Today is the first day of the rest of your lives [ opening post ]

[resetbutton]

WHO: EVERYONE. NPCs will be around to actively engage if you so desire.
WHAT: Sleepers wake and begin to figure out just what, exactly, they are supposed to do with themselves. tl;dr: REACTION POST for new characters to get out and mingle.
WHERE: Everywhere. Mostly the living quarters, but really: anywhere you want.
WHEN: The first week, April 1st through April 7th.
WARNINGS: Travis Touchdown (Ryan LeCourt) has quite a mouth on him.
NOTES: This is a serious game, guys. WE’RE SUPER SRS HERE. This may be a lie.

Shimmering blue blanketed the underground city as the light reflected off the sapphires in the ceiling. It cast its eerie glow, almost mimicking the effect of light on water without the sort of freeing peace one might feel with the soft ocean waves. Figuring out how deep down the city was located was near impossible when the air was obviously heated to something approaching comfortable, and nothing seemed to echo too far past the quiet hum of the city.

Workers made their way down the street, every one with a Sleeper in tow. Something that would have been unheard of only a few days ago, now more likely than one would think. They intended to start slow, but considering how many others were still in cryo, this was a laidback pace.

| SUNDAY | Elena: Wandering | Gabriel: Looking | Pollution: Recreation | Izaya: Entrance | Jonas: Quarters

| MONDAY | Snow: Diner | Malcolm: Entrance | | |

| TUESDAY | Gabriel: Watching | Malcolm: Library | | |

| WEDNESDAY | Jonas: Recreation | | | |

| THURSDAY | Liam + Ken: Bar | | | |

| FRIDAY | Shepard: Recreation | Salvatore: Bar | | |

| SATURDAY | Gabriel: Bakery | Malcolm: HQ | | |

Comments

1st, Sunday

[resetbutton]

The guard force kept on top of things today, setting up rooms, issuing identities and assigning workplaces for the Sleepers that were to be woken up. Many would be left in their rooms to mull over the minimal information dump they had just received, free to leave and explore if they wished or to just stay inside and process. There was nothing to stop them from doing either or finding a third option.

No matter what anyone chose, a bulletin message soon forced its way onto all the terminals in the Cave. Dead screens hummed to life, making sure anyone who was anywhere had the chance to see it:

Good morning, Sleepers! Have a nice nap? I hope so, because there are a few things we need to go over now that you’re conscious. Seriously, take the time to read this and save all of us a few headaches.

1. Murder is still against the law. Whatever twisted reasoning you’ve got going on in your head, you might think that only counted in your dreams. It doesn’t. Don’t even dare try it. We will catch you and you will be punished.
2. Pay attention to curfew. If the lights dim and go all kind of amber-like? You’re out too late. Only authorized personnel are allowed out After Hours. If you are caught, you will be escorted back to your quarters and given a warning.
3. Your dreams are not real. This one is hard for a lot of people. Trust me. I know. That doesn’t mean you should act on anything you think you might know from them. Chances are only the most common of sense still holds true here (which doesn’t include your names). If you insist that your dreams are real and try to force this opinion on others, the guard force will act.
4. Don’t forget your ID. If you haven’t found it yet, it should be next to your bed inside your quarters. These are necessary to get into many major establishments around here, including your own rooms. Try not to lock yourselves out.

That said, we’re all in this thing together and I’m here to help you. If you have questions or need clarification on any point, reply to this bulletin and I’ll get back to you at my earliest convenience.
- Rep. Anselmo, Guard Force

[ Note: Any in-person reactions to this message should go in this comment. Questions to Thomas Anselmo should go on the post in the network comm. Thanks! ]

[hisprecious]

A dream. Just a dream. It sounded like something right out of a horror movie, where the ending was that the protagonist was just dreaming everything. And when he woke up, everything was normal and he lived happily ever after. Instead, Elena got this. From vampirism and Salvatores to some post-apocalyptic world with a life that she didn't even remember.

She looked down at the diary in her hands; the one she'd been reading through for a good part of the last hour, and still wasn't done. It was her handwriting, and the pictures in it were of her, but she had no memory of writing any of it and she didn't live that life either. She never survived past sixteen, and she sure as hell wasn't an only child. But facts were facts. And facts were, Elena could stand in the sun without being burned. She was human again, pure and simple.

As much as Elena would've loved to take this new life and hold it to herself and maybe somehow she would mold into it, a part of herself just couldn't accept it. Because she had been less than (or more than, depending on who you asked) human, and she couldn't shake off that now-present feeling of being smaller than she felt. It just didn't... feel right.

It was like someone offering her water in the middle of miles of desert all around; just a mirage.

Elena stood up from the bed and brushed herself off. It was highly unlikely that she was going to find answers to any of her questions here. Maybe if she found some more people in the same situation as her, they could bond or... something.

She wandered out into the hallways, only just remembering to bring her ID with her. If she walked around, she was bound to find someone who was just as confused. Or better yet, maybe she would bump into someone that Chloe had written about in her diary that could shed some light on things. Though the chances of them also having survived seemed dismal.

is this okay? (besides the poor quality--good lord it's late)

[herocycle]

Snow, meanwhile, had spent half of the morning pacing his condo (distractedly enough that he still couldn't even tell you what color the walls were) and the other half on the couch with his forehead in his palms in a valiant but ultimately doomed attempt to clear his head.

When he'd headed out into the halls, he'd had no set destination in mind. Just get out of that condo. Honestly, it a half bad place to live--it was better than what he'd had back home, that was for sure--but he couldn't shake that 'prison cell' vibe. You can put a dress on a monkey but it's still going to be a monkey, no matter what you try to call it. And this had 'prisoner' written all over it.

In theory, the more ground he covered, the less confined he'd feel. Not that it would help clear his head too much. In fact, he was lost enough in thought that he wasn't exactly watching where he was going, and narrowly dodged bumping straight into Elena.

"Hey, sorry about that." He flashed a sheepish grin, despite that grinning was kind of one of the last things he was in the mood for at that point. It wasn't not her fault he was stuck there (he was pretty sure, anyway), so she wasn't going to have to deal with his less-than-spectacular mood.

[perpend]

Cabanela wasn't quite ready to agree with the "everything had been a dream" thing. Sure, it would explain a whole lot, but he didn't believe it for one second. Sure, he was going to pretend he did. It was for the best, after all. And, hey, that photograph was pretty damning proof. He didn't recognize any of the people in the photograph, but there was a twinge of something that he felt seeing them all standing there with him. Maybe it was remembering his own group from the real world. Or, the dream world. That was going to be a bit confusing.

After a moment left in his own thoughts, he pocketed the photograph carefully. If this was a mix-up with some sort of doppelganger, he was interested in preserving the memory of these folks who adored Dillon Hays. 150 years was a long time. Unless they had survived as sleepers, too, they had probably...

But he was brought out of his thoughts when he saw the young girl. She and Lynne were probably around the same age. "Hey," he said in a fatherly voice. "You need some company?"

[trickntreats]

The whole way to his quarters, Gabriel had stared at the back of the mook's head, eyes narrowed, and snapped his fingers. Once every thirty seconds, exactly. Except when he made it on the minute every five (or seven) snaps. He was fairly certain the man had developed a twitch before he was left alone, which was about the only kind of satisfaction Gabriel could currently get. Especially given the photograph the mook pointed out before he left.

Once alone, the archangel looked skywards and shouted at the ceiling: "Is there a point to this? Because if this is meant to be some reward for finally sticking up for humanity, I can think of better things! Like maybe those seventy-two virgins!"

There was no answer, of course. It would have been nice, but Gabriel couldn't really say he was surprised. Dad hadn't talked to anyone except Joshua and, indirectly, Castiel and the Winchesters, in at least a century.

The room was too small. He was so much less than he should have been--he'd felt disorientated on waking up. Disorientated! An archangel!--and yet the room felt tiny. He prowled once around the edges before deciding no, he wasn't going to stay, and left. Obviously the first thing to do was to look for metaphysical cracks in reality. There wouldn't be any if this really was Dad's work, of course, but maybe it was Lucifer's, in which case there might possibly be something.

Which was why, not five minutes later, people would walk down the street to see a brown-haired man poking at locked doorways, prodding far too hard at the terminal screens, snapping his fingers (then scowling when nothing happened) and, on occasion, looking up at the ceiling to shout, "This isn't funny, you know!"

[oilyhands]

White watched the recording he was given about a dozen times, at first trying to make sense of why someone would claim he was actually an artist who had imagined being Pollution, and then focusing on what he could see of this Neil Mathis' work. At least his false self had good taste.

That could only provide so much distraction, though, so he clipped on his ID badge and started to wander, no clear destination in mind. He stopped at one of the first terminals he came across, frowning as he read the message, but quickly moving on.

Eventually, he ended up at the rec hall. The pool held no interest at all (yes, the smell of chlorine was refreshing, but the idea of willingly entering a body of water right now was revolting), so he headed upstairs, finding a touch screen in the games room and attempting to see if it could do anything more interesting than re-rack the billiard table.

So late, and this sucks a bit, but here we are!

[knifedances]

He'd allowed himself to be led to his designated condo with uncharacteristic - and entirely false - docility; he may have felt disorientated and confused, but he had never been the kind of person to panic in the face of an unknown situation, he hadn't survived as long as he had, moving within the circles he did, by letting his emotions get the better of him.

At least, he remembered never being that kind of person, regardless of the Worker's assertion that he was - in fact - someone else.

He was feeling a little unsettled certainly, but he kept it tightly under control, presenting a relaxed and casual demeanor to the Worker who'd offered him their paltry explanation before showing him to his living quarters. Once there, he'd examined the rooms he'd been accorded carefully for any clues they could offer him, of which there were - unsurprisingly - very few. He'd located the degree certificate and it's accompanying photograph, a photograph which very clearly depicted him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to believe that what he'd been told was true. Some elaborate hoax perhaps, though why anyone would go to such lengths to make him believe something like this was - for the moment - beyond him.

It hadn't taken him long to become restless, for the desire to leave the condo and to more thoroughly acquaint himself with his 'new' surroundings to set in; he needed more answers than those he had been given, and he wasn't going to receive them sitting around doing nothing. And so he'd slipped out into the underground city and it's unpleasant sense of stillness - he was accustomed to the constant throb and bustle of Tokyo, as far as he could recall - carefully familiarising himself with his surroundings and with any places of note.

And now he was standing not so very far from the cave's exit-point, idly contemplating what he might find where he to attempt to slip out of here unnoticed.

Living Quarters

[littlealienguy]

The accommodations weren't so bad in Jonas' opinion but then, he'd spent a good amount of time in the last year in a room much like this one. And well, a mountain wasn't much different then a cave now was it? At least this time, Jonas knew he'd eventually be allowed to go outside and explore this new world. He had an ID and everything. That was definitely an improvement.

Yes, he'd rather be back at the SGC, stuck in a mountain and all, but this wasn't the worst thing he could imagine.

While a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jack kept reminding him in that back of his brain that this very well could be a goa'ould or replicator plot, Jonas was willing to at least explore the place and give the dream theory a shot before completely shutting it down. He honestly didn't know what to make of the recorder he'd found in his room with his own voice, but in a different accent.

After exploring his room and making an effort to get used to the new surroundings, Jonas pocked his head out the door before stepping out to see if he could meet any of his new neighbors. Worst came to worst, he could go start exploring the cave.

[oilyhands]

Having done as much wandering as he could tolerate at the moment (it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his eyes and legs were starting to feel suspiciously heavy, or that the idea of sitting down somewhere was sounding better and better), White headed back for the condo that had been designated as "his". Or, well, Neil Mathis', which was close enough for now.

2nd, Monday

[resetbutton]

Outside of the hospital were two men, one of which who looked as if he didn’t want to deal with this right now while the other ignored his companion’s reaction to him and looked all too eager to see him.

“You’ll do this for me, right, Michael?” The eager one stared at him with an imploring look that bordered on being downright pathetic. Pulling a coin out of one of his pockets, Arthur flipped it up into the air and caught it with ease before showing off the large silver coin to Michael. “Look, I’ll ask you for only five tosses this time and then I’ll get back to work. If we’re quick about it, nobody will even know that I’m gone.”

The first response Michael gave to him was a slight jerk of his head upwards back towards the hospital. “The guard force knows. The Chief won’t be happy to hear you skipped out of work again, especially since the Sleepers are awake now. You need to behave or you’ll get sent to rehab, Arthur.”

“I am behaving,” he replied with a wave his hand, appearing unbothered by what Michael said. “All I’m doing is visiting a friend while on my break and asking him to play a little game of predict the coin toss. And even if I wasn’t on break, everything’s under control at the supply depot.”

The look Michael gave him showed that he didn’t really believe Arthur, but he heaved a resigned sigh and didn’t argue against it. “Only five tosses and you have to help me.”

“I can do that. Let me grab someone to watch so we don’t accidentally mess up the results,” he replied with a grin, looking way too excited about doing this.

in a diner [since the mods said it was kosher to just throw him wherever]

[herocycle]

Snow had always been a lateral thinker. He'd charge in, guns blazing, and fix the problem no matter what it took. That made his current situation especially difficult to wrap his head around. It's pretty difficult to charge in when there's nowhere to charge. Or rather, plenty of places to charge but nowhere to actually get something solved.

He barely grabbed his ID on the way out, and not for lack of remembering. Conforming to rules and regulations had never been his style, and it sure seemed like there were plenty of both here. Too many of both. Too many of both, and too much else to think about, or to try not to think about. This was the first time since he could remember that a situation has ever literally been too much. Even when Serah turned to crystal, he still had something to fight for, to work toward. Now? Now he was a prisoner, there was no other way to put it. And what he really honest-to-Maker wanted to do was to walk right up to the man behind that network message, introduce himself as Snow Villiers from Cocoon, and give this guy a piece of his mind.

Somewhere between his room and that man, though, his path had inadvertently shifted somehow (he still can't figure out whether or not he'd meant to), and Monday afternoon found him sitting on a stool at the first place that smelled anything like food and staring at a sandwich made of some sort of meat and what looked like pickles. And a milkshake. Somehow, he'd thought he'd feel a little better if he had a milkshake.

cave entrance

[tactical_alert]

The cave was rather large, but Malcolm made it a priority to locate all of the prominent areas. Like, for instance, the way out. He did not expect, of course, to just be able to wander out as he pleased, but giving it a look over would at least tell him something. Sure, it was a bit of a hike, but hardly something he couldn't handle (even with a near sleepless night before).

Perhaps he might even get a glimpse of what was out there. Might give him some frame of reference. Might even get some fresh air, who could tell?

3rd, Tuesday

[resetbutton]

Early morning, whether they were still in their quarters or out exploring, Sleepers might be privileged enough to look up toward the highly prismatic ceiling of the Cave. If they did, they would catch sight of what appeared to be a gigantic, mutated bat swooping in and around an area central of the Cave. Those with good eyes (or the foresight to find binoculars) might have noticed that three people were located on top of a tall building nearby, one sitting on the edge while another seemed to be wielding a megaphone.

More than that, they might catch sight of the red-clad figure riding the humongous bat around.

To those who would recognize the voice, Thomas Anselmo found himself yelling over his borrowed megaphone to try and communicate with the daredevil. Calling Thomas irritated or exasperated wouldn’t begin to cover the emotion in his voice. “Dammit, Ryan, get the hell off that thing!”

Over the wind, the whooping, hollering and all the swooping about, Thomas was fairly sure he heard Ryan yell back, “Hell no!” He could easily imagine how LeCourt would have loved to flip him the bird right about now, but even Ryan had enough sense to not risk his grip — falling from this height would not be as “awesome” as continuing to ride a mutant bat. “I am on a bat, motherfucker!”

... then again, it might be in the Sleepers’ best interest to ignore the goings on to deal with their own issues first...

[trickntreats]

Let it never be said that Gabriel did what was in his best interest. In fact, he was currently sitting on a nearby outcrop of rock/wall (he wasn't sure what it was meant to be, except it was flanking a building and possibly being used as a natural divider), kicking his legs and watching the bat swoop.

"What I wouldn't give for some popcorn," he murmured, snapping his fingers absently without lifting his hand where he was leaning on it. Nothing happened. Not that he was surprised. He kept trying, naturally, but nothing ever happened. He'd start worrying when he started getting used to not using it for the tiniest thing (like turning on the lights).

Bit concerning, really, but since he was decently sure this was all cooked up by Dad--come on, He had created Gabriel; what other kind of afterlife-slash-second chance would He cook up for him?--the archangel was willing to bide his time. Sort of. For now.

He didn't have a microphone, but he still managed to make his voice carry. Only, it was Anselmo's voice. Mostly. (There were minor differences, of course, almost impossible to detect without an excellent ear or equipment. Gabriel could hear them because he could tell how imperfect the imitation was--but give him a break, will you, he's only human nowadays. Apparently. For the moment.) "Yes, Ryan, get the Hell off that thing! Give someone else a go!"

library

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm had to admit, the inclusion of a library in the cave system did take him be delightful surprise. The most important thing for now, he figured, was to gather information the old fashioned way. Reading history. If nothing else, it would at least provide him with some entertainment, but hopefully he'd be able to understand this world--assuming the information was accurate. He couldn't be sure of that, but he'd roll with said assumption for now. And reading at the terminals meant he wasn't stuck in his quarters. Nice enough, he supposed, but something about it made him feel more trapped than anywhere else.

4th, Wednesday

[resetbutton]

The supply depot was a frenzy of activity today, people entering and exiting the building with boxes of fresh supplies going in and empty boxes coming out. It was the depot’s day to resupply each week, which explained why everything seemed to be running like clockwork despite the higher amount of activity than normal there. Next to the door was Arthur, fedora pulled down to obscure part of his face so he could hide whenever he decided to nap in between shipments coming in. He had a clipboard and pen in hand and when one of his men came by with a box of supplies, Arthur would tilt his fedora back and write down a note onto his clipboard.

“Come on, we need to pick up the pace so the Sleepers can get their rations today at a decent time.”

One of the Workers stopped and glared over at Arthur. “If you want us to work faster, it would help if you actually did something to help us.”

“I am helping,” replied Arthur as he held up the clipboard to wave at the Worker he was talking to. “If I wasn’t doing this, we’d have to do inventory afterwards and that would take up more time we can’t afford to lose. We don’t need the suits coming down on us for being late.”

There was a collective groan from all of the Workers nearby at that and the one that had previously talked to Arthur picked up another box and walked over to him. “Don’t drag us into your petty squabbling. We have enough supplies unpacked that we can let the Sleepers come in and get their rations for the next few days.” Balancing the box in hand carefully, the Worker grabbed the clipboard from Arthur, who protested only slightly. “You can go deal with the Sleepers and we’ll take care of this. The suits will never know that we’re not done yet.”

Arthur gave the Worker a grin and adjusted the fedora on his head. He really did have the best people working for him.

Rec Hall

[littlealienguy]

While there was no way Jonas considered himself athletic at all, he'd gotten used to a certain level of activity with SG-1 and after a few days, he was actually missing it. So he took it upon himself to search out a gym or some other facility. He knew he could just go for a run but he figured now was the time to search, while it was on his mind.

And find one he did. Not only was there a gym facility but a pool and a gamers room as well, with many of the games he'd seen in the SGC break rooms. While he'd come with the intent for a workout, he couldn't resist the call of the billiards table and soon had the balls racked up and ready to go. It would have been nicer to have someone to play with, but until then, Jonas was content to play by himself.

5th, Thursday

[resetbutton]

Thursday afternoon found both Thomas and Delilah outside the guard force HQ. Doing what, you may ask? Having lunch. It wasn’t a spectacular affair, but after the rush of Sleepers and activity in the Cave, seeing some of the more prominent Workers out and about suddenly became more noticeable.

“—which means I still have no idea what happened,” admitted Thomas, voice wavering between resignation and determination. He paused in his story to reach over the table, fingers wiggling before nabbing a hand of the girl’s french fries (while his other hand covertly replaced them with two onion rings from his own plate), and chewed in thought. “Do you?”

“No,” Delilah replied as she glanced at Thomas’ fry stealing and reached over to take his onion rings. She wasn’t really bothered by either their topic of conversation or the fry stealing, paying more attention to the doll she kept squeezed in her arm as she ate one of the onion rings. “You could always ask the Caretaker if you’re so worried about it.”

Thomas laughed out loud, leaning back into his seat in a sudden act of nonchalance. “No way. He’s just as busy as the rest of us—if not more—and I’m not about to admit I can’t figure something like this out.” He waved a hand up by his head before reaching for more fries. “Just give me more time. Though it would sure help if I knew how all the non-personnel data here was indexed,” he mused to himself.

The Bar

[inequal]

In the end, it was the search for food that finally got Liam and Ken to leave their quarters. Their provided rations had only lasted three days, forcing them to leave and get more on the fourth. They obviously hadn't had enough of each other by then, considering the handholding and gentle shoulder-bumping and pretty much all the sappiness that could be expected of a couple only now able to touch each other after fifty-five years of going mostly without. (One of them previously being a ghost had something to do with it.) They had spent the rest of the day exploring, speaking quietly of things that really held no consequence: opinions on architecture; the temperature of the Cave; even down to the colour scheme of the guard force's outfits. It didn't matter what they were saying.

They found the bar only moments before After Hours kicked into effect, giving them very little time to take a look around what was supposedly their own domain. Tomorrow, they had decided, they would come back.

Tomorrow came quickly and the two returned to the bar. It wasn't anything terribly impressive, to Liam's dismay, but it would serve its purpose. He made the mental note to keep an eye on Ken as he always did, then began wandering around, running his hands over various surfaces to see if there were any secrets to discover hidden amongst the rest of the automated machinations.

It was that, or sit around waiting for anyone else to come in while trying to remember how to breathe. Liam found it easier to let instinct take over rather than stop and think on it. That was when he tripped himself up.

"Find anything over there, love?" asked Liam, glancing over his shoulder.

[ ooc: Let us know if you'd like a one-on-one thread (and with whom), both of them in separate threads or a threesome when you tag in. ;3 ]

6th, Friday

[resetbutton]

“Chief sure is stressed out since the Sleepers woke up, have you noticed?”

Anyone passing down the main street in the Cave, the one that went from the entrance all the way to the cryogenics and broke off in the center toward the greenhouse in one direction and the supply depot in the other, had the chance to overhear one particular guard force lackey shooting the breeze. He currently had his helmet off to wipe the sweat off the side of his face and run a hand through long, spiky locks. Next to him was another of the mooks, though this one seemed to be much more comfortable keeping his helmet on.

After only receiving a noncommittal nod and grunt from his companion, Blondie continued on, “He doesn’t like to let people see — and I mean anybody — but I can tell. Maybe I’m just good at that.” He grinned. It did not get much reaction from his friend.

“Guess it’s just me,” he decided after a suitable pause. “Did you hear what Ryan did a couple of days ago? With the bat?”

That prompted a chuckle. The reticent guard acknowledged the memory with an indistinct, “Yeah, heard that one.”

Blondie laughed along, then let it develop into a sigh. “He gets all the fun jobs.”

rec hall (also clearly I am the slowest slow tagger to ever slow)

[humanparagon]

It's been a hell of a week, if Shepard's honest (and, usually, she is). Waking up in a strange place is one thing, but the fact that no one will give her a straight answer as to what's going on has begun to wear on her. She's questioned the workers, the guards, and all of them have told her the same thing: she's been asleep for the last century and a half, nothing she experienced was real, and she'd better not make too much noise about it. It's bullshit, but she's figured out she shouldn't say that too loudly. She can work within the system, for now, until she can find a way to work around it.

What she really wants, more than anything right now, is to be back on the Normandy — but even if she could demand someone give her an open comm channel to contact her ship, even if it worked, it hasn't been her ship for a couple months now. The Alliance impounded it. And that rankles, enough that she shoves those thoughts out of her head before they can get the better of her.

So she's frustrated, and the so-called authorities here are stonewalling her at every turn, and she needs something to do to take her mind off it. The rec hall seems like a decent distraction; she bypasses the game rooms and heads straight for the gym.

If anyone comes looking, they'll find a tall, lean but muscular redhaired woman, engaged in a sparring match with a punching bag. Needless to say, the punching bag appears to be losing quite badly.

the bar

[closetcase]

If there was anywhere Sal was sure he could feel at least a little bit normal, it was in a bar. He'd traveled a fair amount in his line of work, and he always felt a relief from any culture shock he might experience once he found a place that served alcohol. Maybe it was the alcohol itself that relieved the tension. It didn't really matter either way, did it?

This bar wasn't exactly the sort of place he would've gone in his old life.... Maybe this Stefan person went here all the time. The music playing over the speakers didn't trigger any memories, though. And the machinery of the place definitely didn't.

Well, maybe it'd seem more welcoming to him after a few drinks. He put on a smile and went to sit at the bar. After nearly a week of feeling lost and out of place, he needed desperately to relax. Not to mention, he hardly ever went this long without imbibing something to loosen him up.

7th, Saturday

[resetbutton]

One week after the first of the Sleepers were brought out of their century-long slumber, the Cave seemed to quiet down. Never as quiet as before the survivors were woken, but relatively so. It seemed that the Workers had fallen into the new groove easily, leaving the Sleepers to catch up behind them. (Barring, of course, the occasional growls and feral sounds coming from the direction of the Cave’s mouth. They never lasted all that long, anyway.)

Much as they did in the beginning of the week, terminals all around the underground city activated. What awaited them was a simple message with its replies disabled:

Your honeymoon is over. While I hope the week was sufficient in helping you acclimate to your waking lives, now it is time to acclimate to your working ones. Directions to your workplaces will be attached, just in case you’re having a little trouble finding your way around.

If you have any real trouble with your tasks, contact either myself, Rep. Anselmo, or the nearest convenient guard force member. Don’t be late, or you’ll probably be very sorry.

Good luck,
- The Caretaker

Surely enough, to the terminals of all the Sleepers’ rooms came personalized details on what they would be doing (repeating information already given by the Workers) and where they would be working, along with the hours expected of them.

What do you do, Sleepers? Give in to the demand, or rebel and discover what this “probably” could mean?

Bakery

[trickntreats]

The joke was over. It was way, way past over. Okay, Gabriel could appreciate something that was put together well, even if he was the butt of it. There was something to be said for style in a prank.

This was not stylish.

Gabriel stared at the shiny metal counters. For once he felt flummoxed. Almost flummoxed. Not actually flummoxed. He didn't get flummoxed. You know, except when he got shoved into a dimension where he was human and had been in stasis for one-hundred-fifty years and oh, by the way, was supposed to be some kind of genius baker except for the fact that he didn't know how to bake.

Which meant that work had ostensibly started an hour ago and Gabriel hadn't even opened a drawer to get out so much as a stirring-spoon.

guard force hq

[tactical_alert]

"Probably" was such an odd way to phrase it. At some later point, he might have to test it--or just wait and see what happens to others who may or may not choose to show up. Malcolm couldn't help but be curious; as far as he knew, being part of this peacekeeping, law enforcing group might actually give him a slight edge on others. It was strange, how his dream was supposed to be false, yet he's put into a job like this. (Not that he'd ever believe it to be a dream.)

So he showed up, punctual like he always was on the job, trying to appear somewhat eager to see what he'd be doing. Though he suspected his suspicion and caution overrode that. Surely his new "bosses" would understandany reluctance he might have.