TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025

[thediadem]

Test Drive ∞ May 2025

The First Collision

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Jump ⇅ :: Arrival — Panorama — Fringes — Invite Request

The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.

Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.

But first, you need to find a ride.

No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.

∞ Summary ∞

IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.

Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.

Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:

• Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
• Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
• Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
• Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
• Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.

TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.

TDM Questions? Here — Game Questions? FAQ

Setting — Taken — Reserves — Applications ::: ⇅ Top

Fluxdrift

Arrival & Introduction

Date: Throughout May

You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.

Then you open your eyes.

Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.

You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.

Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.

You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender

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Panorama

Explore & Settle In

Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers

After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.

You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.

The Pavilion: Free Samples

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Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.

Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.

As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.

Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.

The Blocks: Power Outage

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Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.

What do you do? You have three choices:

• Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
• Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
• Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall

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The Fringes

Quad 3: Lockdown

Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads

Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57

> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.

Whether you end up here on your own or you were following a tip on the Forum, the outcome is the same: you come to a stop in front of a 2-story office building that's flooded several inches deep. Emergency lights from a roadblock flicker through the stormy night. Stepping out of your car, you're soaked within seconds. When you check your phone, you don't have any bars. No calls in or out.

Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.

Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.

After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.

A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.

Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.

Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.

• To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
• The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
• With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
• If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.

Let's hope a friendly face comes along.

B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.

• The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
• Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
• You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
• Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.

Of course, you don't have to help anyone. You can leave the individual there, make a deal, or outright extort them. But remember, you're not the only person on these roads. You might want to play your cards carefully, even if altruism isn't your first instinct.

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Comments

[terrorisms]

( He eyes her as she leaves, swallowing the urge to shake his head at that pitch-perfect customer service tone she's taken up. He gets it, he does, it's a defense mechanism against every customer she's forced to interact with but especially against him. Easy to fall back on for lack of any better idea of how to react to serving a murderer. Impressive that she's holding it together as well as she is, frankly.

But then she rolls back in and starts giving him the spiel, and he can not for the life of him help the way his lips twist up a little on one side, or the pure, unadulterated amusement that flashes through his eyes.

She can't guarantee his safety, huh?

He'd laugh outright if the concept weren't disturbing on a deeper level. If it's so bad she's obligated to give a disclaimer about her god damn work parking lot, what must it be like to walk to her car after her shift? Or, god forbid, walk home by herself if she didn't drive? This city really is filthy, absolutely lousy with scumbag shitheads chomping at the bit to stick anything they can into a woman, whether or not it's made of metal. It makes him god damn sick to his stomach.

That sideways smirk dissolves quickly. )

Appreciate the lecture, ma'am, but I think I'll be just fine. ( He doesn't plan on sticking around that late anyway. He's almost forty years old. Sticking it out in bars until one in the morning is for a younger crowd than him. He chews his cheek for a moment, and eventually caves into the urge to ask: ) What about you? You got a safe way to get home that doesn't involve a trunk full of short ribs?

[nashua]

Yeah, my car's just out back.

[ And the room she's subletting is just upstairs, but she's in no hurry to announce that fact in particular. Frank isn't actually special in that regard; he's another man in a bland sea of straight guy jeans, five-foot-nine masquerading as six feet, and nope, not interested.

A quick glance over her shoulder, ostensibly to make sure no one else is trying to get her attention. When she looks back at Frank, the megawatt smile that doesn't reach her eyes vanishes. Her voice roughens back out. ]

Look, my dinner break is in forty-five. Can we talk then?

[ She's had a few days to think and come to a conclusion on the whole ugly matter, for better or for worse. ]

[terrorisms]

( First of all, he'd fully shoot down the notion of being compared to all the assholes that wander in here trying to get into her pants. Equally not interested; he might not be old enough to be her father, but he's closer to it than not. Second of all, he's six foot two. Not that it matters. He's not on Tinder, and men who brag about their height tend to be compensating for how short their dicks are, in his esteemed opinion.

He picks up on the tone shift; shifts tones with her. His lips press into a flat, unhappy line, and he spends a short couple of seconds just studying the look on her face like he might somehow telepathically divine how this conversation's gonna go.

Thinks he has a pretty good idea. Thinks it probably isn't gonna be great, but he's nothing if not willing to own up to what he does. So. )

Sure, if that's what you want.

( He could also just get the hell outta here and find another dive bar to frequent. Wouldn't dig in his heels about it if she asked him to, but if this needs to be a conversation first, fine. He'll man up for it.

She'll know exactly where to find him forty-five minutes from now. )

[nashua]

[ Forty-five minutes, as it turns out, was optimistic. It's at least an hour before she's able to return to his table. The place is packed with folks both hungry and thirsty. Bouncing from table to table like an arcade pinball, she's stopped to take drink orders, to check on drink orders, to check on food orders, to return something to the kitchen for having a hair in it, to answer questions about the band, to answer questions about her coworker, the hot bartender, the hotter bartender, herself—

It goes on and on.

When she does reappear, she's thrown a hoodie (rescued from the bar's lost and found a few days ago; she's not made of money) over her t-shirt and is balancing a little treasure trove of bar sundries in her arms. ]

This is for getting my keys back. I left without saying thanks.

[ Stated matter-of-factly, without a great deal of emotion, as she pushes a basket of hot dry wings his way. He looks like a wings guy. Definitely not a vegan, Nash would stake her life on it. ]

This is from the woman by the stage, with the red hair. She wanted you know her name is Kara.

[ An unopened, cold beer bottle is set down with a triumphant clink of glass on table. It's the same thing he's been drinking all night. ]

And these are mine, so— Hands off.

[ A basket of fresh nachos with every conceivable nacho topping known to man and dive bar alike, including an artery-clogging amount of melted fake cheese. She drops into the chair opposite Frank and starts to stuff her face. ]

[terrorisms]

( Things, once again, do not go quite how Frank would've expected them to. If he had to guess, he'd have put money on a follow me, a quick, private chat over in some out-of-the-way-but-still-public corner of the room, an uncomfortable and maybe slightly frightened conversation about morality and, ultimately, the final request being please leave and also don't be where I am anymore. Not that showing up at her work was anything remotely resembling an intentional move.

What he gets instead is hot wings. Hot wings and a thanks.

Sure is a shame all his murder doesn't come with positive reinforcement like this.

It isn't exactly the sexiest, trendiest personality trait these days, but the fact is: Frank's a pretty traditionally masculine man. He likes a lot of traditionally-masculine-man things. These things include Bruce Springsteen, Hockey, and hot wings. He scoots the basket over toward himself without a scrap of reservation, even though the fleeting thought that she might've dosed them with something does briefly pass through his mind. Seems unlikely. He's willing to gamble on this one.

An appreciative mutter shakes loose of its own accord: )

Ho-lee shit.

( Just as he's about to bring one to his mouth, treasure number two shows up courtesy of Kara, and he can't help but flit his eyes up toward the stage to seek her out. It's automatic, despite the fact that there's virtually no reality where he'd make any kinda move. Not here. Not now.

But hey, he appreciates the gesture. Appreciates knowing he's still passable enough for this kinda thing, so he raises the beer in a quiet salute Kara's direction; thanks. She smiles coyly at him, but he peels his eyes away before anything else can come of it.

She starts eating. For about a minute, he doesn't. He spends it studying her, debating on whether or not he should question what the hell's going on here — and then ultimately decides not to. She asked for this, this is her one meal break all shift — or so he assumes. If she wants to spend it eating in silence with the guy who got her keys back, hell, she must not be too broken up about the whole thing.

Sure. Fine, kid. This is what they're doing, then.

He tucks in and starts eating the damn wings. They're not half bad. Not as good as you can get 'em in New York, but not bad. )

[nashua]

[ She's been on her feet long enough that a minute to sit down and gorge herself unattractively on nachos is a bit of grace she clings to. It isn't quiet, not by a long shot. Even with the band taking a break, the ambience is cloying and energetic and announcing itself without shame. But the table feels quiet, and she's grateful for that too.

It's only once her stomach is no longer growling quite so ferociously that she slows down. Sour cream and tomato juice stain her fingers.

Some hair hangs in her face and she lets it. Her tone is perilously, carefully even. Nashua feels like she's got her toes on the edge of a cliff. ]

You didn't have to kill those guys. [ A beat. ] I was gonna go to the cops in the morning.

[terrorisms]

( There it is. He made it through a good three wings before they started wading into the lake waiting for them. He sucks the seasoning off the pad of his thumb, chases it with a napkin, and then plants his elbows down on the table, food forgotten in favor of levelling her with all his attention again. )

This place doesn't work like where we come from. ( Which, by the way, doesn't make that much of a difference in terms of how Frank would've handled this. Shit's still a joke back there, too, but here... ) Enforcers don't work for the people, they work for companies. Businesses. Wealthy assholes. You take this to them, they're gonna laugh in your face and do jack with a side of shit. You know how many honest to god prisons there are in this whole region? One. Anything shy of mass murder, and you're getting three weeks in the local jail, tops.

( He's done some digging. Looked into how the system works here. Didn't think it could get much worse than the already bullshit power structure at play in America, particularly urban America, but... lo and behold. Here they are. )

Best case scenario, you find a bleeding heart that tracks those two assholes down, they go away for about a month, then they're out again and pissed off. What's the first thing you think they're gonna do after that?

( Come looking for the bitch that turned them in. That's what he'd put his money on, anyway. )

[nashua]

Okay, no. No fucking lectures. You think I don't know that cops suck? Not like where we came from? And where's that? Fucking Mayfield? You know you're exactly the type of person they rush out of Dunkin' Donuts for. Not the— the shitty Indian kid who got busted shoplifting bracelets from Claire's when she was fourteen.

[ Okay, deep breath.

Growing up on the reservation, too many of the ghosts had looked like her. Women with feathered hair, women in baggy sweatshirts, women with engagement rings on their fingers. They clawed at doors and peered hopelessly into windows. They were just trying to find their way home.

Looking sullen, she finds some solace in her nachos. Her life is not Frank's fault, it's not his responsibility. She sees an able-bodied white man and assumes all the luck, all the happiness. Born on third base.

She's very, very wrong about that. Maybe one day, she'll figure that out. ]

I wanted a chance to try. [ Her tone has deflated somewhat from its previous hot rush of anger. ] You end up somewhere, you hope it's better than where you came from.

[terrorisms]

( His face remains largely impassive while she flips her shit at him; neither judgmental nor angered nor dismissive. Just stoic, stone-faced, and still. She can get as much of that out as she wants to, and yeah, he doesn't disagree with her in the slightest. Straight white asshole men never have to worry about the cops like other people do, and they're the last people to ever face the consequences for their actions — if they ever do. Don't think he's not wholly aware of that, and that it isn't a motivating factor for why he puts a bullet in so many of them. The Kitchen Irish, the Dogs of Hell, the vast majority of Fisk's men, entire segments of crooked cops and feds, a disproportionate amount have something glaringly obvious in common. The system's doing a lot more work with other demographics, and it sure is some absolute bullshit.

He gets the desire for optimism. The beautiful want for a better place, but — )

It's not. It's worse. And this isn't me trying to piss on your parade, kid, this is me trying to keep you alive. You realize if that asshole turned the knife forty-five degrees and stabbed instead of swiped, you'd be dead right now? You want that? You wanna die? Because it's a hell of a lot easier than you think, and that's what's gonna happen if you decide being naive's more comfortable than being real. There's no room for wishful thinking in this place, you need to swallow that pill now.

( If he has to be the cold bucket of ice water that acts as her wake-up call, so be it. He can live with somebody hating him for that. He can live with that shit all day long. )

[nashua]

[ As he talks, Nashua swipes a nacho chip through a mound of stringy cheese and sour cream and pico de gallo again and again, until it's practically soggy with topping. Only then does she shove it into her mouth.

Through the haze of chatter and music and smoke, the words do sink in. And they leave her feeling oddly exposed, fighting the urge to favour the wound on her side yet again. ]

Yeah. Yeah, okay. I get it.

[ Deflated becomes dismal, but there's nothing in her voice that suggests a lie or even a terrible amount of intimidation. ]

Look, just— don't start anything here, and get me fired, and we're cool.

[ Cool enough. Nashua isn't sure how much she wants what he's proposing: to become hardened unto a slab of concrete just to survive. She likes her humanity. And she liked not knowing what it meant for someone to die because she spoke to the wrong (right?) person. But he's right about one thing; she can live without that a lot more easily if she's, well, alive. ]

Eat your wings. I only get one discounted item per night.

[terrorisms]

( Don't start anything here and get me fired; despite himself, his lips pull up on one side. He's being one hundred percent honest when he fires back: )

Kid, I just came here for the band.

( What he means is I won't. What he means is I didn't come here to start trouble. What he does, he does well, and he does it smart, and he only does it when it's right and necessary. Looking for an excuse as weak as a bar fight isn't his MO.

Granted, the band didn't turn out being all that good, but still. Being out in public, semi-social, willing to have a beer and not checking his six every ten seconds is kind of a big step for him. Having the capacity to do this more than makes up for how lackluster and soulless the performance has been.

Eat your wings earns a short grunt of: )

Yes, ma'am.

( And he tucks back in again, lapsing into a quiet that is, at least to him, comfortable.

When he does ultimately wind up tabbing out and leaving for the night, he leaves her more than enough of a tip to cover the food, and he goes without saying goodbye. )