EMPTY CHAIRS AT EMPTY TABLES

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Concordia - VEN DIAGRAMS HQ + BOUT IT OUT PARLOR + BEARINGS APARTMENT BLOCK
WHEN: Late Day :022 + Early Day :023
SUMMARY: The results of all your hard work - for better or worse. One win, one draw, one loss. Anakin Skywalker bites the big one.
WARNINGS: Violence, non-graphic character death.

IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY. Unfortunately, that’s not about to change any time soon. In the late hours of the evening, two things are happening: the final round of the Bout It Out expose between Kun-Kun and The Darkling is spooling up; meanwhile, the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams is working to retrieve information on H+H1 from the company’s security drive. Unfortunately, neither is going to reach the natural conclusion.

At the REGAL STREET GAMING PARLOR, emotions are running high. After a long day of simulation violence and the reveal of Kun-Kun’s new automaton fighting avatar, the crowd has been stoked to a few pitch. The music’s loud but the crowd is louder: cheering and booing, shouting for every landed or evaded strike. There’s an electric pulse of excitement in the air-- and then there’s a very literal one as an electromagnetic pulse rocks the Regal Street Parlor. The Bout It Out ring shorts and the entire parlor is pitched into total, window-less darkness. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the crowd’s excitement to melt into panic. Pushing, shoving, shouting - a piercing shriek as one of Kun-Kun’s representatives is stabbed. The nearby hosts (Lexa, Sam Alexander, and anyone in their faux attachment) should be able to help Kun-Kun and his reps to safety, but the crush of the crowd tangles up everyone else. When a rudimentary bomb goes off in the center of the parlor, it catches plenty of people in the crossfire.

There’s a white hot flash. A pulse of heat. A sizzle of agony. It’s a pain that guts, that persists long after the flash of the bomb and extends all the way to the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams. It’s like a limb badly severed. Anakin Skywalker is killed by the blast and every host knows it before they’re aware of anything else.

Unluckily for the infiltration team, they won’t have much time to recover. News of the bombing hits Extraspace in a matter of seconds, which triggers Ven Diagrams - paranoid from the recent attack on their own properties - to lock down their headquarters. All systems are tightened and security clamps down before the infiltration team can access the private servers. If you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, now’s the time to get the hell out of dodge.

Retreat, regroup. Upon returning to the Bearings apartment block, the hosts will find that two of their previously comatose friends have woken up: Hux and Aoba Seragaki will probably need to be briefed on the current situation.

     I. THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS
In the Regal Street Gaming Parlor, a pulse flashes. Electronics sizzle. A fight reaching rhythm is shattered and darkness consumes the parlor in its entirety. There’s something like a collective inhale - and then the panic sets in. Screaming. Pushing. Elbows in the dark and a wave of bodies forcing their way toward wherever they think the exit is. Parlors like this one are supposed to be shielded from this kind of problem, but today that doesn’t matter. In just a few short moments of panic, a bomb - basic compared to the one that blew out the Ven Diagram warehouse only days ago - goes off.

There’s a buzz. An electrical hiss. In the wake of the explosion - in the wake of the agony of Anakin’s death -, the parlor’s fire systems go off flooding the upper and lower levels, the spectator balconies with flame retardant powder and coolant. The emergency lighting kicks on, throwing the carnage into stark fluorescent light. The probable intended victim has escaped, along with his entourage, but there are plenty of wounded - groans and weeping permeate the chemical stale air. In addition to Anakin, three people have been killed and two androids have been rendered into scrap by the explosion. Countless others could use help; maybe even a few other hosts have been wounded by the blast.

     II. MEANWHILE...
If you’re part of the infiltration team, you’ve officially overstayed your welcome. Security tightens to a chokehold; if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, it’s time to leave. An alarm blares through the development laboratories. The building is evacuated and then sealed throughout. The powerlifts cease operation. All networked systems go offline.

     III. FROM THE JAWS OF DEFEAT
Back at the parlor, the evacuation continues. The parlor is half-collapsed, there are injured to tend to and local authorities to deal with. In a matter of minutes, the the parlor is swarmed by public security and medical personnel. If you’re able bodied, you’re welcome to assist with rescue efforts - or try to find a lead on who could’ve been responsible for this. Some evidence, some sign - anything to make this worth it. During this time those with Kun Adetokunbo will have the chance to make their case.

It’s a long, protracted clean up and triage; it’s absolutely possible that some of the infiltration team members might make it to the site of the explosion to assist or care for their friends. 

     IV. WE TEND OUR WOUNDED, WE COUNT OUR DEAD
In the early hours of the morning on Day 023, the hosts limp back to Bearings. Maybe it should be achingly quiet, but it’s not - there’s a murmur of activity in the mental air as Hux and Aoba muddle out of their way from out of their comas. From here, it’s up to to the hosts to recover, to discuss how they want to proceed, and come up with a way to recover from this setback - and from Anakin’s death.

---

((OOC NOTES: Here it is, your wrapup log for the event! You may have noticed that the Hosts didn’t succeed at the Ven Diagrams infiltration. We thought this was a better way than asking everyone to handwave a huge amount of plot or simply having the NPCs get the evidence. Don’t worry though - there will be other mysteries to unravel soon. Very soon, in fact.

There will be an NPC top-level for the escape with Kun-Kun, but otherwise you’re free to make your own top levels! If you have any questions please feel free to ask them in the event OOC post.

Thanks everyone!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[closed] TIME TO HAVE A CHAT

[onemind]

[...CRACK! goes the Darkling's kick. WHUF goes the technically enhanced sound of Kun-Kun's quick one-two side step, the sing of his swing. He takes the blow to his midsection. He locks his elbow around the Darkling's leg and moves to wrench him off his feet.

There's a shriek from the crowd. There's a shriek from the machines supporting the match. There's a garbled sound and the system chokes. The music dies. The lights flicker, the avatars scramble and the lights cut out. Darkness, that precious thing, collapses around them as all the power in the parlor shorts.]




((ooc: this is closed to the Darkling and the hosts who planned to have their back room meeting with Kun-Kun and his representatives.))

[adamance]

[It's hardly the first time she's been on the edge of an explosion. Compared to the missile that hit Ton DC (compared to the memories of the explosions that have passed to her from the other commanders), she finds herself able to determine what comes next due to the size of this one. Still, there is an aching pain that surges through her and limits her, blinding her. At first, it's because of the loss ... and then the recognition of just who was lost. He may not be in her brood, but Ahsoka Tano is. That says everything, because she knows the importance of him to her, and what it means.

But Lexa cannot be limited by her emotions, or the emotions of another. Even if it makes her want to wretch with the lost (because as she's told Angel before, she has experienced that loss—she most certainly has, even without the significance of symbiotic ties included), she cannot be held back. If anything else, it's that determination which strengthens her, giving her the ability to push through.]

Come with us, [she barks quickly to Kun-Kun and his security, fingers wrapping around the fighter's arm.] I'm security for our company. [The lie is ready, easy, and available. She will not be stopped. How often have bombs or missiles been used as a threat against her people? Even if she doesn't trust their goal as Hosts (or that the Enemy is somehow not interlinked with the Nest itself), she will not let these people be intimidated from their future this way.]

[unsea]

[ -- it jars him. An awakening, too violent and too sudden to sort through. The arena short-circuits, the pressure wave of noise and heat washes over his body (suddenly real, suddenly vulnerable). Someone, somewhere, that he knows but has never met, dies. It's loss he's never wanted to feel again. Anakin, he can feel his name. It sounds too much like Annika, and she's a ghost in his system he's never required the presence of, and yet here she is. Hovering bloodied and desperate in his mind, scared and lost and hungry for something so that she would never feel powerless again... the way so many scrabbling people are now. There are cries and screams --

he raises his head, to see Lexa across the ruined arena. Her hands on the champion's arm. By sheer force of will, he's on his feet and moving across the debris and the bodies. She speaks - and it gives him a moment's pause. ] Goodbye, champion.

[ It's what he musters, in the face of it all, drawing himself up - and wounded as he is, he hides it, turning injury from view as he lifts his chin. Lexa and the young Sam have it from here. As he said to Bellamy -- he has no need nor desire to add his voice to those who's eyes have been focused on a singular prize. Instead. He turns aside, and his attention falls on the room, on the wounded, on the other Hosts -- ]

BOOM - Fear Effects

[erbier]

[ She had always imagined dying like this. The impact of a great ball of fire, her skin melting from her bones in excruciating, glorious agony. It was her destiny and as the heat and the shock of it slams in to her, the adrenaline is divine. Briefly. Until the realization that it is not she who has been snuffed out takes hold of her. As she realizes that her nerves are singing, ears ringing, vision double, body aching. As she realizes she has been wounded deep down in the depths or herself.

A heavy knife falling...

The crack spreads from the impact, her pain and her anxiety begins to spread outwards. Spectators crawl away from her in panic. Even in the stampede of it all, there is a wide bubble of space between her and everything else. No one can stand to be close. And so she sits there, singed face, singed dress, bleeding palms, and watches the masses dispassionately. Eyes the other still bodies, the sparking equipment and burning synthetic materials, the smoke spreads through the parlor like a plague.

She thinks of a great phoenix that shoots out over the sky, the monstrous shadows left in its wake, the scorched world...

The empty space where Anakin Skywalker no longer resides. She purses her lips. Sits, and watches this little corner of Concordia burn. ]

[unsea]

Ilde. [ Before, he'd called her Saffron. It's useless to do so now.

There's no need to pretend as though the ache he feels behind his ribs compares to hers. That is the difference between the nest and the brood, but he wonders if he would react like her, were he to lose any of those who belonged to him. ( Anakin was killed. Whether he was a target or a bystander, someone's actions killed him. )

The room crumbles around them, infrastructure damaged and groaning as it supports rubble, bodies, threatening to collapse around them even as people flee. Crawling, limping, carrying one another. Those who can't, remain. Maybe at some point, he'll shake off the numbness and the edge of Ilde's anxiety that he can feel - acute as the loss of the one who belonged to her. With a heaving sigh, he folds to his knees before her and peers at her. Brushes a lock of dirty hair from her cheek. ]

Vengeance, [ he repeats carefully, because he does not know her mind right now ] is its own currency.

[ -- a promise? ]

[inflori]

[ Most of the people are gone by now. Petre has fed himself and is confident he can get away with it, until he spots the wretched Ilde sitting by her lonesome in a bubble where no one will approach. He does, but something stops him in his tracks, speeding his heart up with a spike running down his stomach. He doesn't know what fear is like, not in any rational way that he can put into words. The closest thing he can feel to it makes him react like a cornered animal.

He doesn't attack her. Instead he steps back again, with the weight of Anakin's absence in the pieces of his mind. ]

It should have been you.

[whowhatnow]

[Nathaniel's race is a proud one. He grew up among others who would not cower in front of others - after all, with their abilities, they could change themselves into anyone's worse nightmare. What reason would they have to be scared?]

[So, fear is not something that Nathaniel has felt often, but this time hits him like a hammer to the chest. He clutches his neck unconsciously, the feeling twisting through his entire body like a writhing snake, and gasps. It feels like the world is pressing in on him, threatening to squash him like a mere insect. His eyes bulge from his sockets. Nathaniel twists his head, trying to find the source of it all, and-]

[There. It has to be her. He approaches on unsteady legs, his teeth gritted in an attempt to speak over the pounding sound of his beating heart.]

Hey. Hey, stop d-doing that. It's you, right? [He swallows.] Please.

[adamance]

III

[It is only at the end of the meeting that she steps out, ready to find what she can. Lexa prefers to act as if she belongs there, head held high and eyes moving over the space as she tries to find some trace of what's left behind. She had seen the destroyed androids while ushering the representatives and their client into a separate room, and her goal is to find as much as she can of them right now.

There's almost a sick irony in the fact that so many of their best tech savvy people are off at Ven Diagrams. Not aware of their current status, she tries to reach out to one of them—any of them—though her telepathy, while somewhat trained, is still trained across the distance:]

( I need some assistance in dismantling an android for records. Someone help me. ) [Lexa is already crouching before one of the ruined machines, and she hopes that her position will keep authorities from creeping over her shoulders to stop her.]

IV

[Only upon returning home does she seem to tend to the fact that she actually has obtained some level of injuries from the blasts. Her body aches from the aftermath, covered in bruises, and some line her jaw in a visible way. But for Lexa, it's hardly the first time she's been hurt. As she completed her ascendancy ceremony, she had ended up just as battered and just as bruised. What is this in comparison?

Her mind is steady as she takes inventory of who she can with her mind before moving to her room to change her clothing, moving out of an outfit that fits her form to something that looks more like she's meant to work out in it: a loose-fitting pair of black pants and a tank top that hides neither her tattoo on her arm or the aches and pains there.

Lexa is solemn as she steps out of the room, mind reaching out to her brood and those she's closest with to check up on them. There is a sense that she's doing the same even for those she wouldn't say she's close with, as if she doesn't want to cower away from having a sense of where everyone is right now.

For her sake, she wants to move throughout the Bearings, because it feels important to be united. This time, it wasn't a fault of their own that killed them, but she can't help but wonder if it might unite them just the same when it failed to do that before.]

iii.

[circumspector]

[ It's gone from routine to hellish to get out of the building in the space of one explosion. But she's tucked herself away, too long pouring over maps to get stuck now.

Even so, it takes awhile, she makes sure she gets herself somewhere safe - tucked under an office desk. Boxes of stationary drawn in front of her and thank the eridians that she's only a little thing before she answers sharp and quick - ]

( We'll need its memory core. That's stored in its head. There's a panel on the back of its skull. If you can find something to unscrew it with, try to use something to pry it apart. )

iii but reserving the right to transition into iv.

[deployed]

( What happened? )

[ For once, Bellamy doesn't flinch away from the connection. But linking bleeds all the panic and fear into the link, punctuates it all with the blare of alarms overhead.

The pain is gone, but the sensation lingers. Something's gone horribly wrong. He understands that immediately, though he lacks the ability to focus enough to take stock, to pluck through the links to see what's happened. The touch of Lexa's mind is grounding, though the realization of that is colored with disgruntled embarrassment. ]

iv

[dbag]

[ To say he's worried for Lexa would be a huge overstatement, but he is curious; she's clearly still breathing, he would know if she wasn't, but he doesn't know the exact details of anyone in Shaula's condition. He would reach out to them, except he doesn't want to. Seeing her back at the Bearings answers his question good enough, but it also makes him frown. He doesn't like the way she's taking inventory of everyone. It's irritating, watching her walk around like she's in charge. ]

Oh. You're okay.

[ Said like he's a little disappointed. ]

iv

[whowhatnow]

[Nathaniel isn't hard to find. In fact, he's actually actively searching for members of his brood, and almost turns the corner and bumps into her - luckily, he steps aside at the last second.]

Lexa.

[Nathaniel breaths the name like it's a breath of fresh air. There's a childish sense of relief in his face at the sight of her, and even though he looks weary (and he's still dressed in his torn mess of Bout-It-Out propaganda, he hasn't had the chance to change yet), the feelings coming over their bond are nothing but warm.]

Hey. You're alright.

Kylo Ren | hour -00:00:00 | open to anyone at Bout it Out

[narcissithstic]

[The Force is a blessing, that much he knew from the moment of his birth...and subsequent rebirth. In the darkness it grants sight, in the eye of the storm, clarity, and as the systems go dark the boiling feeling of imminent dread that had been building in his stomach comes screaming hatefully to life: the cold click of a readied blaster before it's fired, too late to be stopped. And in that moment it's a curse to have such sickening awareness, left with only the option to brace before impact. That brief, blinding flash of light accompanied by the sound of ruptured space; he feels nothing in the moment, consciousness cut as neatly as if he were drifting off to sleep. But when he wakes to the scent of iron and scorched ozone, Ren senses everything— not his own bloodied ears and whatever raw, ragged pain surges through battered nerves, something deeper. Something previously only understood by proxy.

Sightless, wounded, he claws his way through the wreckage, already knowing what he'll find.

Half an hour after detonation Ren can be found clutching the lifeless body of Anakin Skywalker, devoid of the brilliance it once held. His fingers are a vice grip against flesh and bone, he keens like something unliving, inhuman. As the seconds tick on, time posions his grief: rage burns under his skin - left to his own devices, violence will eclipse whatever sanity he holds.

If you're going to do something to stem the tide, you'd better make it quick.]


[ooc: welcome to your own mini-boss fight, s72! There's only one prompt because for this, there's only one outcome: a whole lot of violence before Ren's subdued. Plotting comment is here if you have any questions/concerns/etc!]

2hype

[unsea]

[ He doesn't pretend to understand the pain felt by the brood, over the nest.

There is no doubt, that he understands what it feels like to hold the body of one so admired, dead in one's arms. The Darkling relinquishes his hard-won right to speak to the champion, and favors the grief of a man doubled-over with simmering rage. He sinks to his knees before Kylo Ren, avoiding contact with the dead one, held in his arms. The world nearly shimmers with unsung, inevitable bloodshed. In this man, he sees -- maybe. He maybe could see himself, and he does not want to walk that road. It's dangerous, it requires a great many feelings he has long since excised or locked away or cauterized.

Ren will snap. There is no stopping that. He's fought by his side, seen the passion and bloodlust in him -- and risen to match it.

Instead, he peels off the gloves he wears. Touches the bare pads of his fingers to exposed skin, and gives up -- images of his own mentor in his hands, her blood slick on his legs, her might and her life (she's in the station, somewhere, dead and gone but not lost to him and god he still aches for her, as much as he hates hates hates her). There is the heartsong of the darkness he channels and controls, the rapture he feels in that solitude, the joy of power, the coiling shadows that begin to bleed from his body -- this is real, this is happening. This is what he does, in the face of Kylo Ren's anger.

He adds to it, shares in it, as doting and impassioned by it as could be. And he whispers across the space, bridged by the touch of a hand: ] Use me. Destroy them.

[ Ren may choose what no one else has ever. The darkness he controls? Or the way his bones sing, amplifying what already exists within? ]

the darkling |

[unsea]

( iii. )

[ Finally, there are medics and authorities flooding into the collapsed building. There is triage being performed, and while Adetokunbo is being solicited by the hosts who have pulled him from the floor, and while Kylo Ren's violence has been given a target, the Darkling is searching for the other Hosts who were present at the parlor. He did not feel any of the others perish the way Annika Anakin had, but that does not mean they are uninjured. Or not accounted for. They're the ones he's trying to collect and direct away from this mess.

Eventually, he's outside. Finally allowing one of the medics to take a look at the injuries he's sustained from the explosion. Everything is one long thrum of physical pain and numb exhaustion. Once he's been tended to, he's on his feet and running on nothing more than willpower and whatever need he has to commit this moment to mind. He'll meet up with the infiltration crew once he's done offering his hands - remarkably steady - to the assisting medics.

Holding wounds until his hands and arms are slick with blood and oil and other fluids from the dead or the dying. Stilling heads and necks, as people are brought out, thrashing and in pain. In one moment, he holds the hand of one of his opponents from the tournament. In the next, they're gone. Some part of him seems liable to snap, as he folds his arms over his chest and steps back from the body of someone who has just died. The bandages that are on him are ruined already. He's not an idle creature, moving like a man who's seen countless bodies before, and will continue to move until he's called to stop. ]

( iv. )

a. [ At the Bearings, he spends his time in silence. Scrubbing himself clean in the washroom of his darkened quarters, until the porcelain and the floor are a mess. He'll be there for some time, for the bolder hosts who wish to seek him out in private, first. ]

b. [ Once he's cleaned himself up, as well as changed his bandages and clothes, he'll leave his quarters. It isn't the first time he's wished for a Healer, or a Tailor, to mend the wounds on his body before they scar, but there are no others like him here. Not that there are any like him, to begin with. If the other Hosts are going to meet in the common area, fine. Now, he's built his mental defenses back up, prepared for more public conversation and debate, and coolly, he goes right for their throats: ]

Who still believes that the opposition will ever be willing to compromise?

iv b

[adamance]

Were there people who believed that we could compromise? What do they think explosions are for in the first place? They are meant to show power and to make people act as if they are afraid.

[His desire to go for the throat is one that she doesn't find fault in, but to a degree, they have a plan that acts in counter position to those who have decided violence is the way to get their word out.

She is still curious about the leader of that movement, and how their Enemy may be making these explosives all the more easier.]

i. @ Regal Street Gaming Parlor

[decommission]

[ Steve's standing near the back, he'd been watching the fight from a fair distance on the lower floor. The music's too much on his head after a day of the sound throbbing at his temples. Last round, though. They made it this far, he ought to stick it out for the others.

It's quick. Lights out, the crowd's mood shifts in an instant. Not part of the show. He remembers one summer when he was at the pictures, it was cool in there, and then the sound just stopped -

His whole body's on fire and cold, floating for hours and days HEY HEY GET UP

Someone's shaking him. His skin's on fire and when he looks down at his chest he expects to find a massive hole there. He touches the place on his shirt, perfectly intact, and can't reconcile that physical information with what his mind is screaming.

The hand shaking his shoulder asks if he can get up. He nods, dumbly. His own hand is touching the back of his head and comes back with blood on his fingers. Someone moans, rubble shifts. Part of the upper balcony had broken apart in the blast. The hand at his shoulder leads him to the debris, asking him a question that he answers automatically. They need to lift the balcony.

He's sure his hands are going to go right through until the exact moment he makes contact. His lungs burn, the back of his neck wet and sticky.

One, two, three, LIFT. The rubble shifts. They try again. His hands catch the dim light, the shine of metal reflected back. A body dashes forward to pull the moaning body out from underneath. The piece of balcony drops back to the floor, dust and powder rushing past them as it hits the ground with a solid thud. He coughs, a rough, dry sound, and limps toward the shouts of HERE, OVER HERE - ]

[whowhatnow]

Hey.

[A hand claps on Steve's shoulder from behind. If Steve turns his head, he'll see a familiar face, cast in some shadow from the help of his pulled-up hood. The usual smile on Nathaniel's face is gone. The young man just looks him over with a frown.]

You don't look so good. [And then he lowers his voice - technically they're all supposed to be strangers, without any connections, but after the death of Anakin, Nathaniel is throwing caution out the window a little.] Are you trying to kill yourself in the process of helping everyone? Look at you. You're bleeding, you idiot. Get some help.

iv

[headinjuries]

[ It was easier to keep going in the heat of the moment, because Sam's used to running on pure adrenaline and pushing everything else out of the way to process later. Doing always came more easily to him than thinking.

Which means that after they've managed some brief, tense negotiations with Kun-Kun and company to talk further later, and after they've extracted everyone from what's left of the Regal Street Gaming Parlor, once they're back at the Bearings and out of things to do, Sam's at something of a loss.

It's still weird, the pain still lingering from Anakin's death. Sam never even talked to him, but the feeling of hurt, of something missing, is as clear as day. Somehow it hurts more than when he found the Watcher dead in his citadel - the death of someone he'd never properly met is sharper than the death of one of the first people who believed in him and one of the only people he could honestly, with no hesitation, call his friend.

That's uncomfortable as hell, if he's blunt about it. (And Sam usually is.) This hivemind stuff? Still a long way from being a thing he's used to.

And busy as he is with turning things over in his head - the discomfort, and the tragedy of what just happened, and the memory of another explosion and another tragedy that he can't help but compare it to - he hasn't really been doing much of anything else. He's claimed one end of a couch in the common room and is curled up with his knees pulled in to his chest, leaning against the armrest and looking tired as hell. He hasn't bothered to change, and he hasn't actually paid much attention to whether the blood on the leg of his pants is his or not.

He hasn't been adding much to the conversations, mental or spoken aloud. The longer the discussion continues, the farther down his head drops against the side of the couch.

He knows this is important stuff, but he's tired, okay? ]

[circumspector]

[ She's been in the same spot enough times since she came here - and it's a pang, she's lost one of her own brood this way. She carries the guilt of Parker still, and selfish, too, some part of her glad that it's not another part of her brood with so few of them left now.

But it's exhausting still, and she catches sight of him as she goes past. He looks as she feels. The palid colour the world seems to turn after so much, whites too bright and blacks ever encroaching. She pauses, looking over him carefully, a hesitation before she continues to go and goes to find the blanket that she'd started keeping in the common room for her own same problem of falling asleep on the couch. It's soft, something she'd picked up in the markets ( needlessly pretty, embroidered with flowers and local animals ) and she comes and gently drapes it across his shoulders. It's familiar so much as the few times she's taken care of others. Nice to give it back when people do it for her so often.

It's only then she really notices how young he is. It means nothing - Pandoran children, assuming they survive their parents devouring them in infancy, get guns as soon as they can control their own fingers and aim safely. It means everything - she couldn't have been much younger than him when she'd been over exposed the wretch of violence. There's nothing to be done about it, it's just what it is. Twists something, and she'll kill as much as she'll care. ]

Did you want anything else? [ She get him some water, some food too. ]

[circumspector]

II. ( CLOSED TO INFILTRATION )

a. ) [ It doesn't take too long to find out what had just happened. Shocks of it felt not so much physically, but it roars across the networks, and louder again in her head of and pain and misery and loss that she's felt once before but this time it's not her own but right now - her eyes snap up to the security warnings that being flashing up and the guards double almost immediately - and she's definitely somewhere she shouldn't be. Gotten in and if everything had gone smoothly, it would have been fine otherwise. Safe where she is, for now, but how long for? Feels exposed almost and immediately and without she finds somewhere she can hide until they work out something new.

Takes a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, calm, wills it into herself and with it - she reaches out. Sharp, brisk, or particularly caring if she's welcome, she can be nice when they have time to nice - ]

( Tell me where you are. ) [ a pause, something wary flicking in her mind and - guards, there's so many more guards they're going to find a new route. ] ( I don't think our mapping of their guards is going to be any good now, but I've still got the building plans, we'll need to work something out - )

B. ) [ -- And for anyone that does pass Angel's way she grabs - without much grace to it, in fact it's more like a tackle of weight to get the person down and her hand claps hard over their mouth and turns her eyes to the door, quick, quick, be silent, be silent - and she's glowing and brightly so - powers twisting out of her. Distorting air and she doesn't look back, sucking in a breath when the guard that patrolled the corridor comes in to investigate the open door and she goes so, so still - ]

( Don't speak, don't move. Don't do anything and he won't see us - )

[ and she tries to do just that. Hard as it is - she's shaking with it. Vicious mean low, she's not dying in some back room of this building right now - and the footsteps move into the room of where they're hiding, watching - sucking in a breath and close, close, close, in, in, in, don't move, don't move, don't move - ]

III. ( BOMB CLEAN UP )

[ She takes her time before she goes to the to site of the explosion, careful to make sure no one is following her, she hangs back somewhere out from direct view so that when she does finally think it's safe to approach, it's heading towards later. She's making a beeline for any member of the nest -

Well, almost, she's not supposed to know any of these people, after all. Not that she thinks in all this chaos it's going to be closely watched, but, granted, she watched these things, others might too. So she diverts herself first by going to the groups of volunteers and steps into line with the rest of them to distribute whatever needs to be done. Water, blankets, food. It's that way she works her way close to any member of the brood that she can find with the excuses in hand with the form of a bottle of water and an easy expression. ]

Here, you look like you could use this.

[ But the echo in her mind is there, if not pressed on right now. What happened? How did it go so badly so quickly? ]

IV. ( CLOSED TO AOBA )

[ The second she feels like she can go back, she does directly. There's something itching in her chest and - had to be ignored when she was working. But everything is chaos, everything gone to pieces - Anakin gone and she's already been through that pain once before, but to know Aoba was back?

There are small kindnesses in the galaxy, sometimes.

But she wastes no time then, directed, feels almost frantic. Calling out the second both in mind and out of her mouth, doesn't want to overwhelm even so, but it's been a long, long day and she's tired and there's a comfort to brood, maybe, and sometimes the good things could unravel quicker than the bad - ]

Aoba? Where are you?

[ She's missed him - more than missed him. Just her and Petre, it was past being lonely, with the loss so recent a keen thing. ]

V. ( THE BEARINGS )

[ The day after, Angel is to be found exhausted, leaning over the kitchen benchtop and seems to be working her way through the closest thing she's found to pizza or there about on this planet. Elbows propping her weight, taking large mouthfuls and chewing slowly. Getting her fingers all greasy and staring off tiredly in the middle distance in some far too fluffy pyjamas. There's a corner of technology in the couch she just wants to lose herself in when she can, but for now, she focuses on getting each mouthful down. The sip of a drink - spicey, sugary and warm, and if she closes her eyes she imagines it might be what Pandora smells like.

Though when she finds company, she pushes the box across with the single slice left - ] Here, do you want some?

( ii. - b )

[unfavoured]

[ Parker wants nothing to do with this. Not once it crossed her mind that there is a mission at hand, or rather, that there is any accomplishment in following directives. Not that have been any directives, but the point is, she doesn't want to care for the missions, really doesn't want to care if things go wrong or not. What she wants, however, is answer. No bullshit about them either. And she has the feeling anything she asks is going to be dismissed - she is going to be dismissed. She supposes she's not important enough for these assholes.

That's fine. They aren't important to her either. She has always taken matters into her own hands, she isn't stopping now and if she wants answers, this is as good of a starting point as any.

Getting inside the building undetected was not easy, but it was not unfamiliar. If anything, it is the most familiar thing she has done in this place. What isn't is the feeling that spreads over her when something goes wrong and it's weird an disgusting and it's not hers and she wants to peel it off of her. Focus, very hard, on getting it off her head. Blocking out everything. This extension is not part of her. This is not her.

It takes her a while to get used to it, trying to focus on other things. It doesn't help there's some idiot shouting in her head and it's an added effort to keep it out.

Maybe this combination of too many things in her brain is what makes the tackle so surprising. Which is only another reason to absolutely hate this whole thing, can't focus, someone always barging in, and so she will keep trying to push it all away, put up walls, block off everyone.

Parker grunts as she hits the floor, ready to stab her knife in the holster of her leg under the ribs of her attacker, but stops when she recognises the young woman on top of her. It annoys her more when there's her voice in her head, now louder, and she grits her teeth under her hand. It's very unkind, the way she tries to shove her out, even worse what she does actually physically shove her off of her. Lifts her hips up, using the momentum to roll them to the side and ending on top of her, pushing her down on the floor. Teeth gritted, face too close for comfort.

Don't tell her what to do. ]

Get the fuck out of my head.

[ And she doesn't let her say anything else as she pushes herself off to her feet and slams herself against the wall as the footsteps become quicker, Who's there! as the guard appears around the corner, gun pointed at Angel on the floor. But before he can do anything, Parker slides up behind him, quick and vicious, pulling his head back and an arm around his throat, crushing it under her arm. He gags, trying to claw at her face, but she keeps distant from him until he finally stops and passes out. She drops him on the floor and he falls limp and useless.

Parker crouches to pick up his rifle, swinging it over her shoulder. Glaring at her as she does. ]

Are you going to stay there like an idiot?

[vocalis]

It's not like waking from a normal sleep. It's like slowly floating to the surface from the depths of a deep lake.

He can't open his eyes at first. His movements are tingling and sluggish, his breath still shallow as it was in sleep. It's not until he breaks the surface that he's able to inhale sharp, pop the stiffness from the arch of his spine, crack his eyes open. His limbs are last to respond, heavy under the thin sheets of his bed in Bearings.

Except, last he remembers, he didn't fall asleep in his own bed...

A jolt runs through him. Realization, remembrance, embarrassment, pleasure, shame. Nirad. Perhaps that's why he feels as though he's reawakening from the dead. Had he been so tired after, he didn't notice Nirad taking him back to his own bed? How embarrassing... he'd have to apologize later.

I. Closed to Mr. General Armitage Hux

[ Later, after he's gotten himself up and made himself presentable as possible, Aoba realizes he's been out for... how long was it, in Concordia days? At least a week, maybe two. He has to reset his datapad and reconnect it to his coil to get the date right. Sleeping that deep and for that long is concerning, especially when it's happened before and to other hosts. But there's no use in worrying now that he's awake again. For now he needs to reconnect with his brood, get caught up and-

And no one is near to help catch him up. Even his brood feels distracted and far off. In fact, he exits his room to find all of Bearings empty, and... and a total mess.

There's crumpled napkins and empty pizza boxes in the seating of the common area. Maybe they'd be in the trash if it wasn't so full. Unwashed plates are scattered on every other surface but the tables, with the remnants of quick meals still on them. Probably because the tables and some chairs are already occupied by heavy monitoring equipment, left behind datapads and tangled cords. And the floor doesn't look like it's been scrubbed since we arrived...

Wait, was that last thought entirely his? There's a grumbling static over the network in his mind, a bottled petty anger like a kettle ready to boil over, and it's closer than any of the other hosts. A sense of utter disgust. ]

Hello? Uh... someone else there?

[ As he rounds the corner of the shared kitchen, there's the strong smell of sanitizer. ]


II. Open!

[ Later they return, hosts with faces he recognizes and some he... doesn't. It brings to question how long he's been out again, and if it was a sleep he was meant to wake from. But these tired faces, whether he knows them or not, erase his selfish worries for now. Some are smeared with dirt, some bruises, others... is that blood? ]

Hey, sit down. You look exhausted, you should rest a while.

[ Aoba focuses on greeting each host with measured concern. What would Granny do, if she were here? Yell probably, and then feed them all. He wants to yell but he's holding back, trying not to scowl too much or call them a bunch of bakas for getting themselves so hurt. But no, there was nothing that could've stopped this, he can understand that much from the collective mindfog. Being angry is no use, so... feeding them would be the next step. ]

I cleared off the couch, or if you'd rather just go to your room... I could, uh, bring you some water...

[ Too bad he's a terrible cook, water it is. ]


III. Open!

[ Watching the recent news on extraspace helps Aoba piece some of what's happened together. Video of the explosion and aftermath are already available, and he scrolls through which ones to watch on his datapad.

Anyone paying close attention might notice a mixture of shifting emotions as he plays clip after clip. At first he watches the Bout it Out final with nothing more than casual interest, and as soon as the bomb goes off and the screams of the crowd begin, he's appropriately horrified. But when he flips through and plays another only moments like, it's like there's a new person watching.

The second time, Aoba watches the Bout it Out final with a new intensity. Hands tight on the edges of the screen, so hard it might snap. And then at the explosion, there's a quiet sort of... approval. His grip relaxes, his eyes turn cold and yellow. As the recorded screams of humans and shrieks of androids grow louder, one corner of his mouth curls up with a smirk. ]

Destruction.

[ Quiet, almost whispered, with a tone of voice that lingers somewhere between horror and odd satisfaction. ]

ii

[headinjuries]

[ Someone he doesn't know. For a moment, Sam just stares, going through the not-quite-two-weeks since he arrived here to see if it's someone he knows and he's just tired and fuzzy and not placing them, but...no, he's pretty sure he hasn't seen this guy around at all.

And then he catches himself, because he's being spoken to and the proper response isn't really to stare blankly. ]

Oh. Sorry. Spaced out.

[ He drops onto the end of the couch. ]

Water sounds good.

sam the first/the elder/ anders

[frakkincylons]

A) GOODBYE MR. SKYWALKER 8(

[ It rips through like stray shrapnel, the shot you didn't see coming, the artery that it hits, the shock that sets in as you stare down at the gaping wound and the crimson wet on your hand. one moment, his family is whole, save for jessica's distant sleeping mind, and the next, one is violently, harshly, cruelly ripped away. it's the words from lee's mouth all over again "there was an accident. kara's gone." it's watching jean's body hit the floor, and feeling desperately for a pulse, to find none. floor pulled out from under him.

sam cries out, behind the console he'd been hastily tapping at, set to picking through security systems and dismantling the checkpoints one by one by one to get their infiltration team through. it all goes starkly out of focus when that flash of white and piercing agony takes hostile control of his mind. hands to the side of his head, sam's doubled over as if some invisible spike had just been jabbed straight through his skull, one temple to the other, but luckily he didn't come to this room alone, one of the others from the nest nearby. he'd opened himself up to the brood, to this connection, welcomed it and lost himself to what bound them all together, and now, to have one piece of it torn away like limb severed, jagged, scorching and throbbing with nerve endings still screaming, is the deepest pain his mind can recall right now. ]

No, nonono, Gods no-- [ he's rambling with a strain in his voice and moisture stinging his eyes, hands pressed to the cold tile as he kneels on the floor, now. sirens blare to life shortly after, but sam's not responding as of yet. someone's going to need to give him a hand getting the hell out of here, considering the two of you are definitely not supposed to be here, doing what it was you were doing. ]

B) IS FOR BEARINGS AFTERMATH

[ with the loss of one of their own so fresh, and so soon after jessica fell silent, sam's uncharacteristically still and absolutely quiet, as the others get back. he hasn't done anything since the infiltration team got back to the flat, faster than those from the Bout It Out match, and Sam hasn't moved from where he stands, staring at the elevator door. Waiting, for the rest of his brood to come back. as if he needs to check with his own eyes that they're there, hear it from their own mouths that one of them is gone.

the moment one of them steps through, he'll be stepping forward, a hand reaching out to touch a shoulder, a cheek, the side of their head over the dust of rubble and explosion, or to pull into an embrace. he doesn't know what else to do with himself. can't start to plot for a next move or consider the rest of what's happened until this is done. ]

C) AFTER-AFTERMATH

[ after having had time to be with the rest of Castor, to see that Ren's put somewhere comfortable and looked after, it still takes some time for sam to make it back out to the commons area, and find a seat on the couch, behind all the mess of computer parts and wires that he'd set up with Angel. his eyes skim over it aimlessly, a deep feeling of hollowness settled in him. at a loss, after such a crushing failure. ]

Now what? [ he's asking to the room at large, no one in particular. he'd likely missed much of the debriefing and news due to wanting to attend to his broodmates first. lee or kara would say get yourself together, there's still a fight to finish. but he'd never been a soldier at heart, not like them. he'd joined because he needed to do something with himself, needed to be part of kara was before she'd gone. it was never something that truly suited him, even with the resistance and the insurrection.

find another starting point, keep going. he knows that's the logic, but where does all of this leave them now? ]

B.

[erbier]

[ She allows his initial hug, but she her palms open against his chest, not letting him fully take her weight. She is only on her feet by force of will. She glides away from him again without saying anything, disappearing into quarters to sleep for hours. Her exhaustion cannot be terribly surprising.

When she awakes again and takes the time to scrub the smell of smoke out of her hair, the blood and soot off her skin, she is better prepared to interact, and goes looking for him.

It must have been difficult for him. The only one not with them... ]

Sam...

[ Her throat hurts, hoarse from breathing in smoke and perhaps from screaming although she does not remember doing so. ]

petre dodrescu | open | cw for gore

[inflori]

I. THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS

[ Petre does not feel the agony of losing Anakin right away, because he's also caught in the blast. It projects him with so much strength that his head cracks when it hits a column. He drops to the floor with extensive burns; almost immediately his body is caught in the sea of people trampling over everything they possibly can to escape.

He's dead - which the hive will most likely feel as well - but he returns within minutes. His damaged skin is gone, and new one grows back; bones snap back into place and the blood dries up. The process is slow enough to be visible to anyone watching, until the grotesque display goes completely still. Within seconds, Petre's eyes flash open and he wheezes. Flailing, he gets back on his feet, looking at the people still trying to get out, then those who are too weak to survive.

His stare is wild, hungry. Coming back from the death is something that takes a great toll from his power and he needs to feed again, needs to put back his energy. That's all that's on his mind when his eyes go black and he darts toward one of the bodies, sinking long and sharp teeth into the victim's throat first. ]

[whowhatnow]

[Nathaniel's head feels like it's splitting. Feelings and thoughts are ricocheting in his head like little steel balls in a pinball machine, and it's hard to really focus on most of the things that are happening. He instinctively rushes to the scene, eyes poring over the ruins and bodies quickly, until he recognizes a certain flash of a very dark expression. Petre.]

Whoa! Hey, hey buddy! [He says, not even pausing in rushing over, more concerned over whether he's okay than the whole monstrous visage he's got going on. Nathaniel himself looks very messy, his Bout-It-Out shirt torn and his hair a crazy mop, though he could care less about that right now.] Look, you need to get a doggie bag or something, you can't stay here!

bellamy blake.

[deployed]

ii. | CLOSED TO INFILTRATION.

A. )

[ The shock of pain nearly lays him out. The sensation of burning, the rising scream of agony, and then then, unexpectedly, nothingness. In the wake of it comes the realization that there's something, or more importantly, someone missing. That void tears at him, has him staggering a step to lean against the wall even as the alarms begin blaring overhead. The buzz of the hive in his head, Angel's voice warning against being caught out, it comes from a great distance and Bellamy doesn't immediately respond. He's never felt death like this, in his head, vivid and all consuming. It rattles him, even if he can't afford to be rattled in this moment. The moment he takes to regroup is a mistake. Bellamy pays for it immediately as a guard rounds the corner, eyes widening as he sees Bellamy.

There's a single burst of thought, unchecked, telegraphed outwards: Fuck.

It's Mount Weather again. The ensuing scuffle is immediate, vicious, and relatively silent. Bellamy has two hands on the man's throat when it happens, when something tips and flows out of him, and the skin beneath his fingers goes mottled and black. The burn spreads and the man crumples beneath him, rolling over to vomit. Bellamy shoves away from him, staggers back a step. Still doesn't run, even though he knows he should. Did he do that? Was that him? ]

The hell?

[ As if the man at his feet could explain. Bellamy's skin's gone clammy, temperature rising, but he passes it off as an aftermath of the fight, rather than blowback from what he's just done. It couldn't be related, as far as Bellamy understands. ]

B. )

[ The alarms don't cease. By this time, Bellamy's pale, unsteady on his feet, running on sheer stubbornness. His thoughts circle around and around to the dropship and that first bought of sickness, of being dead on his feet and coughing up blood. This is something different, but it drags his memories back around to it, compounding the misery of Anakin's loss. It's not crippling, not yet, but he's pushing on through sheer, dogged commitment to getting out, back to the Bearings. (And because he knows that being caught here isn't an option, even if all he wants to do is sit down and maybe throw up again.) He reaches out with his mind, catching at anyone who'd entered the building with him. ]

( How many are left here? We don't have much time left. ) [ Then, maybe a little shamefully— ] ( If anyone's nearby, I can use a hand. )

[ He'd make it out, one way or another. But if he meets someone else in the hall, Bellamy isn't sure how that encounter would go. There's a clear sense that no one should double back for him, telegraphed through his thoughts. Help should only come if it's convenient, and he'd make do without it, if not. ]

iv | THE BEARINGS.

A. )

[ The sickness doesn't abate. Alone in his room, Bellamy looks at his hands for a long moment, uncertain, before sitting down with a groan and stripping off his jacket, unlacing his boots. It's a laborious task; Bellamy's strength is gone, burned up by the fever, but at least he doesn't feel the urge to vomit again. It's a small reprieve. Bellamy still doesn't quite understands what this means for him, but he's going to try to ignore it for the moment. Which entails an attempt to collect himself, suppress the outward evidence of illness as best he can before facing the fall out of the bomb and Anakin's death. He sheds the sweat-soaked t-shirt and bows forward, face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and tries to breathe through the sense of weakness and fear. Company isn't in the cards, but he left the door ajar on the off chance anyone wanted to speak with him. ]

B. )

[ Eventually, Bellamy emerges from his room. He's uncertain how much of the pull is the need to be near the rest of the nest right now, but as his instincts support the need to convene and at the least, discuss what happened if not consider how best to move forward, he acquiesces. They failed in their part of the mission. A bomb derailed the rest of it. The urge to retaliate is strong, but Bellamy doesn't trust himself to voice it. Right now, he's really just here to listen. At some point, he's probably going to dip out to go throw up, because the aftereffects of his power are just that awesome. ]

iv a.

[unsea]

[ The world contorts, when Bellamy returns to the barracks.

Caught in the middle of his own need for solitude, to gather his thoughts before dealing with the next state of their mission, he doesn't recognize the twisting of his stomach and the urge to vomit as not his own. For a moment. He doubles up, draws in a deep breath -- and immediately narrows his attention on Bellamy's presence among all the rest. He comes upon him, after a brief investigation, in his room. Wan and ill, and in this moment, the Darkling is glad to have cleaned up first. ]

Easy, [ he murmurs. Bellamy should know it's him, but he lends his voice to the identification. ] It's only me.

Ahsoka Tano

[snippycup]

[Her breath comes sharp, and Ahsoka finds herself inhaling dust, choking on blood. Everything crashes at once: the weight of the rubble, the seemingly never-ending hole in her chest, the memory of a push, and then--

Anakin!

Panic swells in her chest, superseding every other thought as she struggles against everything forcing her down. A huge piece of metal moves with her, groaning with her efforts to free herself. She bleeds, something in her side is broken, but she doesn't care. The Force is silent, too quiet, too dark and all she can think about is--

They're walking together through the square, as they often do, Ahsoka's cloak drawn and Anakin making some sort of snide comment about the upcoming battle. She awkwardly laughs it off, offering her own insight and cheeky comments. Shortly before the blast, a ripple in the Force seems to warn them both, but its weakness in this half of the galaxy means its not soon enough to avoid the damage. A solid Force push collides with her as she prepares to jump away--

The metal collapses around her, and her bloodied, dust-covered, transparent body slowly reappears on the surface of the rubble. She reaches for the warm embrace she knows should be there to find only a void.

Her panic intensifies, her vision blurs with tears that she stubbornly blinks away. She already knows--]

Anakin!

[Her leg sticks between two more large pieces with her phasing process incomplete. Stubbornly she yanks herself free, sending her tumbling to the ground and the pain from the broken something is almost enough to black her out again. Her lungs strain, her arms push her off the ground and standing and she struggles to follow--something, anything, a connection that is no longer there, that hurts every time she reaches for it through the Nest. It spins her in small, disoriented circles. The Force is quiet and dark.

This can't be happening.]

Anakin!

[She keeps calling, like it will wake her from a nightmare she can't possibly be living. They had sensed the blast, they had known it was coming, but she had gotten away -- he had to have made it. He wouldn't leave her alone like this.

He's been moved by someone already, that is plain to see. She will find them later and teach them a lesson about picking fights with her former Master. The darker thought keeps her from breathing too hard against the broken-something in her side, but it makes her tears worse when she drops to her knees in order to reach for his hand. Multiple bonds torn, the Force between them severed and shredded messily, leaving her shaking like the youngling so many Jedi had once claimed her to be.

He's gone. Gone as she turns and pulls his head into her lap. Gone, as she cradles him and rests their foreheads together as if she could will the Force back into him. Gone, and its all her fault for being too slow again. But this isn't a clone she misdirected in a firefight, this isn't a blaster bolt she failed to reflect, this isn't dropping Steela Gurerra from a clifftop after being struck by shot.

This is Anakin Skywalker. This is her mentor, her best friend, the only man in the whole of the Jedi Order who truly understood sacrifice for the greater good and who understood her. And he was dead, his blood on her hands and his body growing cold in her embrace.]

[adamance]

[The last time that Lexa truly comforted someone over a loss, it had been Clarke after she had killed Finn. In the days that followed, she thought that she needed to pass on to Clarke the same lesson that Titus had instilled in her: love is a weakness, and letting the loss of that love hurt her would only make her weak. Believing that she couldn't go on was a problem considering her status as a commander, so she had to learn.

Titus' lesson had been a lie. It had been a way of ensuring that Lexa would not fall prey to that kind of weakness again, and she had suffered grave costs because she felt she needed to adhere to it in every moment. Clarke had pointed it out to her once, and then again and again until Lexa went to her knees and offered Clarke her continued protection. And now she is here and that means nothing, except being here keeps Clarke (at least a Clarke) supposedly safe from an enemy.

But still, Lexa had adhered to the belief that emotions were nothing short of weakness as a way of coping with her grief from losing her first love in an act of war. It had helped her recover. It had helped her grow. And there is still a part of her that believes she is better off sharing little with someone else.

Belief does nothing for her now. Still, she is practiced in hiding the welling of grief inside of her as she speaks to Kun-Kun and his representatives, and as she takes the memory core out of the android. When she is done, she rises up, thinking to leave, but she pauses. There are people better suited to handling Ahsoka, especially given their history, but Lexa does know that grief. When she feels it, she can't help but think of more than just Costia, life lost and head left on her bed for her to see how she endangered, but of Polis and the images of its new found brutality.

To a degree, it's extremely painful to be reminded of this grief when she has been doing her best to suppress it. Lexa wishes she could truly excise her emotions, cutting them away so that they could no longer be a burden. But that has never been the case, nor will it ever.

She comes to kneel beside Ahsoka, and it's clear through the link that there is both grief (hers, Ahsoka's, possibly someone else's) and sympathy. She is not here to give a lecture, though she is prepared for Ahsoka to think she intends to offer one. That would follow the tune of their previous interactions (or clashes).]

Do your people have burial traditions? [It's likely an odd place to begin, but Lexa has her own, and it is one way to show that Ahsoka has someone who will care for her.

Besides, Lexa lacks any means of truly connecting with comforting words. She's never been very good at it, so she tries to find another way.]

[closed to steve] iv.

[bracchium]

[The Soldier doesn't know how he got here or what this place is. A sickeningly familiar sense of calm and belonging clogs his senses like nausea and deja vu combined. He's just woken up--- he thinks-- in a bed he doesn't recognize, in a room as equally unknown with a migraine throbbing at his temples. Where is he? How did he get here? Has he been captured? Who would want to capture him? Who is he to be a valuable asset?

There are so many voices crowding into the space in his head, into the cavernous wound of his bleeding mind like maggots. They crawl and squirm and fester and the bile clawing up his throat makes its debut. Everything burns but he doesn't know why or how. He can't go back to sleep--- if he was sleeping--- with the pain, but he doesn't want to move.

There's a small figure curled up on the bed--- The Soldier lay on some cushions on the floor--- and he doesn't recognize the narrow slant of the silhouette or the gravelly breathing echoing in the room around them.

But it's familiar, painfully so. The wheels in his head can't spin fast enough to keep up with each additional clue he gathers. Blonde hair poking up from under the blanket, the bruises marring his skin.

The Soldier sits up slowly, brain buzzing and vision blurring, off balance from a lack of weight on his left side.

He knows him, the man on the bed, but he can't find the name.]

[decommission]

[ There's little he remembers about the trip back. Every part of his body feels raw - makes sense.

He'd been burning up from the inside.

Steve starts to wake up again with a dry mouth and a buzzing in his ears. Steve starts to wake up again, fifteen minutes later, an hour later, the next morning - mouth still dry and head still buzzing, and every part of his body still aching.

None of that's got shit on the empty space threatening to suffocate him.

Anakin.

This isn't just guilt over his death.

He's got no right to this grief.

The room buzzes, joining with the sound already in his head and the press of someone's gaze on him where he lies on the bed. Feeling irrationally exposed, Steve pulls himself into the waking world for good this time, lifting himself into a sitting position in spite of the protests his body gives. ]

Buck - [ His voice stops before the question starts. Bucky had been there on the battleground, the figure that'd steamrolled Ren, just before Sam blew them all to kingdom come. Ren had gone down with that, the two of them twisted together as they were, Steve felt it happen.

His gaze falls on the tattered remains of the arm, his expression tight. ] How long've you been up?

[closed to Sam Alexander, iv]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[It'd happened before, one member of the Hive getting abruptly torn away, Sam knows that. But the one time it'd been because of death had happened before he got there, and those that had slipped into comas seemed to be more of a quiet ache. None of them had ever blown up quite like this - pun mildly intended - and he's not sure if it's because of who'd been involved or how it'd gone down.

Either way, it means now that they're all heading back to the Bearings, Sam's hanging out at the edge of the common area. He's more banged up than he should be, for someone who wasn't around at the time of the explosion, but that's what he gets for trying to help in the aftermath. He's not so much worried about the physical side of things, at the moment. There's a confusing twist of grief and an echo of emptiness that he can't exactly get a handle on, considering he hadn't even known Skywalker. It's a symbiote thing, has to be, and he can only imagine how much worse it's gotta be for Castor.

He's keeping quiet, for the most part, watching everyone as they slink in and disappear off to where ever, or convene to discuss what happened. But when he spots the younger Sam, he heads over. He knows that Sam had been at the fight, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried.]

Hey, man, how you doing?

[headinjuries]

[ Sam's still trying to put the pieces together into some kind of coherent idea of what happened; he and Lexa had been outside when it started going down, and everything he'd felt from the rest of the nest had just been an overwhelming jumble of anger and pain and something he's hard-pressed to find a better way to describe than oh, shit. It's still not making much more sense than it did while things were going down, but the how is probably less important than the what, he knows.

They're all going to be feeling the echoes of this for a while. ]

Few scratches, no big deal.

[ He realizes that his physical state probably isn't the real question being asked, but Sam's used to bottling things up and pretending he's fine. His family needed him to keep it together. His friends had no idea about any of the superhero stuff. The older Avengers probably didn't need one more reason to doubt bringing the kids on, and Miles and Kamala always seemed a little more comfortable with each other than he was with them.

And the Watcher was dead.

Bottle it up, brush it off, and try not to explode. That's just routine.

It's a lot harder to be convincing about it with the whole hivemind thing, though. ]