Realistic or Modern Alive but Barely Living || Modern Sci-Fi

[cosowarrior]

• PLOT
• Synopsis

• In the year 2017, a U.S. biotech company, OsiriGenix, was granted permission to begin stem cell research on brain-dead patients in an effort to re-stimulate their neurons and, potentially, reanimate their bodies. It was a controversial decision that spurred an intense ethical debate, but while the public engaged in heated discussion, behind closed doors, the study forged on. Before long, the lab began producing shockingly positive results. Not only did their stem cells reactive the dead patients' brain activity, but the subjects regained full consciousness and use of their bodies with a nearly 80% success rate. Within a year, the researchers published their results. Within three, the company pushed to take their technology to the market.
  
  The first release of OsiriGenix's "revivification technology" was restricted to a small sample city in the Northern U.S.: Willow Falls. Candidates had to undergo a number of tests, and the families of the late patients were required to sign piles of legal docments in order to be eligible. But for the residents of this poor, underprivileged city where sickness was common and good things were rare, no inconvenience was too great to pass up this special opportunity. Hundreds applied to have their loved ones brought back to life. Within a few months, the practice became commonplace amongst Willow Falls dwellers.
  
  
  - - -​
  
  To those who fear death, OsiriGenix's success seems like a miracle solution to what was once inevitable. But some things aren't meant to be tampered with. Although the company claims the procedure leaves no lasting side effects, patients who were reanimated report a strange sensation that something is not quite right. Many suffer from loss of memory, particularly of those that were made earlier in life. Even the loved ones of the 'survivors' sometimes notice an unplaceable, eerie difference in the patient, something no one seems to be able to put into words. Is the person who comes walking out of OsiriGenix's lab really the same that went in in a body bag?
  
  Now, new rumors that threaten to damage the biotech company's image are beginning to surface. Residents have reported incidences of reanimated Survivors reverting back to their original dead state in a rapid and grotesque regression. These stories, however, have not yet broken through in any meaningful way; strangely, any dissent from the public is quickly quieted. More distressing is the string of unusual deaths that has recently plagued Willow Falls. Though crime is hardly uncommon, mounting evidence suggests a serial killer may be in the midst of the city's denizens. Stranger yet, the victims are almost all reanimated Survivors.
  
  Is a cover-up of OsiriGenix's failures underway? With such alarmingly short initial trials before the testing of their technology on the public, OsiriGenix must be guilty of some kind of negligence. The question is, will the truth ever come to light? Or will OsiriGenix bury it once and for all?
  
  
  
• 
  
  Currently...
  
  It is early March in Willow Falls. Spring hasn't yet arrived, so it's still quite chilly and occasionally snowy. The city is relatively small, but compact and filled with the typical problems of a big city. The appearance of OsiriGenix brought with it a boom of new jobs, tourism, and economic activity. New residents, however, have triggered small-scale gentrification and continue to drive an increasing lack of housing, causing even more problems for the citizens.
  
  We begin with a look into the lives of the Willow Falls residents...
  
  

 

[cosowarrior]

The last thing he saw was also the first: a flash of blinding light. Perhaps it was cliché, the kind of thing you'd see in a movie or hear someone proclaim on a soap opera, 'Don't follow the light!' But, cliché or not, that was his truth. Samuael never asked to be a stereotype. He never asked for any of this.

It began one night after a bout of snow, about two months ago, when he and his family packed into their little sedan and drove off along the ice-slicked highway. They were on their way home after a family night out. The snow yielded to rain, and all was sleet and slush. His father was fine, navigating off onto a narrower, winding road where that day’s layer of road salt mixed with the rain to form a stale, murky brine. It was the 18-wheeler heading in the opposite direction that had a problem.

It took the paramedics nearly an hour to reach their car at the bottom of the ditch. For nearly an hour, Sam slipped in and out of consciousness, like some strange, nightmarish fever dream. He couldn’t remember feeling anything, and the world around him swirled in a blur of noises beneath the darkness of night. Only one thing was clear to him, and it came at the very end: that bright light the medic shined directly into his dying eyes, and the urgent murmuring of voices. Then, nothing.


If resurrection was the opposite of death, then it only made sense that his first experience was the inverse of his last. The first thing that came to him were the voices. Strange, unfamiliar, in words he did not understand or were too slurred together for him to make out. Then, the blinding overhead light. It took Sam a moment for his senses to readjust to the world of the living, and when they did, he found himself strapped to an operation table in a sterilized white room. The rest was all catch-up.

He would later learn that the decision came down to his mother’s sister, the closest of his estranged relatives, whom he hadn’t seen since he was 9. He came to suppose that it wasn’t really a matter of preserving his life that drove the decision, but rather it was the most sensible option: he was the only victim to emerge from the wreck intact enough for the procedure, and it was much cheaper to plan a funeral for four than it was for five. His aunt was a busy woman with a busy life, so she wasted no time getting back to it after all was said and done, leaving Sam with what remained from the settlement. He’d go on to sell the family home and use the net funds to land himself a tiny apartment on the other side of town, one with far fewer memories to haunt him in his otherwise dreamless sleep.



”It seems you always go back to that period of time, between right before you died and just after you reawakened.” The calm, reassuring voice of a woman broke into his thoughts, pulling Sam back to the present. He found himself lounging in the nook joining a couch’s arm and its back. The walls that surrounded him were a warm beige, almost orange, with a dark wood trim that matched the furniture that filled the room. He looked up at her, the young woman seated opposite him with a leather notebook in her hand. She’d taken the end of her pen out from between her teeth to speak, and behind the black frames of her glasses, her dark eyes studied him carefully.

”Perhaps we should try going further than that. What can you tell me about yourself before the accident?” Whenever Dr. Maya Pashar spoke, it was like being guided by an angel. Her voice held the certainty of a scholar, yet came like the comforting hum of a mother’s voice. In spite of her youth, she was good at what she did. Sam always suspected a dingy town like Willow Falls didn’t deserve to have such a gentle doctor to serve them. Judging by the plaques on her wall, she could have worked anywhere. Sam never understood why she chose to open up a practice here, in what he considered a runner-up for most boring city in America. Perhaps she simply saw an opportunity, with OsiriGenix’s debut, to jump on the city’s guaranteed need to psychologists. It was a brilliant calculation, on her part.

”How far back do you want me to go?” Sam asked carefully. There was hesitation in his voice. His light brown eyes, which had developed dark rings over the past couple of weeks, trailed.

”As far back as you can. How about your childhood?”

Another pause. Sam fell into silence. Dr. Pashar was patient enough to wait without pressing, until finally he admitted, “I’ve been having trouble remembering a lot of that stuff…”

”Your childhood?” Sam nodded. “That’s okay. Many Survivors have experienced the same side effects shortly after their treatment. It’s perfectly normal to have some memory loss. We can talk about something else.” Nevertheless, he saw her making a note of it in her book.



Their session ended with little else done. There was something frustrating about how slowly he felt he was progressing. He didn’t know what he was working towards, but part of him knew he needed to just be there already. There was a hollowness at the pit of his being that Sam desperately wanted to address, but he could never find its cause. He could never give it a name. Dr. Pashar always reminded him to be patient and to trust their work. Secretly, he wasn’t sure he believed in this system anymore, but nonetheless Sam agreed to reconvene in two days. When he left her office, she followed him to the door and, smiling warmly after him, closed it behind him. He was left almost alone in the small reception lobby, with its dingy grey walls and stark decor so different from the room with the couch and the warm leather chair. The receptionist behind the front desk was the only other person in sight. The TV mounted on the wall opposite the station was on, and the plain intonation of the news anchor spoke quietly from its speakers.

"-- another body, the third this month, in a car parked off-road in a wooded area near Highway 42. While police have yet to release details of the victim's identity or cause of death, they did note that the victim was a patient of OsiriGenix and was revived some months ago. This fact seems to match six other cases of sudden deaths that have reached the public eye in recent months. Investigators stopped short of implying that the cases are connected; however, some believe the spate of unusual deaths are no coi--"

The receptionist, realizing Sam's presence, promptly changed the channel and muted the TV. He smiled at him -- the kind of cordial, noncommittal smile reserved for polite but inconvenient strangers -- and passed some remaining paperwork over the counter for Sam to fill. Sam left the office with a little paper appointment reminder in hand. Though he pulled a black beanie over his mess of brown curls, he bristled in his peacoat and scarf against the blustering winter wind as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was another grey afternoon. The roads were dry from their last wave of rain, but as always, the sky seemed to threaten their dreary little city with more. Sam sighed, and his breath rose in a plume of white as he contemplated locking himself back in his apartment again -- at least until he would be forced out of hiding by his next scheduled appointment.


(Both characters open for interaction)

 

[DarkianMaker]

Bob 'Bobby' Kitchell​

Bob was not having a good day today, his shift had barely started before two deputies from the next county called in a dead person in a parked car found near Highway 42 by a hunter and of course he happened to be driving the closest squad car to the scene. Once he arrived at the scene he had to take charge of the deputies and make a preliminary guess what happened. The man was dead alright, he didn't even need to get close to the body for that but he had his doubts about the cause of death so he called it in. Forensics had to come, extra cars to secure the site and of course Detective McNamara had to come over as well. But of course as with any time the forensic unit moves anywhere a slew of journalists followed as a group of vultures, hungry for the scoop on the newest death in Willow Falls but luckily there was a zero tolerance policy to journalist interference. A large perimeter was setup and secured by the extra officers as well as screens around the immediate scene so no bystander could actually see what was going on. He even had a bit of a vocal altercation between himself and a journalist who had in the past ignored warnings and had tried to get a close view of the crime scene. This time the guy knew better than to press his luck.

Hours later forensics was done and the scene was cleaned up so he could go on with his day. On the way back to the city he was glad he didn't have the rookie with him today as it's never easy to go into a scene with a dead body, ever. He pulled over a couple of people who violated traffic laws, wrote the fines and sent people on their way. Finally he got to his favorite place in the downtown area just in time for a lunch break, Uncle Oscar's, a local Mexican restaurant with some good burritos. He could certainly go with a good burrito right now so he pulled up to the side of the road onto a free parking spot. Another reason he liked this place, it was actually one of the last places downtown that still had the pre-economic boom's calmness to it. He placed his order and reminded himself of how he even found out about the place. Two years ago the owner had called about a kid that had been missing for weeks that apparently just walked into his restaurant. Bobby was the one who came there to check up on the call together with officer Ramirez, oh what a day that was. They talked with the kid and ordered some food to win her trust, best choice they made as all three of them fell in love with the food. Anyway, the kid had ran away from her home as she couldn't take the abuse no more and had been camping in the forest all that time. What a storm that one kid managed to unveil. He and Ramirez had gone to the parental home whilst the kid was left in the care of Desk Sergeant Miller and oh boy he didn't like what happened there. He was about to knock on the door when he heard yelling, screaming and the sound of glass breaking. Without a moment's hesitation he and Ramirez kicked in the door with weapons drawn to find the kid's mother unconscious against the kitchen door with blood coming from her head and the door window clearly broken just now. He still remembers how Ramirez and him both yelled "POLICE GET DOWN!" at the man only for him to turn around with some look on his face like the one of a kid who had just been caught doing something fun but naughty. It was then that they spotted the gun in his hand and how it was pointed their way, needless to say there was little time for them to react. Both he and Ramirez shot the man without as much time to even say something or even aim, his shot hit him in the shoulder but Ramirez' shot perforated the man's lung. First aid couldn't save the man and he had already drowned in his own blood by the time paramedics arrived at the scene. The mother had survived but she was in the hospital for a few weeks as more and more wounds were discovered.

Oscar snapped him back to reality. "Your order is ready officer Kitchell." The man said with a smile. "Thanks Oscar, have a good day." Bobby replied warmly as he took his order and went outside. It was a nice day for March in his book so he rolled down a window on his squad car so he could hear the police radio as he sat down on the hood to eat his burrito and drink his much-needed coffee after the morning he had. He was halfway through his lunch when he saw a young fellow come from the shrink's place and the guy was pretty much the only person this side of the street. You know, I could start a conversation with this fellow, could be refreshing. He pondered it for a second before calmly calling out to the guy. "Hey buddy, how's your day coming along?".

Interacting with:
cosowarrior
Open for interactions​

 

[spookie]

Micah Sterling​

Micah pulled the striped scarf wrapped around his pale throat up until it concealed half his face, as though such a move would somehow confuse the man with the camera that had been trailing him all day. At this point however, it was too little and too late.

He was used to standing out in a crowd of course, as any reasonably successful celebrity would be. After the incident, however, the press had descended upon him like ravenous buzzards, tearing each other apart for a scrap of the story.

Keeping a brisk pace to ward off the March chill thereating to creep through his oversized hoodie, Micah shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried onwards. He had no real destination in mind. The trip had really been nothing more than a declaration of independence, proof that he didn't need some overpayed bodyguard shadowing his every move. The lack of privacy due to some stupid rumor about a serial killer targeting Survivors like Micah was beyond frustrating for the reclusive musician.

For a while, he almost thought he'd managed to lose the annoying paparazzi. Weaving through lesser-known streets, the teen kept his head down and tried to maintain a low profile. The area appeared oddly deserted, not that he was complaining. His pace slowed a bit. While he'd always been underweight, Micah had never struggled with his health or keeping up with anything pre-incident. After was a very different story.

With a weak-sounding cough, the raven-haired teen paused to catch his breath and look around. He wasn't overly familiar with the area, but it really didn't matter. Among other skills, his sense of direction had always been good. Micah turned when he heard footsteps echoing off a shadowed alley, narrowing his eyes for a better look. He really hadn't needed to.

"Micah, Micah! Smile for Pop! magazine, kid–"

Though still dizzy from running earlier, Micah hugged his jacket to his chest and hurried down the sidewalk. He caught sight of a car and two other people in the distance, and headed towards them. Once he was nearer, he'd duck inside whatever the closest business was, and hopefully shake off his unwanted follower.

interacting:

open
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[cosowarrior]

After a moment of contemplation, Sam had decided that he would lock himself in his apartment after all. He didn't have any other plans to preoccupy himself with -- a normal occurrence, since the accident. Prior to this fateful operation, there was never any shortage of friends willing to go out on short notice. But these days, he rarely got any messages. So, having nothing better to do, Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and, with his head lowered, headed along the sidewalk in the direction of his apartment.

That was, until, he was stopped by the voice of a man. At first he didn't respond, in part because he was too deep in thought to notice, and in part because he assumed the voice, which was that of a stranger, couldn't have been directed at him. But after a second, Sam dimly registered that he and the man were the only people around. He looked up to see a police officer sitting on the hood of his squad car. He was looking straight at him, and he realized that the officer had been speaking to him.

It wasn't unusual for people in destitute cities like Willow Falls to harbor a distrust for the police. Sam had been raised among the more well-to-do citizens, so that bitterness hadn't been instilled in him. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit wary as he was now addressed by a cop out of the blue. Perhaps it was a manifestation of one of the side-effects of his procedure: a general uneasiness around people.

Still, Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to face the officer.

"It's... alright," he replied. It was such a non-committal response that it couldn't have been a lie. But it didn't feel like the truth, either. The response was followed by a reflexive, "How are you?"

Before the conversation could continue, Sam's attention was stolen by a near-by commotion. Out of the alley between the restaurant and another building came a young man. He looked troubled... but more than anything, he looked familiar. Sam couldn't put his finger on where he knew him (school, perhaps?), but it was clear that there was something bothering this new stranger.

"Uh..," Sam managed to utter, and he nodded toward the boy to draw the officer's attention that way. If there was something wrong, then this officer was just the person to address it.

DarkianMaker spookie