oursisthesock: (Default)
oursisthesock ([personal profile] oursisthesock) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2014-03-12 10:16 am

We're Being Hunted.

The PREDATORS Meme


You wake up in the middle of a steaming jungle. You don't know where you are, or how you got there, but there's an unfamiliar sun in the sky and all signs suggest that you're not in Kansas any more. You need to survive; figure out what's going on; and maybe, just maybe, find a way to go home. There's just one problem.

Something is hunting you.


Prompts

1. Consciousness to sarcasm in five seconds. Rise and shine, you've just woken up in the middle of nowhere with no idea how you got there. On the bright side, you're not alone. Get to know your fellow victims contestants. Maybe you can even figure out what the hell is going on.

2. The road to nowhere. Have fun trudging through the jungle. How long 'til someone notices that it's been daylight for about 48 hours now, or that there's the wrong number of moons in the sky? Kiss your worldview goodbye.

3. Cry havoc! The hunters have set their dogs on you. Their deformed, alien monstrosity dogs. Do you run or fight? Work together or leave the others to their fate?

4. On a scale of one to "fucked"-- One of you is injured. Maybe it's fixable, or maybe it's fatal. Does the other choose to stay and help, to leave you for dead, or to put you out of your misery...?

5. Let's hope they last the night. Night has finally fallen. Time to find somewhere to hole up, grab some shuteye, and hope nothing sneaks up on you in the darkness. Sweet dreams.

6. The great escape. Here's your chance - whether by skill or luck, you've found where the hunters have set up camp. Think you've got what it takes to fly an alien ship? Of course that's assuming you live long enough to get inside. Maybe you should come up with a plan b, just in case...

7. But you've always been here. Congratulations, you're not dead yet. You've evaded the hunters for long enough that they've apparently assumed you starved, or fell into a swamp, or maybe they've just plain lost interest. And now there's fresh meat on the planet - a new batch of game for the hunters. You could help. The question is, will you?

8. Wildcard.
yourmove: (041)

Alex Murphy || ROBOCOP (2014)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-15 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
[Prose preferred]
onlyworksonce: (006)

4

[personal profile] onlyworksonce 2014-03-16 02:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm coming! Just... just hang on! I'm coming!"

Davis isn't sure why he's shouting reassurances to a man he's probably going to be reading the last rites, but he hurries down the steep embankment just the same. It'd been pure, dumb luck that he'd looked up in time to see them grappling atop the waterfall, a man in armor and some man-shaped thing that he'd never seen before. And he'd been sure the armored man was actually going to win, until the thing with the bug face shot him with some kind of gun on his shoulder and sent him flying.

After a fall like that, Davis thought the man would've been killed on impact. He'd been more focused on bug face, limping away above, until movement below caught his eyes. And to his total shock, against all reason, the man who'd fallen thirty feet and landed flat on his back is moving. Not getting up, of course, and Davis doesn't expect him to, but even lifting an arm and a leg is an accomplishment for someone who should have been killed on impact.

He's a paramedic. He's got a responsibility to help that guy, even if it just means getting down there and telling him lies about how he's going to be all right. So he hurries to climb down and hopes the man doesn't die before he can get to him.
yourmove: (046)

lemme know if you want Alex to know anything from his scan!

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-03-16 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
It’s not the fall that does it: graphene is engineered to withstand a mere 30 foot drop, easily. It’s getting shot by unknown tech that does most of the damage, Alex Murphy still trying to register the weapon even as he pitches backward off the waterfall’s edge and there’s a few seconds of freefall to realize his databases have nothing. No information on the shooter, their gear or the shoulder cannon. [ IMMEDIATE MAINTENANCE REQUIRED ] flashes up, too late. Alex hits the outcropping below with enough force to send a string of static fuzzing across his optic feed.

Alex lies there sprawled on his back against a boulder, a dark, almost red fluid leaking out from the gaping hole in his chassis and trickling down the curves of the rocks to the water’s edge. Assessing the damage tells him the shot has missed the majority of his life support systems, so the probability of cardiac arrest or suffocation is low. But he’s leaking lubricants and glucose solutions he does need and that may pose an…issue. Structural integrity is compromised. When Alex gets an arm under his body to brace against the rocks, he can’t lever himself up. A stabilizer gives that dreaded stuttering click he can feel in his molars. In short, he’s not operating at peak efficiency. Dr. Norton would be horrified.

Registering a human; man’s tread and voice distracted Alex from his diagnostics, his face turning toward Davis with his visor mostly intact. A large crack has formed across the high-impact glass, smaller ones forming a spider-web. A red light glares out into a slit as he scans Davis, bringing up known records.

“Officer in need of assistance,” Alex says, sounding remarkably calm for a man who just got shot.
onlyworksonce: (008)

pretty sure Alex’s scan can pick up all that, let me know if anything needs to go!

[personal profile] onlyworksonce 2014-03-28 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)
At first Davis is sure that red fluid leaking from the fallen man's chest and down the rocks is blood. His ribs may have punctured his own lung, or maybe it's shrapnel from his armor. Except, when he spares a glance away from the rocks he's working his way down, the armor looks relatively intact. It's not caved in or damaged to any degree that would explain the bleeding. And for a person who ought to be in mortal agony, the injured man's face is startlingly blank. He's probably in shock.

That gives Davis the motivation to jump the last few feet down to the ground, landing on his hands and knees and then scrambling to his feet. If it's shock, he has to move quickly, he thinks, before remembering that he doesn't have any equipment on hand to actually treat this man with. That's all in his ambulance, and whoever brought him here didn't see fit to bring it with him. No time to worry about all that now. He'll have plenty of time to worry about how very little he can do for this man once he's assessed his condition.

If Davis knew that his 'patient' could access all records available on him and in fact is doing so even as he rushes to the man's side, he might hesitate. Not because of the records that come up right away, the ones identifying him as Davis Bloome, 21 years old, employed as a paramedic at Metropolis General Hospital, no adult criminal record. No, what would make him hesitate would be the records available past those, the ones detailing a string of juvenile offenses and the ones that show he has no birth certificate and no known history for the first three years of his life.

And if he knew his patient could access more than that, could in fact access records of a police investigation in Metropolis into a string of murders, six so far, all men with lengthy criminal records and all placing their times of death at times when young Mr. Bloome's presence cannot be accounted for... well if he knew all that, he'd really hesitate.

As it is, Davis sees only an innocent man down, a cop apparently, and so he doesn't. "Just lay still," he tells the man when he sees him trying to push himself up, and once he's reached him he kneels to get a better look. To his immediate relief, the man's armor, though clearly banged up, isn't caved in, and he appears to be alert and breathing normally. But something's wrong... the blood that's still leaking from his side is too dark, there's too much of it... this guy would be dead by now if he'd lost this much blood.

"Just lay still, you're going to be okay," Davis reassures him, carefully inspecting his patient's breastplate. "I've got to get this armor off you, but you're gonna be okay."
Edited (typos, typos everywhere!) 2014-03-28 21:20 (UTC)
yourmove: (063)

I'll have him get some of it but be damaged from the fall

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-04-04 11:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Alex got most of it. Not all of it, but enough. His ability to scan databases isn’t as…reliable as it should be, static coursing across his field of vision as the database open with Bloome, Davis jitters, selecting “driving record” even though he’d been going for “police investigation records”. His reticule gets a lock on the paramedic’s eyes, slides off his mouth in the middle of speaking, and starts to float off to the left, unable to maintain the facial-recognition/emotive output lock. Getting shot by an unregistered weapon with unknown tech probably had something to do with it. He did get enough to know that Mr. Bloome was a long way away from Metropolis.

His visor tilts toward Davis, his eyes fixed on him behind the glass. “It’s not coming off, Mr. Bloome,” he doesn’t stop to think that blurting out a strangers name might spook him. “Here.”

His arm rises up with a noisy creak of damaged actuators that’s accompanied by the dreaded clicking sound that would’ve had Norton whipping out the pliers to fix it. Cyborgs don’t click. They’re like any other piece of machinery, from cars to computers to your phone: weird clicking sounds are some universal sign for maintenance. Somehow he doubts Davis, with all his paramedic training, will be able to do anything about that.

His voice comes out garbled with feedback as he keeps his arm lifted, revealing a hole punctured in his casing where the lubricant and other fluids are steadily leaking from. “The leak isn’t critical yet. Can you bind it?”

It’s a stop-gap measure, admittedly. The better thing to do was go in there with a flashlight and tie down the rupture in the lines, get back to the lab as soon as possible to replace the line entirely. Reviewing the past few minutes, plus the jungle that’s obviously not Detroit or Metropolis or anywhere near civilization, Alex doubts the maintenance route is available. What he has is a paramedic with gaps in his records that he can’t tell are his own errors or indicative of something else.

It's his human side, the one that wants to live, that says I'll take it.
Edited 2014-04-04 23:20 (UTC)
onlyworksonce: (005)

Sounds good to me

[personal profile] onlyworksonce 2014-04-06 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Davis doesn't hesitate when his patient's visored face tilts towards him with a jerky, almost unnatural unevenness, as though his neck were on a damaged ball-bearing and not bone and muscle. Nor does he hesitate when the man speaks, his voice carrying the heavy electronic undertone of someone speaking through a speech synthesizer. It's hearing the man say his name, having no way of knowing it, that makes him hesitate. It's only for a fraction of a second, a still pause in his (so far fruitless) inspection, but it's there.

And then it's gone because he can worry about that later, right now this guy needs his help and that's what matters. His hands don't stop trying to find a way to get that breastplate off, but he does glance over to see what it is the injured man's trying to show him. "No, don't--" he starts, because if his arm's broken the last thing he wants to do is try to move it, but the protest dies in his throat when he hears the noise the man's arm is making as he lifts it. It's... clicking? That's not right. Arms don't click. And yet that's exactly what this one is doing, up a few inches, click-click-click-stop, back down, then lather, rinse, repeat. Then, through some act of sheer willpower, the guy forces his arm up through the clicks, exposing the injury beneath it. The 'injury' that's no injury at all.

"Hoo, boy." What he's staring at isn't a wound or a burn of any kind. It's a rip, and what it's exposed isn't musculature or bone but some kind of alloy. It's the source of what he incorrectly identified as blood before, but what he can see clearly now is not. It's... oil, maybe? Some kind of lubricant? Davis has no idea what it is, but it's still leaking.

He nods. "I think so." Despite his incredulity, his voice still comes out calm. Chalk it up to all the times he's had to be the voice of reassurance for angry, scared people on their way to the emergency room. He uses the gauze he's got on his person, and when that proves to be (woefully) inadequate, he shucks his jacket, pulls off his blue uniform shirt, and uses that to bind the rest of the 'wound'. He's not sure how much good it will do in this case, but he's not sure what else to do.

Inspecting the makeshift tourniquet with his hands now, Davis looks the rest of his patient over. "Where else?"

It can't be that simple, not with a man that's leaking instead of bleeding and has metal where flesh should be.
yourmove: (004)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-04-12 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
Despite having no history on record with working with drones or even cybernetic prosthesis, Mr. Bloome actually does a serviceable job with that stop-gap. Alex stares up at the sky that’s almost too blue, with clouds scudding across in strange shapes that he might’ve pinned down as “that’s Smokey the Bear” and “I can’t say that in front of my kid” if he wasn’t neurosuppressed. Partially neurosuppressed. The lower dopamine levels mean Davis gets the best patient possible: quiet but alert, no struggling or panic or anything at all. Satisfied with the patchwork – that’s really all it can be, in the end, short of getting back to the lab – Alex drops his arm to his side.

“It’s doubtful you can repair the rest, despite your qualifications,” Alex was anything if not truthful. Hedging and withholding information seem to be lost skills these days. Same goes with manners. “Stabilizers are internally damaged. Balance will be off. Help me stand up.”

He doesn’t expect Mr. Bloome here to be able to carry his weight by himself: Alex is several hundred pounds heavier than he used to be and while EMTs have a reputation for being stronger than they look, picking up Alex off the ground would be a two man job, minimum. The visor tilts as he scans the rocks and the waterfall for any sign of that…creature and doesn’t find anything from retinal or thermal feeds. As there’s no promise it won’t come back to finish the job, Alex feels that they should move on while they still can in this window.

He shifts his body so he can sit up, that click still audible through the gaze and the jacket, his visor facing Davis. He holds out his hand, as fleshy and soft as his. They have a few days, at most, before that stopgap fails and he’ll probably hemorrhage the rest of his lubricants and other fluids, resulting in shutdown. At that point Alex is aware he’ll become a billion dollar paperweight, at best. At worst, he effectively dies out here. Looking at Davis’s records, none of which point to any significant self-defense training, he assumes his survival odds will drop dramatically out here with that creature still at large.

He assumes they both want to live.
onlyworksonce: (004)

[personal profile] onlyworksonce 2014-04-13 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Under different circumstances, Davis would be grateful to have a patient that's not squirming or struggling or cussing him out. Being this quiet almost always indicates shock, because people just aren't this calm when they require immediate medical attention. But no, his new friend here is calm and alert at the same time, turning his head laboriously to follow Davis's movements, and it's just this side of unnerving. He distracts himself by examining the rest of this guy's body, frowning as he goes, because with the exception of one incongruously exposed hand, it's the same everywhere: unyielding metal. A left arm that's entirely too firm to be flesh, both legs the same. At least he's not bleeding (leaking) out anywhere else.

"No, you're probably right." A blunt truth's still a truth, and he's too intently focused on what he can do about it to be offended about the delivery. What they've got on their hands here is mechanical damage, not human injury, and that's just not his area of expertise. He might be able to do more if his new friend here can walk him through it, but odds are they'd both be best served by getting him out of this jungle and to someone that can help as soon as possible.

Easier said than done.

It's a shame Davis doesn't know that his patient's weight is the better part of a ton, because if he did he'd know to hide his strength. As it is, he just takes that proffered hand, as warm to the touch as any human hand would be, and pulls the rest of the officer's bulky frame over his shoulder. He reaches around his patient's back with his free hand to support him, and then bodily pulls the rest of him to his feet, just as he'd have done for any other patient in this scenario. The man feels heavier, but he just chalks it up to the armor. Davis has no idea just how much heavier he is.

"Do you know where the rest of your people are?" Davis knows that he's assuming his patient even has people out here, but given that he clearly requires specialized aid when injured, it stands to reason that whoever equipped (built?) him wouldn't be so careless as to just dump him in the middle of a jungle and fly away. "I can take you to them if you know how to get back."

He's not sure what they're going to do if he doesn't.
yourmove: (098)

fixing tense back to present

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-04-18 09:32 am (UTC)(link)
The lowered dopamine levels meant Alex can’t express shock in the same way as before: he notes that Davis was able to lift his chassis with more ease than he should have, finds it almost-curious, and then files it away for the future. Legal prosthesis hadn’t been observed. There is the other possibility of other not-so-legal modifications. As priorities went, he's more concerned about that creature and its weaponry, then getting out of the jungle. After that, he could look more thoroughly into Bloome, Davis once he underwent maintenance. Alex creaks to his feet, straightening with a little strained whirr from the servos lined along his back, where his spinal column used to be. These days it looked like a series of interlocking black plates instead of bone.

“Thank you.” Alex pauses to consider what Davis meant “your people”, scanning for the biometric ID tags all DCPD cops had. It comes back negative. “As far as I can tell, there are no other Detroit police officers present.”

Which is probably for the better: with the arsenal that creature had, the fact even he had…trouble, and he doubts the flesh-and-blood cops would be equipped to survive for very long out here. The same goes to Mr. Bloome, unfortunately, strange strength reserves or not.

The visor shifts left, then right, Davis’s reflection in the glass distorted into something unrecognizable by a crack slashed across its surface. “I suggest we move to higher ground, better cover. My GPS systems seem to be inoperative.”

Which is a fancy way of saying “malfunctioning/crapped out/broken”, all words Alex probably would’ve used before this if he was in his right mind. Instead he seems to be neutral to this whole getting shoved off a waterfall thing. He steps away from the paramedic, establishes he can walk despite the damage, and turns back to Davis, the motion a smoothly mechanical pivot.

Well? it seems to say.
Edited 2014-04-19 10:12 (UTC)
onlyworksonce: (010)

[personal profile] onlyworksonce 2014-04-23 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)
It doesn't occur to Davis to be suspicious of this man - he's going with 'man' for now, even if there's some definite biological contradictions going on there - or to ask how he knew his name. As far as priorities go, that one's on the back burner for now. Way, way on the back burner. Figuring out how they got here and what that thing was that fought his buddy up on the waterfall is job number one. No, scratch that - surviving is job number one, then they can worry about whatever that thing was. Davis holds his new friend steady while he finds his footing. From the sounds he's making, his patient's got to run a subroutine just to stand upright.

Stop it, he chides himself. One of those hands was definitely flesh, that's definitely a flesh-and-blood jaw under that visor, and unless he gets conclusive evidence to the contrary he's considering this guy as human as anyone else. He's just a human with some... improvements, that's all.

"Detroit. You're from Detroit?" Davis looks over - up, really, because now that his new friend's on his feet he easily looms over him - incredulously. "Why the hell would anyone from Detroit bring you out here?"

Not that this situation made much sense to begin with, but it's making less and less sense by the minute. A bug-faced giant, a giant of a cop hailing all the way from Detroit and sporting the world's most enhanced prostheses - and him, the all-star paramedic. Why? What does it all mean?

Luckily, at least one of them still has his head on straight, and Davis nods quickly at the suggestion, glad to have a task to focus his attention on. "Yeah, that's... that's probably a good idea. Just as long as we don't go the way that thing that attacked you went."

Not that he's not curious to find out what it was, but Davis doesn't want to risk any further damage (injury) to his only ally in all of this. He steps back only when he's sure the taller man isn't going to collapse on him, frowns at the unnervingly segmented movement he just made, but then shakes it off and takes the lead.

All he's got for armor is his jacket and a white T-shirt and he's taking point so a man armored from head to toe doesn't have to. Even he'd think he was nuts if he didn't know why.
yourmove: (097)

[personal profile] yourmove 2014-04-29 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
Alex nods. Even that gesture’s mechanical, too precise. “I understand there are certain criminal elements in Detroit that wouldn’t want me around. It’s possible.” But not likely, he thinks, because types like Vallon would rather take him out in public to make a statement. Disabling his systems temporarily and dumping him in an unknown jungle didn’t seem his style.

“We’ll try to avoid that,” Alex says, the neurosuppression making it tough to tell if he was being neutral or a little sarcastic.

He turns again and starts the hike up along the rocks, leaves starting to slap against his chassis. The damage from getting shot means key stabilizers have been hit – he can still simulate the kind of inhumanly large jumps he could make before, but he can’t carry them out. Not without risking further damage. With Mr. Bloome in tow, it’s probably for the best, anyway. It should be easier to keep up if they’re going at approximately the same pace.

Alex leads the way deeper into the jungle, the black rocks giving way to broad wet leaves and moss overhangs. Alex’s HUD is going wild picking out suitable footholds, trying to predict what log will/won’t support an average man’s weight (he advises Mr. Bloome to use those while he navigates an alternate route). For most of the trip, Alex travels in silence, his breathing almost drowned out by that always present whirr-click of his graphene chassis. Of course he’s concerned for Mr. Bloome’s safety – he might not be a registered Detroit citizen, but Alex feels a certain level of responsibility for him until he can get him back home. His analysis programs preoccupy themselves with that “if”, coming back with a low probability of survival that isn’t zero.

Just low enough to look really, really bad. The old Alex probably would be debating if he should say something. The new and improved one keeps his mouth shut, lips pressed into a fine line, and keeps walking. The soft, muddy jungle floor muffles his footsteps.

“Are there any medical considerations I should be aware of?” Alex suddenly asks as they reach a small clearing. Mr. Bloome, for example, hasn’t been displaying signs of asthma, but he feels he should ask right now. File it away. Same went with any allergies…although looking at where they were, Alex was starting to wonder about securing food for Mr. Bloome, regardless of common allergens.