#panevent01

Nothing so far had sparked any kind of memory.

And despite how little time had passed, Adarsh was already extremely frustrated. 

From what he knew factually - which seemed to be plenty - head injuries severe enough to completely make someone’s memory disappear - except for one name - were movie material, story material. Not real life, at least not that he seemed to recall. Not that he trusted whatever vast knowledge that he held, because it might be enough to make his way around, to give him tidbits of info when what he wanted was memories, it wasn’t substantial. It felt like he’d read an encyclopaedia one day and decided to remember only fifteen percent of it but without rhyme or reason. 

He couldn’t even tell what the name of the language he dreamt in was. 

Though that could also be withheld from him intentionally.

No, his memory loss was not… plausible from any type of injury or stress. 

It was the island’s fault. 

Yet, he continued on his quest to find memories. 

EVENT 01. PART 2: THE FEAST

Your new home...

You’re off the cruise ship - but where are you? There’s nothing else in the horizon but deep ocean; inland, the beach gives way to thick wilderness, and a raised plateau with small, bungalow-style houses peppering the landscape. They all look exactly the same, and are scattered like a small village - or like someone tossed them on the land like dice on a board. To the east, a large brick and stone building squats in a field. Something about the building hums; closer inspection reveals generators situated around the back. The same with a warehouse building to the east - in fact, generators seem to power all electricity around the empty village…but what was powering the generators?  No gas tank, no batteries, no solar panels even.  But they chugged along nonetheless.

The cameras on the tall poles lovingly follow your movements, everywhere. What catches your senses - particularly your nose - is the scent of food.  On the coast overlooking over the ocean is a wooden patio, spacious enough to hold over 200 people.  The patio is empty, save for one long table near what looks like a barbeque-and-bar counter.  Under covered nets to protect it from wandering critters, are dishes and dishes of food. Hot and cold food, non-alcoholic beverages in large dispensers, dishes to please every palate and dietary needs.  Given how empty this place is, it's unclear how the food - freshly made and beautifully arranged - even appeared.  Was it here before you woke up, or did it manifest somehow during the panic of waking up on the Odyssey? The loudspeaker message glitches, garbles up and then suddenly changes to a woman’s soft and cheery voice: COME CHECK OUT THE BUFFET AT THE HUB! You must be S̡̧̧̡̨͔̜̲̞̖̥͚̦̎T̡̜̦͖͈̥̈́̈́̓͐͘A̻̘̜̣̱̫̳͖͉͊̃̅́̄̑͘Ŗ͕̞̜̩̟͑͆͂͐̐̊̑̀̊͝͠͝͝V̛͙͍̘̟̞̓͛͒͐̇̀͑̐̋̿̈́Í̧̻̗͊̃̎͆̍̅̕͜Ņ̧̧͙̲̬̳̞͇͇̊͆́͒̋̊̔̽̕͝Ḡ̡̦͕͔̘͎̥̻̅̾̉̂̅̎̄̋͌́͝͠ (starving) after your long travel to get here.

OOC info below the cut!

Maybe this wasn't such a good location. Every time Zaid got back to work, stacking the boxes and arranging the cans, it felt like the thick copse of trees behind him...came alive. Zaid would stop, turn, and stare into the trees, trying to spot some movement, some shadowy figure peeking out at him.

But there was nothing, save for the aggravating chatter on those loudspeaker. DO NOT BE AFRAID. The swelling buzz (chittering?) would just fade away, back into silence. The feeling of being watched, but by something squirming and strange.

It happened at least three times, as Zaid tried to stay focused on the food inventory. Boxes and tins and packets, salvaged from the cruise ship. Zaid wasn't even sure how he'd managed to even get so much supplies out. And maybe it was a little on-the-nose - stranded on this strange island! The chef tries to save the food! More at eleven on BBC1 - for Zaid to think of getting food saved rather than say, oh, people. But in some strange, awful way, it was comforting to reach for the things he was familiar with.

He turned a huge tin in his hands, with label sodden and indistinguishable, when the forest noise swelled up again.

"I'm going to ignore this. I'm going to ignore you," Zaid muttered, trying not to turn around and glare at the trees. Instead, he saw someone nearby - a stocky looking bloke, salt-and-pepper hair - and Zaid called out.

"Oi mate. You hear that?" Zaid thumbed behind him. "All that...odd noise from the trees?"

Adarsh stared at the water as if it had personally insulted him, as if with a single look he could force it to part before him, split like that one guy from... was it Christianity? Clearly whomever he was had little interest to retain information regarding religion. He could barely recall a thing even if he wanted to. No impressions or rules or rituals or words to live by.

Or perhaps religion was so deeply tied to his memories that those were lost to him forever.

Could that be? That everything that retained some intense connection to him was muddled and vague and thus not within the waters of knowledge he seemed to have.

Some of it was useful information, but what if nothing would lead him to any answers.

He could swim.

But he doubted he was a strong enough swimmer to make it to the cruise ship and back onto it.

So instead he stared at the water and blamed its tide for his inability to get his answers. For good measure he hit it with rocks. It only made a small splash, but the exercise of throwing stones at least made him feel a bit better. As he yelled 'Take that!' in the language he didn't know the name of.

Clearly he hadn't been someone who played Baseball when he was younger.

He cursed at the ground as he looked for more rocks.

He touched the wakeboard shirt he was wearing. Had he grown up near the beach? Or been near a beach when the island had been taken? Or was the whole population of the island lying to him and had they actually all been on the cruise ship.

But he wasn't wearing swimming trunks? So it had to be an aesthetic choice. Or he burned quickly.

njaan evideyaanu?

He brushed his hair out of his face as he got up, his back felt stiff, his eyes slightly stingy. He could sense solid ground beneath his feet, and white walls around him. He was in a small hallway, on red carpet, bright fluorescent lights all around him.

"Njaan evideyaanu?" he said out loud, as he reached out a hand to touch the wall to his left. He studied his hand for a moment, but not for long before he heard movement up ahead. He started walking, propelling his mind forward. He needed to know where he was, first and foremost. He needed to know... things.

He kept on touching the wall as he walked, and almost collided with another person.

"Hey! Naamevideyaanu? Enthu sambhavichu?"

EVENT 01. PART 3: FINALE

The looped voice and muzak on the loudspeaker slows so gradually, at first it's barely noticeable. But that continuous cadence imprinted on your mind for hours now, is out of sync with reality. The voice and music slows...sloooowwwws, groaning and stretched in an agonizing way, until it suddenly cuts out. Then silence. Nothing else has changed, but the dull tune and chipper voice is gone. It's evening now, and the only noises around you are the occasional thunks and whines from the tilted Odyssey, the hum of the weird generators, and the sounds of nature. It's difficult to know what to do next. Your phones have no connection to home. No rescue has shown up. It's just you, alone...with everyone else. Some people might end up sleeping from exhaustion, others might stay awake. Regardless, night is inevitable, and the stars above provide little comfort. They look crooked, as warped as the loudspeaker recording on its last breath. The night is long, or maybe it's too short. Because the moment the sun peeks over the horizon, you're met with a loud, piercing howl from the loudspeakers. It's hard to tell if it's a sustained human scream, or a warning siren, or nails down a chalkboard. The louder it gets, the more uncomfortable your mysterious bracelet feels - tingly for some, hot for others, or spiky, or ice cold. When it all calms down, you look over at one of the others - a woman named Maria, from Portugual or maybe Brazil. She starts to speak, "O que--?" Maria suddenly explodes into a billion grains of salt, and dissolves into the sand. Not all of you can tell, but your special ability has triggered.

OOC Information

Adarsh had attempted to enter the book area of the Warehouse in the search of his memories, but one look at the amount of books there and the funny individual who had decided to sort them, and he’d raced out of there. 

Surely his brain had already retained plenty of useless information, why would he care to add to that?

What he needed was memory jolters, things that would snap his brain back to attention. Anything to jog whatever was logged in place, push it aside, let the memories stream in. While carefully avoiding people who looked too solemn or friendly. He’d made the mistake of making eye contact with someone who needed to tell him that her cat was an inside cat. 

People should stop having pets. He was probably not a cat or a dog person. Or a bird, or whatever strange assortment of wild animals people felt the need to domesticate. 

He grumbled as he walked back through the food area of the Warehouse outside. 

It was also too hot. 

His uv-protection shirt was keeping his upper body cool at least, but walking around barefoot in old sneakers was making his feet feel like they were in a sauna. 

There was a lot to explore about the island. So many places that made no sense, so much undiscovered wilderness, places unknown to everyone - probably - who had landed on this strange island. And people were out discovering. 

Adarsh had seen multiple people sneak off, team up, or carelessly wander off. He wondered how many of them would survive the week. 

He found that he didn’t much care if some wouldn’t make it back. 

That thought didn’t make him feel ashamed, just eager for more information. Clearly he had a personality, and personality was usually built up by memories, by culture, by nurture. But he had zero information on any of those aspects. He didn’t know what language his thoughts were in, he didn’t know where he was from - just that he looked Indian… probably - and that his clothes suggested that either he’d lived at the beach or he had been visiting one. Also that he didn’t have enough money for socks… probably. Or enough money to replace his shoes. 

Something had happened to his body. But he had no clue if it had been an accident or a fight or perhaps an attack on his life! 

So he tried food again. 

There was a recipe somewhere in a corner of his brain, which he wanted to try and create, and perhaps the taste of it would bring back memories of home, of family, of parents who made it for him. 

The thought of that turned his stomach and made him want to vomit. 

Instead he just leaned against the door of the Warehouse and took deep breaths. Five seconds in, ten seconds out, repeat. 

Had he done yoga? 

He tapped the seconds on the surface of the door, then a shadow fell over his fingers and he almost backed away from the door rapidly.