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Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Early Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty
Felicity Smoak and Natasha Romanoff, have been selected for today’s mission. Details are below:

‘In order to help us improve our combat simulators, you will need to run through any combat situation you encounter at least three times. On the second pass through, engage the combat at a greater range than originally. On the third pass through, attempt it at a much closer range. You will provide tactical notes to our staff afterwards. If the simulators catch fire, or fail to respond to override commands... note that too. The eggheads were supposed to have fixed that.’

Please debrief the computer on the status of your mission by the end of the Daycycle here.

Morning & Afternoon [0900 - 1600] — Service Firm Positions
All Troubleshooters not assigned a mission should report to their Service Firm for their daily duties, unless specifically assigned a different shift.

Evening [1600 - 2200] — Citizen Improvement
All Alpha citizens are encouraged to better themselves through Alpha’s wide variety of educational, entertainment and cultural opportunities offered each evening. Attending these sanctioned events are not mandatory, but is highly encouraged by The Computer. Citizens choosing not to take advantage of these opportunities, have a growing number of other options available to them in how to spend their hard earned credits and free time.

Tonight’s event will be at 1700 in Hangar 15, Armed Forces Sector and will be hosted by the Alpha Complex Dogeball Association. Join us for a game of Alpha Dodgeball! All clearance levels above INFRARED welcome.

Alpha Curfew Restrictions
All Alpha citizens should be in their quarters within the Wagon Wheel by 2200, unless they’ve been given permission from a GREEN or higher clearance level citizen. Sleeping Aid gas is dispelled each night in the Wagon Wheel at 2200 to assist citizens in getting a productive sleeping period.

Confession Booths
There are hundreds of confession booths available around Alpha Complex if a citizen would like to communicate directly with the computer. Please use these confession booths to report mission statuses, report treason or terrorist acts, unregistered mutants, confess your trespasses against Alpha Complex, request propaganda or speak with Your Friend, The Computer, at any time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

morning briefing

Derek has learned quickly that he is not a fan of not having control. Being on a strict schedule is actually kind of nice, he has to admit, because if Buffy's right and the glitches aren't glitches at all, then he could use the structure if it means not running into the fray at every turn and sacrificing himself for a bunch of kids and a town's whole population, none of whom seem to give a shit one way or the other whether he's around or isn't. Which, really, probably isn't fair. McCall and his pack have helped Derek out on occasion, too, he's just never felt like he's been an actual part of the pack so much as a superfluous being on the periphery who sometimes proves himself to be useful.

Again...in theory; if the glitches aren't real.

But the one thing that Derek absolutely cannot stand is that he doesn't get to decide when he goes to sleep unless he happens to decide he wants to do so before the sleep aid gas gets released at 22:00. Sleeping, eating; natural things that the body needs and that Derek is more than willing to do without coercion are things that he thinks he should be able to do on his own time. Yeah, he's well rested, but probably a little too well rested, because he's well rested enough to be grouchy about it. So when he's making his way to the morning briefing, he can't help himself. He's looking for that little awkward ray of sunshine from yesterday: Felicity. He doesn't know her last name, so he doesn't know for certain that when one was sent on combat duty for her mission that it's actually her. He deflates a little, frowning to himself before lowering himself into a seat and straight up glowering at the idea. She's better than the nasty coffee he wore to save her ass from accidental treason. Now what the hell is he supposed to do to get his day off on the right foot?

citizen improvement

If the glitches are to be believed — and now that he's not alone in thinking it, some part of him is potentially starting to sway in that direction — then Derek has plenty to be angry about. If those are real memories, his family is dead, completely batshit, or has abandoned him entirely. He's been duped by too many beautiful women with his best interest well out of their minds. He's lived in a train depot after the town condemned the burned out shell of his former home where he'd been staying. And he surrounds himself with a bunch of teenagers because he never really got to be one. How's all that for fucked up? No wonder he doesn't want to keep the glitches/memories.

With all of that stuff weighing on his mind all day, after Derek grabs a bite to eat — if it can even really be considered food, that is... — he decides to blow off some steam with dodge ball. He has a feeling that the people on the opposing team are going to regret him showing up more than he will, anyway. He might not have his supernatural strength, if that's really a thing he has, but he's still a big guy and he's got a lot of negative feelings right now. Derek would love nothing more than to work those out via pegging as many unlucky assholes on the other side of the line as possible.

Izzy doesn't like this place, not at the moment. Then again, she didn't when she first stepped into the world that this place is either. From the forced....videos and paperwork, to the artificial environment, and being told that her memories are all false...are glitches...it's all felt wrong from the word go. That assessment was leaving out Izzy's complete displeasure at the fact that she was wearing clothing that she would rather burn than actively choose to wear.

Treason. That was the only reason that she hadn't actively done anything to her clothes, or her boots, despite hating them with a burning passion. She felt like a frump. She'd gotten too much sleep. She wasn't used to this place at all. Isabelle Lightwood was having a no good very bad couple of days.

It wasn't the schedule that bothered her in the least. She could remember the strict training schedule that she had kept up when she'd been learning how to fight and being educated on how to run the institute, as well as her medical education. She was the best damn forensic pathologist in New York. That felt real to her. And yet it was supposedly a glitch. Treason again.

It was probably a good thing nobody could read her thoughts; she was trying to settle in here, though, it was just easier said than done. It was the sour look on the man's face that got her attention. It was an interesting mixture of frown and glare; it reminds her of the brother that she's still not convinced is just a glitch in her programming. She remembers his frowns, and the fact that they made his smiles all that sweeter, and memorable. The guy seems much the same, or at least similar. Plus, Izzy's never been the shy type, or at least that's what she remembers about herself.

So she doesn't bother to ask as she takes a seat next to him, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear and inadvertently exposing the rune on her neck. It's easier to not think about her own disappointments and confusion when talking to someone, like with Steve when she was first released. "You do not look like you're having a good morning so far." Izzy notes, the tiniest of smiles pulling at her mouth. With Alec there would have been more teasing, of course, but she doesn't know this man like she believes she knows the brother that she isn't sure is real. Hopefully, though, he is...even if he isn't here. Though, she's sure he wouldn't like it any more than her.

Izzy's always gone forward with confidence, in whatever she does, and now is not difference...frump, displeasure, and confusion be damned.

"Not a morning person, handsome? Or just one of those mornings?" She asks, trying to get the chance to know someone other than Steve started. He'd be the firs of many. Lord knew she was going to have to make friends if she was going to make it here. Though, she had more than that on her to-do list. One thing at a time, though, right?

Derek's head turns slowly and he looks a little incredulously at the person with the balls to sit beside him when he's clearly in a shitty mood. His excitation softens a little bit when he notices that it's a woman and she's actually also kind of pretty. "I've had better," he says with a shrug, looking straight ahead again.

He notices the tattoo, but doesn't ask. If this place is real, it's a flaw. If this place is all bullshit, then it probably gets asked about enough as it is — like his does at the gym, which is why, according to the glitch, he stopped going and started working out on his own — and she's probably sick to death of answering questions about it. "But I've also had worse."

At the compliment, Derek huffs a small laugh in spite of himself. "Funny, I'm actually very much a morning person. Just not this morning, I guess," he says. "Or maybe I just hate this place that much," he points out, looking back over at her with his eyebrows raised.

Izzy knows that the man she's currently bothering isn't her brother. He just reminds her of Alec, and she was always an expert at dealing with his moods, even if he'd argue that she wasn't. She's not all that intimidated by him, his mood, or his size. It's not that she has balls, so much as she's just used to dealing with bad moods, and surliness.

She knows that this guy, whatever his name might be, isn't Alec. It's a nice little reminder of the brother who isn't here, though. Just to see someone who (upon first look) is a little similar. Isabelle can't help that that's what she gravitates toward either, just like she can't help the amusement that causes the corners of her mouth to pull upward a little. So, this morning fell somewhere in the middle for him, not the worst and not the best.

Izzy couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been here, and what it'd take for her to settle in.

"This middle morning between best and worst." Izzy surmises before she shrugs a little bit before sitting back, her gaze forward for a long moment. Well, until he mentions hating this place, anyway. That gets the petite woman to turn her head, unabashedly looking right at him. "I can see the merit in hating it." Izzy speaks lightly, knowing that she should tread carefully, but she's never been one for fear, or letting it control her. "I can't say I'm a fan so far, even if I haven't had that long to settle in just yet." Her own eyebrows lift, almost in challenge to match his own, despite her light tone of voice. If he was trying to catch her for treason (and what the hell here wasn't treason) he'd probably already caught her, even if she wasn't spewing venom, what she'd said was likely enough.

Izzy didn't live her life in fear; she also did, and said, what she felt was right, and so far...hatred toward this place didn't seem to be in the wrong. She was quickly getting there herself with all of the rules, regulations, and just how stifling the place managed to be. She didn't know if that was his reason, but if it was she sure as hell understood.

Derek shrugs. "I suppose," he replies. He's only been here a couple of days and already he can tell that every day is going to bleed slowly into the next; they're all going to feel exactly the same and it's going to drive him slowly mad. Derek is the kind of person who needs to be doing something to feel productive and determining physical fitness of a bunch of random strangers doesn't exactly scratch that itch for him. Add in that his roommate planted a seed he can't shake and all he can think about is whether the life he remembers before this place is real or a big misunderstanding and it's easy to understand why he's in such a foul mood this morning.

"I haven't either," he replies, but he shrugs again. "I just feel like everything is meaningless in this place. Being unhappy is treasonous, but how the hell are we supposed to be happy when we're bored out of our goddamned minds all waking hours of the day?" Not to mention that they don't even get to decide when they go to sleep or what they want to eat. No wonder they get fed happy pills on a regular basis. They'd all be in jail for treason without them.

Izzy can't help but think about how badly this bodes for the near future. Then again, hearing that her memories were glitches had already sort of cemented that. She's been struggling not to think about the people that she remembers in such vivid detail, but they keep going back, and it keeps leading her back to the idea that what she's been told is a lie.

It seems easier, or rather more likely, that her memories are the truth...as opposed to a glitch. They're too strong, and too vivid to just be a flaw in her programing. Izzy isn't sure she's ready to vocalize that thought, but she's sure that she has a brother, two actually, and the rest....maybe it's the glitch, but there are some things she's certain about.

"How long have you had to settle so far, handsome?" Izzy asks, shifting to angle her body so that it's a little easier to converse with him. She's not sure she could answer him if he asked why she felt compelled to talk to him, but she does. And she doesn't think that he's wrong about the way this place works either, so she nods, a slight dip of her chin before lifting it back up, all the while allowing her understanding to melt through onto her face. If that's what she's got to look forward to, she's going to get bored fast.

Part of Izzy wants to try and find a positive note for her current sour companion, but even she can't get blood from a stone. She can't make this place into something it isn't, unfortunately. What the hell are they supposed to do other than go on autopilot in this place?

Stretching her hand out, to offer for a handshake, Izzy managed one of her charming smiles. "I'm Izzy, and I don't know what they expect, but I know that I don't plan on being bored and stuck in monotony every day, personally. So, I guess we make our own excitement...one way or another." She gives a half shrug, lifting up her right shoulder and then letting it drop. She's not sure exactly how they're going to do that, or if it's considered treason. And it's probably mostly bluster that she can even get it out, but she hasn't been here long enough to really muster up actual hatred for the place yet.

And Izzy....well, she's never been good at wallowing in misery.

"Derek," he corrects her flatly. Cute the first time, a little too reminiscent of Kate Argent's smooth, confident attitude for his taste the second. He shifts uncomfortably in place, frowning. "Two days." It's frustrating dealing with the warring sides of his mind, especially since he doesn't actually want any of those "glitches" to be real memories. If they are, it just means everything in his life was awful and most of that was his own fault. Who would want the memory of getting one's whole family and half of their subsequent pack killed to be a real one?

He's in his own head and he feels a little bad about being rude but he'd sort of shut himself down in the absence of someone he gave a shit about impressing and he's fallen down the rabbit hole of his own confusion since. What's real? What isn't? Is he take a mutant and, if so, why can't be do anything with that?

When she offers her hand, Derek shakes it and gives a small nod. "I guess so," he agrees, because she's right, really... Although, Derek has no interest in being arrested — Again, he thinks — so he can't really offer to join her in her crusade. "Good luck with that," he adds and it's the first time he has sounded genuine rather than sour this whole conversation. He does mean that. Derek hopes Izzy finds what she's looking for. He still needs to sort out his own head before me can delve into all that. While he hasn't decided whether or not he'll bother because he's too damn distracted to think straight, Derek does get a good look at her and makes a mental note of her name to check back in with her another time. After he sorts out the mush in his head, anyway.

Izzy nods, noting the name that she didn't have before. Derek is definitely a guy with a lot of...weight on him, and not of the physical variety. It'd take an idiot not to be able to see that he has a lot going on. Izzy's been struggling with her own stuff, so she can't be particularly offended by the terse reaction. She doesn't know him, after all. "Looks like we're both relatively new around here, then, Derek." Izzy surmises, understanding the surliness.

She had been right, initially, with her thought that he was like Alec. It was in part because of that, and in part because it took much more than a sour mood, that Izzy doesn't choose to write him off just yet. Emotions, memories, and the war within her own head over what to believe and what not to is difficult for her. He's not much further in than her, so she can only assume that he's experiencing very much the same.

Shaking his hand, firmly, Izzy releases it after a moment already having made a decision to give him some of the space that he quite obviously needs. Maybe she'll check in on him later? "Thanks." Izzy, gently, places her hand on Derek's arm in the lightest touch. "Good luck with the rest of your day. I hope it gets better from here." And she means her words too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, Alec definitely never was, but some people are more prone to these sorts of moods and if anybody knows that...it's Izzy because she's related to someone that fits into that category.

"I'll see you around, I'm sure." After all, where the hell else are they going to go? Izzy rises from her seat, graceful despite her frumpy shoes and jumpsuit, and moves on. Derek made for one person other than Steve that she'd met and talked to now, but she's got more to go ifs he's going to figure things out and find a niche here.

The final games were winding down when Stiles had spotted Derek. At first, he'd thought that nobody is that unlucky, but had quickly revised it. It's Derek Hale, they guy would definitely be unfortunate enough to end up here after getting out of Beacon Hills. If there was ever a lottery for horrible things - the man would have the winning ticket, and probably the next few prizes afterwards. It makes him wonder about a few things too: if the familiarity of between some of the other clones was because of things before, and not just from meeting up here.

(If he went looking, just who would he find? And would he even want to find anyone else he knows - because they'd be here.)

From the way Derek's going at the other team, he's glad he'd been tagged out a lot earlier, and he winces when one of the other players gets hit in the face when she's too slow to duck. Her teammate tries to avenge her, but Stiles can see that the team's flagging, enough so that they'll probably be out before the ref calls the game.

He makes himself comfortable on one of the benches, one of the few remaining spectators near the front. Most had moved further back when the game had heated up, or had left already to give themselves ample time to meet curfew - he's learned that lesson: being in your room isn't enough - cheering or booing with the rest of the crowd through the rest of the game.

So maybe he's getting a little rough with the other team. He's being careful enough to aim the especially hard blows at other REDs or INFRAREDs, because he's really not in the mood to be arrested for treason today, but he's still delivering them all the same. It's kind of weirdly cathartic, he thinks, and maybe this makes him an especially big asshole, but the sound of the ball hitting someone in the face of the side of the head is really, really goddamn satisfying. He's always thought so; even when he was a kid.

For most of the game, he'd been pretty good at dodging the balls coming back in his direction, but the closer it gets to the end of the game, oddly enough since the other team has been so heavily thinned out, the harder it is for Derek to keep doing it. He's tired. He never gets tired this fast, does he? After a couple of hours of playing, finally Derek gets pegged and he stalks off the court and back to the benches. He looks up in search of his roommate, but before he spots Buffy, he spots another familiar face instead.

Except he's never met him. Right? Curiouser and curiouser; with every passing hour, it feels like, Buffy seems more and more right about the fact that those "glitches" aren't actually glitches at all. "...Stiles?" he tries, because that name is floating around in his head and it's honestly too weird a name to forget. He's ninety-nine percent sure that it's the right one to attach to that face, even though he's definitely to the salad spinner phase of his brain mush at this point. Buffy's right again. It's almost more scrambled in the salad spinner phase than it was in the blender phase, but he's reasonably sure he's right about this one thing in particular.

It's not just Derek. Other players on both sides are getting into the spirit of things, by which he means hitting each other with the foam balls as hard as they can. There's even a few who have been tag-teaming in an effort to tag out as many others as they can; much more entertaining to watch than experience on a personal level.

Stiles slouches back into into his seat when he notices that Derek had been eliminated - it had to happen sometime - but he sits up sharply when Derek calls his name. That answers one question, the other man had recognized him, and had thought that it was worth trying to find out more.

Stiles meets his eyes with a nod. "That's my name," he says. "I'd say it's funny running into you here, but --" he shrugs, "we've never officially met, technically." Which is about as much acknowledgement of the fact that he knows Derek as he's willing to push under the circumstances. Too many people listening, and he has his own suspicions on just how people move up the ranks besides the meritorious ones.

"Which is a weird way of greeting people, but not the oddest I can think of." That includes the spiel they all got right off the bat when they woke up on the biobed or whatever the official name was. Hi, welcome to the City and by way, you're a clone? That's right up there with phrases like Take me to your leader and Welcome to Wonderland. Unless it's an in-joke. It's always different when it's an in-joke.

Derek's eyes narrow a little in thought as he looks back at Stiles. Either he doesn't also recognize Derek or he does and he's intentionally avoiding saying so. There are a lot of people around, so that makes sense. Derek had only really been comfortable bringing it up in a subtle, passing mention to Buffy when they'd been alone in their room. He can't exactly blame Stiles for feeling equally uncomfortable with making that sort of acknowledgement where anyone could overhear it.

"Right," Derek agrees slowly and he suddenly feels so naked when he catches himself trying to listen for other conversation to see if they're being talked about behind their backs; whether anyone has taken a little too much notice in their awkward discussion. He can't hear a goddamned thing outside Alphas being hit with dodge balls, and the crowd booing or cheering them on.

"I need a drink. Let's go for a walk," he suggests, nodding toward the door. His eyes shift up over the door to note the time. They have a few hours before curfew; he's been playing for a while, but the game itself hasn't lasted super long.

"Uh, sure," he agrees. The second word comes out decisively. Stiles gives the plastic water coolers lining the far end of the room a glance; they'd been there since the games started, and are probably empty, there's nobody even around them now. "Getting out of here's better than listening whatever water cooler gossip gets passed around the place. It's almost like a pack of starving wolves, how people pass on stuff about the newest vids and things. You know?"

As far as secret messages go, well, subtlety isn't his strong point - but it helps that it can be dismissed as just a turn of phrase. Stiles gets to his feet, edging towards the sidelines. He has to ask a couple of people to move so he doesn't step on them, but eventually he gets out to the little walkway marked off just for that purpose. It went all the way around the room.

"Do you have any place in mind? Because I've found that picking a direction and walking works just as well." Learning some of the areas he hadn't been through yet at his own pace, and he'd stayed within his clearance zone too.

The reference isn't lost on Derek — in fact, hearing someone else say the word out loud in such a significant way actually has a clarifying effect. He blinks, his chin lifting slightly. "Yeah," he says slowly; uncertainly before looking directly at the other man. "Yeah, you're right."

The two of them move toward the exit to leave the room and Derek shakes his head at the question. He waits, though, until they're out of earshot of the playing area. "I don't care where we go. You're real. ...So what else is real in here?" he asks more than says, tapping a finger against the side of his head. "I can't sort anything out, anymore. I was in orientation for days," he says, looking over at Stiles, suggesting without saying that yes, he spent days watching that film on loop; days being brainwashed, and at some point, it actually started working.

His voice is lower still when be speaks once more, looking over at Stiles, knowing his face, knowing his name; remembering things that can't be real but certainly feel like it, and he's weak enough in the moment to ask. "Help me."

Stiles gives Derek a quick look over his shoulder, as if double checking that decision before walking out the crack between the large double doors. No point in leaving the whole place open - the guy going after stray balls would have had a hell of a time getting them back again.

There's another exit, out of the base and back into the 'civilian' sectors of the city off towards their left, and he heads towards that. The stretch of tarmac's pretty empty at this time, either people are off on the night shift, or they're still at the makeshift court. "Define real," he starts. "If you mean something you can see, hear, or touch, then definitely not. But think of it this way, the Computer couldn't have downloaded us from nowhere, and things are too well connected to be a dream, you can always link point A to B to C." It had made sense, to think of everything that came through as stuff that had actually happened, somewhen and somewhere. There wasn't any of that disjointed scene changes or nonsensical behavior you get in dreams, not when he could make sense of it. And he dismisses the probability of a shared hallucination right off, there's too much for that.

"Days," Stiles has to stop to give Derek a disbelieving look. "Days." Because that speaks of a stubbornness, while unsurprising, that's willing to subject someone to self-torture. Why would anyone even want to do that? They don't even have sections in the video to skip back to - if you asked a question, they made you watch the whole thing from the top. Anyone who does that probably does need all the help they can get.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he takes a moment to weight his options. He's also aware that standing around in the middle of an airfield's probably attracting unnecessary attention, but he doesn't care at the moment.

"Okay. Let's see what we can find out." It wouldn't be the first time he just rolled with things.

Maybe that's half the problem, Derek thinks. He can link A to B to C, and that's what makes everything in his head so goddamn terrible. He wonders if that's why he fought them so hard to keep the memories, because the horrible nature of them is what makes Derek who he is, and even if that means he's a monster, those experiences define him. Without all of that pain; without all the loss, who is Derek Hale? Because he feels so disconnected from the person he was before the fire that he barely recognizes himself in those memories at all.

Or maybe he stayed there fighting because he was punishing himself for all the mistakes he's made along the way, leaving so many bodies in his wake and so much blood, both directly and indirectly, on his hands. The incredulity on Stiles's face tells him that maybe it was overkill, if the latter is the reason.

"What do you remember?" he asks. "About home?"

"Wait, it's kind of a lot to go through." Stiles says with a shake of his head. What he remembers are enough pieces to put together an entire puzzle - even the pieces that don't make the most sense. "Here's not the best place, not unless we want to act like a beacon for trouble."

Not that he knows where would be a good place for this conversation either, but definitely not the hangar. With the amount of space taken up by the military buildings, he doesn't doubt the place is riddled with vigilant people and other forms of technological monitoring.

"There were a couple of public buildings I'd been meaning to check out, haven't really had the chance with stuff that's happened lately. We could head towards those?" He offers, shifting his feet. There are one or two places where people talking quietly together wouldn't get too much attention, in fact, quiet would be expected so if they keep whispering - no one would think it odd.

Derek sighs a little, because he knows that it's a lot and he doesn't necessarily mean that he wants Stiles's life story or anything, but in the other man's defense, it's not like Derek is wording himself all that well. It makes him think of the petafore/metaphor thing from last night and he huffs a little humorless laugh to himself, shaking his head. "I know it's a lot, I'm not asking for everything," he says quietly.

He looks around, frowning. Is there a good place to have this conversation? "Yeah, okay," he agrees. Derek's been meaning to do more exploring, anyway, but he hasn't really had the chance, either, so that sounds like as good a plan as any to Derek. "Lead the way," he tacks on for good measure.

As they walk, Derek's keeping his eyes peeled and he's trying to listen and scent, but neither of those senses are working the way they feel like they should, which frustrates him. So, he's admittedly glowering about it, but then...what else is new? That thought reminds him that he's going to need to find that Izzy girl another day and apologize for being kind of a dick. It wasn't her fault, after all, that he was so wrapped up in himself that he totally blew her off; it certainly wasn't anything personal, considering he'd never met her before.

"I just want to know the weird stuff," he whispers back to Stiles as they continue on. "The stuff that makes no sense, because if the glitches line up, then that can't be just a glitch, can it? The probability of two random clones having the same glitches when no one else does? My roommate has weird ones, too, like really weird, but they don't line up with mine. Not really, anyway..." Because she's what he would've called a hunter in his glitches and she probably thinks he's a vampire, which is disgusting. At least, Derek thinks it is.

"One thing could lead to another," Stiles points out; context can change everything, though in an argument about whether something is right or not, it doesn't always help. Breaking into a police station because you need to hide incriminating information, for example. There's always someone willing to say it's still B&E. Anyway, he'll be the first to admit that he sometimes can say a lot, without actually saying anything - and distractions happen.

The pace Stiles sets is a shade above leisurely, in the hopes that the implication that they're busy would prevent others from approaching them while they walk past a lighted sign pointing towards the concrete walkways that helped connect certain areas of the city. If those meant most people bypassed certain residential areas... no one was complaining, and the tunnels saw a lot of daily traffic.

"The Spark's note version of the weird stuff?" He asks, just as quiet. "You're probably more interested in the ones you're involved with."

There are an increasing number of lighted signs as they approach the public works area, most of which are concentrated in the same general area, in the spaces closet to the tunnel mouths. After all, it'll be the easiest way to establish controlled access areas, right? If you had to color code a city.

"Who's your room mate?" He's curious, but changes his mind immediately after. Plausible deniability exists after all. "No wait, don't tell me."

Stiles stops by one of the signs: some of them had given directions, others repeat the slogans that make up the basic rules of the City. Reminders; that whatever they do, they'll have to be careful about it. This sign just gives the name of the building.

It doesn't escape Derek that Stiles has picked up the pace and the reason for that isn't lost on him, either. So Derek matches it. If anyone happens to pass them by and believes them to be on their way somewhere important as opposed to just strolling along to kill time before curfew, they're less likely to be approached. Stiles is one of the smart ones, he remembers. Lydia and Stiles: book smart and street smart, respectively. He makes a mental note of that so that he doesn't let it fall to the wayside. Trust Stiles, he's good at this.

"Mostly the stuff with me in it, because I can't verify with my own glitch if I'm not in it," he points out. "Or if I wasn't at least present for it." Derek opens his mouth to answer his question about the roommate but Stiles cuts him off, changing his mind. Fair enough, he thought. It was probably better if he didn't go spouting it off, anyway. He got the feeling Buffy wouldn't like it and he really does not want to be on her bad side, just in case he's right about the fact that he's pretty sure she's a hunter and he's a werewolf and those two things do not go well together.

Derek stops when Stiles does, looking around. There's not a whole lot of activity out here, he's noticed. Everything about this place looks so weird to Derek. He remembers Brooklyn and he remembers Beacon Hills, but neither of them looked like this. There's signs everywhere, neon lights to accentuate some of them, and most of them are specifically reminders to citizens. "In here?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows in question, just to clarify that they're on the same page as to the reason why Stiles has stopped in this particular spot. He looks over his shoulder one more time to verify that they're not being followed, but he doesn't see anyone. Seems safe to proceed. He hopes he's right.

There might not be many people around, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. Stiles had noticed Derek looking around - and considering the way the guy's life had gone, he's inclined to believe the fact that he'll notice something dangerous. Some things don't really change, despite the way the cloning process was suppose to make them all baseline human. Call it an instinct.

"Might as well get to know this place better," Stiles says brightly, more excited that he actually feels while he reaches for the door. It opens easily when he pulls back on the bar.

The hall ahead had high ceilings, metal shafts left exposed so that wires were run along them. Oddly enough, the place doesn't look half-finished, though he feels like it should, sarcastically, he comments: "Nice sense of decor." Mechanic-chic, would that be the word for it?

There are rows of tables spaced out along the room, in front of doorways that led into other rooms. Some of the rooms seem to attract more people than others, extra chairs piled up around those areas.

"And yeah, I get that, but there probably things we both know that aren't actually events," he says, trying to figure out where to go next.

Instinct is probably the best way to describe the way Derek's acting right then, although he hasn't actually recognized it as such. To Derek, he's just being cautious. He's still battling between real and not real and it hasn't actually occurred to him that half the reason he's so vigilant right now is because those glitches are real and he's used to having to run and used to being hunted. Not that they're officially being hunted down right now, but one never really knows, after all, do they?

Derek gives a little shrug that says he's not entirely sure he feels comfortable agreeing with the verbal sentiment, even in jest, but he does grab the door with one hand just over Stiles's head, to hold it open once Stiles pulls on the bar. It's spacious as hell, he realizes, and he's not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. The space would suggest that they might use it for storage, but that it isn't quite finished. That means that they probably have some time. The downside, though, is that there's a lot of space, which would suggest there might end up being an echo if they're not careful to keep their voices especially low.

A huff of a laugh escapes him and sarcasm...yeah, Stiles is sarcastic; he remembers that, too. "Right? Very stylish." It almost reminds him of the train depot, but he doesn't say so because he isn't sure he should. Even if he buys into the fact that the glitches are real — and he's starting to — there's still the fact that...well. Not all of them necessarily will be, right? And he doesn't want to muddy the waters of Stiles explaining what he knows by throwing out memories that might truly be glitches mixed up within the reality settled in the back of his mind.

He lifts his chin to scent the room and stops halfway through his inhale, frowning. He can't small anything except that nasty tang of metal and dust. This is really, really annoying.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that, actually," he agrees. "Maybe..." he starts to suggest before moving further into the room, scratching at his stubble. "...maybe we start with something that either seems too weirdly specific not to be real or something that would be significant to both of us." Not that there are a whole lot of instances of that to choose from, he realizes, because he and Stiles weren't ever close. He can't remember why, just then, because it's buried deep within all the extra stuff he's got to sort through, but he's hoping for some clarity along the way. That's the whole point of this, after all.

Not hunted, but definitely watched. What another person, or the Computer itself made of what it saw is the question. And some things are easy to put together, no matter what vague inklings there are to draw from.

Turning on his heels, Stiles walks backwards for a few steps so that he can face Derek. There's no danger of him walking into a support beam, nor another person with the amount of space present. "It's hard to tell what they're going to do with this place, but they're not letting the space go to waste in the meantime."

He'd peeked into one of the side rooms, and all he could see where empty display cases. They were lit, which doesn't make any sense to him, and he dismisses the place as somewhere to go - there isn't any way to convince another person that they're there purely out of interest. Maybe they'll have better luck further along, he thinks, turning around.

Stiles takes a moment to think about that, just why is it the traumatic moments that he remembers the clearest? Something about those thoughts and memories stick, though they don't have the chance to become nightmares. Sleeping gas. actually good for something.

At first, he'd thought about pointing out the pattern of power tools and traumatic experiences, though the syringe probably doesn't fit, which then gives him an idea, one that's much simpler: "This might be weird, but do have a tattoo?" He doesn't know if that would have carried over.

Derek gives a little shrug. "Who cares?" he asks. He doesn't, anyway. Whatever they're doing with this place is of absolutely no interest to him so long as no one comes in after them to start working on it right this second. That's all Derek cares about at the moment.

It takes Stiles a moment to respond and Derek waits patiently because to do anything else would be shooting himself in the foot. Nobody's making Stiles help him, nobody's paying him; Derek can't compensate him in any way, so if he gives Stiles a reason to change his mind, then this is all he's going to get out of it which, so far, is nothing beyond the fact that Stiles is a real person and he knows who Derek is.

The question takes him a little off guard but he shrugs. "I don't know, I don't have a mirror, but if I did, it would be on my back," he says. Suddenly, he turns with his back to Stiles, unbuttoning his jumpsuit a little ways and shrugging the top half of it off. "Do I? Is it a...trisk...ele? Triskellion? Something like that?"

"Uh, just because the place is like this now, doesn't mean it'll be in the future - what if I want to come back? What if you want to come back? Though yeah, that doesn't really matter now," Stiles frowns briefly, looking up at the rafters.

That's not exactly true, the fact that Stiles had recognized Derek already meant he wouldn't have let this go; the mystery of it would have gnawed at him.

Well, that solves that problem, Stiles thinks. It's direct, and to the point, even if he felt like he should be rolling his eyes over it. "There's spirals linked together," he confirms, he doesn't really care for tattoos. "Does that fit with what you're calling a triskele?" Because he also remembers another shape, one that's more triangular, sharper.

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Open | Throughout the day

MORNING BRIEFING

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phone tag, sorry for any errors LOL

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Evening

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