing to form his own opinions. That could be useful.

"Even the God of Mischief knows when he doesn't know a place and could use friends, Hank. I'd like to think I can count you among that number." He takes a sip from his beer. It was...passable at least. "And you can assume the same." Loki was prudent if nothing else, and in a place so many unknowns, offering allegiance was preferable to going it alone.

He followed Hank's gaze, smirking slightly at the man's observation. "Do you think we should be worried?"

"Fortunately so far it's just tranquilizing. They've not gotten to the level of social media outrage," he says wryly. "Not that they'd ever have that, here. It's all sunny fucking days even when it's storming."

Maybe he's a good soul deep down, but he's also a cranky and bitter fuck.

The next words are slightly brighter. "Who am I to turn down a god. But yeah. Fuck yeah. Anyone able to kidnap that easy is pretty worrisome. Preference in victims aside. I mean, I fucking suck with axes but even I'm good with a gun."

Which is why he's enjoying his beer. At a shooting range he'd be doing great. Best he's done here is get near the target. Which was, admittedly, a proud moment. He can also still fight, even if he's put some padding on over his muscle. And fuck it, you know what? He can drum on his belly. That's also a useful skill.

"How convenient." He laughed, an edge of bitterness to the sound. "It's as though it's all a front for something else. Such a surprise."

And an inconvenience. Oh yes, they were allies now, at least until such time it was beneficial to be otherwise. "Are there guns to be found here? My magic, since arriving, has proven...unreliable. Perhaps it's a byproduct of the transfer." Or his death, but that needn't be discussed.

"I came in with my regulation pistol, but I didn't have a lotta ammo for it. I did buy another gun while here. A revolver." One he perhaps shouldn't have. But now he knows the uselessness of death in this place.

"I don't think you're gonna find any sort of automatic beyond a pistol. There are magical tattoos and items you can probably rig yourself up with. I know this one guy who got one so he could make fire. Better they are? The more they cost."

Which he's sure seems obvious.

"What could you do before?" He asks curiously, taking a drink of his beer. "Magic isn't much of a thing where I'm from. Still fuckin' blows my mind to hear about it."

If there was any suggestion from Hank of a desire for death, it was completely lost on Loki. Instead, he was more interested in the frequency of weapons in this place, and frowns at the one mentioned. "A revolver." Rudimentary to be sure, and strange, given the technology apparent in the city.

"Well, I can make fire without the aid of a tattoo." It was his ability to peer over long distances that seemed limited, and his ability to shift. Bothersome but workable. "Conjuring, invisibility, telekinesis. Magic really is varied, you know."

"There are probably tattoos that can give those, too. I think that's just what the guy could start out with. You gotta save up some money to get more. Pretty wide variety of tech."

He makes a so so motion and then shrugs. "Depends on what you're into."

But the fact he can do those has him curious. "I heard about 'summons' and some things. So you're able to still do some of yours here, at least?" Even if it's unreliable. Hank leans forward, heavy brow steeping with his curiosity.

"Perhaps, but why waste the funds if it isn't necessary?" He nods, smiling confidently, for no other reason that it seemed as though most weren't capable of their abilities here? Odd.

"Would you care for another beer?" He held his hand out, as though to offer an invisible bottle, a greenish gold ripple of energy filled his grasp, and another beer appeared, capped and frosty. He smiled.

"Holy fuck? You can just... fuckin' Make beer? Holy shit."

And then he has to do the impolite thing of pushing the dregs of his aside to put his finger in the current brew. Which feels cold and frothy? "This is fuckin' real? Honestly my friend over there can file reports with his head but I think you've one-upped him in valuable skills." And he nods towards where Connor is.

"And uh... sorry." He tastes the beer off the tip of his finger like he needs yet another affirmation that just happened.

He smiles proudly, content for Hank to believe he'd created this very same beer from the very ether rather than magicking it from the cooler. Yes, he'd technically stolen it, but there was no way for it to be linked to either himself or to Hank. No harm, no foul.

He laughs, shaking his head. "There's no need to apologize, Hank. It is your beer, after all." And he finishes his own before also replacing his own in the same manner.

Ignorance is bliss. But he shakes his head after a real, actual drink. "Nah, didn't want to insult you by the doubtful prodding. Some people get pissed at that shit."

Sometimes people have to check if their supposedly-conjured-out-of-nothing-but-is-actually-stolen beer is well and truly beer. And hey, one good turn serves another. He's not going to turn it down.

"I've been tryin' to figure out how they've been fuckin' with everybody's abilities. I mean, the humans with training are fine. People with anything remotely exceptional?" God included, he guesses? "Take a hit when they come here."

He knows he's probably not the first one to try and figure it out. But he absolutely is going to try.

"I honestly couldn't care less whether you believed it was actually beer or not." He smirked, taking a sip from his own, newly arrived beer. "It would be your loss."

Hank observations were troubling, though, and he wondered at what level of consistency things were limited, and how. "It's possible it's dislocation, or...spacial displacement? Heaven knows where we even are in relation to where we were."

He frowned at the thought as well. In his case, it may be something much more organic. "What theories do you have?"

"Honestly? Considering that he can bring people back from the dead. I think when he brings people in? He can put in whatever limitations then. I don't know that they are, or if they're permanent. So it has to happen when they come in."

He doesn't know if they're clones of their original selves, or if they're actually transferred and fixed, or what.

"Has there been anything in particular you've noticed?" He leans forward, arms folded and brow furrowed with interest, ready to listen 'cause at this point everything is helpful.

That struck a chord, and it was made obvious by the look of concern that crossed Loki's face before he could conceal it. The Head, it seemed, had returned him from the dead after all. Were the limitations of his magic due to its meddling? He worked his jaw as he processed the implications and nodded slightly at Hank's question.

"Yes. I've been attempted to explore this place, but my range is...limited. Astrally."

Hank squints, like he's thinking hard about something.

"About how far as compared to a city block."

He pulls out one of his post-it notes. "The Head has pretty good security. I'm guessing that it doesn't want people to just magic their way in for a face to face convo."

He looks thoughtful for a moment before glancing out toward the city, unseen due to the walls of the establishment.

"I assume you mean the segmented streets." He nods before frowning. "12 or so at most, though it's difficult to say with certainty, given the city's tendency to shift."

i've been bitten by the bug ...

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I love that he's having this conversation with the voice of Surtur.

I didn't even know that and I love this knowledge

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cw: the vaguest of vague mentions of suicidal ideation

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