[hatch log] pull plug, enter multiverse

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: DAY :025 - :026
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in Station 72, a hatch happens; new hosts arrive on Concordia.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

YOU WAKE UP and in a very real sense you are born again. You’re not the same person you were the last time your eyes were open. You’ll never be that person again - well, except for you, Jessica Jones. You know how this part goes, don’t you?

You might not know it right away, though. What you do know is that you’re laying down in a place very different than you were before. The walls angle around you, claustrophobic, and they emit a gentle white light that’s faint enough not to hurt your freshly opened eyes. For a moment you feel fine even if you didn’t before you went under. Whatever injuries you might have had, whatever agony you may have been experiencing, whatever fear dogged your heels, they’re all gone. It’s quiet. When you’re conscious enough to take stock of anything beyond that, you realize that you’re wearing your own clothes and that there’s a faint pinch at the base of your skull - notable as the only discomfort you feel. Reach up, feel along the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment’s back wall. It pulls free without much fuss.

Then it’s not so quiet anymore. There’s the sensation of something more, something louder, something both big and broad and something intimately near to you. There’s the realization that you aren’t alone, that you won’t ever be alone again. You belong here. This is as correct as the murmur of something like muffled voices in the back of your head is somehow familiar, or how the press of emotion that sweeps over you now doesn’t necessarily belong to you but doesn’t feel out of place either.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet, and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you, as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. You can hear a sound in the back of your head, a faint buzzing, something like distant waves or the murmur of a party behind a door. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and the those sounds in your head are louder. Other people’s thoughts swim up: some of them seem clear, most of them are a jumbled mess. Some of these people call to you - their voices are louder, their feelings more clear, they feel right. Further, there’s an awareness that there are others like you - not here, not close, but somewhere: an indelible tug at the back of your mind.

Welcome to Station 72. All new hosts will have one day aboard the Station before being whisked off to Concordia to join the others. Get to know the other new hosts, and ask the guardians of the Station - Prince and Cathaway -, any burning questions you might have. By the time the day has passed, Carata will arrive on the hangar to collect you.



MEANWHILE IN CONCORDIA Angel slips into a coma on :025 at almost at the exact same time that some Hosts become aware of missing pieces fitting into place. Those hosts with new brood members waking up on the station will feel somewhere more complete; you might want to let everyone know you’ll be getting new roommates soon.

Everyone might be putting themselves and their broods back together in the wake of the explosion that left the nest down one host and injected everyone with renewed motivation to either find the people responsible or make sure nothing like what happened at Royal Street ever happens again. Things are progressing on multiple fronts, but on DAY 26 there’s an option to put some of those efforts on the back burner...

     ON THE STATION, the new hosts are herded onto a sleek, black brick-shaped transport. Carata, a woman young enough to almost be called a girl, carefully makes sure everyone is seated and strapped in. She’s all gentle, easy smiles and cheerful responses to any questions posed to her. When everyone’s safely aboard, the ship’s landing platform descends through the floor of the hangar. It snaps into place in the airlock and for a moment there’s a beat of perfect stillness, a shiver of anticipation. Then the transport is flung through the shaft, ejected into the wild black of space. There’s a nauseating lurch in your belly as it bursts through the delicate shell of the multiverse and snaps into real space above the blue and yellow marble of the planet Opia. Somewhere, thousands of miles below in the city of Concordia, your brood is waiting for you.

     IN CONCORDIA
IN CONCORDIA, as dark falls, Nirad announces he’s going to fetch Carata and the new hosts from their landing. Anyone’s welcome to accompany him on the hour long drive to the stealth transport’s landing zone. The rented bus - manned by that same (now very stoic) android - takes everyone to the outskirts of the industrial block. They arrive at a different parking garage just as the stealth transport drops out of the sky, shivering into sight as it touches down. The hosts on the ship step down and then the stealth transport lifts back off the rooftop and wrinkles out of sight. It’s unclear how many more time they’ll be able to get away with this.

Get your meet and greets in and stretch your legs; you have a few minutes before everyone piles into the van and takes the long drive back to the Bearings Apartment block where the hosts have rented out the entirely of Level 13. New hosts will find there are rooms there that as of yet unclaimed, and they’re free to begin making this their home in whatever ways they please. Get familiar with your new comrades, explore the city, or maybe just take a well deserved breather. Officially speaking, nothing much happens until--

     EARLY ON DAY 27

A NEW WINDOW POPS UP IN YOUR EXTRANET PANEL...

---

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new and recently returning hosts; any threads on the Station should be closed to newly awakened hosts or Station-based NPCs; a top level for Cathaway and Prince will be going live shortly. Any threads on Concordia can be open to both new and old hosts! For anything happening beyond these calendar dates, feel free to create your own logs and posts.

If you have questions about the mission specifically, direct them to the most recent calendar post HERE. You can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE; you might also want to take a glance at the MISSION CONCORDIA BRIEFING. For all other questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[regalled]

[There were very few times that Prince valued something other than the straight forward method. But politeness was one of those few things he valued above brevity. There was reason to the ceremony of pleasantries, of introductions. There was value in tradition.

Manners, Bruce.]

It is not likely.

[And equally brief response, as Prince draws his eyes away from his work, settling squarely on Bruce. Standing straight, it's clear enough that the determined set of Bruce's shoulders are unlikely to intimidate.]

[batmotif]

[Manners? He hardly considers himself being rude, merely acting the way the situation has inclined him to; it's more than imperative that he knows exactly what he's gotten himself into, what the consequences behind his choice of surviving has wrought.

His words are forceful, yes, but as far as he's concerned, it's validated. (Of course, to say that he's not radiating even a small amount of irritation would be a lie.)]

Not likely, but not impossible? [A short response for a short response, then. He wants clarification, but after a beat, adds:] I chose survival so that I could fight again, one day. [Back home, he means. There's still too much left unfinished, a lifetime's worth.] A clear answer will determine how willing I am to cooperate.

[regalled]

Not likely. If you were ever to become skilled enough to return without drawing the attention of those who sought your death, you would no longer wish to. It wouldn't be your home anymore.

[There is a formality to his words, to the speed at which he delivers them, each one chosen carefully. It's and answer he had given many times, but he would never speak it carelessly.]

You will have the chance to fight, but I will not lie to you to gain your assistance.

[batmotif]

[And that certainly does not qualify as An Answer That Bruce Wants To Hear. The honesty is less appreciated than it is merely expected, and Bruce's brows knit together, a frown bleeding into his serious expression.

The idea of being able to return is becoming far more complicated than he'd prefer, but he shouldn't have expected anything less. Everything is more complicated, more far-reaching, suddenly more multiversal. But his individual goals (for now, certainly), are far from wavering.]

It'll always be my home; what would change that? [He already hears the implication hanging in the air, but he wants confirmation.]

[regalled]

[Prince glances down again at his work before sliding a finger across the edge of the pad, letting it fold back into its dormant state. This conversation was not likely to end quickly or pleasantly. So few did.]

Power has its cost, as all things. In this case, the cost is yourself. Certainly you aren't unaware of your changed state.

[It was impossible for young hosts to filter out the sounds of the minds around them, to control their own hectic bleed. It was somewhat exhausting even for him. For them, it was not often a pleasant experience.]

The symbiote will strengthen you, in many ways, but to take full advantage of it you would have to give yourself over to it and to the Nest. And if you do that, the Nest will be your home.

[There are two sides to this tale, but Prince has never bothered to speak any other but his own. Cathay would preach the benefits if she wished to, but he would be a hypocrite to do so himself.]

[batmotif]

[He certainly isn't unaware. The thoughts and echoes of emotions that weren't his own were difficult to miss, especially for a man who keeps to himself as much as Bruce. He watches Prince with a level gaze, taking in his explanation.]

That's unacceptable. [Comes the response, quick and blunt. Completely, utterly unacceptable. He could rebuke further, and a part of him is tempted to, but instead, he asks what he deems a reasonable question.] For what reason would I want to give everything to the Nest? [To gain enough power to possibly bring him home to Gotham, in a state where he would not care for home any longer?

Catch-22.]

[regalled]

That is the reality.

[He isn't unaware of what he is saying, what it meant to the Hosts who came here, only barely pulled from the jaws of a certain death, but there's no softness in those words. There wasn't any point in trying to fight it. Prince would know.]

I wouldn't know. I do not know your mind, I do not know your heart. [Unspoken- he did not expect to-] Suffice to say some chose that path. Others do not. If you wish to speak to someone who has, you may find the other guardian of this Station. Cathaway is usually forthcoming. [Uncomfortably forthcoming, in some ways.

It was a catch-22. Prince had never pursued that path. In time, he grew to simply accept the fact that the life he had imagined for himself would never be. That the man he was born was, in every practical sense, dead. There was no freedom in it, there was only reality.]

Do you have other questions?

[batmotif]

[It's far from the path that Bruce would like to tread, but he remembers the name for later, regardless. Cathaway.

Do you have any other questions? makes his irritation flare a bit, seeing it as being told to openly accept all that's happening around him. Like he's talking to a damned customer service rep that wants to move on to the next set of questions, because the discussion of home is ludicrous. It's visible in the way he sets his jaw, frowning. It radiates off of him in a wave, not sharp and sudden, but brewing and smoldering.]

Yes. [Possibly the most important question, despite the answers to his previous ones being less than satisfactory.] Tell me about our enemies.

[regalled]

You have seen them, at least in part. They are the ones who tried to kill you.

[In whatever form they came, with whatever method they would use on a man who seemed in many ways to be ordinary.]

I would that I could tell you their name, or their true face, but we have only ever faced their agents. Through them they have hunted us relentlessly for ages, longer than anyone knows. They move throughout the multiverse, influencing others, moving pieces into place. They interfere, change the development of people, planets, galaxies, sowing chaos.

[It is overly poetic- in part because of old habits, the education of a prince, and in part because he knows that the answer is unsatisfactory. Dressing it up did little to change that, but at least it sounded more certain than the barest truth, which was simply: "they want to kill us", and nothing more.]

We monitor the universes where we can, looking for signs of their interference, and we do what we can to prevent their plans from coming to fruition.

[batmotif]

[Bruce can see past the flourish to the barest of truths, which is indeed the fact that the Enemy simply wishes to kill them. But at the same time, it's difficult to believe in such simplicity. A part of him questions why bother moving chess pieces on a board when you could simply knock the proverbial table over.]

These plans being what? Do we have any idea what their motives are, their end goals?

[If you tell him no, the word unacceptable is going to be ringing from his head, again.]

[regalled]

We have only suspicions.

[And even they were not consensus. Opinion shifted with time, leaned this way and that. He personally believed they wanted chaos- perhaps to weaken the multiverse for some eventual takeover, perhaps simply because they thrived off of it. Perhaps simply because they could. They were cruel enough.]

When we find their interference, it is typically not difficult to discern their intentions. What those individual pieces build to, we do not know.

[Perhaps he did not want to know. He feels, at times, that when they discover their motives will be when they are too close to their goal for the Nest to be able to stop them. It's a quiet, personal anxiety he has seen fit to share with no one but those he could not keep it from.]

Perhaps you will do better.

[Good luck, Bruce.]

[batmotif]

I intend to. [And that, at least, is truth. Whether or not it's a fool's errand remains to be seen.]

You expect us to fight this war, armed with practically zero information? To find camaraderie in the forced company of strangers?

[He nearly scoffs, but that would be indicative of dismissal. Bruce takes this far more seriously, and therefore the gesture is replaced by a clear irritation in his features, a deep frown that's almost a scowl.]

I'll have to do better, if there's any chance of success.

[Good luck, indeed.]

[regalled]

I expect very little of you.

[There is no inflection to the words, nothing in the tilt of his chin or the furrow of his brow to betray whether it is meant to be an insult or simply a correction. But the lack of that inflection is perhaps more damning than anything.]

Only that you are not frivolous with the life that others endangered themselves to save, and that you likewise do not endanger the lives of the other Hosts.

[His priorities were narrow. Keep the young Hosts alive. Give them the tools that he could to see that they survived to become fully fledged members of the Nest. Beyond that-]

We offer you the chance to fight, because few prefer to simply hide and wait for death to find them. [He takes a long breath, lets it out, and when he speaks again, it is with inflexible words] This is not a war. We are not soldiers, we have no army, we have no kingdom. We have only our lives, and we are being hunted.

[They were like creatures thrashing in the jaws of some great beast. Perhaps, if they struggled hard enough, they would do some injury to it. He does not say as much. It was not helpful.]

You should adjust your expectations.

[batmotif]

[Bruce's stoic mask hardens at his words, and the notion that he should be asked to not be frivolous with the lives of others is borderline insulting. It's isn't fair, of course. It's not like the other man knows anything about Bruce, about his history or personality or what makes the man who he is.

The Prince may speak the truth -- that none of them are well equipped to fight their enemies, that they are but tiny ships crashing against the waves of a typhoon -- but it doesn't add to his confidence of the competence of the Nest. It retracts from it, for Bruce is all about preparedness. Control. The man is painfully, unflinchingly controlling. And nothing about the current state of affairs tells him that all the pieces are in place, that all the answers lie a few steps before them; instead, he's tossed out on what he feels is his own, anchored only to others who are just as clueless as the rest.]

Don't worry. You've given me a clear indication of where my expectations should lie.

[Unlike Prince, Bruce doesn't hide the damning inflection in his words. He turns to leave. Staying here any longer was proving pointless.]

I'm sure you'll see me again.

[regalled]

[Stubborn. Strong willed. With luck, not as inflexible as Prince himself remained. Prince knew nothing because he refused to search for evidence that could be so clear to him, if he would only follow the current lapping at his heels. But he wouldn't. What mattered were present and consistent actions, not a past and whatever errant feelings drifted by.]

I should hope so.

[And it is not a lie, despite the complete lack of warmth. He knew what it was to find no satisfaction in this place, after all.