If you'd like to apply to Snowblind and would like to test the waters first or get a sample set up for your application, this meme is for you! We've even provided some prompts for you to use if you want (but feel free to make up your own). Here's how it works.
✭ Reply to this entry with a character you're considering apping into the game. You can include the name of your character and the fandom in your subject line. ✭ Comment around to others on the meme, whether you're in the game already or not. ✭ Now you have a sample ready for your application! ✭ So go reserve and apply when reservations and applications are open. ✭ Seriously, do it.
Network Prompts
ONE: YOUR COOPERATION IS APPRECIATED When you wake up, you find that a new application has been downloaded to your tablet. It's titled "SURVEY" and is exactly what it claims to be--although there's no explanation to why it's appeared or what it is for other than the note that claims the survey is not opt-out and that your cooperation is appreciated. And more troubling, the questions become more sinister the farther in you answer. Such questions as, "on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your stay?" and "have your needs been met in a timely manner?" become more akin to, "if you had to chose between the two, would you eat your hands or your feet to stave off the hunger?" and "are you sure you are not the last one still alive?"
Perhaps someone on the Network would like to discuss what this could mean--and if there are any consequences behind finishing or refusing to take the survey.
TWO: NOT SO HELPFUL AVATARS Every tablet has the option for a customizable avatar that will talk to you and keep your tablet in order. Maybe you set it up, maybe you never checked it. Either way, it keeps popping up unrequested and being sort of... Odd. Flickering, talking in strange, mechanical voices, offering advice that's unhelpful at best and actively harmful at worst... Maybe it's even telling the entire network some things you've been doing you'd rather everyone didn't know.
Time to call tech support. Unfortunately, the best option is other people on the network. Good luck.
Action Prompts
THREE: SPIDERS IN THE WALLS Somehow you or your travel companion injured themselves. A quick call to the admin fixed this, but now you can't help but be gripped with the burning curiosity of where the helpful spiders she deployed have gone. You saw them scramble toward the vents, but by the time paralysis wore off they'd completely disappeared. Only now you can't stop thinking about them. Where do they go to? How can they be trapped or followed? You swear you hear little mechanical pattering inside the walls. Maybe you can find some sort of tool to help you break into a vent around the house. Or maybe your companion can convince you to rest before you hurt yourself.
FOUR: SCHOOL DAYS You've ended up in the elementary school. Maybe you're grabbing more food, maybe you're exploring. Either way, this place is creepy; the atmosphere is the sort that gets the hair on the back of your neck rising (potentially metaphorically, if you don't have hair or a neck). It's not long before strange things start happening. The sound of running and screaming children, doors slamming in far off or nearby hallways, pianos playing... What's going on? It's hard to tell what's really happening from what isn't happening. Maybe someone who's also exploring has some idea.
[Wilson throws his hands up.] Nanobots? Really? This isn't one of those cheesy B science fiction movies.
[He trudges over to grab the gluestick. Okay, it's not much, but it's a start.] Are you going to help me catch one of those things or not? Maybe we can... I don't know, build a trap or something.
I'm pretty sure it is. Going theories are us being trapped in the Matrix... or on the holodeck. Probably in cloned fleshforms that they can rebuild better, stronger, faster.
[He hops down off the bed and strolls over to Wilson to make a point on that.]
Or this is all a complete illusion and our brains really are just trapped in a vat together somewhere with them feeding impulses into them. There're some crazier ideas out there, but hey. I don't wanna throw it at you all at once, dude.
But sure, you wanna try to catch the spiders? Let's catch the spiders. Too bad we don't got an old woman handy. She's the one who swallowed all the weird crap. Ten-to-one says she's got the catching technique down like a boss.
They like to hang in the vents... [He's actually pondering on this now. Two in the little room they've managed to shelter in for the night. Four more electrical sockets they could conceivably use, along with the vent in the en suite bathroom. House moves back over to his pack and pulls out a hammer and some plastic wrap.]
You wanna hammer or cover? We need to block all the potential escape routes and entry points except for one.
[Wilson just shakes his head and waves away all the nonsense House is spouting. Weirdly, he can't tell if he's being serious or not. There's no earthly explanation for House's leg healing up like that, but this is all far too crazy for Wilson to just buy into on faith. Whatever's going on around here, the only way to get to the bottom of it is to do a little digging. Get some evidence.]
Vents. Okay, easy enough. [He grabs the hammer because the alternative is trusting House with it. After a moment, he motions for his friend to lead the way. After you, House 2.0.]
Of course you go for the phallic object. [But he knows he sounds crazier than usual. Wilson's going to need to go through his own denial and acceptance phase. House intends to speed it along by banging the man over the head with how stupid it is, but he'll need to go through it. The sooner the panic attack is over, the sooner they can move on and he can make himself actually useful for theorizing.]
Just smash the vents closed as best you can. [He's in the bathroom now, pointing out the vent to Wilson.] Don't knock it loose or that defeats the purpose.
[He'll sit on the sink counter to wait while Wilson does that, waiting until the banging starts to ask loudly.] So what's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?!
[Wilson rolls his eyes, but walks over to start on the first vent anyway. He whacks the vent a couple of times before House hoists himself onto the counter. He shoots him a glance and a frown, having expected him to help but why on earth would he have expected that in the first place. Oh well. Someone's gotta do it.
He's hardly made any progress when House interrupts him. Wilson stops for a moment, resting the hammer head on the floor as he thinks.] It's fuzzy, which I'm assuming is normal, but I had just talked to Cuddy about taking my job back.
[He starts hammering again.] And your father died. Or, your false father. Whatever you want to call him, now.
[There's complete silence from House as he processes that. If Wilson looks over quickly enough, he might see the telltale signs of a man in disbelief before House masks it. When had... did Vogler come back? But then he'd have been out of a job, too, and he can't imagine Wilson being so casual about it. From the future, then. God damn it.
He decides to play it by ear for now and not mention the discrepancy. His father's dead in the future. Not unexpected. Also not unwelcome. False father. So, he'd told Wilson about the deduction. And maybe he'd taken a sample from the corpse to confirm?]
Hope you squeezed her ass for some better perks. Or squeezed her ass as a perk. Everyone knows Oncology wasn't the same without old Jimmy Wilson at the helm. She had to be begging you to come back.
[Wilson finishes with the vent and stands up again, hands on his hips as he surveys his work. House is silent just slightly too long, long enough to suggest to Wilson that something's up. It's not worth pressing him just yet, though. He'll pocket that information and tackle it again later.]
She did want me back, but, ehh. [He shrugs and starts off for the next vent.] I'm lucky enough to have gotten most of my patients back.
Well, just as long as none of them died while you were off living it up. Gotta be there to hold their hands through that yourself.
[He has no idea why Wilson had departed. But even if it was something terrible, House knows he's callous enough most of the time not to have that ring too many alarm bells. Probably.
House slips down off the counter and quickly covers the vent with the plastic wrap, making sure it's good and tight. He follows out to where Wilson is and just waits for him to finish with the next vent.]
So you haven't noticed me being gone for a few months, I take it?
[Wilson scoffs, turning back to brandish his hammer at House] Living it up? I wouldn't exactly call "mourning Amber" to be "living it up. [He scoffs again and stomps over to the vent.] Unbelievable.
And no, you haven't been gone. We grabbed dinner the night before I woke up here.
[He's about to start hammering again, but he pauses first, perplexed.] Are you saying you've been here for months longer than I have? How does that work, exactly?
[Amber is a name that means nothing to him. One of Wilson's later wives? Mourning means she died. Okay. So why did he quit? Taking a sabbatical makes sense... but just outright giving up his practice? It means Amber had been more important than the others.
More important than staying.]
You know what I mean. [It's said dismissively.]
And your guess is as good as anyone else's. Time machine? Sling shot around the sun? Magic. [The last his said with deep contempt.] That's what half the people here think it is.
[Wilson just crouches down to begin work on the next vent.] You've got a problem with magic but you're willing to buy nanomachines? If you don't think it's magic, how do you think we ended up here?
Because nanomachines exist already. [Come on now, Wilson.] It's just a matter of making them smaller, more efficient, and more widely available. That's a time and resource problem, one I'm confident some idiots in a lab could work out.
As for how... still gathering data. Best theory right now sounds like a bad sci-fi flick. You really wanna hear it?
[He whacks the vent with more gusto now. At least House is giving him the motivation to really lay into these vents.] Sure, they technically exist, but technology like this is decades away.
[He finishes and moves on to the next without waiting for House.] And, why not? Lay it on me.
Dude. What year do you think it is? We've got evidence it's at least 2050, planted or not, the level of tech here combined with everything we've seen... either the military's seriously been holding out, or this ain't Kansas anymore. Or the early 2000s.
[With Wilson not being noticeably older, he's banking on it being maybe 5 years separating them, at most.]
How do you explain your tablet that never needs charging? And if you're going with the 'it's all a dream' theory, I'm shoving snow down the back of your shirt tomorrow.
I think, somehow, our brains were mapped and their pathways copied and stored. Maybe... an MRI? Maybe another test. However they got ahold of our brain waves, they've reconstructed us, altered our memories just enough to remove the memory of the scan, and put us into substitute bodies for some kind of experiment to test whether the Earth is still habitable.
Except. Oops! All of that's an automated, pre-programmed process. And the experiments been running on a loop for long enough that the hardware's breaking down. Maybe the software too because some virus or an AI from another country's broken through and started trying to take over the system, screwing up the experiment and changing the parameters.
[Wilson frowns.] So you're saying that I'm not really me, and you're not really you, and we're just... [He pauses, searching for a word, and then throws up his hands in a big shrug.] Copies? And we're wandering around in this hellhole as an experiment, totally unaware that our bodies aren't actually ours, and the "real"--[he employs some mighty sarcastic airquotes here]--James Wilson and Greg House are off gallivanting around back in New Jersey?
[He's about to start hammering again, but then he holds up a hand. Excuse him, he's left out an important deal.] Ah, but then it's 2050, so we're wasting away in some, pfft, retirement home somewhere. Or, I am, at least. You, I doubt you'll make it to 55.
As the great philosopher Joel once said: Only the good die young. Fifty bucks says I outlive you. And like I said - bad sci-fi plot. Don't give me that tone. You knew what you were getting into.
And it's probably closer to 2200, or something. They've run this experiment hundreds of times. We've found the deleted logs.
The rat chick who actually was a giant freaking rat who could talk, the other chick that's a literal Frankenstein's monster, getting healed by the spideybots more than once, symptoms when the wireless recharge shut off, the nanobots we found in our blood, the memory alterations, the server 'maintenance' literally slowing down time... I could go on.
[Wilson's brow knots together as he bangs away at the last vent. He spends some time considering all of this. None of this sounds possible and there's still a fifty-fifty chance that House is messing with him, at least to some degree... But he does have a point. The spiders magically fixing his hand is enough to make him question whether or not there's a larger scheme at play.]
So... say we are copies, then. What exactly is our plan for the future? If, somehow, we manage to get out of this place... What then?
[Wilson swallows, deliberately training his attention on the vent in hopes that House won't see how much that thought bothers him. What did he expect, though? That plan makes sense. It's the type of plan he'd come up with too if he was as seasoned of a veteran as House.]
Well, I was thinking about taking the underwater basket-weaving classes instead... but the nuclear apocalypse sorta put those on hold. You know how it is? They just can't get an instructor. I'm filling my time in other meaningful ways.
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snowblindmemes2016-06-14 08:57 pm
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I don't remember saying anything about being a cyborg, though. I totally would've gone for the Borg eye model. Those things are bitchin'.
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[He trudges over to grab the gluestick. Okay, it's not much, but it's a start.] Are you going to help me catch one of those things or not? Maybe we can... I don't know, build a trap or something.
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[He hops down off the bed and strolls over to Wilson to make a point on that.]
Or this is all a complete illusion and our brains really are just trapped in a vat together somewhere with them feeding impulses into them. There're some crazier ideas out there, but hey. I don't wanna throw it at you all at once, dude.
But sure, you wanna try to catch the spiders? Let's catch the spiders. Too bad we don't got an old woman handy. She's the one who swallowed all the weird crap. Ten-to-one says she's got the catching technique down like a boss.
They like to hang in the vents... [He's actually pondering on this now. Two in the little room they've managed to shelter in for the night. Four more electrical sockets they could conceivably use, along with the vent in the en suite bathroom. House moves back over to his pack and pulls out a hammer and some plastic wrap.]
You wanna hammer or cover? We need to block all the potential escape routes and entry points except for one.
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Vents. Okay, easy enough. [He grabs the hammer because the alternative is trusting House with it. After a moment, he motions for his friend to lead the way. After you, House 2.0.]
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Just smash the vents closed as best you can. [He's in the bathroom now, pointing out the vent to Wilson.] Don't knock it loose or that defeats the purpose.
[He'll sit on the sink counter to wait while Wilson does that, waiting until the banging starts to ask loudly.] So what's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?!
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He's hardly made any progress when House interrupts him. Wilson stops for a moment, resting the hammer head on the floor as he thinks.] It's fuzzy, which I'm assuming is normal, but I had just talked to Cuddy about taking my job back.
[He starts hammering again.] And your father died. Or, your false father. Whatever you want to call him, now.
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He decides to play it by ear for now and not mention the discrepancy. His father's dead in the future. Not unexpected. Also not unwelcome. False father. So, he'd told Wilson about the deduction. And maybe he'd taken a sample from the corpse to confirm?]
Hope you squeezed her ass for some better perks. Or squeezed her ass as a perk. Everyone knows Oncology wasn't the same without old Jimmy Wilson at the helm. She had to be begging you to come back.
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She did want me back, but, ehh. [He shrugs and starts off for the next vent.] I'm lucky enough to have gotten most of my patients back.
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[He has no idea why Wilson had departed. But even if it was something terrible, House knows he's callous enough most of the time not to have that ring too many alarm bells. Probably.
House slips down off the counter and quickly covers the vent with the plastic wrap, making sure it's good and tight. He follows out to where Wilson is and just waits for him to finish with the next vent.]
So you haven't noticed me being gone for a few months, I take it?
[Or a few years...]
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And no, you haven't been gone. We grabbed dinner the night before I woke up here.
[He's about to start hammering again, but he pauses first, perplexed.] Are you saying you've been here for months longer than I have? How does that work, exactly?
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More important than staying.]
You know what I mean. [It's said dismissively.]
And your guess is as good as anyone else's. Time machine? Sling shot around the sun? Magic. [The last his said with deep contempt.] That's what half the people here think it is.
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As for how... still gathering data. Best theory right now sounds like a bad sci-fi flick. You really wanna hear it?
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[He finishes and moves on to the next without waiting for House.] And, why not? Lay it on me.
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[With Wilson not being noticeably older, he's banking on it being maybe 5 years separating them, at most.]
How do you explain your tablet that never needs charging? And if you're going with the 'it's all a dream' theory, I'm shoving snow down the back of your shirt tomorrow.
I think, somehow, our brains were mapped and their pathways copied and stored. Maybe... an MRI? Maybe another test. However they got ahold of our brain waves, they've reconstructed us, altered our memories just enough to remove the memory of the scan, and put us into substitute bodies for some kind of experiment to test whether the Earth is still habitable.
Except. Oops! All of that's an automated, pre-programmed process. And the experiments been running on a loop for long enough that the hardware's breaking down. Maybe the software too because some virus or an AI from another country's broken through and started trying to take over the system, screwing up the experiment and changing the parameters.
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[He's about to start hammering again, but then he holds up a hand. Excuse him, he's left out an important deal.] Ah, but then it's 2050, so we're wasting away in some, pfft, retirement home somewhere. Or, I am, at least. You, I doubt you'll make it to 55.
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And it's probably closer to 2200, or something. They've run this experiment hundreds of times. We've found the deleted logs.
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What's the likelihood that this is all some big scam and those logs and whatever other evidence you've found were just planted?
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Ask me that a 100 days ago, I would've told you 98%. We're down in the 30s.
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The rat chick who actually was a giant freaking rat who could talk, the other chick that's a literal Frankenstein's monster, getting healed by the spideybots more than once, symptoms when the wireless recharge shut off, the nanobots we found in our blood, the memory alterations, the server 'maintenance' literally slowing down time... I could go on.
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So... say we are copies, then. What exactly is our plan for the future? If, somehow, we manage to get out of this place... What then?
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[And then they die miserable, but relatively swift, deaths from massive doses or radiation exposure without the Admin recharging their nanomachines.]
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That's awfully noble of you.
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