chip-foster
must be a victory lap
Chip Foster.
Twenty-nine.
Victor of the 110th. Mentor. Gamemaker.
"Human Stupidity, that's why Hackers always win."
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caduceus-matos:
Cad always brought his work with him when he went to the Capitol whether it be the notebook of notes for prosthetics or general ideas to improve or the small repair kit he carried around in a case to manage his and others prosthetics. He sat at the dining table on Three’s floor, his own prosthetic on a stand behind a magnifying glass. A notebook was opened with some coffee stains on the pages, chicken scratch handwriting here and there. With his left hand he was using a small tool to work on the prosthetic.
He was squinting and leaning in closely to the glass when Chip walked over. “Not too busy, just some general maintenance.” Cad picked up a microchip from the inside one of the fingers and placed it into a small tray before looking towards his visitor. “Everything alright?”
Chip was always impressed by Cad in moments like these. After so many years of Chip trying to quiet his own hyperactive mind, he admired how the mentor could embrace his own intellect. “Uh, y-yeah,” Chip said with a nod, looking at the prosthetic and tools on the table as he sat down. “I-I have a question.” He found his gaze drifting over the handwritten notes and quickly turned his gaze away. Any thing handwritten felt too personal to look at directly. “Wh-What are you working on?” It was the question he was desperate to ask the moment he saw the setup, but not the question he was here for. He knew, from the vibrations in his throat and across his tongue, that he was talking at a normal volume. But to his ears, it sounded quiet as a whisper. He’d waited too long for help. “Um, d-do you have time for anyth-thing else?”
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weinberg-lilith:
“Oh, yes!” She gave a definitive nod. “I do believe that I saw someone just receive a plate of fries and chicken tenders.” She turned back to her group of fellow sponsors, shooing them away from the entrance before her attention returned to Chip. “I do suppose with everything going on, you must be completely busy and thus famished.”
He wished, sometimes, that he had a more refined palette. But the mention of fries and chicken tenders had his mouth watering and he could hear his stomach rumble even despite the chatter in the lobby. “Uh, y-yeah. F-Famished.” It sounded too strong and fancy a word considering his breakfast and final meal before launch was a chocolate bar, but it did fit. “H-Has it felt like a long day out here?” He was curious now, seeing all the people in the lobby, how the day had gone by outside of the Gamemaker HQ.
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@caduceus-matos
Chip still had a pair of earbuds clenched in his fist as he stepped off the elevator. He’d stuck around the Tower after his first shift, but he’d tried to find some solitude in an empty viewing room with music and a video game on his laptop. On a day when he was looking to focus on anything trivial, he realized several familiar songs sounded different. It took him a few more songs to realize it was all for something lacking in the left earbud. He tried a different set, and the same thing happened. He’d been warned about this. He’d always listened to music and games and TV too loud. Combined with the injury from a couple years ago, he was losing more hearing capacity.
He was tempted to ignore it, but then he became aggravated when he was unable to hear a bass drop evenly in both ears. So he packed up his things and headed for Three’s floor. He had a request he should’ve asked after two years before. “C-Cad, you busy?”
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weinberg-lilith:
Lilith really wasn’t all that saddened by the recent events, however she was great at putting on a show. Dressed head to toe in black and with a saddened expression written over her face, she was gossiping amongst a group of sponsors. When she heard Chip, she glanced over. “Oh, I don’t think the bar really closes, now does it?”
Chip felt foolish the moment the sponsor reacted to him. Of course she was right. And he of all people should know the Tower was never going to shut down a bar early. He didn’t think any bar in the Capitol shut down during the Games. He was sure he’d tested that theory a few times, but the hazy memories only brought a deeper red to his cheeks as he nodded. “Uh, I th-think I meant... are th-they still serving food?”
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The day was long. The launch day was always long, but at least there was a little bit of that combination of anxiety and even occasionally excitement that made some parts go by faster. Not today, not on a team full of real mourners and fake mourners desperate for a fallen man’s job. Chip left four hours after he was supposed to be done, and it was only because he was forced out by a supervisor. He needed sleep, for another long shift to come.
The man who held every part of this arena together seamlessly in his mind was gone; they were going to need all hands on deck when something inevitably went wrong. For now things were okay, Chip was told. He didn’t believe it. He knew when he left the Gamemaker HQ, every face that looked at him would tell him that things were not okay.
There seemed to be even more people in the Tower than usual, or maybe they were just all gathered together. He’d heard of these things before, had always avoided them: wakes. Nothing about a memorial or anything of the sort was officially announced, but where else were people supposed to go when the Head Gamemaker was dead? He pushed past a group of sponsors chattering excitedly, and found himself blocked from the exit by yet another closely clumped group. “I-Is th-the bar open?” He didn’t want a drink; he knew where that went from here. But he knew he couldn’t go home.
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live // self
“I’ll ask you to give me your best performance, sans stuttering.”
The launch was always chaos. No matter how down to the minute the arena was planned out, there were always loose ends, loose wires, loose anything to distract from the launch. It used to be Chip’s job to fix them all. But at some point, over the last couple years, he’d transitioned from fixing the last minute issues to calling out the last minute issues. So last minute, that the fuss over Lysander voicing the launch off-site was hardly a concern. He’d been with the man before the Quell, when last-minute fixes required Chip’s hands and mind and Lysander’s intelligence and control. They’d been so close to the launch, to the bloodbath, Chip spiraled. Not Lysander, though. Not the rock. Not the unmoving man.
Not until he was gone.
This was Chip’s first time in the primary control room, where, true to its name, primary controls were called. In Lysander’s absence, everything still seemed to go according to plan. His microphone was hooked up property and without delay so he could give the countdown in real time on the primary and secondary feed, even as he was miles from the Gamemaker HQ. It was all so simple, to make sure there was no delay. The CapitolTV feed was most important and clear, while the GazetteTV secondary channel was necessary but amateur. Chip was mostly looking at the ground, nodding along as he adjusted Lysander’s audio input to make sure it wasn’t too over-modulated and sounded as normal a possible.
“You’re a DJ, right?”
Chip didn’t answer his colleague, just went to work. He knew how all this worked, which is probably why the Capitol decided DJ-ing and music production was hit victor-appointed skill. He knew how it all worked in the control specifically, now. He knew the presentation was cheesy and based on half-truths, but at least he could prove himself in a simple sphere where all he had to do was normalize Lysander’s voi-
There was a blast, so loud it silenced everyone in the room. The people on audio tore off their headphones and fell to the floor. The primary feed vanished, but a few screens dedicated to the secondary livestream from the Gazette stayed on. There were flashes as the audio cut out, then gray and darkness.
No one moved. Twenty seconds of silence and televised smoke went by.
Then the carnivorously ambitious swooped in. Deputies and supervisors alike, desperate to be the voice of the countdown after their peer had fallen. Chip saw them all swooping in. It is hard to calculate stress-fueled physical and mental responses until after the fact, but Chip’s were precise.
The ballpoint end of his pen hit a throat.
The heftiest part of his headset hit someone in the jugular.
He shoved a hesitant supervisor to the side, and took their headset.
Silly, really, like they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
He spotted the “audio off” master button, and dragged his fingers quickly across the board. His speech was hesitant, but his actions never were.
“No one.”
It was a command. They were already into the ten second zone by now, but he knew these hungry hearts and ambitious souls by now. Death was an opportunity to them, not sorrowful. The Games would go on. Nothing could stop this, not now. But the least a victor could do was take control.
His middle finger tapped down on a button, switching the control from external (over the arena) to internal (among Gamemakers).
“Three,” Chip stated. He could’ve started at five, really, but he needed some time to go over his most difficult phonetics before he said it. When it came out fluid, in one syllable, he didn’t hesitate to finish.
“Two.”
“One.”
No one heard him outside the Gamemakers’ control center. No one but the people in the room who were just doing their job. The piranhas, eager for a higher position, were furious. The workers, the people who did this to survive, kept on. Without a hitch.
Death had never stopped a Games.
Someone had to live for this.
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TASK 011. A TIME AND A PLACE
2030s
Your perfect decade...hasn't quite happened yet. You're ahead of the times, always looking for the hot new trend, and anticipating what the future holds. Your dream decade will be the 2030s, when robots will clean your house, you'll see the world through mind-reading glasses, food will be plant-based, and scientists will start thinking seriously about time travel. What a time to be alive!
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TASK 010. NATURAL PHENOMENA
WHIRLPOOL
No offense but you can be a bit scattered and all over the place. It can feel like you're just walking in circles (well you kinda are) and you can't seem to get a hold of life. But in reality, you're in control, you're deciding to not have a plan and that's okay! Who says everyone has to lead the same ordinary life? you'd rather see where things go, adapt to the circumstances handed to you. You're quirky and we like that, you can go your own way
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everettlance:
“Oh.” He blinked. “Yeah, maybe.” He was not very good at this, but then, tribute wrangling was technically Allard’s job. “As long as they’re accounted for and not committing murder or something, I’m fine. We don’t need bad press.”
Chip’s shoulders tensed as he focused on the zipper of his backpack, suddenly having some trouble with the simple action. Finally, he got it to give so he could put his earbuds away. “N-No one n-needs bad pr-press,” he reasoned, and looked up at Everett with a weak shrug. “B-But th-the Gazette has bills to pay.”
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santos-emilia:
“Well kiddo is still holding on in there, so not well.” She sighed. She didn’t know what to do with herself and being overdue. She just knew she didn’t want to be induced. “But it’s what the doctor recommended so I’m giving it a good faith try.”
“Wh-What do doctors know?” he said with a shrug, sitting up straighter as he put away his earbuds. “D-Don’t spicy foods help? Y-You like wings?”
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thevultur:
Lysander was silently amused as he entered the space, not the most observant when it came to the people working under him, the doors surrounding him, everything outside his mind and screen. When he walked in, it was because Slate was unavailable, and he needed to grab a specific charger he didn’t use in his office. The surprise facing the room was clear, but it swiftly turned into comically not wanting to have known. “Oh. Sorry to intrude.” He shot Chip a skeptical look before shrugging. “Only if you’ve finished the electrical panels. Though I must warn you, I get competitive with air hockey.”
Chip started nodding quickly. “Th-They’re done. I-I got in early.” He’d sent Evie off on the first train to Three that morning with Paslee to look after her. Even if Evie was old enough now to understand a Gamemaker had to be very available during the Games, he preferred she be somewhere there were more distractions. “A-And have you finished all your chores?” he taunted as he slid a striker toward the other end of the table.
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everettlance:
Everett was looking for his tributes, either one, he wasn’t picky. He felt like he was failing as a mentor with them and only had a short while to try to rectify it. He shook his head. “No, no, you’re fine,” he said. “Just lost track of my tributes.”
Chip glanced side to side, as if he was really expecting to see one of Thirteen’s tributes appear. “I-Isn’t th-this usually when they’re getting har-rassed by stylists?”
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cain-gunn:
“No,” Cain shook his head, but his curiosity was piqued. He was already beating people all the time, the least he could was make it official, and besides, Cain never minded securing some extra bragging rights between Game cycles. “What’s the game? Sounds like it could be fun, actually.”
“A-Any game. D-Don’t th-think she’s decided yet, but pr-probably something with r-racing.” It was what Chip was going to suggest next time he saw Pluto. He remembered playing games at Cain’s age, and how easy it seemed to pick up on new things. “What’s your favor-rite?”
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@thevultur
“Shit,” Chip muttered when the door opened. He didn’t know if they were actually in trouble, but he did know no one ran the idea by Lysander. It was a large supply closet, one mostly used for storing extra cords and screens and disks. That didn’t take up much room, so one day when things seemed slow, an air hockey table was moved into the space. Only the people in the tech departments knew about it, and none of the supervisors were told. Or so he thought. “Uh...” He was left high and dry by a fellow Gamemaker darting out the open door. “W-... Wanna play?”
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santos-emilia:
The word induction had been introduced and Emilia was trying to avoid it at all costs. Being stuck within the Capitol, needing to be close to the Tower, made the hard. Too many bustling bodies and too much unwanted attention had sent her to the rooftop. She’d walk circles around the gardens if she needed to. She hadn’t noticed Chip at first, not until she’d gotten close enough to the bench he laid on, to hear the tiny sounds coming from his headphones. But even then she wasn’t going to interrupt him, but his question caused her to pause, glance over at him and acknowledge him more so than just decided to leave him be. “No, no, it’s okay.” She assured. “Just trying to walk a baby out.” And the sunset didn’t hurt at all either.
Chip nodded, as if he understood. He didn’t, but he’d been around enough pregnant people in his life to have seen the frustration with a due date come and gone multiple times. “And how’s th-that going?”
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selenehoneybell:
Just the person she wanted to see. Selene had avoided the chaos inside the tower hoping to join somebody she could actually tolerate. When Chip pulled his earbud out, Selene plucked it from his hand and put it up to her own ear. She regretted doing so once she heard the all the noise, but put on a polite smile anyways. “Well, I assume you have work to do with the other Gamemakers. What is it this time? Are you planning on loading the tributes onto a rocket and shooting them off into space? Or something related to Thirteen perhaps?”
Chip raised a hand to try to caution Selene not to listen to his music, but it was already too late. When she didn’t even comment on the music, he tried to hide a chuckle under half-cough, half-gargle and turned off the music altogether. Jumping into the arena talk so quickly made him wish he’d just walked away instead of engaging. He knew his ears got red and his tongue went dry. And he also knew he’d get in trouble if he wasn’t careful with what he said. “W-We’re r-r-repeating th-the candy ar-rena. Sp-Special tr-treat for me.” It came out sounding cruel, not an ounce of the humor he’d been trying to force into it coming through. It was harder to joke when he knew, without a doubt, what the arena was this time. He’d worked on too many projects to not see the cohesive image this time. It was disgusting to be that trusted, but still, he couldn’t say a thing. “A-Aren’t you more worr-rried about what th-they’ll be wear-ring?”
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