hadriel_logs | Event log: Buried Alive

Entry tags:

Event log: Buried Alive

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Buried Alive event!
Where: All around the city
When: January 16th-January 19th
Warnings: Claustrophobia, starvation, premature burials, all that fun stuff.

On the morning of January 16th, half of the game's characters wake up to find that they are not where they were when they fell asleep. Instead, they're surrounded by a claustrophobic darkness, cheap satin cushioning, and an intense feeling of weight directly above them. Unfortunately, all of this adds up to the fact that your character has been buried alive.

Luckily, they'll have their phones, which can function as a source of light, communication, and hopeful distraction. They'll be able to talk to the other folks who are buried around the city, as well as their would-be rescuers. Thanks to Hope's timely post on the network, the rescuers know where everyone is, even if they're not sure who is buried where.

This is where organization, planning, and a little bit of luck come in! The aboveground characters will be supplied with shovels via the armory and are encouraged to go dig up their buried friends. Dig quickly though, because the air supply is pretty thin, and by the morning on January 19th, the characters who are not yet dug up will find that oxygen deprivation is a rather unfortunate way to die.

So, grab your communicator, grab your shovel, and get to work!

► This log covers January 16th-January 19th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Please remember to report any deaths to the Death page!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Waking up suddenly and disoriented is nothing new for Chris since being here in Hadriel; after the events on the mountain, nightmares have been a common problem even if they've lessened a little over time. When he does have them, though, they're usually so vivid and terrifying that it takes a short time to remember where he is when he wakes up.

So initially, when he jolts awake, it isn't all that alarming to find himself in pitch blackness and with a feeling of being out of place. It's when he tries to sit up and bangs his forehead on something over him that he starts to actually get the sense that something's wrong, and reaching his hands up to press against the coffin lid only confirms that this is definitely not his room back at their weird house.

Okay. Don't panic. He pulls his glasses from where he's tucked them into his sweater--the paranoid need to have them on him when he's asleep in case of emergency turns out to not be unfounded, apparently--and puts them on, even though they're no real help in the darkness. That problem is solved, however, when he checks what he has in his pockets and finds his phone, quickly pressing the button to wake it from sleep mode and casting a dim light on his surroundings.]

Oh, fuck.

[This is definitely a coffin. Great. Wonderful. Not a cheap coffin either, which eliminates any brief hope of using what he learned on the internet about digging your way out--in fact he's pretty sure the article said that if it was a nice coffin you were completely screwed--so onto the next plan.

Will the phone connect from down here? It's not like it seems to rely on cell towers like back home, so maybe; he unlocks it and immediately goes to Ashley's name, but then hesitates a moment. What the hell should he say? She's going to freak out--he's going to freak out--but another thought strikes him; what if she's in the same situation?

The need to check on her quickly outweighs any fear of scaring her, and he sends her a message first. That done, he for does the same for Sam and Josh, and then opens the network to see if anyone else has said anything; the post from Hope is the first thing on the list and it's both reassuring and not, but at least it gives him a better idea of what's going on.

This so sucks.

How long have they all been down here? How long do they have? Longer if they stay quiet and calm, but even then he can't remember exactly how much time that actually gives. A few hours, maybe. The people who aren't buried are going to have to move really fast, and digging a grave takes a deceptively long amount of time, and...

Panicking will just make things worse, so he turns his attention back to his phone. The most useful thing to do right now is try to figure out a way to help.]

[[ooc: I have no particular plans on who rescues him, so anyone who would be able to do on the 18th is welcome! Until then he's available for texting anyone who needs some calm conversation as a distraction. :c]]

[Beyond has never been much for physical labor. He's not frail, but at the House, the most he needed muscles for was lifting and carrying books from library shelves. Brains were what mattered most; intellectual ability was valued above all else, at the exclusion of everything else. Physical ability and emotion were considered distractions from logical pursuits, and the children there were all too willing to put them aside, even without the official imperative to abandon them.

The man he used to be before his time on the Barge wouldn't have made the same effort Beyond makes now in moving shovelfuls of earth over whoever is buried underneath. Self-reliance was stressed; teamwork was thought of as theoretically useful, but more often in context of actual competition. Cooperation or building a sense of community wouldn't have been a priority, unless it was useful. And it is useful, in this setting - survival in harsh conditions usually can't be done alone. But that's not why Beyond took a set of coordinates and a shovel.

He wants to help. He wants to do something about this ghastly occurrence Fear has set into place. Because he's angry, and because he's tired of being toyed with by beings that think themselves bigger and better than him - Fear, the Admiral. Even L. Digging up a stranger - well, it's a way of showing his work, proving that he's not going to sit passively and accept Fear's play for power. It's something he can do in defiance, even if it takes him a long time (it does), even if he's physically exhausted by the time his shovel strikes the wood of the coffin's lid (he is). It's worth it, to work against Fear, to show him that humans are not to be disregarded.

Beyond has no way of predicting who will be inside when he finally clears the last bit of dirt off and pries the coffin lid open. He just hopes he isn't too late.]

Edited 2016-01-18 00:34 (UTC)

[How many hours left?

He's been calm, for the most part, for the last two days and a half days of this horrible event; talking to people and keeping track of what's going on has been enough to keep his focus on things other than the actual situation. But he hasn't been so distracted as to actually forget the facts of what's going on, including how long Fear had told him they all had.

Seventy-two hours.

But he doesn't know when, exactly, that seventy-two hours had started. From that conversation? From when they'd begun to wake up underground? From when Fear put them there, whenever that was?

It hadn't been all that important for the first day or two, but as time continued on it became a more pressing question. So had other issues, like thirst and exhaustion, and no amount of logical thinking or will-power could keep fear from beginning to truly creep in. What if the three days wasn't enough after all?

Knowing that Hope would bring them back isn't much of a comfort as far as the fear of dying goes; sure, it eliminates part of the reason death is terrifying but not all of it. It doesn't stop the apprehension, and it won't stop what death itself feels like whether that's from suffocation or dehydration or something else entirely.

His head hurts too much to read any text on his phone, and he doesn't feel much like talking anymore anyway. He's done everything he can at this point and he just doesn't have any strength left, mentally or physically.

Then there's the sound of metal on wood.

Chris opens his eyes, not sure whether it's been minutes or hours since he closed them, but he has to be hearing things. Are hallucinations part of dehydration? He has no idea, but there's no way that someone actually, finally, found him. Is there?

He's silent, still, listening carefully and trying to figure out if this is reality or some particularly awful dream, but then finally the lid cracks open and oh god is it actually real after all?

Chris doesn't recognize the person who's just dug him out, but he honestly doesn't care who it is other than that he's really, really glad to see them.]

Hey.

[It's faint and pathetic, but Beyond was definitely not too late.]

[It doesn't matter how faint the response - it's a response, proof that he's still alive, and it's enough to cause a genuinely warm, relieved smile to creep across Beyond's face. He did it. He met the challenge and he succeeded.]

Hello.

[Beyond has a fairly distinctive voice - low and gravelly, with a flat intonation and a very slight hint of an accent. It may be easy to recognize from the post he made on the first day encouraging those who were buried not to speak to conserve oxygen.]

Let's get you out of there. Can you stand?

[He extends his right hand out for Chris to take if he'd like help up.]

[He doesn't place the voice immediately, even if something tells him it's familiar, too scattered at this point to be as quick on the uptake as usual. Instead he focuses on the question, and on trying to gather enough energy to sit up now that he actually can.]

Yeah.

[He thinks so, anyway, even though just sitting up makes him dizzy. But oh god anything is better than staying in this stupid hole--even though it's still a little surreal that he suddenly has the option to do otherwise--and if that takes standing then he's definitely going to do it.

Beyond's help is appreciated though, for sure, and Chris takes his hand to help pull himself up. He's exhausted and his muscles are stiff and his bad knee protests the activity but he really doesn't care, and even though everything spins when he's upright he's still able to climb out of the hole and onto solid ground. Sure, he immediately sits back down again, but still.]

Thanks.

[It's just as quiet as his other comments have been, but still very sincere. As it's all suddenly starting to sink in that he's actually out he can't really find a strong enough word for how grateful he is, though he's about to try anyway when the voice clicks into place.]

I-I think we... Talked on the network.

[It's understandable if Chris doesn't immediately recognize Beyond's voice; trauma brings certain things into sharper focus and pushes everything else to the background. Beyond hadn't gone in into this undertaking with recognition in mind, either. He's used to being invisible, working in secret, clothing himself in shadow and deceit. Talking openly on a network is something he hasn't done for months, since his embarrassingly public meltdown over Naomi Misora's appearance on the Barge.]

Of course. I'm glad to see you survived this.

[Because death is a complicated thing for Beyond, having lived his entire life with the ability to see death at every turn. Death is final, or it should be, a punctuation mark that gives the life its shape. It's not a game, the way these gods seem prepared to play at it.

Beyond takes a seat on the ground nearby, holding out an unopened bottle of water for Chris, finally allowing his tired muscles a chance to relax.]

That's likely. I cautioned those who were buried against talking.

Me too.

[He remembers for a moment what he told Sam right when the whole thing started, about how cheated he'd feel to survive everything that happened at home just to die in a stupid hole in the ground, and it's a weight in his chest to really think about how close a call this truly was. So he doesn't, blinking a few times and trying to focus outward instead of inward.

The offer of water is quickly taken, even if his fingers shake when he reaches for the bottle; a few nails are broken and his knuckles are scraped up, though considering everything his hands could be in a lot worse shape. Getting the lid off is slightly easier said than done but he manages it, and fortunately he has enough sense to take it slow, despite how much effort that requires.

Who ever said binge watching "I Shouldn't Be Alive" never taught anyone anything?]

Yeah.

[It's a little easier to talk now, if just because his throat isn't totally dry, but his voice is still weak and patchy. So instead of continuing he makes a lame gesture like he's trying to spark a lighter, before belatedly realizing that probably isn't enough to actually get anything across and speaking again after all.]

I-I mentioned the uh... T-The lighters.

[It's all but impossible for Beyond to shut off the part of his brain that was trained to observe, to notice small details like fingernails and gestures - a force of habit for too long to try to break, so he doesn't even try. Instead, he takes in every fraction of observable information, files it away in his brain, and comes to a slow realization that he is very lucky to have not been one of those on the other side of the shovel. Beyond doesn't really believe in luck; he believes in choices and action. But what else can this be called, other than luck?

The mime of the lighter sparks instant recognition for Beyond, and he nods; yes, he remembers that conversation quite well.]

That was smart thinking. I hadn't even considered that might be an issue.

[Chris sips at the water a bit more, offering a small nod in response to Beyond's comment; he isn't even specifically trying not to talk, still just sort of dazed and having little to say. He'd only thought about the lighters because he could see someone like Mike--or someone uncomfortable with technology--not thinking and totally wasting their oxygen, but fortunately it probably wasn't actually much of a risk with what Fear had said. Of course, catching the satin on fire would've been its own problem, so...

He blinks rapidly again, trying to get back on focus, but it's so difficult to concentrate and his mind just keeps wandering off, usually to places he doesn't want it to go. That had been one of the worst parts of this whole thing, with the endless quiet and isolation that talking to the others on the network couldn't quite hold off; it gave too much time for thoughts to drift, and that had been a problem even before this whole thing happened. A relatively normal side-effect of going through something as traumatic as what happened at home, but now this has happened and made everything worse, and--

Okay, get a grip. He takes a few deep breaths, tucking his arms against his ribs in a subconscious gesture, and forces his voice to work again to give himself a conversation to focus on even if he question comes out a little scattered.]

Do you know if like... H-How many people are left? T-To find?

[It's not hard to see that Chris is responding to trauma with classic symptoms, and it's not surprising, either - even though he'd seemed level-headed from what Beyond had observed of their network conversation, being buried alive is a dire enough occurrence to shake even the most solid personality. Beyond thinks in passing that if it had been him who was buried, he may not have been able to hold on to a rational state of mind for very long.]

I don't, unfortunately, but there is someone keeping track of who has been rescued - his name is Miller. I should probably report in, actually.

[Beyond digs his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping in a message.]

What's your name?

[He doesn't technically need to ask. But he does anyway, because it's an expected part of social interactions, and Beyond may not give much weight to most of them, but he does to this.]

O-Oh yeah, I talked to him.

[He talked to a lot people, actually; probably more in the past three days than since he got here, but there hadn't been a lot else to do. Conversations had been a huge help, even if they'd almost all been entirely through text, and focusing on trying to help keep other people calm had allowed him to stay so too.

And okay, right, his name.]

It's Chris. You're...?

[Chris feels like he should probably know this guy's name, considering he seriously owes him.]

Edited 2016-01-26 03:01 (UTC)

Beyond.

[There was a point in his life where he kept this name secret from the entire world; now, it rolls easily off his tongue, without hesitation. He used to have many names, all false - B, Backup, Rue Ryuzaki. Beyond Birthday is the only one he's held onto, the only name he still claims for himself. The only name L wasn't able to take from him.

He finishes tapping in his message, presses send, then glances back up to Chris, gaze sharp.]

How are you feeling?

[It's not mere pleasantries; this is a diagnostic question.]

I'd say nice to meet you, but...

[There's nothing nice about this situation. But he does file the name away mentally, offering a weak shrug at the question.]

Tired. Kind of dizzy.

[He feels pretty awful, really, but nothing water and rest won't fix. He should probably head to the clinic instead of home, though; walking that far is a little too much to manage at the moment.]

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[Towards the end of the event, his feed crackles back on. Bob checks;]

I'm out. Did someone come for you?

[He sounds a lot the worse for wear, to be perfectly honest, but he wants to know.]

[Chris sounds pretty awful himself, his voice weak and pitchy like he's thirteen again, but there's a faint hint of relief in his tired tone due to hearing from Bob. He feels a bit guilty--he should've checked in on him again--but they're both out and that's the most important thing.]

Yeah.

You okay?

[Physically, anyway. Aside from exhaustion and dehydration and whatever else is normal for having been stuck in a box underground for days.]

No. Fuck.

[Says Bob, honestly, and rather expressively. Fuck this place. Fuck.]

But I'll be fine.

Yeah.

[He's been saying that one word a lot, but it's just about the only thing he can really manage in response to much. There aren't words for this whole ordeal, just like there weren't words for what happened back at home, and he knows other people here have been through some messed up stuff too whether back in their worlds or in this place. And now this has happened, and even if it were the only thing that happened it would've been horrible; how is anyone supposed to be okay, now or in the future? Even if they start moving on from this event, what about when the next awful thing happens?

He blinks to himself, trying to pull his thoughts back together and out of the place they've been drifting to more and more lately, not sure how long he's been quiet but finally offering more of a response.]

Yeah. We'll be fine.

W-We're gonna need a stronger word than fuck if this is the sort of thing that happens here, though.

[It's a faint, hollow attempt at lightening the mood, but he tries anyway.]

Not me. I didn't swear a lot back home. So it's-

[He's too wrung out to so much as finish the joke. It's not a very good one anyways. And it just makes him remember;]

-I miss going to church. I miss the normal bits.

[That, today, feels almost as bad as the addition of the bullshit does. He thinks if he could just go to a real church this morning he would probably be all right with having been buried alive for a couple of days.]

I guess that means I'm alone on the brainstorming harsher words, then.

[It's also a lame joke, but he's pretty sure his humor isn't being judged too much here. Chris doesn't actually curse that much himself--in comparison to some of his friends, anyway--but lately it seems like he's been in a lot of situations where it's truly warranted, and therefore he's been getting a lot more use out of the colorful side of his vocabulary.]

Yeah, you mentioned you used to go a lot? As for normal, yeah I uh... It feels crazy to say I miss going to my college classes, but yeah.

[He never really went to church, but he was in college; his fourth semester had started just a few weeks before everything happened at home. As with a lot of college students he hadn't always been too psyched to go to class, but now he really wishes he were doing something that normal.]

I've never been.

[To college, he means. He breathes in, breathes out, and asks;]

I went to church every morning, but I never went to a college class. We didn't even have students in to the bar hardly ever. What did you study?

[He'd honestly like to hear about just about anything right now.]

Was it just not your thing, or...?

[He's not spoiled enough not to realize college isn't possible for everyone, and even if it's feasible for them some people might have reasons not to go, or not to finish if they did go.]

Computer science, so basically a lot of programming and generally how to work with computers.

[Which doesn't do a lot of good here and seems utterly pointless after everything that happened at home, but still.]

I barely even went to highschool. I think they graduated me because the principal went to our church.

[Bob admits, with a little smile.]

I'm not- I don't know much about computers.

Hey, whatever works, right?

[Chris coasted through high school so he doesn't really judge; it's not like he put a whole lot of effort into school himself, at least not until college.]

It's not like it's a really useful skill here anyway; you probably have a lot more practical ones.

Do you know how to shoot?

[He double checks, just to have something to ask him.]

Yeah. I mean, I haven't like, been actually taught, but...

[But he's a really good shot, with all three types of gun he ended up using on the mountain.]

I can shoot well enough to not get eaten by a monster, so I guess that's something.

Event log: Buried Alive

Chris | 16th-18th | Open!

18th.

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