Jan. 21st, 2017

strontiumdog: (Default)
[personal profile] strontiumdog
He was supposed to be dead. Not wherever he is now.

Not even moments ago he was on a hopeless mission, standing in the ruins of the parliamentary chambers surrounded by dead guards and the quailing politicians who'd spent years spitting and stamping on people like him. In his hand, he clutched the explosive that would bring the whole corrupt system crashing down on all of them.

He knew he was on a suicide mission from the instant the tide of battle turned against his forces and had no choice but to turn to panicked flight into the countryside. But he'd stayed. Despite the danger, the scattered executions and volleys of gunfire echoing across the field, it was his only chance. They were so close, and they would never get this opportunity ever again. This all had to be for something.

He had glared at the chamber with his white eyes, one hand still on his blaster. Wounded, vicious, victorious - He'd clicked it, and then... nothing.

Or it should have been.

He felt the wave of fire flash up his arm, then was left blinking and disorientated when he found himself lying on the edge of a small pond, waves lapping gently at his wounds. And more importantly, alive.

He stared at his hands, and then his surroundings. Just a quiet copse of trees, birds chirping sweetly around him. No stench of smoke and blood in the distance. Just a peaceful, forest setting. There was even a picturesque cobblestone path set into the ground, winding its way into the distance. Climbing painfully to his feet, completely lost for words, he only managed to whisper out -

"What the sneck is going on?"
mynameisnotbrad: (Default)
[personal profile] mynameisnotbrad
[If you're nearby a Nexus Terminal or have access to messages being projected by one, today is your lucky day: it's about to be hacked. It's a text box similar to ones seen on internet forums and a cute (or terrifying) little blue shark icon represents the person on the other end who's sending the messages. Someone, or something, clearly seems irritated by this turn of events, which is portrayed via text.]

So...I'm taking a guess this isn't the Darknet? Or my Netflix streaming page? Wonderful. I was in the middle of watching the Great British Bake-Off and this happens. Stupid internet...

Apparently, my computer has connected to something called a 'Nexus Terminal'. Dunno how that happened, but I guess I can't get off this thing until I ask a question. At least that's what the neon pop-up ad written in comic-sans keeps telling me to do. Fine. Whatever.

[Based on certain comments, you might think it's a woman on the other end, but it's not. There's a guy who's openly talking about baking on the internet.]

...What's your current profession? Is it something you enjoy or detest with ever fiber of your being?

To follow up: what's your dream job, if you have one?

Please answer quickly so I can get back to my BBC binge-watching. Thanks.

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