A New Platform [Intro Post May]

[voidtreckermods]

On the Train

Like clockwork, the Voidtreckers are awoken by a familiar message this morning.

"Good morning Voidtreckers, it is day one of the month of Llama. Points have been updated on the system."

With points updated, everyone can spend the morning shopping. Most people will be expecting the second announcement that comes a few hours later.

"Shortly arriving into a designated void platform. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one." A lurch and a jolt and the windows fill with the fog that means they are at a platform. The air is sticky and warm, the windows almost immediately dewing over with the humidity outside.

As usual the first to leave the train notice nothing, walking silently, rucksacks on their backs, towards the barriers. Azula, Prisoner, Amery Vallet, Dyme Graydon, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Yoite, Piccolo, Bulla Brief, Xie Lian, Kurosaki Ichigo, Hua Cheng, Renee Corbin, and Ran Mouri; all pass through the platform, not looking back before they disappear through the barriers and into the fog beyond.

But on the platform itself there are new faces. Wearing hoodies in all four colours, in various states of confusion.

For New Passengers

At first all they can see is steam billowing around them as they come to their senses. As their eyes adjust, they find themselves on a platform, rich wood and pale stone forming a natural, tree-like structure overhead. Behind them is a set of barriers, and in front of them is a single set of tracks extending both ways into thick fog. The air is rainforest-hot, and the sound of frogsong can be faintly heard over the drip of the artificial canopy.

They are standing, in clothes that are not their own and a style they might not even recognise. They are carrying a rucksack on their back. For a moment it seems to just be them, alone in the white haze; then the fog begins to fade and they realise they aren’t alone.

The platform isn't large, and seems smaller with twenty-eight figures scattered around, all facing the tracks, all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies. Then there is a roaring sound and out of the fog arrives a train. Jet black with gold writing on the side. The Voidtrecker Express. There is a hiss as the doors slide open and out pours a strange assortment of people, over a hundred at least. Some are human, some are less so. Most are wearing the same hoodie in one of the four colours, red, orange, blue and purple, though some are sporting different clothes in a variety of styles.

Behind them, the doors close, and the train is cloaked in the same fog that hides the world beyond the platform.

The Train

After a short time, the fog clears and the doors hiss open again. Those from the train may encourage those on the platform to board. It’s not like there's anywhere else to go and even if there was, you feel a pull. A need to board, a feeling that staying on the platform would lead to something terrible. If that is not enough, there are plenty of people on the platform now, to encourage them onto the train.

Each ICP shows the same message and next to the screens there are stacks of leaflets written by those on the train, with further information (see
'Publications'). The store rooms have been restocked with fresh ingredients, including several crates of nori, the ingredient of the month of Llama, as well as all sundries.

For passengers that have bought items, these are also scattered around the luggage carriage in various suitcases and bags. For each member of Purple Team, a small silver box with their name on it contains a glittery cupcake.

New passengers will find their ticket allows them into their cabins. They may need to negotiate for beds, but at least they won't be alone in their confusion - since the sleeper carriages are now double-decker, and experience isn't going to avail the passengers in finding their rooms.

Room is tight but there are storage cubbies at the head of each bed, beds fold up and the bottom bunks double as benches for the small table. There is storage under those benches full of spare blankets and pillows.

The new double carriage's transfer ICP is active, allowing people to move to a double room should they meet the requirements with another person, though they'll have to move their belongings themselves.

Departure

A second horn sounds to encourage any stragglers taking advantage of the fresh air, and the doors slide shut. Veteran passengers know what will happen next, but they may wish to brief their new companions.

The train sets off, the fog obscuring the view again as it picks up speed.

"Welcome aboard, passengers of the Voidtrecker Express." A female-coded artificial sounding voice echoes throughout the train. "Please take the time to read the passenger information displayed on the Information and Communication points and familiarise yourself with the layout and emergency exits."

The train begins to tilt, leaving the ground and rising up into the fog-filled sky.

"Entrance into Voidspace imminent. New passengers are advised to remain seated. Entry into Voidspace in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

A shudder, a jolt, a lurch to the left. A flash of light, colourful and blinding. As quick as it happens it is done. The train seems to steady itself. The fog from the windows is gone now, replaced with a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours.

Welcome to the Void!

Comments

[oncedriven]

They may not literally be swords and so on, but blades were certainly treated as nothing more than person-shaped weapons.

"A long story involving a couple of artificial blades, a couple of normal blades, and a couple of humans all banding together to tell God off," Asch says. It's the short, kind of flippant version of the story. "And then fundamentally changing the way blades work so that we aren't stuck without options anymore. I didn't wake back up until after that."

[worthallthis]

"Wake back up?" Soldat asks, not without some fear that asking might be a very bad idea. There's not really a lot of things one could wake back up from after a long period of time. It's probably not some kind of cryostasis... but it's not impossible.

[oncedriven]

"Blades are core crystals," Asch says. He taps his chest for emphasis, where his own core lies under the layers of clothing. "There's two kinds of death for us; the kind where you go back to your core crystal, and the kind where your core is destroyed. In the case of the first? A blade out in the wilderness, who didn't get picked up by a human capable of being a driver, of providing the other half of the bond blades needed to live... Would just remain a core crystal until someone did."

He pauses, and then says, "Not that we're conscious like that. I doubt anyone could survive a thousand years on a forest floor with their mind intact. It's more like a coma than sleep."

[worthallthis]

Well. Okay, it's not as bad as cryo, at least. Probably. Maybe? Maybe it's more like dying when your lantern survives, and you just need repaired. They nod a little. "Yeah. A thousand years is. A hell of a time to be dreaming, let alone aware. But you don't need a person anymore. You don't need to be controlled to live. You said they fixed that." Please say that's really been fixed.

[oncedriven]

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here," Asch says, bluntly. "Effectively dying was better than taking the risk of winding up in that situation again."

He both regrets and doesn't regret that decision, but it's his. Sure, some drivers were decent, but it was still always a roll of the dice. A sleep you never wake up from might as well be death.

"But it changed something that had been a fundamental fact of the world for as far back as history goes, and people are still adjusting to it." He's still adjusting to it.

[worthallthis]

Soldat nods again. "Yeah. That. I bet it would be a big deal." They run a hand over their hair, sighing out a little. "I'm glad you're free, though. I know what that's like. I had to die to get free."

[oncedriven]

... Well. That's certainly a statement to lay on someone with no context. Asch blinks for a moment, and then says, "Well. For a dead human, you look good."

And then immediately kicks himself internally.

[worthallthis]

Look, you just spilled about being a magic crystal sword person who was "dead" for a thousand years. You get some weird truths back, buddy.

Also, you get a laugh: short and sharp, mostly born of surprise, but still. A laugh. "Technically I think I'm a sort of. Techno-magic clone of the dead one. But. It's complicated and I don't really understand it. But still kind of like you, only the thing that's really me is a lot more breakable."

[oncedriven]

Asch's eyes flick, briefly, to the lantern, but then he shrugs and says, "It's how you think of yourself that matters, if you ask me. If you think you're that person, then who the hell else matters?"

[worthallthis]

"Not a person." The correction pops out automatically, but they don't even look particularly embarrassed by it this time. They've come to terms with their personhood or lack thereof. It's just the actual people who get all up in arms about it, these days. "But I'm me and I'm useful to my team. Content enough. That's good enough, for me."

[oncedriven]

The correction gets a frankly bewildered look. To a blade, ever prepared to fight for his own personhood, well. Does not compute, Soldat.

After a few seconds of staring, Asch manages to recover, "That's what counts," with an awkward nod.

[worthallthis]

The staring is awkward, and they pointedly look somewhere else until Asch manages a response. Their own is sympathetic, but clearly not flexible, either: "I know." Then, because sugar fixes everything in their estimation, they offer the plate of cookies again.