Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heisenbitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2018-02-10 04:24 pm
heisenbitch) wrote in maskormenacelogs2018-02-10 04:24 pm
February catch-all; open & closed starters
WHO: Jesse Pinkman, various established cr & you!
WHERE: All over the place
WHEN: February catch-all!
WHAT: Post-Constellation heist, Jesse is canon + power updated, which is going to lead Jesse on a new path. (Plus some pre-canon/pre-power update Valentine's Day stuff.)
WARNINGS: Drugs, strong mentions of addiction, probable NSFW content, and general warnings that always come with Breaking Bad territory.
• • • BEFORE CANON UPDATE • • •
[ Jesse has no clue how he's managed to evade everyone and everything without being seen, but he's not about to stop and question it. He's in a car, peeling at top speed down the road, while the building that had been looted has sank far into the distance behind him. He's sweating like crazy, his heart hammering in his chest. His throat is dry and tight, and his hands are slippery with perspiration on the steering wheel. He keeps throwing wild glances in the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, expecting to see flashing lights squealing into view to chase him down. So far, nothing, and when he swings into the dirt drive that leads down towards the Constellation safe house, the car bumping all over the place with dust kicking up under the wheels, Jesse thinks that maybe, maybe he finally relax. Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. His best bet, for now at least, is to take refuge in the safe house for several hours, maybe even for the night, before risking making his way back to Heropa.
Finally reaching a nondescript building among a thicket of trees, Jesse pulls up underneath a canopy of trees, hard and sharp, tyres crunching and skidding over gravel. He throws the car door open and jumps out, and hurries towards the front door, which he barges through and bashes shut behind him by slumping with panting relief against it. Eyes falling shut, Jesse sags and tries to catch his breath - and leaps away from the door in alarm when he opens them again and sees a woman in front of a computer.
Instinct has him reaching behind him to fumble for the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, gaze wide and sharp, and he pulls the gun on her. Who the fuck are you? ]
[ Jesse sits alone in a booth at a Waffle House in Heropa, an All-Star Special in front of him that's mostly untouched and going cold, while he stares out at the Valentine's Day advertisements adorning store windows across the street. Having spent most the day working at Miracle Springs, Jesse is dressed much sharper than he usual, and so maybe it seems like he's waiting for a Valentine's date to show up. Or maybe, from the fact that he's eating a meal alone and seems a pensively maudlin sight, his date has stood him up.
Later, he's drifting from bar to bar in Maurtia Falls, before moving on to Merlotte's Bar & Grill in De Chima. At every bar he winds up in, he throws back shot after shot. He's drinking enough to kill several men from alcohol poisoning, but Jesse remains stone-cold sober. The truth is, Jesse has plenty of people he could be spending Valentine's Day with - Daisy, or Beth, or a countless string of other casual flings whose numbers he has stored in his phone. It's Jane he hasn't been able to stop thinking about tonight, though. Jane… God, Jane. Most days, the guilt-filled grief that sits in the Jane-shaped hole inside him is numb, like dead nerve-endings, but sometimes… Sometimes, like tonight, he misses Jane so much, it physically hurts. When more shots are placed in front of Jesse at the bar, he throws them back one after the other, like a guy desperately trying to drown his thoughts out. At least the bars will be making a shit tonne of good money out of Jesse tonight. ]
• • • AFTER CANON UPDATE • • •
[ Stepping out of a convenience store in Heropa with a fresh pack of cigarettes in his hands, Jesse finds himself being descended upon by paparazzi photographers. Jesus, he hates the media in this place, the way they swarm like a horde of mosquitoes looking to draw blood. Jesse tries, at first, to put on a smile for the cameras, strained and barely contained with irritation, while camera flashes snap away at him. But as the photographers enclose around him more, shouting in a squabble over the top of each other to vie for Jesse's attention, a sense of claustrophobic unease starts to grip at him. Jesse's eyes dart between camera flash to camera flash, and there's something about the explosions of light that reminds him of guns being fired. Guns being fired right in people's faces. Like Jesse did to Gale. Like he almost did to Mr. White. His thoughts become a rapid, frantic scramble, sounds seeming to mute out into white noise trapped in his head, panic choking him in his throat.
Suddenly, streetlights, convenience store lights, neon store lights, all the lights around him start to crackle and hum before depowering into blackness. Energy sucks into Jesse from those lights so fierce and intense, without him meaning to, that he finds himself letting out a ferocious, almost animalistic sounding shriek. Without thinking, he throws a punch at the first thing in nearest to him him, which turns out to be a street lamp pole. The sound of metal buckling and snapping cuts through the darkness, and there's a bright shower of sparks as the pole begins toppling down like a logged tree. Metal groans and creaks, followed by an almighty clang of the pole smashing onto the road. People all around Jesse are scattering fast, shrieking in fright, and suddenly there's another humming crackle of electricity as all the lights that had powered out come flooding back on. ]
[ Jesse has been back two whole days. He doesn't remember disappearing from this place, and he can't wrap his head around the fact that he's been gone only a week when almost a month has passed back at home. A month that feels almost like a year. As utterly disconcerted and bewildered as he is at knowing he'd returned home, with time having lost all sense of meaning, he's numb to it all at the same time. He sees a long string of probably panicked messages from Beth waiting for him on his phone but he doesn't answer or even check any of them. Instead, alone in his beach house, he keeps replaying finding that ricin cigarette in his roomba over and over in his head. He keeps replaying the way he'd almost shot Mr. White dead in his own home over and over in his head. He keeps replaying in his head, over and over, the way he'd accused Mr. White of poisoning Brock, when it turned out Mr. White had nothing to do with it. Disgust at himself keeps surging up so violently within him that he keeps wanting to be sick. For that, he can't bring himself to contact Beth - or anyone else, for that matter - for a couple of days.
He knows he can't ignore Beth forever, though. She doesn't deserve that, even though she also doesn't deserve to have a piece of shit like him in her life. And so, finally, after he pulls out his phone and scrolls through all her messages, disgust at himself weighing even heavier in his gut, he decides to go and see her. Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark, drab t-shirt, he shows up on her doorstep late in the afternoon, giving her front door a reluctant and mirthless rap of his knuckles. ]
[ A few days after being Ported back in, Jesse returns to work at Miracle Springs. On the outer, Jesse seems exactly as he's always looked - dressed in casual but smart clothes, in keeping with the luxurious yet relaxing environment of the resort, while busying himself with clients in between sorting through paperwork, financial files, and work in his office. For anyone who works with him here, like Haen, they might notice Jesse seems more reserved and withdrawn than usual. Shut away in his office more, or ducking out to the staff area to chain-smoke even more than he already does, or seeming strained whenever he smiles.
To new visitors, however, such as Galla, Baelish or anybody else who may decide to drop in to check the place out, they might catch Jesse at a time when he's not long healed somebody. Jesse heals everything here, from terminal cancer to paraplegia to lost limbs. Regenerating from healing others is a painful process for Jesse, too - if he's regenerating a lost limb, he can often be heard gasping in agony from one of the staff recovery rooms while an arm or leg slowly rebuilds itself like a creeping vine. If he's cured paraplegia, he might be seen weakly wheeling himself from one of the treatment rooms, pale and exhausted looking and grimacing in pain. If he's cured terminal cancer, he might be seen hobbling through the hall to head outside for a cigarette, thin, gaunt, looking every bit as terminal as the person he's just cured. ]
OPEN TO EVERYONE (NSFW):
[ This is what happens to an addict junkie like Jesse who is desperate to escape himself but can't chemically get high anymore: He trades substance addiction for an addiction to some activity that might hijack the pleasure-rewarding centres in his brain the way drugs used to. The activity in Jesse's case: Sex. Sure, Jesse is the most sober he's ever been in his life, thanks to his regeneration powers never allowing him to get high or drunk, but forced sobriety hasn't cured the disease of addiction itself in his head. If anything, being held hostage by sobriety and a prisoner in his own body has made his disease of addiction infinitely worse.
He cruises bars and clubs late at night, looking for his next fix, even if he's already scored a fix only an hour earlier. It's not that Jesse wants a fix; he needs a fix, the same way a person dying of starvation needs food, or the same way a meth addict thinks he won't survive the night if he doesn't get just one more hit to stave off the agony of withdrawal. The self-hatred trapped inside Jesse is eating him alive like acid, and the only antidote to make existing more bearable is reckless, hedonistic pleasure to chase all that self-hatred away. With women preferably, but Jesse has long since stopped being picky about who he sleeps with. Men will do if it means getting a fix. ]
SPECIFIC TO DARLENE (NSFW):
[ Jesse finally comes across a familiar face, though, in one of the many clubs he trawls through. What had quickly started as making out at the bar rapidly progressed to Jesse taking Darlene's hand and leading her out the club to his car. Reckless driving, loud pounding music, the night breeze slicing through the rolled down windows, and this is how they wind up back at Jesse's beach house. Thanks to the cloak of blood magic protecting his house, it seems like nothing impressive or even remotely noticeable when approaching it from the long, deserted road that winds along the Cape Canaveral coastline. Might seem like a rundown, abandoned shack left forgotten on the sand dunes. It's when Jesse pulls into the driveway, passing the barrier of magic, that the house suddenly reveals itself for what it really is.
And so, here they are, in Jesse's house, seemingly miles away from all civilisation, with all kinds of drugs and booze at their disposal. Coke, pot, molly, whatever Darlene might want to juice up on. The subject of the Porter or the botched-up heist hadn't come up between them yet, fucking having taken up their time over the last couple of hours. It's inevitable that it's going to, of course, and why hold off talking about it any longer? Dubstep blares from Jesse's huge sound system in his living room while he's lounging naked in his hot tub, rolling a joint. ]
So. [ Casual as anything. He pauses to lick along the sticky tab of the cigarette paper. ] How long were you in the Constellation for, then?
WHERE: All over the place
WHEN: February catch-all!
WHAT: Post-Constellation heist, Jesse is canon + power updated, which is going to lead Jesse on a new path. (Plus some pre-canon/pre-power update Valentine's Day stuff.)
WARNINGS: Drugs, strong mentions of addiction, probable NSFW content, and general warnings that always come with Breaking Bad territory.
▸▸▸ FEB 9th; CONSTELLATION HEIST - closed to Raina
[ Jesse has no clue how he's managed to evade everyone and everything without being seen, but he's not about to stop and question it. He's in a car, peeling at top speed down the road, while the building that had been looted has sank far into the distance behind him. He's sweating like crazy, his heart hammering in his chest. His throat is dry and tight, and his hands are slippery with perspiration on the steering wheel. He keeps throwing wild glances in the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, expecting to see flashing lights squealing into view to chase him down. So far, nothing, and when he swings into the dirt drive that leads down towards the Constellation safe house, the car bumping all over the place with dust kicking up under the wheels, Jesse thinks that maybe, maybe he finally relax. Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. His best bet, for now at least, is to take refuge in the safe house for several hours, maybe even for the night, before risking making his way back to Heropa.
Finally reaching a nondescript building among a thicket of trees, Jesse pulls up underneath a canopy of trees, hard and sharp, tyres crunching and skidding over gravel. He throws the car door open and jumps out, and hurries towards the front door, which he barges through and bashes shut behind him by slumping with panting relief against it. Eyes falling shut, Jesse sags and tries to catch his breath - and leaps away from the door in alarm when he opens them again and sees a woman in front of a computer.
Instinct has him reaching behind him to fumble for the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, gaze wide and sharp, and he pulls the gun on her. Who the fuck are you? ]
▸▸▸ FEB 14th; VALENTINE'S DAY; HEROPA, MAURTIA FALLS & DE CHIMA - open to all
[ Jesse sits alone in a booth at a Waffle House in Heropa, an All-Star Special in front of him that's mostly untouched and going cold, while he stares out at the Valentine's Day advertisements adorning store windows across the street. Having spent most the day working at Miracle Springs, Jesse is dressed much sharper than he usual, and so maybe it seems like he's waiting for a Valentine's date to show up. Or maybe, from the fact that he's eating a meal alone and seems a pensively maudlin sight, his date has stood him up.
Later, he's drifting from bar to bar in Maurtia Falls, before moving on to Merlotte's Bar & Grill in De Chima. At every bar he winds up in, he throws back shot after shot. He's drinking enough to kill several men from alcohol poisoning, but Jesse remains stone-cold sober. The truth is, Jesse has plenty of people he could be spending Valentine's Day with - Daisy, or Beth, or a countless string of other casual flings whose numbers he has stored in his phone. It's Jane he hasn't been able to stop thinking about tonight, though. Jane… God, Jane. Most days, the guilt-filled grief that sits in the Jane-shaped hole inside him is numb, like dead nerve-endings, but sometimes… Sometimes, like tonight, he misses Jane so much, it physically hurts. When more shots are placed in front of Jesse at the bar, he throws them back one after the other, like a guy desperately trying to drown his thoughts out. At least the bars will be making a shit tonne of good money out of Jesse tonight. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 22nd ONWARDS; JESSE'S NEW POWERS HULKING OUT, HEROPA - open to all
[ Stepping out of a convenience store in Heropa with a fresh pack of cigarettes in his hands, Jesse finds himself being descended upon by paparazzi photographers. Jesus, he hates the media in this place, the way they swarm like a horde of mosquitoes looking to draw blood. Jesse tries, at first, to put on a smile for the cameras, strained and barely contained with irritation, while camera flashes snap away at him. But as the photographers enclose around him more, shouting in a squabble over the top of each other to vie for Jesse's attention, a sense of claustrophobic unease starts to grip at him. Jesse's eyes dart between camera flash to camera flash, and there's something about the explosions of light that reminds him of guns being fired. Guns being fired right in people's faces. Like Jesse did to Gale. Like he almost did to Mr. White. His thoughts become a rapid, frantic scramble, sounds seeming to mute out into white noise trapped in his head, panic choking him in his throat.
Suddenly, streetlights, convenience store lights, neon store lights, all the lights around him start to crackle and hum before depowering into blackness. Energy sucks into Jesse from those lights so fierce and intense, without him meaning to, that he finds himself letting out a ferocious, almost animalistic sounding shriek. Without thinking, he throws a punch at the first thing in nearest to him him, which turns out to be a street lamp pole. The sound of metal buckling and snapping cuts through the darkness, and there's a bright shower of sparks as the pole begins toppling down like a logged tree. Metal groans and creaks, followed by an almighty clang of the pole smashing onto the road. People all around Jesse are scattering fast, shrieking in fright, and suddenly there's another humming crackle of electricity as all the lights that had powered out come flooding back on. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 24th; PORTED BACK IN... - closed to Beth
[ Jesse has been back two whole days. He doesn't remember disappearing from this place, and he can't wrap his head around the fact that he's been gone only a week when almost a month has passed back at home. A month that feels almost like a year. As utterly disconcerted and bewildered as he is at knowing he'd returned home, with time having lost all sense of meaning, he's numb to it all at the same time. He sees a long string of probably panicked messages from Beth waiting for him on his phone but he doesn't answer or even check any of them. Instead, alone in his beach house, he keeps replaying finding that ricin cigarette in his roomba over and over in his head. He keeps replaying the way he'd almost shot Mr. White dead in his own home over and over in his head. He keeps replaying in his head, over and over, the way he'd accused Mr. White of poisoning Brock, when it turned out Mr. White had nothing to do with it. Disgust at himself keeps surging up so violently within him that he keeps wanting to be sick. For that, he can't bring himself to contact Beth - or anyone else, for that matter - for a couple of days.
He knows he can't ignore Beth forever, though. She doesn't deserve that, even though she also doesn't deserve to have a piece of shit like him in her life. And so, finally, after he pulls out his phone and scrolls through all her messages, disgust at himself weighing even heavier in his gut, he decides to go and see her. Dressed in baggy jeans and a dark, drab t-shirt, he shows up on her doorstep late in the afternoon, giving her front door a reluctant and mirthless rap of his knuckles. ]
▸▸▸ MIRACLE SPRINGS - general starter for Galla, Baelish & Haen, but also open to anyone
[ A few days after being Ported back in, Jesse returns to work at Miracle Springs. On the outer, Jesse seems exactly as he's always looked - dressed in casual but smart clothes, in keeping with the luxurious yet relaxing environment of the resort, while busying himself with clients in between sorting through paperwork, financial files, and work in his office. For anyone who works with him here, like Haen, they might notice Jesse seems more reserved and withdrawn than usual. Shut away in his office more, or ducking out to the staff area to chain-smoke even more than he already does, or seeming strained whenever he smiles.
To new visitors, however, such as Galla, Baelish or anybody else who may decide to drop in to check the place out, they might catch Jesse at a time when he's not long healed somebody. Jesse heals everything here, from terminal cancer to paraplegia to lost limbs. Regenerating from healing others is a painful process for Jesse, too - if he's regenerating a lost limb, he can often be heard gasping in agony from one of the staff recovery rooms while an arm or leg slowly rebuilds itself like a creeping vine. If he's cured paraplegia, he might be seen weakly wheeling himself from one of the treatment rooms, pale and exhausted looking and grimacing in pain. If he's cured terminal cancer, he might be seen hobbling through the hall to head outside for a cigarette, thin, gaunt, looking every bit as terminal as the person he's just cured. ]
▸▸▸ FEB 22nd ONWARDS; BARS & CLUBS IN ALL CITIES - open to all, with one part closed to Darlene
OPEN TO EVERYONE (NSFW):
[ This is what happens to an addict junkie like Jesse who is desperate to escape himself but can't chemically get high anymore: He trades substance addiction for an addiction to some activity that might hijack the pleasure-rewarding centres in his brain the way drugs used to. The activity in Jesse's case: Sex. Sure, Jesse is the most sober he's ever been in his life, thanks to his regeneration powers never allowing him to get high or drunk, but forced sobriety hasn't cured the disease of addiction itself in his head. If anything, being held hostage by sobriety and a prisoner in his own body has made his disease of addiction infinitely worse.
He cruises bars and clubs late at night, looking for his next fix, even if he's already scored a fix only an hour earlier. It's not that Jesse wants a fix; he needs a fix, the same way a person dying of starvation needs food, or the same way a meth addict thinks he won't survive the night if he doesn't get just one more hit to stave off the agony of withdrawal. The self-hatred trapped inside Jesse is eating him alive like acid, and the only antidote to make existing more bearable is reckless, hedonistic pleasure to chase all that self-hatred away. With women preferably, but Jesse has long since stopped being picky about who he sleeps with. Men will do if it means getting a fix. ]
SPECIFIC TO DARLENE (NSFW):
[ Jesse finally comes across a familiar face, though, in one of the many clubs he trawls through. What had quickly started as making out at the bar rapidly progressed to Jesse taking Darlene's hand and leading her out the club to his car. Reckless driving, loud pounding music, the night breeze slicing through the rolled down windows, and this is how they wind up back at Jesse's beach house. Thanks to the cloak of blood magic protecting his house, it seems like nothing impressive or even remotely noticeable when approaching it from the long, deserted road that winds along the Cape Canaveral coastline. Might seem like a rundown, abandoned shack left forgotten on the sand dunes. It's when Jesse pulls into the driveway, passing the barrier of magic, that the house suddenly reveals itself for what it really is.
And so, here they are, in Jesse's house, seemingly miles away from all civilisation, with all kinds of drugs and booze at their disposal. Coke, pot, molly, whatever Darlene might want to juice up on. The subject of the Porter or the botched-up heist hadn't come up between them yet, fucking having taken up their time over the last couple of hours. It's inevitable that it's going to, of course, and why hold off talking about it any longer? Dubstep blares from Jesse's huge sound system in his living room while he's lounging naked in his hot tub, rolling a joint. ]
So. [ Casual as anything. He pauses to lick along the sticky tab of the cigarette paper. ] How long were you in the Constellation for, then?
no subject
Bit pointless sleeping when you don't actually sleep, ain't it?
no subject
Hm-hmm, maybe! Sleep does more than rest the body, though.
How have you been doing? That was your last appointment for the day, right?
no subject
[ He sits straighter, wiping his hands down his face, then reaches for the coffee. Black, strong, plenty of sugar. His other hand gestures at the door. ]
Shut the door and come sit down, yo. Relax a bit. Wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.
no subject
Something you needed?
no subject
How long have you been in this place? I don't mean Miracle Springs; I mean this whole... world.
no subject
Well, I originally arrived at the beginning of August three years ago - 2015, that's what they noted! although it was 2394 at home.
I was here for a little over eight months, and then the Porter played a naughty trick and sent me... well, nowhere I suppose, since I didn't recall anything happening nor did I return home... for two months before bringing me back in June 2016 and trying to pretend I was new all over again.
And I've been here ever since! So, to answer your question: just about two and a half years.
no subject
'Naughty trick'? What, just on you specifically?
no subject
When people are sent home by the Porter, normally they remember it. They've done something new at home, or an event has happened... that's what I've noticed, and I try to pay attention. But I don't recall being back at all, it was as though I'd just lost focus for a moment, and then suddenly I was in Heropa and those government folk were telling me about files and registration, and I did try to explain that I wasn't a new arrival but -- well, you know how good they are at listening: not at all! They moved me to Nonah from Heropa, gave me a new job, the whole nine epithelials!
[ She ended up moving to Maurtia Falls anyway, but having to go through the whole hoop jumping of arrival when they wouldn't listen to her rankles, just a little. ]
no subject
Got any idea what happened to you? Where you went during those two months?
no subject
I'm sorry dear, but I truly don't. Nothing like it's happened since, not to me... and I hope it does not again. I have built quite a lot here, and I don't want to abandon it. Or those I've come to consider dear.
no subject
Which also makes his blood run cold. His gaze wanders off to the side and he lapses into silent thought for a few long beats. ]
I was Ported out recently. Was gone for a week.
no subject
Did something happen? Most people don't hesitate to share when it happens to them.
no subject
I went home. Or it seemed like I did, anyway.
[ He's probably not making a whole lot of sense. It's hard to make sense when he doesn't know what to believe, though. When his thoughts are a jumbled and paranoid mess. ]
no subject
[ She feels an unexpected bit of kinship there. Her experience with it had seemed so different than that of others that she'd simply come to assume it was a Porter glitch. ]
I'm glad you came back, and that it was only for a short while. Why do you say "seemed like" you did?
no subject
Because I don't know if we ever actually go home when we're Ported out. Maybe we don't. Maybe we actually stay here the whole time and we're just made to think we've returned home.
no subject
I suppose there isn't a way to know for certain, no. But I think that what we choose to do while we're here makes more of an impact.
[ She'd seen a lot of people disappear in her tenure here, and never come back. Of things they started that never got finished, of being forgotten by a neverending tide of new imPort arrivals. The idea of it scares her, and Haen doesn't frighten easily. ]
Did you see something while you were away that's upset you?
no subject
Do you ever wonder if maybe our memories aren't real? The ones we gain when we're Ported out for short periods of time, like I was recently? That the military or the Porter knows us so well, can learn all about us through our nanites, that they can fabricate memories of home? Control us even right down to our memories?
no subject
[ Her voice is soft, but not pitying. Haen wonders if this is longer in coming than a week's worth of Port out. Something to rattle him this badly... whatever he saw, or thinks he saw, all she knows is that if this is his reaction to it, something ]
The nanites do affect us on a level that even a genessi like myself can't work around, so as to whether it's possible... from a strictly biological perspective, I would say yes. In theory we could be given memories that aren't ours, and the Soviets proved that the nanites also have the ability to completely control a person's mind and body.
[ There's no point in not being honest about it, in any case. It's not something that Haen's spent a lot of time ruminating on, but it's also not something that's directly affected her. ]
Is it something you can talk about? Even if you want to keep specific details to yourself, I'm still happy to listen... maybe we can figure something out, hm?
no subject
He swallows thickly. He doesn't know if this confirms what Darlene told him about memory manipulation or not. A part if him deeply believes it does; another part of him desperately wants to believe it doesn't. ]
I... [ His brain is a scrambled mess of thoughts he can't get straight. He has to pause for several moments to try and collect them. He can't sit still anymore, either; he gets up from his chair and paces a few steps, his fingers picking anxiously at each other. ]
Since the shit that went down with the Porter, back in December. I haven't been able to get it outta my mind, the way everyone's nanites shut down. All those people that died and suffered, innocent people, kids. And then I got Ported out coupla weeks back. Went home - or it seemed like I went home, at least. And some real bad shit went down, shit I... I dunno. I... [ He looks down at his fidgeting hands. He can't bring himself to talk about what happened, with him almost shooting Mr. White in the head because of his own paranoia. ]
B-But I got talking to someone here, when I got back. And they said none of it is real. When we get Ported out, it's not real. It's all fake. Just memories implanted. A-And after the shit that happened in December, and now with you sayin' nanites can completely control our minds, too... Maybe this person is right. Maybe we're all just being fucked with. Kids included. I mean, Jesus, that's the most messed up part about all of this Porter shit, right? Kids, yo!
no subject
It sounds like this person you've been talking to... certainly has strong opinions. If their theory is true, that's more than troubling. It's one thing to not be able to trust our surroundings... another to not be able to trust our own minds.
[ She leans forward a little. ]
What should we do about it?
[ Not 'can', but 'should'. ]