There was an accident. That's basically the only thing you know for certain. Maybe a car wreck - metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the
screaming. Or maybe there was an explosion. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. You can't can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can remember.
It's also the
last thing you remember from before you wake up here.
When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed – the nursing staff greets you with a cheerful smile.
Welcome to Wayward Pines, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here.
option one | WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES |
The hospital staff had seemed very friendly, but ultimately unhelpful when it came to answering your questions, insisting you shouldn't worry about such things, and that it was smarter to just rest until you'd fully recovered.
That was some time ago. You've since managed to leave the hospital – either via escape, or simply by waiting patiently and filling out paperwork until they finally agreed to release you. Now you've found yourself in the small but hearty town of Wayward Pines, Idaho. It's a charming little place, and the people there are all friendly enough, more than willing to greet you on the street, or give you directions if you need them.
Unless you're asking for directions
out of town, of course.
Some will simply smile and give you a hearty pat on the shoulder and ask why you'd ever want to do a thing like that? Others will get quiet for a moment, and direct you to the nearest
sign posted near the doorway of every building.
Don't bother taking the road, either. Whether you walk or get your hands on a vehicle, you won't get anywhere. The road simply takes you away from town for a short while
before looping around and bringing you right back in.
There's no use questioning things, and it seems pretty useless to try to leave. So really, why not stay a while? Everyone's convinced that you'll find something to love in Wayward Pines.
(For the purposes of this test drive, you're welcome to handwave the existence of basically any local business or activity.)
You've just heard a scream from the woods.
I mean, it could've been an animal. There's bound to be some kind of wildlife amongst the trees, right? But then again, it did sound awfully...
human.
Though all of the locals nearby conceal a flinch at the sound, they'll assure you it's nothing, if you ask them. Why, you're probably just hearing things! (But with an anxious undertone of
stop asking questions.) If you're curious, though, and brave enough to go see, they won't make any move to stop you from going into the wooded area surrounding the town.
The trees are tall, and their branches are thick enough to block out a significant amount of sunlight from breaking through the canopy, leaving the forest floor a little dimmer and cooler than the streets of town.
Whatever the source of the scream was, you won't be able to find it out here. An experienced hunter might notice some signs of a struggle, and a few faint boot prints, but they don't really seem to lead anywhere in particular.
What you
will find, if you walk far enough, is a fence. A
big one - at least 30 feet tall, made of metal and concrete. It goes on quite a ways in either direction as well; follow the wall far enough, and you'll see that it connects with the steep, sheer cliffs that surround the rest of Wayward Pines, effectively boxing the town in.
In actuality, you'll probably feel it before you see it. A full 500 yards from the wall, when it's hardly a shadowy smudge through the trees, you start to feel a little bit tired, a little bit weak. Trouble is, the closer you get, the weaker you feel - like the wall itself is sapping the strength out of you, and the closer you get, the worse it feels. Any powers you may have had grow weaker in kind as you make your way to the fence, but even ordinary humans will find their strength sapping away. By the time you're close enough to
read the signs and to feel the crackle of electricity radiating from the thick wires criss-crossing the wall's metal surface, you're too weak to stand.
Do you crawl closer still and risk electrocution, or do you crawl
away and assess the situation once you're far enough from the fence to be able to stand?
option three | PTA BAKE SALE |
It's that time of year again. The time when everyone digs into their wallet, ignores their diet, and spends a little time supporting the local school bake fair. You know, for the good of the children. And it doesn't hurt that Linda's Blondie recipe is honestly to die for. The school PTA has pulled out all the stops this year in the hopes of encouraging a good community turn out, posters advertising the sale plastering every street corner and stuffed into every mailbox for a solid week leading up to the event, and today is finally the day.
There's at least two dozen different tables set up with all manner of delectable treats, even one or two offering vegan alternatives for those inclined, not to mention a few others catering to some of the townspeople's more...
unique palates.
Maybe you've got your own table set up with your wares, or maybe you were simply lured to the park today by the appetizing scents wafting through the air. Either way it seems like the whole town has come out to show their support today and why wouldn't they? Children are our
future, aren't they? Or maybe it's just Linda's Blondie recipe.
Yeah, that's probably it.
option four | ON THE NETWORK |
Though it's not as high-tech as you might be used to (or hell, maybe you're ren faire and it's centuries beyond anything you've seen), but Wayward Pines does in fact have a network to accommodate its citizens.
Go ahead, post a network post! Just note that the network currently has two basic functions. The first is
audio-only and can be accessed from the telephones in each character's home. If an audio-based medium doesn't suit your needs (or aesthetics), be sure to take advantage of the Wayward Pines Message Board from your
brand new laptop for the chance to communicate with your fellow townspeople in a text-based format instead!
( a few notes )
Welcome to our third test drive here in The Pines! Just one important thing to note:
Upon arrival in Wayward Pines, characters find themselves struggling to remember entirely who they were or where they came from. Memories return progressively over the next two weeks. You're welcome to play with this mechanic in any of these prompts, but it's definitely not mandatory! For more details on this temporary memory loss, see our FAQ.
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bumfuckidaho2017-04-17 06:22 am
TEST DRIVE MEME
Alexander Pierce | Marvel Cinematic Universe
Heart attack. Sudden collapse, they said and the bruising definitely indicated a fierce bout of CPR. Why did three spots feel particularly tender then? Those were questions that floated through his mind as he exchanged pleasantries with the nurses, offering no fuss as his blood pressure was taken, and he was certain to flirt enough to send the eldest ones blushing from the room. They answered none of his questions otherwise, except for one that would relate to his release date, what was on the menu, and what the weather was going to be tomorrow.
When it was clear, his other pressing questions wouldn't be answered, he filed them away. Upon his release, he returned home to a quaint little two-storey house with a rich burgundy paint job where white was the accents. A nice picket fence, neat and well kept gardens, and a small foo-foo dog (bichon frise, thank you very much) named Zola.
He checked the mail box. He sat on the porch watching the coming and goings of the populous ("Good day to you, Principal!", "Lovely weather, Mr. Principal!", "Your gardens are looking tip-top shape, sir!"). There were others beyond the pleasantries, people who seemed to know more than they let on, who had questions without answers. He had nothing but the inkling that there was a matter at hand which required his attention... like a splinter in his flesh he needed to pick at in order to remove.
However, he didn't answer. He observed. He returned to the routine that was expected of him so that he could continue dig for answers subtly. A morning jog with Zola bounding along at his heels. Reading the morning paper with nothing new or interesting. Returning to work as principal of the school and greeting his students each morning ("Tuck in those shirt tails, Mr. Taylor." and "Do you have a problem, Mr. Smith? No, do you want one? Off to class now.").
Alexander took a walk around the school grounds, waving to his fellow staff and recording all the strange blandness of this place. Children were the most honest, but even some of them were shy with answers to some of his more prying questions. Every day, the unsettled feeling grew and he wanted to find answers but each step around the grounds was the same routine.
Option 3: PTA Bake sale
As principal of the school and a supreme organizer of events, he was there as the first one in the morning setting up the tables, organizing where each of the baked goods would go (No, the lovely pies go on that table over there). He kept some of the parents on task until the bake sale kicked off with a flurry of the quaint little town coming to support the event.
And he was there, chatting, ribbing, and encouraging the sales. Where one individual was being too cheap, he encouraged further sales. ("Think of the children whose parents took the time and effort to make such splendid goods! It's our job to compliment and support, which includes purchases!") It was all going so well with the young ones rubbing about with icing smeared on their faces, so hopped up on sugar that he was glad it was a Friday and no school the next day.
The sales were going well with the combined efforts of teachers, parents and children sticking their greedy little fingers into goods while their parents sighed and brought out more coin. He smiled warmly, bent to a knee to speak to the little ones, asking of their days, asking when it would be their turn to try out school and to tell him a joke or show him a trick. Children, after all, were the future and his view was that their skills were best started young. How else would one mold the future to one's liking?
And near the end, he stood with the head of the PTA and addressed the crowd. "I want to thank everyone who came out to support the bake sale this year. It was such a success and we owe it all to your fine people. With these funds, we will be able to make needed upgrades to our extracurricular program!" All smiles, more hand shaking and casual comments.
"Oh, there appears to be one more set of cupcakes left. Who wants to take them home?"
Option 4: Network
I require a handyman or handywoman to assist me in some basic repairs to my shed. It appears a family of raccoons took a brief stay, and they've rather made a mess of the wood.
III
Rumlow was packing his haul to leave when he heard a microphone tap; he turned to look at the head table. Standing there was the leader of the local PTA and --
"No way."
Pushing through the crowd and muttering a few 'excuse me's' to make sure he didn't step on any toes (literally or figuratively), Rumlow made his way to the front so he could get a better view. There was no mistaking it though. That was Alexander Pierce, member of the World Security Council and a top dog in SHIELD. There was something else too, but it was just another fuzzy memory and Rumlow frowned at his own brain damage not for the first time.
He stared up at him, trying to make eye contact to indicate they needed to talk, once Pierce was finished with his little spiel. How had he not known he was here? There was a notion that Pierce had a position here, something to do with the school, but he didn't have much of a connection with the place. Maybe that was why. Did Pierce even remember him? Or was he suffering from the same amnesia that affected them all? Rumlow had a lot of questions and damn, he really hoped Pierce could answer some of them.
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So as he adjusted his red tie and turned from the microphone to allow people to return to their sweet browsing, he spotted the dark-haired earnest looking face. It caused him to slow his walk as he looked the man over, someone who he didn't recognize by name but somehow had the inclination that they had met before. Like the continual worst case of deja-vu.
He shook hands with the head of the PTA, exchanging congratulations on the turn out, but his attention shifted to the dark-haired man. He inclined his head in the direction away from the bake sale, walking away calmly to place himself near the baseball diamond. There were too many children hooting and hollering on the jungle gym, and it would be suspicious if he brought a relative stranger to his office.
"Good day to you, sir. I see you've found something to your liking," he remarked, looking up at the blue sky with its puffy clouds. "You recognize me." And not in the way that people did when acknowledging him as principal.
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He stood, looking Pierce over, trying to figure out what missing history they shared. There had to be some, Rumlow wouldn't get this strong of a feeling for nothing. He glanced down at his bag of goodies, huffing his amusement.
"Yeah, well. People I live with have got a serious sweet tooth." Rumlow glanced over his shoulder. He knew there had to be surveillance here. They couldn't talk about much, without knowing how Pierce would react to the information. The man still seemed to have a subtle bearing, the way he'd arranged them here, but that didn't necessarily cover things like finding out you're a world leader or whatever.
"I do," he said, in a quieter voice. "Not from here. The name Brock Rumlow ring any bells?"
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Here in plain sight, they could observe anyone who was also doing the same to them. As it was, he already raised his hand to greet his next door neighbour who was crossing the field to head home he assumed. Nothing to see here, just two fellow men having a quiet conversation together. It happened all the time; he made certain that he was extremely social with all people so that moments like these were not out of the norm for him.
His eyes flicked to observe the man in front of him, and yes, there definitely was a sense that they had a deeper connection even if he had no memories to back that up. He easily picked out details that pertained to a domestic life. "A wife, I suppose? My Gloria was much the same when it came to sweets. I used to tease her."
The name had him pondering quietly; that did ring a bell for certain. "I entrusted you with something very important," he remarked quietly, then closed his eyes to review all of his known memories. "You are an efficient man, well-earning my regard for you."
He stepped around so that he was facing this odd entity which should register more strongly than an impression, shouldn't it? "Something isn't right with this place. It's stolen something from me," he said quietly, as if he could trust the man standing before. "But I will be taking something from it in return."
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Rumlow nodded, as if convincing himself of Pierce's words as absolute truth. Then he voiced the exact words that Rumlow felt encroaching upon his thoughts at night. His eyes lit up and he felt himself tense in anticipation, though for what, he didn't know.
"Your memories," Rumlow said softly. "Your power."
Not that Pierce should be preoccupied with the latter, this was the man that denied a Nobel Peace Prize. And yet, Rumlow got a very distinct impression that Pierce being away from SHIELD was Bad with a capital B. Of course though, he corrected himself. He was a councilman. He held an important seat. But still, the word rang through his head. Power.
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His power seemed a bit more of a canker sore, a point that his mind was continually drawn to as his tongue might. He had been somewhere important, doing something important for the entire world - not just this place - but the details of which were not there. He recalled Bogota, but never anything more than the raid about it except that his daughter had been part of it and he had been impressed with his friend's actions.
"Power can be regained if given the right position to work from," he murmured softly. "Change is needed, is it not? We, you and I, are the force of change, Rumlow. That can't be taken away."
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"And here I was, thinkin' I was just some coach at a boxing gym," he remarked dryly. In spite of his sarcasm, Rumlow really was inspired, though he had no idea what what to do with it. Were they trying to fulfill a deep cover operation on this town -- was whatever entity running this place against SHIELD? Were they the ones infiltrating and capturing agents? Why else would Pierce be here, otherwise. He wasn't an operative, he was administrative. Strategic, not tactical.
How deep did this rabbit hole go?
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And Rumlow... this was a man that could be a compliment to his own skills. It felt as if they had worked together before, had planned, carried out and succeeded before, though how and when and why were unclear to him.
There was such a familiarity there that he reached out and clapped Rumlow on the shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "You are more than that," he replied with a warm smile that bore confidence and assurances. "But your gym is something I would like to try some of my more... wayward pupils in. How do you feel of training children who need to know the value of work, discipline, and structure? As you might imagine, the strict classroom structure isn't for all children, and I was considering a program with a more physical aspect for some. There would be funding, of course."
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"Sure," he said simply. And Rumlow was certain, now that he'd given consent, that it would be done. Pierce was a man who made things happen, and that wasn't likely to lessen just because he was some school adviser or whatever.
"Just tell me what you need," he added, staring Pierce in the face with an unsettling amount of resolve. That unknown connection grew deeper the more they spoke, though Rumlow was still at a loss as to what gave it its intensity. He was never one to buck instincts, however and much like Pierce, he accepted it at face value.
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"If you're agreeable, I will propose the idea to some of the other members of the teaching staff and from there, we can draw up a proposal," he remarked, tucking his hands into his pockets. This was a business transaction now it seemed, even if it were also clear that they were taking stalk of each other. "However, for this to work, I would also like your input on what you need to make this succeed."
A give and take. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. In the end, he knew if he asked something of Rumlow, he was given the impression that it would be done. Good man.
OPTION 3
It's nothing that Pierce did or said; he's a perfectly respectable man. A pillar of the community. There's just this aversion to figures of authority that seems to be completely ingrained in Han. Maybe from his own youth? He never cared much about school, and he's found himself in trouble more times than he can count.
'Respectable' just chafes at Han. Besides, he's got that yappy little dog that Chewie's always growling at.
When Pierce addresses the crowd, Han watches, not bothering to suppress the look of exasperation on his face. "What a bunch of baloney," he mutters. Now he's gotta shake the guy's hand and play nice.
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And Han himself came across as a used up rebel, resenting the rules and disliking the hierarchy of things. If the man wasn't all flare and complaints, he might have actually put a bit more time with Han himself. As it was, he had no issue with the man. He could see where Kyle achieved such brilliance, if slightly wayward ideas.
He made his rounds all the same, smile on his face as he shook each person's hand and thanked them for their presence. Certain people earned a bit more than a cordial greeting, of course. He did enjoy needling at Han just to see how the man would react, but it was always subtle.
"Good day to you, Han. I hope you managed to find something sweet for yourself." You could use some sweetening.
network | un: p.maximoff
[ He's exactly this rude at school, too. ]
un: snowpiercer
You would be fairly compensated for your time, supplies would be provided and I will even assist. I'll even provide lunch or breakfast at your choice.
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[ Food, though, he'll conspicuously neglect to turn down. ]
My rate is $8 per hour, plus materials as needed.
no subject
That's reasonable, and I accept the terms of your work. Would you like a written contract or would just a hand-shake do, Mr. Maximoff?
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[ He's been paying attention in Mr. Seaborn's class, at least. ]
Saturday?
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Saturday would be acceptable. Do wear closed-toed shoes. We wouldn't want a health and safety concern.
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[ Huh funny how the rest of that sounds vaguely menacing if you squint... must be nothing. ]
I'm always careful, Mr. Pierce. [ He's literally never careful. ] Saturday it is then.
un: seeker
un: snowpiercer
no subject
no subject