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World Gone Silent (Soliderp)
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Post by Bonetrousled? on Oct 28, 2016 5:20:54 GMT
Upon awakening, Omega would notice himself lying on the main street a large city. The first thing most would notice that the city was completely devoid of any color. It looked like it was right out of an old movie, harsh greyscale tones turning the sky into a soupy mess and making the buildings look like they were etched out of slate. In addition to this, the city almost seemed frozen. A thick layer of clouds covered the sun, making it nigh-impossible to see what time it was, and there wasn't a soul moving on the streets. In fact, there didn't seem to be anyone around at all, leaving food stands unoccupied and stores barren.
The only movement around was that of several Troopmon, storming up and down the street as if on patrol. There didn't seem to be any noise as their squishy feet splattered against the sidewalk. In fact, there didn't seem to be any noise at all! Not even Omega's breaths drew noise, further contributing to the stagnant feeling of the world he had been dropped into. Occasionally the Troopmon's chests heaved, as if they were making some sort of noise, but other than a strange trembling in the air nothing came out.
At Omega's feet was a note.
Your fears dropped you into a world without music. Everything within the city limits has gone silent, and everyone here has lost their color and their energy. Who knows? If you don't get out soon, you might be next!
If you cross the city limits, you'll be A-Okay. But are you gonna stop at that? Or are you gonna bring the band back together, and save this place?
Just be careful. Those Troopmon don't take too kindly to outsiders messing up their gig. Especially if it's to bring the gigs back.
Omega currently stood between two street corners. King St. was where he currently stood, with Croque Ave. to the north and and Golden Rd. to the south. The stores surrounding him were all empty, yet filled with pristine and untouched products. One was a haberdashery. Another was a jewelry store. The third was a milkshake shop. The fourth, barely identifiable through greyscale police tape, boards, and condemned signs, seemed to be a guitar store. Beyond that the street was mostly empty, a few dining tables and recycling cans standing out on the cracked pavement. |
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Post by Deleted on Nov 1, 2016 16:58:24 GMT
Omega couldn't believe it. He thought he had gone deaf for a moment, but really he had yet to realize the city was eerily silent. In fact, he noticed he was silent for once as well. Why was the city this way at this time in the day? Was it even day?
He couldn't tell of the time; the sky's gray was unbearably dark, though he saw something that mildly resembled the sun. Or was it the moon? He didn't know due to it being obscured by clouds.
He also notice that Wisk was gone. She was probably in some dream of no food, or something along those lines. He read the note, and realized what he had to do. He was too much of a coward to do anything to help the people there.
Now it was time to run.
What would a coward like he be able to do in the city. The Troopmon who surrounded him were clearly not the most friendly, and there was obviously some anti-music thing going on here.
As he walked and thought he bumped into a gate it was the gate to the crime scene at was he was pretty sure was a music shop. He even wanted to enter into the place.
Without thinking he steeped forward, breaking the police tape and knocking over a gate. The Troopmon began to stare...
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Post by Bonetrousled? on Nov 1, 2016 19:52:11 GMT
The Troopmon stared in unison, blank eyes focused directly on Omega as the gate clattered down. Interestingly enough, they picked up on this despite the gate making no noise as it clattered down. It still fell, and even still vibrated as it clattered to the floor, but it didn't make a noise.
What did make a noise was the Troopmon, the first sound since Omega woke up in this strange void. As the leader of the pack pointed at Omega, static seemed to come from its gas mask. It was harsh and dissonant, sounding like a radio had been run through by a broadsword. The other Troopmon made similar noises, chattering among themselves as if trying to come up with a plan. Eventually, the seemed content with their choice, because they shambled toward Omega with their arms extended.
If he still wanted to enter the music shop, now would be the best time.
If Omega entered, the first thing apparent about this situation was that the Troopmon seemed incapable of entering the shop. They would wait at the entrance, occasionally peering through the cracks in the windows as if trying to see where Omega was. However, even as a few of them clawed at the boars blocking the windows off, they had no luck with entry. For the time being Omega would be safe.
The inside of the music room was quite barren. Most of the store's product was gone. Shelves that once held CDs were barren, a few cracked at the hinges and hanging loosely. Display cases were abandoned, with the exception of a few rolled up posters and the occasional album. An old-timey record player was still running, but playing absolutely nothing. At this point, it was almost like a strange parody of a music store.
Two things were of critical importance. The first was a wrapped-up present on the counter of the music store. If Omega noticed it, he would see that it was in the shape of his old guitar from back home. However, if he opened the present, he would find it in ruins. The neck was broken in half, the strings were snapped, and the paint had grown dull and spotty with age. The second was what looked like a staircase going downstairs. The stairs would creak if any pressure was put on them, but they would at least be sturdy enough to get Omega to the basement. |
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Post by Deleted on Nov 2, 2016 17:56:32 GMT
The Troopmon began to speak(?). It hurt. Really badly.
The static that came from them hurt his ears. For the first sound he had heard, they were awful; he wished he had not even heard them. Then he noticed a box inside, shaped like a guitar.
As he went towards it, the Troopmon followed, until the door that is. For whatever reason they stopped and he couldn't understand why.
When he reached the box he began to touch it; he felt the box, and knew what it was. As he ripped the police wrapping off he noticed the issues with the guitar. The paint was chipped and the hard plastic material was cracked and broken. When he unwrapped it fully he could see the strings, torn from the nut and head stock. He was furious. He screamed but, of course, he made no noise.
As he flailed around wildly, he forgot about the Troopmon. They were making loud, harsh static noises. But they also still refused to enter the otherwise open shop.
When his rage finally calmed, he saw the entrance to what he assumed was the basement. The stairs were not very stable, and he knew he might not come back up if he goes in. But he had to.
Omega began to step down the rickety stairs...
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Post by Bonetrousled? on Nov 2, 2016 19:47:59 GMT
The Troopmon continued shouting their strange, static language as Omega descended down the stairs. So long as he was in the perimeter of the music shop, he would be safe. Their shouting faded as they began to disperse, one by one. Was it to give up on Omega, or to start a search party? With him descending far into the depths of the music shop, who would be able to tell?
The soundless creaks made the staircase feel more like a rickety bridge, but it still held fast admirably as Omega made his way downstairs. With each step the room seemed to descend into darkness, until soon Omega was left in the pitch blackness of a basement. Clearly, the owners of this establishment had not been paying their electric bills. However, the pitch-blackness didn't last for too long. Once Omega's foot hit the bottom step a torch lit up on the corner of the wall. Another torch lit up a few inches next to it. Then another. And another. Soon the whole room was illuminated, albeit in light every bit as monochrome as the city above.
It was a pretty humble basement. Maybe at one point it had a lot of equipment down there, but those days had long since passed. The closest thing to equipment now was an old drum set in the corner, covered in dust and cobwebs from a distinct lack of use. The drumsticks seemed to be missing as well, and the membrane of the largest drum had been cracked. Something seemed to be moving around inside of the loose flap, but it could've easily been a trick of the eye. Beyond that, the room was bare. A few worn and tattered posters decorated the walls, and dustless spots on the floor indicated where great, big shelves once stood. Curiously enough, something was lying in the middle of one of these spots.
Two of the walls had large holes in them, covered over by large pieces of plywood. Each of these pieces had a small album cover on top, although the names had been ripped off long ago.
North Wall: 
South Wall: 
Each plywood board was highly unstable, falling over if even tapped, and would reveal a tight tunnel once exposed. |
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Post by Deleted on Nov 3, 2016 13:43:07 GMT
In the room he saw the plywood covering the wall. It was strange to say the least. He went to the north wall and tapped the plywood to test its sturdiness. It promptly fell over. But he wasn't done with the room just yet.
As he explored he found the place had been sacked, maybe by the owner themself. The only thing left was a few album covers and a drum set. But the sticks were missing and the bass drum was broken. Wait, he had an idea.
He took the fallen plywood and began to break it. He made them into two small sticks; he then found a small blanks album cover which he used to cover the ends of the drumstick, it was impromptu, but he knew it should work.
He sat on the slightly torn drum seat. He then took the impromptu sticks, and began to tap a simple rhythm. But he needed to hear it for reassurance, so he tapped louder and louder and LOUDER, all as a lone Troopmon stared from the stairs. He didn't look hostile but eh.. you never know.
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Post by Bonetrousled? on Nov 4, 2016 1:41:39 GMT
The drumbeat was as silent as ever, no matter how hard Omega tried to rock out. After all, this whole city was practically a zone of silence. Other than the harsh, grating dissonance of the Troopmon, the city might has well have been a sensory void. What would simple drumming do to change this?
Apparently, a lot. There may not have been much to such a simple rhythm, but the longer Omega tapped away at it the more he would feel something in the air. It was a soft vibration in the air at first, surrounding Omega and shaking him to his core, but as the vibrations grew more intense there started to be an unfamiliar sensation around them too. It was inaudibly quiet at first. Omega would have to strain his virtuoso's ear as hard as possible to make it out, but soon he would notice the first sounds since he had set foot in this forsaken land.
The sound of music.
He wasn't the only one to notice, of course. The Troopmon at the head of the stairs, upon realizing what was going on, started clawing at the smooth place where its ears would have been. It began heaving heavily through its gas mask, making a horrid burst of static noise. Its body undulated like a bowl of jelly being hit with a stick, and after observing in horror for a few seconds it started to flee. A few Troopmon turned their heads to focus on their desperate companion, but shrugged and went back to their usual patrols.
Meanwhile, the loose membrane of the drum flopped with each hit, soon unraveling as a small, pink mouse fell out from within it. "Hey, I'm tryin' ta sleep here, kid!" he shouted, waving a tiny fist at Omega. "Can't a legend get some privacy for once?
. . . Wait a minute. I could hear that. Y'know, hearing stuff's risky nowadays. The big guys upstairs ain't font of it. Might get yourself on the wrong end of a Troopmon if you keep it up, but I'll be damned if it wasn't a relief hearing it again."
The voice was out of focus, as if Omega was listening to it from a far distance underwater. If Omega tried to speak in return he would find even less luck, his own voice coming out as little more than silence. Something about this Chuumon was just like his drumset; making a spirited attempt at piercing this veil of silence. Nevertheless, the Chuumon tapped his foot somewhat impatiently, as if hoping for some sort of response. Perhaps the scattered posters and album covers littering the basement's floor could be of use there. They had plenty of words to spare. |
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