[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

[sensitively]

[ Ren's prattling buys her some time; for once, she finds herself grateful that he feels the insistent need to talk so much during his interrogation of a prisoner.

This time the shackles that bind her are mental, not so much metal strapping her to a table, and even through the pain he inflicts as he presses tightly on the pressure points holding her against the wall, squeezing her like a vise, she grits her teeth and reaches with her fingers, reaching until she sees the metal hilt buried in the sack on the floor begin to wobble.

It bolsters her, that irrepressible spark flaring to life again, and she looks back at him and bares her teeth like an animal. ] — I defeated you once, I can do it again.

[ — and then the saber flies into her hand and she uses the momentum of the Force singing through her in that critical instant to ignite it and break his hold, bring her arm down in a vicious swipe and arcing her saber through the air towards him. ]

[narcissithstic]

[That, at least, catches him unawares. For a moment Ren stumbles back over his own heels, too focused on dodging the arc of her saber to bother igniting his blade or blocking the swing. A problem remedied once he's put distance between them, punctuated by a heavy, trembling exhale through his own teeth.

The scavenger still has claws.

Under better circumstances the idea would light a fire in his bitter heart; denied the chance to truly battle her on Starkiller— to break her willful heart alongside FN-2187— this could stand as a second chance. As redemption, however pale.

But the Nest (more importantly Cathaway) demands something else from them entirely.

Limned with hateful crimson, saber raised defensively as a safeguard against further outbursts, he hisses, tentatively:] Kill me and you kill yourself.

[Their broods, the bonds fostered between them, all of it would collapse at their backs. And yet, stoked by the hatred in her heart (he can feel it, he can feel it—) still he craves it. Self-destruction clutched in someone else's hand.]

[sensitively]

[ She breaks fully free now as he stumbles, a hateful glee swelling in her heart as she surprises him with the move and he's forced to react. That's it, keep underestimating me. The more he does so, the more perverse pleasure she accrues in demonstrating to him otherwise.

His own saber flares to life, unsteady and crackling as she remembers it, and when he raises it to defend himself she pummels him with overhead strikes in rapid succession, barely heeding his words — even if somewhere in the back of her mind amidst the cacophony of the Nest, she knows he's right.

Her blade buzzes through the air, the tip of it searing the surrounding walls and hallway ceiling fixtures as she launches her flurried attack. ]

— You first!

[narcissithstic]

[She could be so much more. With his guidance she might burn brightly enough to bring the Force to its knees— or she might eclipse him entirely, a possibility that had seeped into his cold heart the moment that Snoke demanded she be brought to him. One Ren keeps distant, suppressed beneath the promise that no matter how she might rise, he'll remain. Stronger, sharper.

Their blades clash; vibrant blue hammering down where he's braced again and again, his saber screaming in protest against the blunt brutality of her strikes. And then, when the walls are streaked with scars, his ground surrendered enough that they've receded to the far end of the hallway, he catches her swing with the hilt of his blade, twisting cruelly upwards to leave her exposed.

Is this what you wanted?

It's the turning point, where his muddied wellspring of patience begins to run dry, spurring him forward with a flurry of blows that mirror— and exceed— what momentum she'd used on him.]

He was nothing— [A pawn, a trivial fragment chipped away from the whole. One that skirted greatness only briefly; the knotted scar that rests against the high point of Ren's arm.] You waste yourself on his memory.

[sensitively]

[ She drives him through the hallway with the force of her attacks, never giving up ground, unthinking and simply feeling her anger course freely through her.

But just as suddenly Ren turns the tide of the fight on her — as though he'd been humoring her, toying with her this entire time, and now he finally deigns to unleash the full brunt of his strength, and he's faster and stronger than he was on Starkiller...more so than she could have ever dreamed.

I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this.

His offensive strikes are ten times as powerful as hers — Force-laden, as well as his greater height and muscle mass — and despite her own strength Rey's arms buckle under the onslaught as she catches his blows to defend herself, each one prompting a shout that she tries to muffle between her lips. Giving him the satisfaction of hearing how very thorough his punishment is, isn't an option.

But when he mentions Finn — ]

He was everything! [ Despite his brutality her mouth is rebellious, her response a furious roar over the din of their blades. ] He came back for me — when no one else did!

[ And then her anger twists again, rising up like a wave over and inside of her, and she ducks expertly and jabs him with the tip of her blade at his rib cage. ]

[narcissithstic]

[She's brilliant in her rage, like a star drawn into its own fury before collapse. A fever pitch, unwilling to cede so much as an inch of herself even at the edge of all hope or reason: she should be helpless, seized by fear with her back to the wall—

Instead it's her saber at his side. His pain, rather than her own buckling hopelessness. Instinctively recoiling draws him farther away than intended, a fit of weakness that leaves outrage blossoming alongside searing agony as his footing only briefly falters.

It'll heal. All of it. Every inconsequential ounce of flesh and bone - all that matters in the moment is that he ensures her hatred fails to overtake his own. A child. A scavenger. An accidental nuisance that he grows ever tired of entertaining no matter how much the thought had struck a chord in him initially.

And for that fear welling under his skin, his next attack is barbarically blunt: a punishing backhand to mirror how he'd struck FN-2187 at the end of their confrontation— should it find its mark, he levels his blade to finish it in exactly the same way.]

[sensitively]

[ Her strike lands, searing what must be his rib underneath the black sleeveless tank he wears. She could have grazed up the length from wrist to shoulder and peeled the skin off easily, given he'd been fighting her bare-armed with no protective covering of any kind, but she chooses to aim truer and closer to his heart — this is personal, now, it has been since he killed the only two people she'd grown to care about.

Ren recoils backward from the hit and then charges her again, this time crazed, like a berserker.

She only has time to deflect two more of his heavy-handed strikes before he maneuvers into her personal space and backhands her violently across the mouth; pain blooms across her cheek and she tastes copper before the momentum of his hit spins her around. And then she feels it, before she can fully react — his saber searing through the skin on her back, slicing up her spine, cauterizing as it goes but not before rendering her completely helpless to move. It burns so agonizingly hot that for a moment she's sure her blood is boiling, limned with fire and cooking her from the inside out.

Rey collapses at the edge of the hall in a crumpled heap, barely conscious and shivering. Her sliced-up skin where he's opened the back of her tunic still smokes from the wound, the smell of burnt flesh and cloth and blood. Facing away from him and unable to sit up or even turn her head, she coughs out painful, ragged breaths and waits for him to inevitably finish it. ]

[narcissithstic]

[The moment his saber connects his back is alight with searing agony, twin to the scavenger's own. And yet as it wanes there's a security to be found in it, how she buckles where he'd struck, collapsing at last without any further struggle.

Catching his breath he waits, watches for any sign that she might still somehow prove capable of lashing out— and then, satisfied with the familiarity of the image before him, he moves to step over her, across the smoking wound along her spine towards what still lies clutched within her hand.]

You should have listened. [He would have spared her the agony of it, the humiliation, if nothing else. Instead, she chose to give her loyalty to liars and traitors. Valuing their loss over his existence.

Ever the baseline of his life.] I could have taught you everything.

[Bitterly he reaches down, plucking the saber from between her useless fingertips, pausing only long enough to admire the weight of it against his palm.]

Welcome to the Nest, scavenger. [Rising, he clips it to his belt before lifting a hand to press against his wounded side, stalking back down the freshly marred hallway. ] Stay out of my way, or the next time, you join him.

[sensitively]

[ Rey is still awake and cognizant as he speaks, as he approaches her prone form, even as she feels her consciousness slipping with every ragged breath. There's distaste in his voice, haughty and embittered, but she hangs on every harshly-nuanced word. I could have taught you everything.

You've taught me enough, she wants to spit back, venemous to the last. You've taught me to hate.

But despite her poisonous thoughts, despite the pain lancing through her and stealing each breath until they grow smaller and more shallow, her last thoughts are of Han and Finn, the smuggler and the traitor, the thief and the liar. The two who'd seen something in her that was finally worth something, to someone. She'd been so close to that belonging she'd sought — she'd escaped the hell of waiting for those who would never come for her, only to lose the two people who had done just that.

She can no longer see as Ren plucks the saber out of her slack hand, so clouded is her vision by the tears streaming down her face.

It's a long time — too long — before she finally slips into blackness. ]

hopscotches in here

[deployed]

[ It's over. It's over and the pain of it's crippling even secondhand. If Bellamy hadn't known better, he'd have examined his own back to be sure there's not a twin wound blossoming there. Rey's emotions are a deluge of pain, physical and otherwise, and it takes concentrated effort not to be drowned entirely by them. Bellamy has enough pain of his own; it's always all too easy to be swept up if he allows even the slightest room for it.

Instead, he focuses on the immediate and physical. Rey's crumpled and unconscious, with the kind of wound Bellamy doesn't know how to treat. He thinks briefly of Clarke (Clarke would know what to do for this) but pushes her from his mind as he kneels at Rey's side. ]

Rey, [ he murmurs, bending close, careful not to touch the angry slash on her back. ] Rey.

[ He can't help the rising anger, the sense of betrayal. Ren was a friend, or could have been. As little as he knows of Rey, the vicious need to protect his brood is inescapable. ]

Can you hear me?

[sensitively]

[ A voice pulls her upwards, drawing her to the surface of her consciousness from where she's immersed underneath it, and Rey feels herself responding despite her inability to move. It's a gentle voice, full of care, and yet even in her subconscious state she can detect anger and the bitter taste of an emotional wound, the primal fear of being unable to protect.

He's concerned for her, this mind who wraps around hers and tries to console and comfort. ]

( Yes. ) [ She can hear, but cannot speak.

Though her eyes still remain closed, her lip trembles ever so slightly — she can detect the blossoming of pain along his spine, twin to her own. ]

( ...It's my fault; I shouldn't have done it. I should have turned away. )

[deployed]

( Maybe. )

[ Though it's hard to advocate for that when Bellamy knows he's just as prone to making rash decisions. He's thrown himself into fights before. She'd reacted the same way Bellamy would have. ]

( We should have stepped in. ) [ He'd listened to the Darkling. He regrets that now. ] ( Can you get up? )

[ Burns had never been an issue on Earth. They'd had to worry about poison and stabbings and gunshots, but not burns. Bellamy isn't completely sure where to start with the slash across Rey's back, or how to block out the pain thudding in the back of his head. ]

[sensitively]

[ Rey isn't certain that either of them stepping in would have done any good against Ren in berserker mode; in truth it might have made for more casualties, compounding the damage to the Brood's already wounded psyche. But it's heartening to know that this one would have, had he followed his instinct; even in her weakness she reaches out with both the symbiotic bond that the Nest provides as well as with the Force, to read him. ]

( You have nothing to feel regret for, ) [ she assures him; ] ( there's no guarantee you would have been able to stop him, anyway. )

[ She tests cracking open one eye and then the other, moving both to focus on him hovering over her as she wets her dry lips; he's young, dark-haired and swarthy, with an open, caring face. Her limbs are harder to move though, and with her injury she fears the worst: paralysis. ]

( ...I can't move. )

[deployed]

[ The recoil is instinctive, though it goes against the ingrained instinct of the brood. The contact feels right, but Bellamy closes himself off behind flimsy walls to dodge it. There's too much he'd rather she not see though he can sense the pulse of her distress. ]

( It's alright. You're alright, ) [ He promises her, reciting phrases he'd heard Clarke offer up as comfort. ] ( Can you wiggle your toes? )

[ He's not a doctor. The training he'd been given had all been military, unfinished, and the scant first aid imparted to him had focused on field injuries. The severity of the burn across her back is out of Bellamy's wheelhouse. ]

I can carry you, if it comes down to it, [ He tells her, speaking aloud. ] We'll get you off the roof.

[sensitively]

[ Rey feels the snap of the recoil of his mind from hers, and she's instantly stricken; she hadn't meant to peer into his head so invasively, certainly not if he wasn't receptive to it, but the yearning to had exerted too great a pull in that moment.

She focuses on his placating words meant to soothe, instead.

She opens her mouth to speak when he does, but everything below her neck in her chest feels too raw, too cauterized, too singed to talk. Obediently she tries to move her toes inside her boots, but can't quite grasp the sensation that she's doing it. ]

( Lungs feel raw. I can't seem to speak. You might need to remove my boot to find out whether my toes are moving or not. )

[ ...But the fact that she can't feel it for herself doesn't bode well, she realizes. ]