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

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.