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SIMULATION: ANOTHER BORDER

"I felt in that moment as if it were all a dream—the training, my former life, the world I had left behind. None of that mattered anymore. Only this place mattered, only this moment, and not because the psychologist had hypnotized me. In the grip of that powerful emotion, I stared out toward the coast, through the jagged narrow spaces between the trees. There, a greater darkness gathered, the confluence of the night, the clouds, and the sea. Somewhere beyond, another border."
― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation

Introduction

April 1st – April 7th, 2022
Welcome to the event log for the "Another Border" simulation.

Twenty years ago, a strange phenomena overtook an undisclosed area of Florida coastline. It manifested as a metaphysical border, visible only as a shimmering halo. Animals, humans, vehicles, radio signals, internet, waves — anything that crosses the border is lost. As far as anyone knows, nothing has ever returned, but year by year, the border creeps forward, engulfing more and more of the land. It could be decades before it reaches the nearest city, but considering it has eluded all understanding thus far, it feels like time is running tight.

Every few years, the government sends new recon parties into "Area X", hoping this team will find the source of the phenomena, return, or simply establish communication from within. And it's time to send in another crew.

If you have any questions about the event, please ask here. You can familiarize yourself with simulation basics on our events page.

1. Entering Area X

Security is tight. There are military checkpoints, final psychological and physical exams, gear to be inventoried and mounted. The plastic sheeting and polished steel, and the air smells of gasoline from the generators and the faintest whiff of rubbing alcohol. Sterile. A world away from the untamed wilds ahead of them.

There's a cold finality to it all: it is very likely that none of these explorers will come back. Is there a glimmer of hope that they will this time, or is it all just rote, we go because we must, because we've been ordered to, because the idea that something more will make the difference? It's hard to say. Someone passes around beers. Some prattle. Some just sit with their thoughts. We all prepare in different ways. Does any of it change the first steps through the shimmering halo of Area X?

Or perhaps you've evaded security entirely — the borders of Area X are ever-growing, and ever harder to police. There is very little beyond common sense preventing people from wading through swamps, boating out just past the coastline, or simply creeping through the vast miles of forest under cover of darkness.

2. Strange Discoveries

The world is full of strange and wonderful things, especially so in a place where the basic building blocks of life intermingle freely and without judgement.

In this way, the strange can become familiar. Millennia ago, before civilization and industry and the written word, a human could wander the forest in the purest state of nature, no different from other animals. That can be true here, too. People have come here in flak jackets and rip-stop and nylon, and the world around them asks them to consider a life without, a world where saplings sprout from deer skulls and you can come home. The roofs of the buildings in an ancient town have collapsed, as nothing here needs a roof over its head. One can press their palms into the earth and feel sustenance without a single morsel passing their lips. You can belong here.

And in another way, the wonderful can become terrifying. Maybe it's the way plants grow into facsimiles of human forms with boughed arms, and if you dare to touch them, they reach to touch you. Maybe it's finding the corpses of past explorers subsumed in fungal growth, human arms wrapped around mushroom and mushroom sprouting from skin. Maybe it's some animal, an alligator possessing human eyes and fingers, birds capable of speech, a manatee that splits open to reveal human organs.

What cannot come along is your damage. It doesn't — shouldn't — matter here, but humans are often too sentimental to let it go. That may be the strangest and most wonderful challenge at all.

3. Annihilation

"That which dies shall still know life in death for all that decays is not forgotten and reanimated it shall walk the world in the bliss of not-knowing. And then there shall be a fire that knows the naming of you, and in the presence of the strangling fruit, its dark flame shall acquire every part of you that remains."
― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation

There are countless ways to die in Area X. Even if you evade the refracted wildlife, avoid merging with the flora, or survive encounters with other explorers, you fragment with every step. What's left of you when you're broken down into the base parts of yourself? What can you let go?

It's a truth you'll have to confront, or lose your sense of self to the world around you, yet another explorer swallowed by the wilds beyond the shimmering barrier.

4. Escape

There is no peaceful waking up. Post-death or post-change, awakening is a weightlessness shattered by a hard and sudden connection with the ground.

You wake in your bed or your bunk and, in that first instant, everything is as real as if you're still there. And then, at your own pace, there's a coming down to earth: this is you, these are your memories, and they're different from the ones that have flooded your mind for the past few days. It was real, if only in a dream.

The ship is quiet. The light are dimmed, swelling to life only when someone passes through the area and settling back into darkness on their heels. Many are still asleep in their beds. Their eyes twitch beneath their eyelids, and they move occasionally, shivering, mumbling. They will wake for nothing, not until they've completed their task, as you have.

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1.

Travis has never been a man of the outdoors. His apartment is dark, the windows closed around an air conditioner hosed and duct taped in place, with the curtains drawn overtop. There's the shriveled husk of a plant in a pot, leaving the cat as the only mark of life. Travis goes from that to his beater car to work. The lab is aggressively climate-controlled, kept at the precise temperature ideal for the survival of bacterial samples, and the air pumped through the facility has been filtered so many times that whatever reaches his lungs has quite possibly never brushed up against so much as a blade of grass. At the end of the day, back he goes to the car. Sometimes he goes to the gym, where he gets his requisite 150 minutes of cardio a week, but mostly he goes back to his apartment.

Day in, day out.

Standing on the edge of the Area, he drags in a deep breath. It feels like he hasn't breathed air for years. He stands taller. His chest feels like it's vibrating, and he wonders when he last noticed his own heartbeat. It's life in a way that sterile civilization couldn't hope to match.

"You wish you did this earlier?" he remarks, excitement creeping into his voice.

2.

Life in Area X, however long it has been, is incredible. Even the more terrifying aspects feel like being alive in a way he didn't expect; he used to be Travis *****, but now he's something else. He's not sure what, but it feels like shedding a costume. He was born to do this, actually. Everything behind him was a sham.

Having waded through a swamp, he's found himself dogged by long-legged leeches the size of labradors. Their gelatinous bodies collapse and stretch with every bound. Travis seizes a sturdy tree branch and fends them off with glee. His muscles burn from the exertion after years of lab work, and the sweat pours off his brow, but he lays into the leeches with wild abandon. Swings of the branch do little to harm them until one particularly hard swing catches a body with a sharp edge in the branch, and it breaks the leech's body like a balloon.

Travis, now caked in bright red viscera, continues to swing, at times letting out loud, sporting shouts. His heart is hammering so hard he's near shaking.

He's fucking thrilled.

3.

Somewhere, he'd gone too far. Went too hard. Whatever it was, he's done for now, staggering with a gut wound. It's not that deep. It's not even bleeding that much. Maybe a doctor would scoff at it if he walked into an ER with it, load up him on a local anesthetic and stitch it back together while he prattled on about whatever dumb thing he'd done. Decided he was going to live a little, picked up a skateboard after ten years' hiatus, and wound up on the pavement. Something stupid like that, right?

There is no medical attention here, not that he can imagine. He's been split from the others for so long. Too adamant on being a lone wolf, maybe. Too determined to live it out and not be held back.

Travis collapses in a bed of flowers, stretches out on his back, and stares up at the treetops against the sky. It's near sunset. Somewhere, in a time that feels distant and surreal, he'd read that they can take hours to bleed out. That's fine. The pain is awful, but he's been one of the walking wounded for years, hasn't he?

This way, maybe he'll get to see the stars before he dies.

[ Rhys stands nearby, backpack of supplies slung over his good shoulder as he stares up at the shimmering wall of moving light in front of them. It reminds him of soap bubbles, with its swirling colours.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to do this. ]

Are you seriously excited about this?

"Yeah," he replies.

He doesn't even look aside at the guy speaking to him; he's dragging in that air and imagining it imbuing every molecule of his body with energy. He is going into the unknown. He is going to live in it and thrive.

"Why the fuck are you coming if you're not?"

[ A nervous chuckle. ]

What can I say? The payout is great.

[ And god, could he use that payout. He literally cannot afford not to go. ]

Worst case scenario is that we die which is uh- unideal. But I've got a good feeling about our odds, and until then am gonna look forward to the "after" part of all this.

There's a flicker of confusion.

"After? The fuck you mean, after? No one comes back from this place. That's the whole point."

He'd sold everything he owned and blew the money on some bullshit last hurrah. Why wouldn't he? He wouldn't need any of it in here, in the real world.

Isn't that the whole point of this? They're banking on a crew to actually make it out of there with some info.

[ Rhys knows the odds and knows they're slim, but he can't go into this without believing in the chance he'll make it out. Otherwise what would be the point. ]

And I've got a good feeling about ours.

"Yeah, but you'd be the first guy to think it's going to be any different," Travis replies, with an easy shrug. He bounces on the balls of his feet for a beat, as if he can't wait to spring forward. "Where's this feeling coming from?"

What can I say? Someone's gotta have a chance at getting out of there and that someone, someones, is gonna be our team.

[ It's been a while since he's had to sell a bad bet into a good idea, he used to do it all the time with Vaughn....and while that hadn't ended well, this crew at least already volunteered for the task. He's just got to talk up some optimism, rather than full on talking them into it. ]

I've got a good hunch when it comes to this kinda stuff, and have some sources who confirmed me on it.

[ Never mind that source is a self proposed psychic who's steered him wrong in the past. ]

A hunch. Sources. That sounds about as vague to Travis as the chucklefucks online tapping out shit like my dad works at Microsoft, he says–– and then lay out some trust me, for real nonsense when no one believes him. Travis shrugs.

"That's real fucking vague," he replies. "But sure. Good luck out there."

Yeah, sources! Like...psychic sources?

[ Science-bros, man... they wouldn't get it. Rhys wouldn't have either, if he weren't so desperate to go to a psychic in the first place. He doesn't entirely believe in Loki's whole schtick, but he believes the man is well connected enough to know how to (usually....sometimes...) steer a person in the right direction. ]

How can you be so gung-ho to get in there if you really don't think we're coming back out?

Edited 2022-04-09 20:41 (UTC)

Because this is the closest the average guy can get to going to the moon, or discovering a new country or something. Fuck knows what's there but we're going to go in there and see it.

[He can feel himself getting into a spiel, but he doesn't care. He barrels on:]

You could walk into an airport and book a flight at random, but you'd still have a idea of where you were going. Maybe you saw it on Google, or a friend went there, or some shit. But there's nowhere else like Area X in the world.

We're going to be living like explorers.

I get the whole journey's more important than the destination thing but what about y'know, bragging rights? Getting to tell people all about the things you saw in there that they never will?

[ Fantasies Rhys had once had about being someone special, important, back when he wasn't so focused on just surviving his next encounter with his loaners. ]

Just dying in there is as bad as dying in a back-ally... which I'm trying to avoid currently. I want to at least leave some sort of mark.

It's not a back alley. It's the most incredible, unexplained natural phenomena to happen in all of human history. It's the kind of shit people need to explain away with aliens or gods or fairies.

[Travis scoffs.]

So the only thing that matters is knowing I did it, for me.

[There's no one left in his life to impress with it anyway.]

Yeah but-

[ He can't comprehend this kind of attitude, doing something just to know you did it and that's it??? Never being able to leverage that later in life? Even with the private confidence that knowledge will give you (though who the hell would want to keep it private??) ]

What about your legacy, man? If you don't let others know all you accomplished in there then what's the point? It's just...gone with you. Like you weren't even there.

Sometimes Jerry wondered if he followed the wrong path in his military career. Because, while being an engineer just felt right, he sure did become addicted to the thrill in Area X, more than anything. Maybe half of that glee comes from the fact that he knows his father would disapprove exponentially. In fact, when he last checked in back with the folks he made it a point to tell his father that he was dishonorably discharged. It was hilarious.

But the truth is he wouldn't change anything right now.

Not even at the sight of long-legged leeches attacking someone wielding a tree branch. His response is actually quite fast — he was over there in seconds, brandishing a combat knife because why waste bullets? (More like, why not indulge in the thrill of getting up close and personal). He slashes one as he charges in, a single cut causing the leech to explode into a beautiful red, and now he and the stranger were matching.

"Fifteen style points!"

A dribble of some viscera slides down Travis's face and twists itself around the edge of his grin, pooling on the edge of his jaw.

"Glad I didn't do too bad for a rookie," he replies. He knows a military type when he sees 'em. Who the fuck has practical combat skills if they're not? Everyone else just shadowboxes in dojos. "Thanks for the assist."

[ A shadow slants across Travis. Spears him through. And a man to match: his face weathered, as they say—lines deeply etched. Eyes shining out with pitiless elation. The old man's misplaced his hat; what hair he has left clings to his scalp like moss.

He hunkers over the body, hands on his knees. One hand shifts to his hip, then there's the click of a knife opening. The blade slides under the hinge of Travis' sunglasses beside the fractured lens. William watches a moment—holds his breath, his two eyes fixed on Travis' one.

He flicks the glasses away. ] Hi there. [ Intimate; cold. There's something straining in his expression, a hunger in his gaze. ]

[Travis scarcely moves, holding still as his glasses are tossed aside. Without them, his face is softer. His eyes are ice blue and wide. There's an unguarded fear there. He thinks that feeling might be some strange new part of dying, and not fear itself, but maybe that's more hope than thought.

He replies, voice cracked at first and gradually building strength:]

Y-you're blocking the view, old man.

[ The tip of the knife presses into the skin at the corner of Travis' eye: presses, stops. The old man drops to a knee, the hinges of his body protesting. The blade steady. He breathes in sodden air, the scent of blood. Reads the fear in the other man's captive gaze.

Human. William's face relaxes into a mask of disappointment. The knife eases away. ] That what you came for?

[The question gives him pause, and his gaze dips to faraway confusion. The compulsion to sit forward despite the knife, despite his leaking gut, persists.]

No. I came here to live. Guess I fucked that up, huh?

Ha. [ A bark of recognition as much as it is a laugh. The old man's mouth jerks in a smile, as though someone somewhere's pulled strings. He's beyond regret, out here, past any backward-looking feeling, but not untouched by sympathy.

If there's a trick to living he sure as shit doesn't know it. ] You got life all over you. [ Dark and crusted. William pinches the other man's bloody shirt in his fingers. His face works itself into a squint—the only warning before he slips the knife in and begins cutting the fabric around the wound.

For the moment, his touch is light and careful. ]

Edited 2022-04-13 19:20 (UTC)

Sure do.

[He flinches when he feels the fabric tug and give, and even when it’s clear he’s not getting his guts fucked, he stays tense. A morbid curiosity plagues him until he looks down to watch; there’s a brief regrets about the frogs in high school bio class. He got a C+ — spent too much time making eyes at girls who wouldn’t dream of talking to him, not enough on keeping the delicate organs intact. Hopefully this guy did better, at least on the frog front.

God, he feels delirious.]

People say when you die, someone shows up to take you there… but I don’t know you.

[ William snorts; his blade pauses. His eyes flick knifelike to the other man's—assessing. ] People talk all kinds of crap. [ He resumes slitting open the shirt, wet with fresh blood. His fingers already tacky with it. ] Besides if you did know me, would you recognize me? In here? I don't think so. [ He says it in a tuneless singsong, eyebrows rising and falling with his voice.

The wound isn't the gaping thing he's expecting—not a leering second mouth carved into the man's belly. More a ribbon of endlessly renewing red. His eyes run the length of it. Unconsciously he licks his lips. ] Anything you want taken out?

[He imagines his brain grinding up against the walls of his skull, fruitlessly looking for some sort of escape route, away from the pain and the promise of more. Death was supposed to be glorious here. He swallows a lump in his throat.]

I guess you could be–– what?

[His gaze moves to the knife. His fingers twitch but he's not sure he can raise them even an inch ––not that putting his hands up would do a damn thing. What can he afford to lose?]

I think I need to keep, uh–– three feet of intestine, at least.

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SIMULATION: ANOTHER BORDER

cw gross leech killing, gut wounds

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Americans use letter grades right 💀

B- for effort

foiled by google again