The Crash Site

[blindandlost]

It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter how you were travelling. All that matters is the Island, and the Island wants you. All are drawn to the same stretch of shoreline; your plane suddenly loses power and drops from the sky to crash into the sand. Your boat runs aground. Your helicopter plows a deep furrow until the blades tangle and catch in the thick growth of the jungle.

However it happened, now you're here. You belong to the Island. There might be something salvageable in the debris, but no matter what you find, no matter who is with you, one thing is certain:

You are lost.

Comments

[awfulsentimetal]

All systems online.

Sunlight flickered through splintered cracks in the crate. A dizzying, confusing stream of information was pouring from his sensors. The world was upside-down. A powerful wave of heat was battering him. What was happening? How had it happened? The alarms began to resolve into digestible information: it was The Spine that was upside-down. The world had not flipped on its axis.

And it wasn't the sun causing the kaleidoscopic light pouring through the cracks in the battered crate--it was fire.

The side of the crate shattered outward around The Spine's jabbing elbow. He punched and kicked his way from the wreckage, found his feet in the damp sand. His crate had been thrown from the belly of the plane as it ripped apart. Much of what remained was burning, filling the air with greasy, black, and no doubt acrid smoke that made it difficult to make sense of what he was seeing.

There were bodies.

There were bodies.

The Spine shuddered into action, hurrying towards the wreckage as quickly as he could and calling for his family and friends. He'd survived. Surely they had too. He had to believe they had.

[missfunction]

--ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR--
The Spine wasn't the only one from the plane to awaken completely disoriented and trapped inside a heavy wooden crate--though at least the eldest of the Walter automatons had managed to land right-side up in hers--yet even with her newly upgraded chassis and improved internal workings, the rattling turbulence and too sudden drop through the air was enough to completely screw up the woman's bearings and send her processors spinning.

But once the the robot recognized the sound of horrific screams and sheer panic taking place outside of her private space, Rabbit was busting through the crate that was almost hilariously marked HANDLE DELICATELY and out into the bright sun and sand of the beach.

...A beach. A beach Now how in the heck did they end up on a beach?! Hadn't they been flying inland towards the east coast?

Well, that sort of thought would have to wait until later, when the chaos had ended and her family was all confirmed safe.

Green and blue glowing photoreceptors were scanning the appalling view momentarily before Rabbit was sprinting into action without a care for her own safety, old battlefield tactics and strategies cycling through the automaton's mind as she reached one of the many unmoving lumps of human, kneeling down before hefting up the body, head clicking upwards just in time to catch the flash of silver crashing through the sand...

"Spine!" //Spine!// A shout through both the smoke-filled air and over their WiFi link. "Watch out! That d-don't look so safe!" Not with a fire blazing and all of that gasoline needed to fuel the plane in the first place.

[awfulsentimetal]

Stopping quickly was not something the tall automaton did well. Sand flew up into the air and covered his shoes as he sought to keep his footing. "Rabbit?!" There was interference over the WiFi, but the message and its originator had been blessedly clear. His relief was short-lived, quickly swallowed up by worry for the rest of their family and sadness for the terrible math that told him that many of the other passengers on the plane wouldn't have survived.

The Spine turned, bright green optics glowing dimly through the smoke. Where was--there. Two points of light, one blue and one green, and a tall silhouette. He made for his oldest sibling, intent on making certain the more fragile antique robot hadn't been damaged in the crash... and, though he would never admit it, looking to him for guidance in this terrible and unfamiliar situation.

"Rabbit, we've got to find the others--" Wait. Something was... something was not right. "What happened to--" Wait again. Rabbit was carrying someone. "Who is that?"

[hatchworthy]

Hatchworth awoke to falling and pain and a slew of errors. Reaching out, he felt solid wood beneath his fingers and let out a short sigh of relief. Had he woken up in the crate? They hadn't dropped him, had they? He hated it when that happened.

At least it wasn't completely dark. There was light shining through the crate. He pressed against the wood more purposefully, and slid out onto the floor with a crash. If the humans didn't want him breaking the crates, then they should really stop -

Oh. The plane was on fire. That was nice.

Except maybe not quite so nice, because there appeared to be several humans on fire too, lying still and motionless and burning on the ground. This part of the plane didn't look the way it was supposed to, he thought. It was too small, a little smoky space surrounded by walls of bent metal. His systems were still recalibrating, various warnings and damage reports filing into his mind. Most of it wasn't too bad, except for one particular warning he'd come to be fairly well-acquainted with. He was on fire too.

Heavy trails of steam rose to mingle with the smoke as Hatchy carefully levered himself upright. //Rabbit? The Spine?// Without waiting for an answer over the WiFi, he threw himself against the nearest piece of twisted metal. Well, half-threw and half just sort of toppled into it. The humans were clearly beyond his help, so he needed to get himself out now.

[awfulsentimetal]

//Hatchworth! Where are you--//

The Spine cut himself off, hearing the thump and groan of stressed metal as something heavy hit the torn hull. He veered towards the sound, sand flying behind him.

There was a hole torn through the curved skin and he put his glowing optic to it, letting out a relieved rush of steam when he saw a familiar blue glow inside. "Hatchy! Hang on, partner, just let me..." He jammed his fingers into the tear. The hull screeched in protest as he dug his booted feet into the sand, seeking stable purchase as he pulled.

Between the two of them, it would have to give. His sensors were alerting him to fuel in the air and it spurred him to bend the metal all the faster.

[tomorrowsyesterday]

The hard part was supposed to be over. On the plane, the robots safely aboard, packed comfortably into their crates. A hour or two left to nap before they landed and the robot-wrangling began anew.

At least it was a non-stop flight this time.

The first thing Paige became aware of as she started to stir was just how hot it was, the low hum of the plane's engines replaced by deafening whining. She shifted, but when she turned her head to try and see where she was, her vision swam, nearly passing out from the nauseating wave of vertigo.

What was going on?

It wasn't until she lifted a hand to brush hair out of her vision and her fingers came away red that fear started to coil it's way into her strangely out-of-it detached state. And finding herself trapped, certainly didn't help. She took it slow, twisting so she could lean on one arm and lift her head, trying to get some stock of where they were, squinting against the bright sunlight reflecting off of the sand. Debris everywhere, twisted shreds of metal still bearing the cheerful paint job of the downed plane, luggage, people running across the sand, some screaming or crying, others calling for lost companions, like one stranger in a sweater-vest that nearly tripped over a shattered crate in his haste to search.

The crate that Paige had helped settle a particular robot in before the flight while teasing about adding another line to the instructions painted on the wood. 'HANDLE DELICATELY- SHE'S A LADY.'

"R-Rabbit!" Not nearly as loud a call as she'd like in the situation, but with her throat and mouth feeling so dried out from the heat, she was just grateful that calling out was an option.

[missfunction]

Call her name and she shall appear!

The bright sun was suddenly blocked from the clear blue sky, a long shadow crossing over Paige’s small frame as a long pair of black-and-red striped stockings stepped into view. But then with a whirr of delicate machinery and a barely noticeable creak of hinges, Rabbit was kneeling there in front of her Walter Girl, a gloved hand reaching out to gently touch the woman’s pale cheek and brush away blue hair as the ‘bot’s mouth twisted into a deep frown.

That blood…. Worry curved around the woman’s copper faceplates.

“I g-g-got ya, Paige. D-don’t move for a sec, just rest.” And then with a shifting of gears, the copper automaton was looming again, huffing out steam, squaring her shoulders, and digging her stylish heels into the sand before hefting that heated metal up, teeth gritting. “—Okay g-gg-go!”

Scoot it, babe!

[tomorrowsyesterday]

Like a clockwork Superwoman!

"Totally leaving a bad review on their site after this is all over with..." She mumbled in complaint before finally giving a small sound of assent. She wasn't sure how far she'd get with as dizzy as she was feeling, but as far as she could see they weren't in any immediate danger right where they were. So when she heard that creak of metal, felt the piece pinning her lift, she managed to drag herself out from under it before slumping again, ducking her head against the new wash of vertigo that was greying her vision out.

"Zero out of five stars, would not fly again." Stupid jokes would make her head feel better, right?

[parasitus]

[On the sand sits a woman. She's a bit strange in countenance-- oddly-cropped hair, vivid red lips contrasting sharply against her dark skin, her clothing formal but marked with bold black-on-white stripes. Red blood stains her clothing in places, gashes inflicted during the crash of the jet that had been transporting her prior to its untimely demise, but she seems to have emerged without any major injuries.

Her lipstick is smudged, and, honestly, she looks like she's about ready to cry.


A gun sits beside her on the sand, a heavy revolver.


Well? Do you approach her?]

[awfulsentimetal]

[After rescuing the few he could, The Spine has taken to wandering up and down the beach. It isn't what he wants to do--what he wants to do is stick to his family and tend to Walter Girl B. He can't do anything for her, frustrating as it is, and he knows that his hovering would be useless.

So he wanders until he spots the dark woman sitting on the sand. The automaton pauses, noticing that she looks about ready to break. He also notices the gun. It's given a long stare, the automaton weighing the wisdom in approaching.

Compassion wins out. He decides to ignore the gun unless it becomes a problem, which he trusts it won't.]

Hey, there. Mind if I join you?

[parasitus]

[Wh--

She's not alone.

And when she sees who exactly is looking at her, she stares with round blue eyes for a moment before answering.]

N... no. No, not at all, I must say. In fact, I...

[She hugs herself.]

I do rather dislike being alone.

[missfunction]

[Can't leave a lady crying all on her lonesome, right?

Though there was the usual whirrrs and clicks and deep hum of her mechanical form, Rabbit's steps in the sand were not nearly as usually clunky and loud to give away her position, so the female automaton's approach may have been something of a surprise until she finally spoke, stepping up beside the stranger, peering sideways at her.]

Hey, ya d-d-doin' okay, lady? Ya look a l-little roughed up. Need a b-band-aid or somethin'?

[Despite the fact they were complete strangers who clearly couldn't have known about one another's existence until this point, there was some geuiune concern burning in those glowing optics, the copper 'bot's mouth twitching downwards as she stared.] Maybe s-some water?

[parasitus]

[What...

... what is that?

The form was human enough on a whole-- the right number of limbs and all-- and yet...

But she doesn't make for her weapon.

A band-aid? ... she seems to snap out of it and glances down at herself. Nearly laughing, she wipes her eyes.]

I do suppose I must be quite the sight. Though I'm uncertain of how much good a band-aid could do for me, or, indeed, any amount of medical attention at all. I seem to have lost something far more valuable than my health.

sorry if I'm rusty wehhh

[sagittaluminis]

[A young girl has washed up on the beach, clinging to a piece of wood-- the nearest thing to her that would float after the accident had occurred. Her clothing-- a school uniform-- is soaked through and rumpled, and she seems to have fainted at some point.

The waves push her gently towards shore, her small hands scraped and splintered from clinging so desperately to the wood... and about to let go and let her sink beneath the water.

Uh-oh.]

[blindandlost]

[A dog trotted up from seemingly out of nowhere, tail wagging and tongue dangling in greeting, before the young girl would be given a gentle prodding nudge with a wet nose against her arm.

Yo. Wake up. Time to go to school.]

[sagittaluminis]

[She stirs, her grip renewed on the object that keeps her afloat before she's even opened her eyes. She doesn't quite remember why she's holding it, but she knows she shouldn't let it go.

And then awareness sets in and she picks her head up slowly, looking-- what had...

A dog?

--! Shore! She'd reached an island of some kind. She lets go of her flotation device and puts her shaking feet down to try and stand on her own, and she reaches over to pet the dog's head.]

... thank you. Ah-- ... I wonder where I am?

... did anyone else make it here, too?

[She starts to make her way along the beach, her legs wobbling slightly as she walks in the sand.]

that's all right, so am I!

[notinvayne]

[There's a tremendous splashing and, just as Madoka's hands are about to slip from the wood, a strong hand encircles her wrist and hauls her up into someone's arms.

She's set gently on dry sand. The middling tall man that had saved her sits with exaggerated care at her side, regarding his soaked thighs with a grimace before pressing a finger to her pulse.]

Still alive, thank the Gods. Excuse me? Miss? Can you hear me?

[doctoral_bird]

[ What was that off in the distance, on the horizon of these churning waves and deep blue sea? It almost looked like someone had forgotten a toy bird in a small toy boat of in the distance amidst all of this panic and mayhem.

Over the course of a few minutes, the figure will slowly drift closer to the shore, brought in with a firm stillness that gave the man an appearance of some sort of strange floating mannequin rather than a plague doctor.

In reality, Malkus was just trying his best to not burn to death under the smouldering heat of this tropical HELL! His tiny boat offered little relief from the heat as it was quickly rendered useless the moment the waves pushed it ashore. He was...

Shipwrecked Lost. ]

It is hot. How in hell's flames did-...

[ He tried to remember how the resident of a land locked city ended up on a tiny fishing boat with just his plague doctor garb and a bone fishing harpoon but... well. Oh jeez, it seems there are others around. ]

Aye, hello? Is this a coast of Trasen? Hot. Hot. Hot....

[missfunction]

[All the while the stranger was slowly--so very slowly--drifting towards the beach, a lone figure stood perched there at the shore, awaiting his arrival; a tall, looming shadow against the white sand and crystal clear sky. As Malkus inched closer to the island, a human shape would finally emerge from that darkened silhouette, though after that initial hint of recognition, the shape would only be twisting again into something incredibly inhuman the closer he came to land.

...Perhaps at this point, it would be best to just turn around and try your luck back out there in the big ocean, little plague doctor. There would be nothing but trouble for you here.

But whenever Malkus finally arrived, Rabbit would still be there waiting and staring, not having moved an inch since her optics had first spied the ship out there on the sea, arms held stiffly at her sides, head tilted to the side as that boat rocked closer.] ....Guessin' ya d-d-didn't bring a new plane t' lift us outta here, huh?

[doctoral_bird]

[ Malkus let out a sigh of relief as he came closer, but it was replaced with a slowly rising feeling of ominous dread as the figure grew and grew into one rather tall amazon of a woman-... woman? Metal-... lady? Should he scream? The doctor flexed his throat, opening his mouth to lick his lips in preparation when the realization hit him. He was also quite parched. Too thirsty to wail.

So instead, the doctor will just sit in his boat, legs folded underneath him as the raging fire of burning plane debris continued off in the distance. ]

A w-what? I- my-... what? My boat only carries one, if that's what you meant.

[ Girl what the hell is a plane. Girl what the hell are YOU. It was clear that this guy was either ogling her or trying to decipher what manner of golem stood before him. ]

[parasitus]

I'm afraid not. My sincerest apologies.

[The voice that answered him was cool and loose, feminine, it was... off somehow. Or perhaps it was simply an undertone due to the person to whom it belonged.

She stood at the shore, clad in strangely elaborate, striped clothing that had been torn and stained with what was quite possibly blood in places. One dark-skinned hand was outstretched towards him in an odd kind of greeting; the other at her side, a heavy revolver held there, just in case.

Her lips were too-red. When she smiled, her teeth were too-white.]

Welcome nonetheless, as due as a welcome would be to such a place.

[notinvayne]

[A man stands just out of reach of the waves that lap the shore, squinting through cracked glasses at the approaching boat.

When it draws near, his eyebrows lift--is that a plague doctor? How very... odd.]

I would answer your question, sir, but I haven't the foggiest where Trasen might be. Were you at a fancy dress party?

[It's the only logical explanation.]

[greeterings]

[The thing about working late into the night with more caffeine in your system than food was that once your body finally gave out and fell asleep, the resulting dreams were really, really weird. They usually involved more rolling fields and giant alien cows than tropical beaches, and the horrific plane crash was a gruesome new addition, but Peter Walter the Sixth assumed that the whole thing was a subconscious response to overworking and stress, and possibly too many late-night action movies. The plane was probably a metaphor for that small mountain of paperwork that he hadn't gotten around to sorting yet.

... Come to think of it, his dreams weren't usually realistic enough to include waves lapping at his bare feet, or the textured, gritty feeling of sand against his jaw. He frowned underneath the mask and rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky and absently dusting away some sand. This was getting weird, it was definitely time to wake up.]

Okay... three, two, one, awake!

... Awake!

[...If he kept trying, it would eventually work, right?]

[awfulsentimetal]

[A dark shadow fell across the prone inventor. A warm and very familiar voice greeted him.]

Hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure you're not dreamin', Mister Walter.

[False cheerfulness, but given the situation, was there any other kind? Truth be told The Spine was worried. For one thing, Peter shouldn't have been here at all. For another, he couldn't figure out what was causing the WiFi between himself and his siblings to fade to a ghost of a signal over short distances.

Perhaps Peter could help.

That didn't change the fact that he shouldn't have been stranded on the island with them at all. Unless he had snuck aboard the jet, somehow, and why in the world and all the dimensions outside it would he do that?]

Need a hand up?

[notinvayne]

[Sure, it might work, or he might find himself looking up into the bespectacled green eyes of a stranger. The man is streaked in soot, fine clothes tattered and singed. His ginger hair, graying at the temples, is disheveled.]

If it works, where do you expect to be?

[His accent is English--the yawning, rounded vowels of a classical education.]