towerofanimus | To deal with time is to accept you will die over and over again and no one will ever know.

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To deal with time is to accept you will die over and over again and no one will ever know.

Characters: AU2 Dave Strider, AU2 John, and you.
Setting: First in Room 1-12, then all over the residental areas.
Format: Whichever you want.
Summary: Dave fights a losing battle from within while his body goes about the programmed tasks of a basic worker unit. Being part of Group C is suffering.
Warnings: Malfunction could occur, there's a chance for it in every thread. Expect body horror, gore, possible injury in the event of a malfunction, death if you give permission for it, and mental trauma because Dave will be aware of what's going on half the time.

[Room 1-12]
He remembers bits and fragments of what happened to him while time burns him from within with raw agony that he can’t escape. It’s not as terrible as it probably should be. Half the time he doesn’t know it’s not supposed to be like this. The other part of the time he struggles for the right to even think behind his own eyes. His body is no longer his, but his mind is all he has left. Like hell he’ll give that up without a fight.

It’s like racing through time loops, only the places he goes are fairly mundane in a horrific sort of way. The bitter cynical part of Dave that’s so jaded from managing timelines understands he can do nothing but wait. It’s the hardest thing of all to accept, but as the hours pass he has no choice, but to at least acknowledge the fact.

During the night his mind shuts down. He doesn’t know what happened before he comes to and he doesn't want to. The less shit he has to think about the better. Dave finds himself at the foot of a bed. He doesn’t look at his bloodied hands, his eyes are fixed on the sleeping form tucked on to one side.

John.

The conscious part of his mind struggles hard for control even if it’s futile. Not John. Whatever is going on, he will not harm his best friend. The body doesn’t respond to him, only waits in silence and watches. Thin cables stretch down the back of his neck from the base of his skull, plugging into his skin and covered by his Godtier attire. He continues to wait as droplets of blood fall from his motionless fingers.

He waits. And he fights from within and no one not even himself can hear his desperate fight to make right what could go wrong. The schedule in his mind shifts, and somewhere someone is dying. He wonders what it says about him that he sees that as normal. Time pays back mistakes with death. That’s just. How it is.

One sucker down.

[Residential areas]
Dave strides quietly through the residential area, moving with specific purpose. He has a job to do, or so he feels compelled to believe. Inside his head, the boy sourly remarks on nothing. Anyone with the ability to read minds would hear the most random shit.

Yeah sure, just pick up that trash like it’s your job. Which fyi it isn’t. It isn't your room. Or the closet. Shit, how long has it been since I had to clean my own room? Two years and something months. That’s right.

Never did find that stupid pair of socks. The white ones. Not that they were white anymore. They got washed with some of Bro’s smuppets and turned green. Wait, I might have burned them in the sink after that. Like farewell you poor tainted suckers, you served me well.

Put them down gracefully.

There’s a shift in how he walks when Dave isn’t present behind his eyes, it’s a bit stiffer, like a butler busy ensuring the household is well tended to. He never speaks, and ignores all greetings. Sometimes in the back of the mind once again there is the steady running commentary.

I get we’re too cool for school but this is stupid. At least wave you fat nasty trash.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Unfortunate thought it was, a month away from Rose had actually made it easier for John to fall asleep despite being worried about his friends. And though he was still a little irritated that they had all been gone for his birthday, he was indeed worried more than anything else.

In fact, perhaps the irritation wasn't really irritation at all who knows emotions are complicated and stupid. And he's supposed to be working on clearing his mind of distractions anyway. He'll never get stronger if he can't, after all.

In any case, John is out like a light by the time Dave wanders into his room. It's probably a good thing that Michael J. sleeps at the foot of John's bed, otherwise the boy definitely would have slept through the entire thing and Dave probably could have slipped away unnoticed. But the minute the door opens, the Zoroark wakes up, a blue eye opening a crack and staring at the intruder. He tenses, ready to pounce until he recognizes exactly who it is. Though...something isn't right. He's not sure what that thing in the boy's head is, but aside from that he's just not reacting. He's not moving or speaking or...anything. Almost like he didn't mean to come in here and has no control of himself.

Michael J. nudges John with his back foot a few times. Hopefully one boy or the other will "wake up" soon, be it physically or mentally. Or both. Both would be ideal here. The fox Pokémon keeps at it but by the time Dave comes back to himself, John is still unconscious. He is at least stirring in his sleep now though, mumbling something indistinct in his sleep.

John just happened to be strolling about in the same area as Dave at the time. But he's been wary about approaching anyone since any of this started happening. Especially what he had witnessed so far. If only John could read minds at this point.

It would help a lot. It would help to the extent of why Dave was being unresponsive when he greeted. "Hey, dude?" This would be about the fourth time he's tried to say something and by damn if this wasn't frustrating him. He falls into step with that stiffer stride, and tries again. Not that he was really expecting anything to come out of this or anything.

"Hellooooo, earth to Dave Strider?"

Edited (i didnt complete my thoughts woooo 3 hours of sleep) 2013-04-17 14:41 (UTC)

There was a lot of area to cover. A lot of floors and halls to monitor - keeping watch for misbehaving residents or disobedient drones - but she was fine with that. It was the lack of sight that was giving her issues. Her hand stayed glued to the wall as she moved, hovering up the stairs rather than bothering with walking them. She didn't like tripping before, she still didn't like tripping now, even if her brain wasn't her own.

No. No it was, she just had to keep a grip on that. Just had to remember who she was.

She heard her friend coming after a while of wandering, and so she stopped and allowed her feet to touch the floor once again.

"Excuse me, but if you would be so kind as to tell me who you are, that would be appreciated." From there she would decide if they were friend or someone needing to be terminated.

No.

Friend or someone she simply didn't know. That's all.

The answer to her order is immediate. Time rushes in and presses against everything and Dave within his own mind screams with agony as the swell of his own power is overwhelming in the scope of pain it creates. If he had breath, it would have left him in a near wail. But she is to be obeyed, no matter the cost. If Rose were to order him to kill he would begin the slaughter until she told him to stop.

He strides towards her, his sword vanishing back into his sylladex as he approaches and the heaviness of his presence is made known. The pain is too much but he continues to fight within and his bitterness turns to fury at the sight of what they had done to his sister.

No.

To what had been done to them.

It gives him the strength to keep battling it out with whatever they did. Because nothing will stop him from finding a way to bring the ones who did this to justice.

Nothing.

He reaches for her hand, and if she gives it, he traces the letters of his name onto her palm. The power dies in the air and the boy within falls back into unconsciousness seared by the very abilities that make him so effective.

Dave Strider. Knight of Time. Brother.

Edited 2013-04-18 18:40 (UTC)

There's a ripple of red light to the left of the bed, and another Dave more blood stained than the last steps out of time to wait and watch. Neither of them say a word, only breathing in the silence. They are and that's all.

Inside his head, Dave can only wait himself. It isn't easy. His hands are warm and wet with the blood of...he puts it out of his mind. He can't stop to think about whatever it was he-

His mind blanks out, shutting down as he loses the fight for himself. Again.

The worker unit stands there instead. Orders will be received but, not yet.

Click.

That's the quiet sound of the world shifting as one by one every schedule on the list turns to death. Not a single one of them is to escape the slaughter. It would be a doomed line if it was. Dave's blade appears in his hand turning from broken to a full long sword in a blink.

Then he stops and the weapon cuts the air in a blur of motion aimed at John. Time rips outward, as another Dave appears behind him, thrusting his blade out in a sharp motion that has nothing friendly in it. The slaughter is to begin and it will start with the closest on his list.

She gave it easily enough, though it was less responding to him and more reaching to find who was there. But careful attention was paid to the letters traced in her hand and she smiled once he was finished. "Hello brother dear." Abandoning the wall, Rose opts to hold onto him for now, her hands moving to clasp his. "Why aren't you speaking to me?"

"Hey." Dave will be faced with his other self. Except this one has had his body completely altered. All he was now was blood and gears. Grinding away making a subtle noise wherever Dave went. He's left his shades back at his dorm. He doesn't need those.

There's a certain dead look in those eyes. Like he's not quite all there. But that's silly. He's completely fine. He's better than ever.

How unfortunate that he ends up being one of the ones who's been completely brainwashed. "Is everything under control on this floor?" His younger self has been completely taken to his job as a unit.

He holds her hands in his, ever respectful of his higher ranking unit. Again his response is on the heels of her order. Can't talk. He is not the sort of unit that can talk. It's not his purpose. Dave shifts so his weight is even, allowing her to lean more on him if she so desires.

Edited 2013-04-22 17:17 (UTC)

Inside his own mind, Dave feels sick. His smaller self has a sound that goes with him that he knows all too well. Gears. As if he could ever forget LOHAC and the heavy grinding noises punctuating the cracking and pop of the lava far below. He doesn't want to know why that sound is in the air. Then again, he ticks.

It's a bit creepy (more than a little) and his body moves to stand respectfully and nod. Everything is fine. He gives a thumbs up. The last higher up had asked why he couldn't talk, hopefully this one won't.

God damn, what have they done to us. This is sick.

There's nothing wrong. If you could hear Dave's thoughts it would be kind of sad. Because he's so loyal to the admins. He wants nothing more than to properly serve them. He doesn't even know why it's so wrong. That what they did to him is so terrible.

He seems satisfied with that answer for now. He doesn't even seem too bothered that Dave can't talk. If the other could speak, he would. He assumes that the admins know what they're doing with their units. Of course they do.

"You will walk with me then?" You really don't want to decline him, right?

John didn't have much time to react, didn't even have time to think to run back to his room and get his hammer handle. Nothing. He was completely unarmed. So dodging the attacks became a great task.

This was definitely not good at all and the only thing he could think to do was run. "What the fuck man!" It isn't until he turns on his heel that he notices his shirt is soaked through on the side- he was hit anyways. He needed to expect that, Dave was quick, and getting away probably futile.

Fuck him with a rusty spoon.

John mumbles something about 'five more minutes' and it's at that point that Michael J. decides that it's time to redouble his efforts. He bites down on John's foot, hard enough to irritate and hopefully wake him up, but not hard enough to actually break the skin. And sure enough...

"YEOWCH!" John sits bold upright, pulling his foot away from Michael J. and trying to blindly assess the damage. "Son of a bitch, Michael J. what was th--" There's somebody there.

Without his glasses on, John can't tell who it is, but there's definitely a figure standing next to his bed. His breath catches in his throat as he gropes blindly for the bedside table. Fucking glasses...

"Who's there?!"

The Dave to the left, disappears in a flash, leaving just the one to loom in silence. He can't answer. There's only the steady sound of breathing and the ticking of a clock. Without an order to identify himself from a higher up unit, his presence is barely there, unassuming and quiet.

Dave whips around, his cape billowing out in the speed of his turn. Red light suffuses his body and he flash-steps. The movements are fluid but mechanical, as precise as the shifting of a clock. He appears in an instant, snapping out a kick with intent to bring John down to the floor. The other him, blocks at possible escape route with air is saturated with red light and the sense of time bearing down like a methodical hand of execution.

Whatever task Dave had been about to do is set back onto the floor as he rises to his feet. He pads over to the smaller unit and comes to his side, and waits. The real boy behind his own eyes mentally puts his face in his hands and sighs.

We are so fucked. They didn't buy us dinner or even unzip our pants. It was all, hey I want this and too damn bad if you don't. Though man, your goose was fried up and served on Sunday. How long were you on the table. What did they even DO to us?

Fuck.

There was no way to get out was there? With each possible exit blocked like this. He didn't want this to be the end. He wasn't thinking properly, so at this point he doesn't remember that he could just bust out his wind powers in an attempt to get away, he's being attacked and fight or flight has kicked in with neither being a feasible option.

His brain was severely confused and at a loss of what to do at this point, and there is a disappointing thud has he practically falls straight on his side after Dave unleashes that kick. He has to get up, he has to get away. No matter how disorienting the experience is becoming.

"Dave, what the hell? Snap out of it!" Speaking to him was just a last ditch effort as he was trying to regain a standing position. All the better for trying to get passed the Dave blocking the exit.

Dave just starts to walk, expecting the other to follow. Of course the other would follow. He had asked him to walk with him. It's assumed he would follow. Dave wouldn't disobey him, after all. Where they're going exactly is beyond Dave. He just has to make sure no one was disobeying.

"Good. I'm sure the admins would be proud to know that their units are working properly." To Dave, this was good. Being what the admins want them to be.

Disobedience isn't in the cards. Unless he malfunctions. Dave pads after his superior with his hands at his sides. None of the little quirks that made Dave himself is present. He's a unit after all. The idea of where they're going doesn't even occur to him. Well, outwardly.

Do we ever know where we're going? Or are we being tools just walking down the hallway like we own the place. Spoilers, we don't.

The body nods in agreement to Dave. Yes, they would be proud.

But I'm not.

There's blood on the floor, as a unit working properly he'll clean it up later. Right now he's moving with slow methodical steps. He has all the time in the world to deal out this death. His blade is wet and he uses a foot to kick John onto his back. Then he leans over him and that's when it will be apparent why he has said nothing.

The eyes behind the shades are burning with enough light to expose the mess of wires following up the back of his neck to the clock in the back. The ticking is loud now that he's this close. He raises up and lifts his weapon, his other hand grasping the hilt to make the motion of the stab more forceful.

That's when John starts trying to move away again. Roll away, something. He doesn't want this. Fuck, he doesn't want to die. Why is this happening right now. Why is he being targeted like this. He knew something was up when everyone disappeared.

Oh god it was so stupid to separate from his alternate self. That was literally the dumbest idea to ever exist at this very moment, at least they could have fought together. Dave is a mess of wires and ticking and he is going to be killed by this. Fuck his hot life.

"Hello? I know you're there I can fucking see your outline. And here you....ticking. Dave, if this is your idea of a joke it's not funny." Especially considering you missed his birthday. Now you're showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night being a creeper? Rude.

If that even is Dave, he's still not sure. At least not until he manages to get a hold of his glasses and shove them onto his face.

"I knew it! Dude, what the hell are you d--" And that's when he notices the clock embedded in his friends' head. Any and all irritation vanishes. "Dave? Dave what the hell happened, what's that in your head?"

There's no answer from the silent ticking monstrosity that used to be Dave Strider (still is). He stays right where he is and breathes slowly. His fingers stay lax and red light spreads from the wall as another one, seemingly the same, steps out of time.

The wires catch the light, gleaming silver as they stretch down the length of his neck and disappear into the cape's hood. His hair is a mess and hasn't been combed in at least a couple of days. Despite the discomforts, including the clock he stays where he is. The Dave within presses against what is holding him in place yet he can't make his body do a damn thing.

Dude, I know you can't hear me. Which makes this whole attempt to communicate really stupid but we'll roll with it.

Help.

Death is never kind or pleasant, Dave could say that himself. If he were conscious. His blade rises up like an executioner's weapon and then it comes down, too fast to see. At least the death will be quick this time. If that's any comfort at all.

And she appreciates the crutch, even if she doesn't need it. A frown crosses her face at that answer. "So they took you too...?" It broke her heart knowing that. Why couldn't it have just been her?

"Come on, man. This isn't funny. Say something!"

It's kind of a shame that Dave is the first droned resident that John has come across. He has no idea that an inability to speak is standard for about half of them. He has no idea just how pointless and one-sided this conversation is going to be.

His brow furrows, mouth twisting into a small frown. It's a irritating. It shouldn't be, but it is. John has never been a very patient person and the lack of a response from Dave does nothing to help that particular shortcoming. He's not sure what he expected as far as bro-pal reunions go, but it sure as hell wasn't this. This will surely change one day. The eternal optimism with start to wear and eventually he'll learn to expect the worst when somebody disappears.

And won't it be a shame when that day finally comes.

He nods once then remembers she can't see that. He gently turns her hand over so her palm is facing up and starts to slowly trace letters. Each one is precise as he can get it.

'I live to serve.'

Simple, but programmed into his head. Rose, you should know that his brain is pretty fired and what's left is the titanic without lifeboats or a flare gun.

And that makes it worse. But she doesn't say anything. She simply squeezes his hands with a shaky sigh. "Serve who? Serve what?"

John just stops in his tracks, death did come swifter than he thought it would. He's stopped breathing and stopped struggling. He's dead and by the blade of his best friend.

The blood pools out underneath him slowly, and it would be a little while before his immortality kicked in and he rose again- so right at the moment Dave could marvel at his kill, and be satisfied.

The tower. He writes in reply while inside his own head Dave just sighs. He ain't serving anyone. Fuck that. Then again, he has no choice. Life blows.

He would talk if he could. Dave takes a step back and the full horror is revealed. His hands have blood on them from when he took apart a body while processing it. The ticking is still loud enough to be heard, a dull sound in the background that goes with the cables winding down his neck into the back of his hood. The clock was obviously embedded surgically. He had his shades on, but an order from a superior and those could be gone.

His color appears pink, compared to the normal indigo. Dave remains as quiet as before. He will be moving soon, back to work.

You are the dumbest dude I have ever known. I'm not safe to be around and you're shouting at me. Not that it will do much. You have got to work on your survival skills. If someone disappears, id them as sane first, kick down the stairs if necessary and haul tail. I know you can man. Work those legs.

But he didn't marvel. The malfunctioning unit rose, pulling his sword out of the chest of his best friend and continued on his way. There were more to kill. The schedule would not be thwarted. He disappears in a flash of red, and the whirl of time.

Dave doesn't seem bothered by the silence. he doesn't really need a reason to be bothered. If the other doesn't talk, it's because the admins didn't want him too. That's easy enough for him to understand. The admins must have had a good reason. The admins are never wrong. This way of thinking is so fucked up, but he doesn't realize that either.

"What floor do you think we should monitor first?" Not that it matters. They both can control time. If they wanted to go just put themselves on more than one floor, it would be possible for them.

You ask this of the guy who can't talk. Good job, dude I knew we were dropped on our head one too many times. The unit in control points upward as if that's all he ever needs to say. It's all he really can say without a notepad but that would be disobedient.

Yeah, he's definitely up there on the list of dumbest dudes known to man. At least in the common sense department. Why don't you ever stop and think things all the way through, John?

He's still clearly ticked at the lack of a response from Dave, continuing his rant as the other boy takes a step back.

"This is literally the unfunnie-- Jesus Christ!!" He can't keep himself from jumping, caught completely off-guard by the blood on Dave's hands. He gets over it fairly quickly though, once again demonstrating his absolutely fantastic survival skills by jumping to his feet and actually approaching Dave. Every sign of irritation on his face and in his voice has been replaced with worry. Funny how blood onf your best friend's hands does that.

"What happened?! You're not hurt are you?" If Dave will let him, John will attempt to check his body for any sign of blood or injury beyond the stuff on his hands and the mechanism in his head. "Did you get into a fight or something? Come on man, this really isn't funny what's going on here?!"

How can he communicate without speaking? The answer is so simple Dave inwardly kicks himself. Maybe he can manage something? It takes a little pushing but his hand grabs John's and he traces letters on his palm using the blood.

I am a unit. Units don't speak.

Ok, that isn't what he wanted to say. Something is better than nothing. His fingers jerk as if he is about to write more, but more never comes. He lets go of John's hand and takes another step back. He has work to do. The conscious boy frowns at the thoughts attempting to wash over him. So far he's made little progress in reclaiming his body. He'd just have to exploit any loop hole he can find.

And he realises he found one. Maybe he can get messages through. It's worth a try.

John initially jerks his hand, clearly more than a little freaked out by this because he's still not sure what's even going on and now Dave is writing on him with blood. He doesn't even know if this is Dave's blood or somebody else's. Part of him hopes this is just a really fucked up nightmare, but when several attempts to 'wake up' fail to produce results, he's forced to accept that this isn't the case.

There are a few involuntary spasms as Dave finishes his message, but other than that John is still enough that the message comes out clear. Nothing about this is okay.

"A unit, what? How? Why I don't..." Understand? Well that's a given. Nothing about this makes sense. "Never mind, you probably don't know the answer to any of those do you? Christ this is so fucked up." He runs his hands through his hair, curling up a little bit. "The others! Dave, what about the others? Rose and the other Dave disappeared too. And Jade! Did you see any of them? Don't write on me again just... nod or shake your head."

What had happened to the others? He doesn't know. Shit, they better not be like him. He better be the only one. Yet, Dave isn't dumb or hopeful enough to think they escaped. The tower seems to be built to experiment on others, it makes no sense to just test on one person. He shakes his head at the question and turns away.

The body won't let him stay any longer. Damn. He's running out of time. It takes every ounce of mental will he has to turn back and grab John's hand one last time. Units serve the tower. No matter what.

Then he let go. Not the message he wanted to give, but it would have to do. He turns to leave.

You are such an idiot but don't trust a damn person, ok? Especially me.

"You can make numbers with your fingers, can't you?" He rolls his eyes slightly, but seems patient. But this one is a lower unit versus him. That's alright though. The other is just as important to the Admins.

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To deal with time is to accept you will die over and over again and no one will ever know.

room 1-12

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keywords so freaking relevant

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