dr_riley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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revivalproject2021-06-07 03:10 pm
dr_riley) wrote in revivalproject2021-06-07 03:10 pm
It's just another day
WHO: Drake and whoever happens to find him, despite his best efforts
WHERE: Cave/Research office/”Severe” subdivision
WHAT: Coping via avoidance and overworking
WHEN: Post-Event
WARNINGS: None as of yet
Off the prison bus
It hadn’t been the first time that Drake had felt helpless, but his time in the false reality had been one of few times he’d look back on and feel he’d been utterly useless. The entire time, he remembered having an underlying knowledge that everything was wrong, somehow. That his thoughts weren’t his own, but were reinforcing themselves with their own will.
At night, he dreamed of a standing pool of bright water, and during the day, strange letters and numbers, symbols, words and concepts popped into his conscious mind. He was constantly having flashbacks that weren’t his. And underlining it all was a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something much more important than approving cafeteria menus and developing a standardized curriculum. Something grander than the heroes. Bigger than the city. Vaster and more humbling than any petty human constructs, rituals, or squabbles between nations on Earth.
Now he knew what it was, and that he was separated from it, stranded with no way home. Fresh from emerging from the invasive and frightening effects of a complete memory stamp. Like everyone else still milling, confused, embarrassed, or disappointed, nearby.
Drake retreated to a nearby wall and stood against it like a mouse seeking safety and stayed still there for a long time, looking listless and shell shocked.
Research offices
So rather than do something healthy, like talk about it, he did what he always did when he didn’t want to think: he worked.
In the monastic silence of an old research lab, he sat in a corner on the floor with his knees drawn up in the twilit semi-darkness of emergency lighting, surrounded by clips and cables and scribbled notes about Agrii technology that he thought were important and complex enough that he might not be able to figure them out on his own if he gave up his current expertise. A few power and/or control crystals lay in a carefully arranged pattern beside him and his face was uplit from his tablet while he ran diagnostics and recalibrated various systems on the mobile probe he’d brought back from Coruscant. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was probably either very late or very early, judging by how hunger and exhaustion had come and, finding themselves ignored, gone away again.
Needless to say, he was not expecting anyone to find him.
Green Sector Residences
He would also attempt to explore the strange, fenced in complex nearby in an effort to find out if there was any usable equipment within. An armoury. Intact lab equipment. Any records indicating what it used to be. Or maybe just a room that looked comfortable and safe to inhabit.
From the outside, Drake might be seen trying to find a way through or over the fence, and if there isn’t already a hole or a gate, he isn’t above taking bolt cutters to it if he can find a pair.
From the inside, he could be observed by the unsteady waving of a flashlight as he makes his way through dim, cracking hallways, testing doors and elevators, trying water faucets and light switches, and hoping that the floor doesn’t collapse beneath him.
He probably should have put out a network post calling for help to scour the place; if nothing else, it would let everyone now where he was in case something happened to him. But he wasn’t always the most careful with his own safety.
WHERE: Cave/Research office/”Severe” subdivision
WHAT: Coping via avoidance and overworking
WHEN: Post-Event
WARNINGS: None as of yet
Off the prison bus
It hadn’t been the first time that Drake had felt helpless, but his time in the false reality had been one of few times he’d look back on and feel he’d been utterly useless. The entire time, he remembered having an underlying knowledge that everything was wrong, somehow. That his thoughts weren’t his own, but were reinforcing themselves with their own will.
At night, he dreamed of a standing pool of bright water, and during the day, strange letters and numbers, symbols, words and concepts popped into his conscious mind. He was constantly having flashbacks that weren’t his. And underlining it all was a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something much more important than approving cafeteria menus and developing a standardized curriculum. Something grander than the heroes. Bigger than the city. Vaster and more humbling than any petty human constructs, rituals, or squabbles between nations on Earth.
Now he knew what it was, and that he was separated from it, stranded with no way home. Fresh from emerging from the invasive and frightening effects of a complete memory stamp. Like everyone else still milling, confused, embarrassed, or disappointed, nearby.
Drake retreated to a nearby wall and stood against it like a mouse seeking safety and stayed still there for a long time, looking listless and shell shocked.
Research offices
So rather than do something healthy, like talk about it, he did what he always did when he didn’t want to think: he worked.
In the monastic silence of an old research lab, he sat in a corner on the floor with his knees drawn up in the twilit semi-darkness of emergency lighting, surrounded by clips and cables and scribbled notes about Agrii technology that he thought were important and complex enough that he might not be able to figure them out on his own if he gave up his current expertise. A few power and/or control crystals lay in a carefully arranged pattern beside him and his face was uplit from his tablet while he ran diagnostics and recalibrated various systems on the mobile probe he’d brought back from Coruscant. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was probably either very late or very early, judging by how hunger and exhaustion had come and, finding themselves ignored, gone away again.
Needless to say, he was not expecting anyone to find him.
Green Sector Residences
He would also attempt to explore the strange, fenced in complex nearby in an effort to find out if there was any usable equipment within. An armoury. Intact lab equipment. Any records indicating what it used to be. Or maybe just a room that looked comfortable and safe to inhabit.
From the outside, Drake might be seen trying to find a way through or over the fence, and if there isn’t already a hole or a gate, he isn’t above taking bolt cutters to it if he can find a pair.
From the inside, he could be observed by the unsteady waving of a flashlight as he makes his way through dim, cracking hallways, testing doors and elevators, trying water faucets and light switches, and hoping that the floor doesn’t collapse beneath him.
He probably should have put out a network post calling for help to scour the place; if nothing else, it would let everyone now where he was in case something happened to him. But he wasn’t always the most careful with his own safety.
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Ezra shrugged. "I'm guessing the emotions behind his reasons from some of what I felt, but I know that 'snot very precise. So I don't exactly what set this off, sorry. We'll have to see what he can and is willing to tell us."
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Drake only nodded at the suggestion that Billy be approached and questioned. It was already the first thing on his list.
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"I should find him. Talk to him. I'm sorry, I- I need to get to work. Thank you. For ah...for checking on me."
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