atomicrp | [ one ] i'm waking up

Today is the day your life changes. After a series of unfortunate events, you're left to your own devices in the barracks bed you've just woken up in, one of many others just like it. Those of you that are new are dressed in a completely nondescript army uniform. It's completely gray, devoid of all colour and almost all marking, except for this on the left shoulder:

A piece of paper has been left on top of the trunk at the end of your bed. It's stamped with the word 'Rules' on top. Written underneath is a few words:

No. Murder.

Follow Our Mission Guidelines.

Never Betray.

Then You Will Live.

Inside the trunk is a change of clothing. The clothing is a a base layer of lightweight long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, warm socks, ankle-high sturdy boots, and canvas BDU-pants. There is also a long-sleeve hooded shirt, warm sweater, canvas jacket, and water-proof leather gloves.

There are rations of this sort.

There is also an oddly out of place and helpful book. Interesting.

Names are placed on the side of your bunks. Each bunk is individual, with no upper bunks. The blankets are warm and well made and the sheets heavy duty. There is no 'under the bunk' to speak of - the frame goes all the way into the floor, where it's affixed with heavy screws.

All you have access to is this rather large room. All the doorframes are sliding doors, which are currently non functioning. There's one on each end of the room. Each of the doorframes has a handprint scanner on it. You're welcome to try to find out if one of your hands scan it open, but at the moment, it merely beeps and flashes red with all palms.

What do you possibly make of all this?

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Warrick seems to be doing what's akin to throwing a fit. He's stripped down his mattress and thrown the blanket and sheets to the ground. His mattress is hanging out of the futon frame and he's sitting on it as he reached for the trunk, spilling the contents everywhere as he does so. He reaches into the rations and tears them apart, starting to crumble them everywhere.

"Send me back home! Or I'll keep making a damn mess!"

From the face he makes next, he seems to have decided he looks incredibly silly, but he barrels on, because he's committed to this.

Well, whoever it is who's making a mess, he's not the only one disgruntled. He's just the noisiest. Trunks isn't happy either, and what he remembers isn't helping make him any 'happier'. But he's at least more organized about tearing through what has been given to them so far. Then he's sitting up, and examining. Confirming that the other bunks and contents of said trunks are all the same, standardized.

No windows, and only one door. When the scanner obviously doesn't work for him, he turns and leans on the wall, arms crossed. Thinking, and then a deep breath. Stretching out his Ki-sensing, looking for what he can assess of life-signals and beings.

Warrick stops making a mess when he eventually runs out of energy and sighs, leaning back on his hands after he drops one of the rations. Well, that's a whole bunch food wasted. He glances at Trunks and leans back on his hands.

"What are you doing, playing statue?"

No, he can tell the guy is probably doing something. He's just never been good at asking directly.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Trunks kept his focus. Checking, and checking again. "Trying to get an idea of what we're dealing with. There's about 50 life-forms that, to me, resemble humans, a few hundred meters above us." A pause, and then checking once more. "I can also tell there are some other things out and about, but not quite get an idea of where they are or what they are beyond that they exist and are strong enough for me to sense."

Only then did Trunks move away from the wall, turning and studying the door-area some more. Leaning against it with his ear, then flicking it, trying to get a sense of how thick the material was. Could they break out?

"Things," Warrick repeats, testing the word in his mouth, mulling the meaning over for himself. He doesn't like the implications of it, and this shows in the twist of his mouth. But one thing he does like is how Trunks carries himself, because Warrick has seen enough people trained at Calliope to recognize a fighter, and this is definitely a fighter. He has a feeling that's something they'll need.

"You're being less stupid than me," Warrick observes, shame showing through his words. He's not even put off by the fact Trunks can sense things, nor does it take him away from his stride. He stands from his mattress and kicks it for good measure of his words, before striding over. "So what's this?"

He points at the handprint scanner. It makes no sense. He's from a world of magic without technology.

"It's a hand-print scanner." Trunks answered, slightly distracted, before taking some more steps back. "It's a form of lock mechanism that's coded to a person or person's specific hand-print. Mine obviously isn't working to open it, but if you wanted to try." Gesturing for the other to do so.

Warrick puts his hand on it. It doesn't work, the screen merely turns red and emits a beep. He tries again, it does the same thing. He kicks the door, nothing happens except a hurt foot.

He pauses after hopping around for a moment.

"I could set fire to it," he says, as if that's completely reasonable.

Yeah, that'll work.

"Probably not needed for this." Trunks commented, not surprised that the other might be able to do that. Despite a lack of anything they might be able to use to set fire to it. "It also probably wouldn't work, as we don't have supplies." A pause. "Or any way to easily use what we DO have for it, either."

If he had something he could use as tools, Trunks would try dealing with the hand-scanner. That unfortunately, looked like it wouldn't be an option--so brute force it would be. The sliding doors resembled the kind that were in front of elevators. Joined in the middle, and opening and sliding off to either side. A hint of a smirk, as he could work with that.

Once more stepping closer, knocking against the metal a bit to gauge how thick the panels were, and then that smirk came fully. "You're going to want to step back for this." Warning his fellow captive, as Trunks took a step back to give himself some room.

Focusing, and a quick step forward before striking out hard at that center seam of the doors with a solid kick. The impact was loud, and a good-sized dent split the seam with each half bearing part of the dent. With enough space to wedge a hand in between them.

Warrick had taken a step back but he jumps back another few when Trunks strikes at the doors, his eyes widened. He hadn't expected that. "Whoa!" His eyes are quite wide. "You're strong!"

He has a super amazed look on his face. He tends to like displays of strength, even though he quickly feels useless afterwards.

"I'm full of surprises." Trunks muttered, taking that step back, and then repeating that kick in the same spot. More denting, and more room now; whatever metal their doors were made of was 2" thick and had felt a decent amount like steel, when Trunks had examined it earlier.

"Unfortunately, that also wasn't subtle. Whoever brought us here, probably has been put on alert now. Even if they weren't watching us before." Better to be warned, as Trunks stepped up closer to the doors. Wedging what he could of his hand and arm into the small opening from the dent, and then bodily trying to move and slide the doors. Mostly in his shoulder, and once he got enough room a leg was brought up with his foot wedged against the other half.

Definite resistance from the internal mechanisms, but no alarms yet. Which was odd. Nor did Trunks worry about getting the doors all the way open, only sliding them apart enough that he and the other could get out of that initial room. Get a look at where they were.

[ one ] i'm waking up

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