TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[space_aces]

WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD

Your journey only happened because of your benefactor, so it begets that it starts at your benefactor as well. SUPERBIA, which is as much of a location as it is an entity, is where everyone's search for Fortuna begins.

There's not much of a welcome party: shortly after their fateful encounter with SUPERBIA, in which they swore to join the quest to find Fortuna, the new Privateers will find themselves afflicted by a sudden change in perspective. See, teleportation is a tricky process, so from SUPERBIA's point of view, why not make the target destination none other than itself? One highly disconcerting moment later, and the Privateers find themselves inside the belly of the beast.

The vast mega-structure is shockingly lonely, void of anyone other than the Privateers. Those who look off the metal satellite and to The Network for intelligence (or take a skim at the Space Wikipedia article) will find out that the surrounding space is clear for lightyears; rumors have it that the place is cursed. It won't take long to understand why.

1

Overclocked

The innards of SUPERBIA are that of an impossibly scaled up computer, and the Privateers start right in the middle of it. You are the spider living in the dusty PS4. Literal rivers of coolant, transistors the size of mountains, landscapes made entirely of circuitry. The sky, bounded by a distant metal ceiling, is constantly alight with coursing electricity that cracks the sky with lightning storms. It can be assumed that the Privateers are the first living things to set foot here, because such a place is not ever meant to be traversed by delicate, organic, mortals that worry about things such as "temperature" or "voltage". SUPERBIA needs not lifeforms to continue its operations; why design for them? Traversal itself is difficult: unscalable walls and perilous drops are common to encounter. The only company the Privateers will find are oddly adorable maintenance robots, which sadly seem too occupied by their directives of maintaining the massive machine to offer any assistance (or even acknowledgement of their new guests).

It is immediately clear that the most urgent priority is to get the hell out of here. Before your adventure ends at the starting line.

2

Skeletons In The Closet

If one stays inside SUPERBIA, either by getting horribly lost or losing all common sense, one will notice a peculiar pattern emerge as one gets deeper into the bowels of the mega-structure. Passages shrink and become more level, and the incredible hostility and danger of the surroundings fade away, until one comes across areas which were definitely intended for humanoid organisms to use at one point.

The construction of these areas is cramped, unfurnished, and dreary; they are reminiscent of artificial environments meant to handle harsh external conditions like a submarine or bunker, but they are entirely livable. One can eventually find distinct rooms, but everything in them has crumbled to dust and their original purpose is nigh impossible to discern. Deeper investigation may reveal the few items that have stood the test of time. While it is more plausible for life to have existed here, that doesn't seem to be the case now. What happened here?

3

The Shipyard

In the opposite direction, when one finally reaches the outer edges of SUPERBIA, they will be rewarded with the place to pick up a spaceship and a stunningly beautiful view of outer space. The outside of SUPERBIA has no atmosphere to get between you and the stars, and they shine brightly, like a beacon calling one out into the first steps of adventure.

The shipyard is already filled with countless space ships of every size, form, and function, all autonomously constructed by SUPERBIA's factories over the countless years. What's the harm in taking one or twenty out for a spin? Even if one has no intentions of permanent ownership of the vehicle, it's not like SUPERBIA will miss it. For a Privateer with a more specific vision, however, there are kiosks around the yard which will allow one to design their very own space ship down to their exact specifications. When the process is done SUPERBIA's matter printers will have it out and space-ready right before your very eyes.

If a Privateer has a ship, vehicle, or large item that they intended to bring with them, they will also find them here, neatly parked in the Shipyard. Why didn't SUPERBIA extend this courtesy to the pilot's themselves? The answer is revealed as soon as the owner makes a closer inspection: the inner contents have been rearranged, like a whirlwind was unleashed inside and assorted loose items thrown around. Now aren't you glad your transportation was given special attention, and the same didn't happen to your innards?

4

Hot Crewmates in Your Area

But how will a single Privateer man an entire space ship? No worries: when one steps into a ship, the strangely endearing maintenance robots will suddenly take acute interest. The robots will follow inside and immediately start assuming the duties of a spacefarer, eliminating the need for extra hands on deck.

Even still, there's just no eliminating the want for a human touch, though. Thankfully even that dilemma has a contingency plotted by SUPERBIA.

Communication devices are easily available on every space ship. They come in all shapes and sizes, ranging from huge stationary consoles to portable smartphone-like screens. But whenever a Privateer attempts to access the Network, a pop-up will appear, obscuring the whole screen.

Tell me a little about yourself. Are you a LEADER or a FOLLOWER? What is your best feature?
The device will be rendered unusable until one relents to the pop-up's demands and provides answers to its questions. What will these be used for? The mystery will be solved when a social media app mysteriously installs itself on the same device, with profiles preemptively made for every Privateer. Each Privateer's profile consists of their given answers, paired with embarrassingly candid photographs. SUPERBIA has eyes in many places it seems.

Comments

Leone Abbacchio | JJBA: Vento Aureo

[riproduzione]

i. overclocked.

[ When he'd agreed to this, what he'd find on the other end was as much a mystery to him as when he'd agreed to Polpo's test. Comparatively, that test feels like a breeze compared to this — unreal and mechanical looking structures surround him. Focusing for a second, a soft whirring and a click; a robotic-looking figure emerges beside him, roughly his height and build with a featureless face. There's no need for him to bring Moody Blues out here, but it's a welcome relief that he's able to do so all the same.

He wanders, aimlessly at first, follows after odd little robots in the hopes that they may lead somewhere, ultimately proving to be a fruitless endeavour in the end as they lead him to a ledge that drops into darkness. The next thing he should do is find someone and make a real attempt to get their bearings. Traversing carefully, he keeps an eye out for any movement that can't be attributed to those robots, and maybe that's how he spots you before he calls out. ]

Hey, wait!

ii. skeletons.

[ Things start to look different the further in he gets, more like something he'd see in one of those sci-fi movies — which makes sense, he supposes. It's a strange thing to experience, as the structures built up around him slowly become smaller, and smaller until they're more appropriate for his size. Idly, he wonders if they'll get smaller if he keeps going.

It looks like the space was intended as living quarters, habitable most definitely, but a cursory glance doesn't reveal whether they were actually lived in. ]

Wonder how long it's been since someone was here…

[ He trails a finger lightly across a nearby counter of sorts, leaving a smooth line through the thick layer of dust gathered on its surface. ]

iii. shipyard.

[ The shipyard is a sight to behold, and yet Abbacchio is lingering near a large window, pre-occupied with the view outside. It's like nothing he's ever seen before, printed images in magazines or textbooks come nowhere close to capturing this — stars glittering in every direction for as far as his eyes can see, rocks and other detritus lost in space slowly drifting by. He stands quietly contemplating for a while, before he's pulled away by another Privateer, perhaps.

Exploring the shipyard itself is fascinating, if all a bit overwhelming with just how much choice there is. Abbacchio can be found meandering through the yard, sometimes alone or with that purple figure, reading through information on ships he's stopped by or inspecting them from a safe and careful distance with curiosity on his face. Eventually, he'll make his way over to the kiosks, muttering to himself as he does. ]

This is a lot of decisions to expect one person to make so suddenly.

iv. crewmates.

[ After failing several times to actually get a handle on how the device works, and then trying to ignore the persistent pop-ups so that he could change the awful picture that the device has of him, he finally relents and taps out rather blunt and to the point answers. ]

Tell me a little about yourself: Name's Abbacchio. What else is there to tell?
Are you a LEADER or a FOLLOWER: Following is easier.
What is your best feature: Do we really have to answer this? I don't know… My investigative skills?

ii.

[miraclekiller]

[ Dust, as it is commonly understood, is mostly made of dead skin cells, hair, and all the little fragments of things accumulated and shed by the living blown into some corner by the wind.

This is not dust as it is commonly understood. There simply isn't enough alive in this place. ]

How long does it take for wood and paper and cotton to completely disintegrate into this?

[ The young looking girl tilts her head at the dust on Abbacchio's finger. Rhetorical question, she doesn't expect any layman to know, but Carol Malus Dienheim who has spent centuries analysing every earthly material does: ]

Too long. Nothing has been through here for centuries.

[riproduzione]

[ He might not know all about the minutiae that makes up dust other than the very basics, but there is still a quirk of his lips to hint at an impressed smile. Turning to face her, he keeps quiet. He knows a rhetorical question when he hears one, and instead lets her say her piece with a self-assuredness that leads him to believe she knows what she's talking about. Or, she's at least able to carry herself in such a manner to make it appear like she does. Either way. ]

Mm, you're probably right. It wouldn't come as a surprise to find out that this place has never actually seen any inhabitants. Built for a purpose, then left unused.

[ A rectangular shape juts out slightly on the side of the counter, and he gives it a light pull in case it opens up a cupboard — no such luck. ]

There must be something else around here. You find anything?

[miraclekiller]

Better that this place were left unused than the alternative.

[ That there were once people here, and then there suddenly weren't, leaving all their bits and bobs behind to rot.

No corpses either, although with everything else turned to dust it's impossible to be completely sure, but coupled with the lack of any signs of violence Carol is fairly confident in that assessment. ]

There is very little sturdy enough to withstand all that time without any maintenance, and it seems the robots do not come by here.

[ Or there would at least be some roomba action instead of all this dust. ]

Anything left would have to be big, made of metal or stone. Probably metal. A large computer terminal of some kind, and depending on how they make those it might still need some emergency repairs.

[ Sorry, she hasn't actually found anything but she does have a rough profile of what they might be able to find at least? ]

[riproduzione]

[ He doesn't much want to think about the alternative — if he had to hazard a guess, were there anyone here previously, it would be that they left in a hurry. Which only raises the question of why, and for the time being he'd rather operate under the assumption there is no why to investigate. ]

This doesn't look like the kind of area they'd place a computer terminal, [ at least, not the kind he's picturing — large and monolithic. ] This looks more like it was intended to be a cabin.

[ There are metal beams from the floor to ceiling, at the centre point there's a horizontal sheet of thick metal, maybe a foot in width. It certainly looks like it could have been used as a bunk, it's empty now, though. Or it always has been. He dips out of the entranceway to the room they're in and gestures down a dusty corridor that leads deeper. ]

Let's head back this way, might be more rooms further in that house these terminals you mentioned. If they need repairs, though, I'll tell you now I'm not the best with tech. All of this more advanced than anything I've ever seen before.

[miraclekiller]

[ Carol could think of a couple of reasons, but this does not seem like the sort of place that would suddenly have a Noise infestation, nor does it seem likely that the other set of alchemists have popped by and dusted everyone. ]

I suppose you are not the type to sleep next to your devices? [ Not that she would expect anything on the scale of a smart phone to have survived, she's just trying to figure out who else would be here on this planetoid.

She turns to follow after Abbacchio, seeming to at least trust the logic of his train of thought. ]

This is beyond the technology I'm used to as well, but I'm confident I can figure it out. Understanding the makeup of all things is the job of an alchemist.

[riproduzione]

Not really, no.

[ The only device he slept next near was a broken alarm clock, and he certainly doesn't know what a smartphone is.

Careful in his steps as he picks his way through the hallway, there are a few things that have fallen over, but they pose no real impediment to their traversal. The walls and doors are framed with thick metal, and it's still dawning on him that this is all real. An alchemist is sort of like a scientist, in his understanding at least. He's heard people claim to be much, much stranger things. ]

If it really had been recent, [ he starts, hesitantly. ] Then I might have been able to do something about it if there's been someone who worked on these terminals, doing repairs or the like. But, centuries? I doubt I'll be able to find a point in time that could be helpful…

[ To his right, he slides a door open revealing a dark interior, and peeks his head inside. ]

[miraclekiller]

[ The turn of the millennium was a different time. Probably a better time, based on the snippets of Symphogear history we get. ]

Then I suppose we had best hope these things were built to last. [ Planned obsolescence is a bitch, Abbacchio.

Peeking into the room behind him, Carol sighs and draws a circle in the air with her finger, a red sigil forming in its wake which then ignites a small fire, enough to at least light up the path before them. ]

See anything?

[riproduzione]

[ A simpler time, maybe. He wants to ask why something so important wouldn't be built to last, but then he understands that not everything can last forever, even if they're intended to stand the test of time. At the flicker of light, he glances back towards the girl. ]

So, is that alchemy?

[ The same thing could have been accomplished with a lighter. At least it offers enough light to see where he's going as he steps inside the room, wiping his hand across what looks like one of several cabinets. Warm light reflects off of shiny glass, inside it looks like there are more mechanical components, like those they had to wander through to get here. ]

Looks expensive. And complicated — probably not the kind of thing you want dust to get inside.

[miraclekiller]

One of its applications. Most of it is lab work.

[ Yes, it is just magic, but it's also the boring kind of magic where you have to spend days in a lab tinkering with things and figuring out how to draw a sigil that makes 3% more fire, or how to concoct a potion that makes your magic armour stick on just right. ]

It's not our money. Do they turn on?

[ Ergo, she's perfectly willing to take one of them apart for spare parts to fix another.

Besides, who knows how much these things cost in the future? ]

[riproduzione]

Just one? Sounds like you have a versatile skill set at your disposal.

[ Something that can be adjusted to the situation depending on what's needed. Abbacchio genuinely sounds mildly impressed, even if she thinks of it as nothing more than boring lab work. Humming in thought, he approaches the closest of the cabinets proper, wiping more dust off of the surface to get a better look. From what he can see, there are no switches or buttons that might power the thing on from the front, and he pats his hand across the side he can reach. ]

I'm not seeing anything… [ a clunk as his hand passes over a raised spot. ] Ah. Spoke too soon.

[ He presses it in properly, watching the machinery expectantly. ]

[miraclekiller]

Alchemy is a broad field. It's science from before people figured out science and magic should be separate.

[ It has its own large body of occult theories refined through years of experimentation, just like any other science. The problem is that it wasn't really reproducible, most people simply have no talent for magic, and so it was abandoned by most of the world in favour what the world knows as science.

Most of the world. The alchemists of the Illuminati continued practicing their craft in secret.

But Carol's train of thought is interrupted by the whirring of machinery, the button Abbacchio pressed seeming to do something. A fan spins on, the light on the screen sputters into existence, and then... It stops. ]

Well then, looks like most of it still works. Probably a wire got crossed somewhere. I'd say it got chewed through by a rat, but I don't think there are any rats in space.

i even though my desire to comment on that horrible screencap is SO strong... also jjba spoilers

[unfastens]

[ Bucciarati also feels like this must be some sort of test - how else can he explain it? Perhaps one had to earn their way into Heaven, or, at least, earn their right to chase after this so-called treasure. He'd been shocked at his surroundings at first; then, as usual, he'd just decided to charge forward head-on, ignoring how perfectly not normal this all is. There's no reason for anything to be normal after death, is there?

It still strikes him as strange, though: the technological scenery, the mechanical creatures, the way his body still feels rather numb. As if he didn't really pass on. It's a testament to the oddity of the situation that accepting what's in front of him as a test to get to the afterlife makes more sense in his mind than truly believing he's been whisked away by an intergalactic starship. The familiar voice he hears - for the first time in days - only drills down that acceptance harder.

Because if he wasn't dead, then there's no way he would see Abbacchio. Right?

He catches Bucciarati halfway out of a zipper in the wall (if the colossal piece of computer board could be called a wall) and entirely by surprise, judging by the expression on his face. It's not like him to be unaware - was he distracted by the alien environment, or is it just that his ears are still recovering from being blown out? Even he doesn't know. For a moment, he's doubting his eyes, too: but how can there be any doubt when Moody Blues is standing there next to him? A man's Stand can't be duplicated. ]

-- Abbacchio!

[ guilt and joy in equal measure - both springing from that final memory of Abbacchio's body sinking into the sands of Sardegna. Ultimately, neither emotion wins, and he mostly looks bewildered. Like he's seen a ghost. Still, he doesn't hesitate; he steps out of the zipper as Sticky Fingers shuts it behind him, stumbling slightly in his gait. ]

[riproduzione]

[ This… isn't heaven. At least, he's almost certain it's not, on account of the fact that he was there — or a close enough approximation to it anyway — however briefly. He didn't even believe in life after death, much less the concept of heaven or hell, believed that after there would be simply nothing, but he's been proven wrong at least partially on that front. He's only here and alive, in a fashion, after accepting an offer from a curious entity known as Superbia. In some ways, maybe this is Superbia's test for them.

In any case, Abbacchio has never been quite so grateful to hear the sound of a zipper, or to see the somewhat jarring visual that is half of Bucciarati's body hanging out of a swirling void in the wall. Relief floods through him at the sight of his capo — followed almost immediately by concern — his footing seems unsteady as he emerges from the zipper, strangely so. It almost has Abbacchio hurrying forward, just in the unlikely event he's needed.

The expression on his face, too, is one that Abbacchio hasn't seen all that often. He closes the distance between them, footsteps echoing with an odd reverberation as the heels click against metal. ]

Bucciarati.

[ There's no need to ask if it's really him, if he's really here. Sticky Fingers is proof enough of that. ]

I… wasn't expecting to see you.

[ His being here means he accepted the same offer Abbacchio did, which leaves his stomach in knots just thinking about it. Why would Bucciarati accept an offer unless something had gone wrong with the mission? ]

[unfastens]

[ not this time - he stays on his feet once he's on solid ground again, and only hopes that Abbacchio doesn't mention the hiccup. He's got a hundred questions to ask: did Abbacchio see the same thing he did, or feel it, or however he should express that meeting? Does Abbacchio remember what happened to him? And if he does, has he already made the connection upon seeing Bucciarati that the same thing happened to him? All at once, there's a mess on his hands, entirely separate from the one he left in Giorno's, and he needs to figure out how he's going to handle it. These topics aren't ones he's eager to broach. Not with any of the team, and especially not with Abbacchio.

However, resolving the situation takes a backseat, at least for the moment, to the simple relief of reuniting with the dead - someone he hadn't even been able to say goodbye to. There had been no time to properly process the loss; Bucciarati hadn't given himself any. Now, standing in front of Abbacchio again, it presses on him again. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling. The guilt he feels doesn't fade, but there's an undeniable human happiness just to see him again, though it shows only poorly on his face. ]

I could say the same to you.

[ he could say something light - I didn't take you for the treasure-hunting type, maybe - but it still feels irreverent. After all, this is his fault, at least partially. They both know what happened to him. Don't they? He presses his lips together, staring up at Abbacchio seriously. There's no dark stain on his clothing, no leaking hole in his chest peeking up from his collar. Even so: ]

Are you in pain?

[riproduzione]

No.

[ The reply comes too quick in his attempt to reassure.

Abbacchio is exactly as he should be, whole and in one piece, everything all accounted for. He feels no different to how he had before his whole world had effectively been turned upside down. The saving grace, at least, is that they don't need to have that conversation — eventually they will, that's unavoidable — but not right now, not here. He meets Bucciarati's gaze, equally stone faced.

Had he failed? Is it his fault that Bucciarati is standing in front of him now? The replay wasn't quite finished, he'd tried, but… Beside him, Moody Blues is peering ahead at Bucciarati with a face as expressionless as Abbacchio's, that ever present hum that accompanies their presence growing faster. They turn their head to their user, and then there's a shimmer in the air as they're quietly dismissed. ]

No, I'm perfectly fine.

[ There's more to this, he knows, but for now he won't press. Bucciarati is here and he looks okay. If that's what he wants Abbacchio to believe, then he will, no questions asked. Unless it becomes evident that there's a more serious issue at hand, he'll do as he always has and put his trust in Bucciarati's judgement and remain like a dark shadow behind his shoulder. Other matters are more urgent, such as finding their way out of here. ]

We should find a way out, this place is like a maze and traversal is impossible— [ he points to Sticky Fingers, ] almost.

[ Maybe it's presumptuous of him to rely on a Stand that isn't his own, but Bucciarati has managed to get them out of worse situations before now. ]