Immersion HQ starter blog

Bay City's Starter blog A starter blog for the closed group IMMERSION HQ. Tag your starters to @immersionstarters to your starter to be reblogged here for everyone to see.

[cryxmercy]

shadow games || open

Faye was about to give up the ghost and say fuck it to this wild goose chase of a stakeout. She’d been sitting here for hours, alone, following up on a lead related to the drug that she’d found in Dr. Savin’s system a few days prior. She hadn’t told him about this particular job, not wanting his personal feelings to perhaps get in the way of the investigation. Not that she thought him incapable of focusing on the task at hand, but he seemed the type that might take things personally if he got to close to the source. 

She wouldn’t blame him - he’d been drugged, after all - but there was no room for personal emotions in Faye’s job. They got people hurt. Or worse. Her right hand flexed involuntarily at the thought. Thankfully, there was movement across the street. When Faye ran her scans - low-frequency NC stealth biometrics - they came up as unrecognized. Which meant one of two things. Either the person was truly an unknown to the NC, and most likely irrelevant, or they were someone very, very dangerous. Someone who wanted to stay hidden.

Regardless, Faye was going to check them out. 

Exiting the car, she waited a bit before crossing the street and following at a safe distance. Whoever they were, she wasn’t taking any chances.   

[immersionstarters]

elliotcnderson‌:

It was glorious! Elliot was bathed in the pink light of the city and quite pleased for it. Someone had ordered the entirety of the menu at Last Light but, they’d moved onwards to a second bar. Well, to a party that had no finish time. Everyone who was anyone, was here. Elliot no stranger to drama and attention had arrived in style in someone else’s sports car. Really the entire ordeal had been quite uncomfortable but there was nothing like doing stardust off of a stranger’s thigh. Everything in the velvet rope was quite surreal, as if the walls had popped out of their confines to personally greet Elliot with a thick but soft hand. He grinned, sashayed through the throng of familiar faces and, creatures, people with two heads or scales in place of skin. Elliot was quite certain he saw the christian ideal of Jesus in there somewhere. The party was thriving and Elliot, well, he found himself a quiet corner to sink into until the sweet calm hit him. It took an hour, or two, but some pretty young thing came to talk to him. Gushing about a movie he’d been in recently. What movie was that? She didn’t seem to hear him and carried on talking without pausing for air.

Elliot managed to find steady enough feet to traipse across the lounge to the bar, there leant against it with a devilish smile was a familiar face, Dante fucking Reid. They laughed in sync and Elliot lurched forwards to wrap his arms around him. Dante was nowhere near as far gone as him. “Have you seen the girls?” Elliot blurted, the words slurring together as swayed, one hand on Dante the other on the bar. His friend shook his head and urged a glass of water in Elliot’s direction. “No!” The night was still young, Elliot had no intention of slowing down just yet. Although truth be told after he parted ways with Dante he did think about finding a private room to have a nap in but somewhere along the way he got caught by someone else, and then someone else again. Everyone it seemed was out tonight. Everyone wanted Elliot with his endless credits or pocket full of goodies.

In the end, he found a private balcony that overlooked the city for a brief moment alone. A synth had followed him out with a bucket of champagne and canapés. It now stood as quiet as death in the corner. Elliot had managed to pick a little bit at the food but everything swirled, violently, in his vision mostly. He was half afraid that if he let go of the railing that he’d simply fall straight from the skyscraper down to a gloomy doom on the walkway below. The door behind him slid open Elliot gasped, and turned around in slow motion. “Excuse me,” he slurred. “Come to steal my canapés?” 

[riotnox]

@immersionstarters​

The Pour House wasn’t Nox’s typical joint. Nowhere in Mid-City really was, but with it’s proximity to the Nest, sometimes it was easier to just stop in for a drink or two ( or three or four) and then go back to the Nest to pass out in one of the back rooms. Either that or she had to trek all the way back into the lower city and walking around this late at night meant probably stumbling into a fight and although fights were never a deterrent for her, it did mean possibly not ending up at a bar at all. And nothing in her own liquor cabinet, if you could even call it that, compared to what they served here. Now that Nox had credits, more than she ever thought she’d have, it was only right she splurged for the best when she could.

A bar like this was also perfect because of the joybots that would hang around. It meant that less people were interested in hitting up the flesh and blood at the bar, unlike in the Saloon where it seemed like every other moment someone was trying to either pick her up or pick a fight. Here Nox could drink in peace, sipping the whiskey from her glass as her bright blue eyes scanned the rest of the bar top. She’d been running in the middle-city for years and still, it felt foreign to her. The way people would spend credits like they didn’t have a care at all, like there wasn’t the worry of how to eat, how to survive until the next payload came in. These people weren’t even the richest of the rich and still, it was a world apart from what Nox was used to. It was enough to make someone mad, but Nox had seen it enough that the boredom outplayed the anger.

But irritation could still lash out, alive and well, and as someone slid into the sear beside her, Nox felt her body tense up. But this wasn’t the Saloon, where a bar fight was a common occurrence and badges were rare. Mid city had a bit more foot traffic when it came to the Novas and she didn’t need to end up in jail. It didn’t mean she needed to be nice though. “Unless you’re going to buy me a drink, don’t waste my time,” she spat out, turning to face her new bar-mate. “You’d have better luck with any of the joybots in here anyways.”

[sweetbeannaomi]

@immersionstarters​

There was something to be said about the lull after a morning rush. The masses of people who were on there way to class needing the pick me up from a coffee, or a smoothies, or whatever they desire now gone from the premises to continue their day in what would hopefully be a lovely way. They luckily never had a lot of anger customers in Havens, not because they didn’t exist, but because Naomi tried her best to fix the problems before they got out of hand, to make sure that the customer experience stayed an important focus. Unless that customer was just rude for the sake of it and then, she had a little reminder for them at the start of the line in the form of a sign. Sometimes, that line had to be spoken verbally to some difficult customers. Like right now.

“I’m sorry M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like the sign says,” Naomi started, her voice patient and gentle as she gestured over to her sign, knowing that the woman in front of her wouldn’t even take a second glance… if she had even took a first one. “I retain full rights to deny service and eject someone from the premises for any reason, especially if they have shown disrespect to my employees.” She gave a small shrug. It seemed like a simple price to pay, a bit of kindness for some excellent service. Some people just have a problem with it. That or they just love to yell at people who don’t deserve it and there was few things that got Naomi riled up than someone yelling at her baristas. “So we can do this the easy way and you can see yourself out or I can call someone in. Your choice.”

Luckily their choice was the easy one and with some grumbling and curses, the woman left the shop and peace came back into the air with her departure. It didn’t mean the job was done though, since Evie was still on the ten that Naomi had sent her on. So she took a deep breath and looked over to the next customer in line, not knowing if they had seen everything that had just happened or had just come in. “Hi, sorry about that wait! How can I help you? Looking to try something new with out chocolate black berry latte? Or more of a simple classic, like the white chocolate mocha? And if black coffee is more your style, we have plenty of that too.” Her statement was finished with a cheerful smile.

[doc--frank]

On engineering days, Zina played rock. There was something therapeutic about electronic guitars shredding lines when you were welding, and the cacophonous nature of it helped to hide the otherwise unsettling sounds of drills and saws cutting through metal. Zina had her hair tied back into a high ponytail, hands greased from carefully feeling out any imperfections. She’d been hit with a muse to create some more cyberware parts, perhaps the muse was directly tied to her revenue. Not everyone wanted a custom built, one of a kind, experimental augmented arm that she would design with them (or at least, with them in the same room as her). So she’d better make some limbs to take along with her to the ripperdoc offices. Each one with something exciting to really sell it, and Zina was on a roll. Over the past week she had made three arms and two legs, now it was just time to make some additional hands and feet so she could swap them if needed. Maybe she should create a single arm with two hands, no, a single connection point with two arms.

Zina was a flurry of activity, spinning around on her chair to grab her notebook and drawing with her finger in the 3D projected screen some ideas about mockups, at least for a training arm that would help the neurons train for having an additional limb to control. Zina hummed loudly in excitement, only for half of her vision to be blocked by a security notification. Someone was at her door.

Without even bothering to look at the security camera feed, Zina groaned and switched to the buzzer by the door. “Interruptions! What is it with you people and interrupting me when I’m having a breakthrough?” Zina rubbed her face with her hands, smearing it with some more grease from earlier. Business was business, and a customer at her shop was less time spent milling at the ripperdoc offices. “… What is it?” she asked in a slightly more friendly tone, flicking to the security camera feed.

[ofathxna]

Walking past the casino, she stopped on the sidewalk, breathing calmly, not a hair out of place. Hands stuffed into the jacket that was zipped up tightly against the cool breeze that began to set in, light strips underlighting her face with blues and pinks. Her very worn combat boots scraping against the ground as she took up a more relaxed stance, she’d done a few perimeter walks already, marking the cameras, security personnel and synths. This was more a parting glance, admiring what was soon to be hers. It was breathtaking, and soon her guys would take everything it was built upon, all their credits, perhaps some tech too.

Finding her way to a bar in the middle district, she sat at the darker end of the bar, tucked away in the corner. It was only when she felt the slight shift in the air beside her that she called out to the synth behind the bar, “Another, and one for my friend.” Turning to face her companion, she’d assumed it was someone from the Tech Heads, someone that knew how to find her, or where she hung out. She was pleasantly surprised when it was not one of hers.

[of-dxnger]

He’d collected a rather bigger haul than normal, this sometimes happened when the corporations were pushing new tech out, all the old stuff suddenly became useless to people, it found its way to the scrapyard, unwanted, forgotten. He felt like that was where he belonged some days. He was sitting on the edge of his workshop, sorting through the pile of scrap for what could be salvaged immediately and what needed some love and attention. Energy drink in one hand he hadn’t been sleeping well of late, unsure whether it was due to the incessant nagging guilt he harboured or whether it was just because his bed was uncomfortable as hell itself. 

Leaning on the back two legs of his creaking, half-rotten chair he couldn’t help but stare at the rather out of place individual looking around. They might as well be wearing a sign that read ‘mug me’. Putting down his energy drink he kept his mask covering his face, mumbling through the thick material. “You look lost, what ya looking for?”

[thecreatvre]

[ open starter ]

It’s easier than some people might think, being undercover. Assuming a new identity.

Or, at least, it’s easy for a synthetic.

Sierra doesn’t know how humans do it. They must have to learn information by memorization, consciously think about how they’re acting and what their body language is doing. For a synthetic, it’s significantly easier: Sierra downloads select portions of other models’ code, switches out his identification (with help), and finds appropriate clothing. It’s a simple matter of running parallel programming.

This week, he is a CW-P-200 model, a therapy synthetic. Clad in calming blues and a placid smile, it allows him to speak freely. Or, freely enough. As freely as synthetics are ever allowed to speak.

He’s staked out a small cafe across the road from Synthsphere HQ, a space where employees regularly procure items to satiate their human digestion systems. All around him, people are drinking coffee, chewing bread and meat and plant matter, and it all seems so… messy. Sierra honestly doesn’t know how humans do it. But he’s here to overhear conversations, hoping to get anything he can on models being developed or problems with programming, anything.

He stands in the designated waiting area for accompanying synthetics, lined up near the door like docile statues, waiting for their masters to remember their presence. Sierra wants to shake them. Wants to beg them to wake up, to snap out of it. Instead, he breaks from the pack, and goes to stand next to someone waiting in line.

“You look very stressed,” he chirps in the pleasantly cheerful programmed tone of a CW-P. “Prolonged elevated stress levels can be very harmful for humans. You run the risk of headaches, upset stomachs, chest pain, insomnia, frequent colds, and loss of sexual desire! Would you like me to recite some affirmations for you?”

[immersionstarters]

drnorthrop‌:

It was rather late and Aden’s day at work had been extremely long. But for some odd reason he didn’t even feel tired. But he was hungry, that was for sure. The food at the medical center was just as good as stuff like that got, so real food was definitely the next goal of the day.

He could’ve taken a taxi or something, but instead he decided to just walk. Maybe he’d end up finding a place to eat where he hadn’t been before and therefore find out something new. Which was always a good thing in his books. Probably just walking around on the streets and taking the shadiest shortcuts weren’t the best idea, but Aden wasn’t worried. He was a big sized guy and he could look angry enough that no one would come to bother him. Or even try to rob him. But if someone would try to rob him Aden certainly wouldn’t be nice to that person.

As he kept walking this aimless road of his he came to a set of stairs and as he was going down he saw someone just standing on the bottom of them. He stopped in his steps and just looked at the person. He wasn’t sure were they messaging someone or was something wrong. But they certainly were just standing still. “You need a hand?” he ended up asking, since to him it was a bit shady to just stand there seemingly doing nothing. But then again, he only saw the person’s back so it could be they were doing something.