🔹️ Progress Log || 5 — Softlock
[here it is guys, feel free to interact if you want, rp starter thingy]
The alarm went off on his tablet for some event he had planned out in his calendar. His oh, so beloved, organized by color, extremely detailed calendar app that he himself customized and integrated a bunch of personal little features.
Ortho knew. He always knew, schedules were important, he made those schedules; and he had approximately two hours and fifteen minutes to shower, eat, review the dorm's reports and—
Fifteen minutes has passed.
He hadn't moved.
That was... fine. Okay. He could still make it. Shower could be shorter, food could be skipped, the reports could be reviewed during lunch and—
One hour.
The ceiling of his room looked exactly the same as it had an hour ago. Same pale glow of the monitors and equipment he hadn't turned off earlier.
Get up.
He knew how to get up. Standing was not a complicated process: he would document the exact sequence of movements required had he ever needed documentation before. Actually, probably did it— considering he ran so many simulations for Idia's performance. But him? He just... did it. You just gotta get up.
One hour and forty-five minutes.
He probably lost that study group he was meaning to join in.
The thought arrived with a spike of something sharp and immediate, panic— his brain supplied helpfully, that's panic — and for a moment his body responded, legs shifting, hands pressing into the mattress...
And then nothing.
The momentum just... stopped. Like a program that opened and immediately crashed, no error message, no explanation. Just: stopped.
Except he couldn't just fix that with some lines of code. What a mess...
Two hours.
Somewhere across campus, he was probably missing something. Studies. Voluntary work. Club meetings. Housewarden duties.
Ortho stared at the ceiling.
That connection between the LED strip and the lighting system really did need to be fixed. He should add it to the maintenance list. He should check if anyone had submitted new requests overnight. He should review those requests for common rooms, lab schedules, approve dorm outings, answer the thirty messages sitting unread on his tablet, follow up on the collaborative project between second-years he'd been facilitating, he should, he should, he—
He should really get up.
The silence of his room felt very loud.
