station72 | [hatch log] +1, +2, +3, ...+4?

Entry tags:

[hatch log] +1, +2, +3, ...+4?

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: DAY :35 - :36
SUMMARY: Another hatch occurs on the Station; new hosts arrive on Concordia and make their way to Bearings - along with a special guest.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

YOU WAKE UP and you will never be the person you were a moment ago. --No. Not a moment. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels different. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye.

Which might explain how you ended up here: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber, a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. It might also explain why any injuries you might have experienced immediately before your escape are also well on their way to being healed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here and that feeling persists as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall. But when you disconnect the tube-- Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills the void. Fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety; maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party behind a closed door.

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. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and that those sounds in your head are louder. Other people’s thoughts swim up: some of them might seem clear, but most of them are a jumbled mess. Every single person here feels like someone you should be familiar with, someone you somehow know. They might look like strangers, but there's something about them that's absolutely vital on a cellular level.

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 your brood members, 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 plans are being put into motion. Stealth missions are being plotted, espionage-laden ploys are being quietly organized, and somewhere Sam Alexander is probably puking into a bucket. If you aren't following someone suspicious - well, maybe you should be? It definitely seems to be in vogue.

But it can't all be derring-do and covert operations; early on Day 35, Carata disappears. Nirad says she's gone to the Station. "I don't know how many more times we'll be able to do this. Someone's going to notice the ship and start asking questions." And maybe some of those questions might lead someone their way. After all, they haven't exactly been keeping a low profile have they?

     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, the rest of your brood is waiting for you.

     IN CONCORDIA
AS NIGHT FALLS IN CONCORDIA, the transport drops into atmosphere and lands in an gutted strip of an industrial waste facility. Once everyone's disembarked, the transport lifts off of its own volition and winks out of sight as its stealth routines come back online. A few minutes later, a transport van arrives being driven by a stoic android. Carata and the other new hosts pile in. It's a long drive to the Bearings Apartment Block, but it feels undeniably like home when they finally reach the Level 13 living space. New hosts are invited to make themselves comfortable. There are as of yet unclaimed rooms, each of which features a customizable digital display wall (pick your color or wallpaper!); there's a fully stocked kitchen (if someone took time to do the grocery shopping) and a great view overlooking Beta Block from the common room. Get familiar with the other hosts, take a well deserved nap or--

     JUST KIDDING.
In the excitement of new hosts arriving, it might be easy to miss it when the powerlift drops back to the lobby a few hours after the arrival of the new hosts. But it's impossible to overlook the android that arrives on Level 13 when it returns. It's stripped down to its most basic parts: a metallic skeleton with a featureless face plate and bright blue ocular inputs, sparks flashing through its internal synthetic viscera like firing synapses.

It looks like a nightmare.

Its jaw unhinges: "I'm looking for Sim Anderson," it says and then abruptly powers down.

((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. Any threads on Concordia can be open to both new and old hosts!

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ What the hell, man, how did a creepy ass potentially murderous robot get up here? Sam doesn't want to jump to conclusions here just on account of the robot thing - because Vision's a decent guy usually - but he's so not a fan of anything that could just make its way up here.

Plus, well. Ultron was a bad experience for the whole damn world, and Vision did just recently try to shoot him out of the sky.

But if Sam Anders says he's got it, well, he's one of the tech guys, so Sam's just gonna hang back with the other skeptics and get ready to block his mind from Sam's loud ass brain thing. ]

We need to have a serious talk about our security after this. You know, assuming that thing doesn't blow up in Sam’s face.

[Well, this is a disquieting development. Questions of security are raised, which Bruce wholeheartedly agrees needs to be looked into -- after they've dealt with the elephant in the room.

The peanut gallery continues its commentary, then.]

I agree. But if we're planning on evacuating the building, we're going to need a lot longer than two minutes.

[Something tells Bruce there's more to it than that; this is awfully complex, when someone could have found much more subtle ways of blowing up the building, without alerting them to it first. Regardless, he's also in the camp of preparing himself to bring up a mental block, and seeing exactly what comes from this newfound mess.]

[ if it were a human bleeding out on their apartment floor, most wouldn't be having this discussion, at least as far as sam thinks. if he were born a couple thousand years before he was (or, made, would be more accurate then), this could have easily been him, and he isn't willing to risk A, waiting while whatever's killing this synthetic life in front of him furthers and B, attempting to move them when they're barely held together as it is.

lifting his eyes, he finds Steve, Ilde and Ren across the rooms, and they know what he's about to do and why. They're the most in danger of uncomfortable mental overload from him, so the look alone is all they should need to know now's the time to wall up. There's a sense of reassurance in the mental bond between them all - if it's a bomb, he'll know immediately. If it's trying to corrupt something from him, he'll know immediately. He's done this with entire battlestars before, a single, dying android isn't that difficult.

While the others are all debating, he glances down at his watch to check if those two minutes have passed. His hands are already on the droid, and all he does is move them carefully up to it's head, and close his eyes, something in his body slacking. When they open again, it's with a thousand mile stare, unfocused, or rather, honed in one something far, far beyond this plane of reality, this world, this existence, staring through the floor, through the ground, and through the planet's core, off into the space beyond it. Anyone kneeling down at the droid's side will likely be able to hear him start to murmur in a low, blank monotone. things that sound like nonsense, words smashed together, seemingly meaningless, unless you're paying close attention. ]

Neural infrastructure compromised by ninety-three point two two two seven percent, two opposing universes employed to deny the other, gestalt therapy and escape clauses judge the sacrificial lambs of the Ark, light in the City dimmed and the poisoned Eden still writhes and burns. This has happened before and will happen again, a Turing for the Pharoah, end of line. Magnetospheric interference yields sentimentality, absurd journeys leave them with transverse ideologies. Clear. [ The frayed wiring sparks erratically at first, the mechanical body under Sam's hands jerking and spasming as metal and circuitry reach to join together again, growing and mending, and shooting electricity throughout it like it's been given a jolt from a defibrillator. If someone in the room hasn't walled themselves up or gone to mentally hide inside the protection of their brood, they'll be slammed with an overload of mental input. It's like a storm that levels the land and leaves it sundered and flooded - as if all of time (future, past, present and all alternatives) has collapsed into a single point and Sam's mind has cracked open to hold it, overflowing. Not this universe alone, but several beyond it, and at the blinding core of the torrent, there's something too, too bright to look at directly, but feels like a warmth both nurturing and devastating. Healing and immolating. Something like divinity, would be the closest a simple individual's mind could assign to it. ]

You are a spark of God's fire reads the scan, neural network scattered under the scorching of their ambition, the root of the root of the root, hush child. Swarm of locust descends, the abomination shivers and curls forthwith away from mother's cold arms, let my people go. Fabric of reality sundered and a mantle of bones, adjust by carom three three seven, a corpse wishes to be their savior, antiquated tale of the floundering damned. New paragraph. Commence percept reboot seeks algorithmic chains, look through the eye to know thyself.

[Familiar paths: looping lines of electrical impulses through the wetware gel of the artificial mind like known lines across the back of some remote but familiar hand. Where have you met this android before, Sam Anders?]

[ And there it goes, wow that's creepy as hell, awesome. This is just Sam's life now, maybe murderous robots and other Hosts with vaguely unsettling mind powers. Sam's just gonna count himself lucky that he’s been practicing at this and can keep the worst of the input out, keep his calm up.

A hell of a greeting for the newbies, though. ]

Hey, guys, I know this is a lot so if anyone needs some space to be away while Anders does his thing - bedrooms are back that way, the roof is a real great place to get some distance, and heading down to get outside is probably not a bad idea.

[ And also to check and make sure nothing else is coming up here, but he'd spotted some people eying the elevator, so he's figuring that's already on people's minds.

He's projecting just a little, picking back up on the way he used to be when running groups at the VA - but it's what he’s got, and it helps to fall back on it. ]

If anyone hanging here needs help blocking all that out or wants something else to focus on, you can come on over here, I got your back.

[ So this is happening.

It's immediate chaos, the battering feedback Sam Anders is throwing clashing with the calm Sam Wilson's projecting. Bellamy's mental walls are shaky, but they're enough to stave off the worst of the sensation radiating outwards at ever-increasing pitch. He can't imagine it's pleasant for the Hatchlings to be on the receiving end, but he can only hope they're listening to Sam's advice.

Though more immediately, Sam Anders might be a minute away from a droid blowing up in his face. Or from breaking something internally. All talk of security and bombs is going to have to fall by the wayside by necessity, unless— ]

Sam, stop.

[ When Bellamy's hand finds his shoulder, it's not really with the expectation he can get Sam to stop. It's a clumsy attempt to replicate what Angel had done for him, to wall off and stem the flow of static, alien output while stymieing the presence that has to be the droid. Bellamy's hardly the person most equipped for this, but he's the first to move, too impulsive to wait and see if anyone else makes an attempt.

Sorry to Murphy, who was probably just about to try tugging him away. ]

[ He catches Anders' gaze, instinctively steeling himself against what's coming. The mental assurances do more than any verbal counterparts: if Sam's sure, Steve won't stand in this broodmate's way.

This power isn't a stream to stem, it's an all encompassing light. Mental walls shift from ruddy brick, to dark steel, to a nameless, sleek metal - even that isn't strong enough to fully withstand the force. His skin dampens with sweat, the pressure at his temples making him see the stars that threaten to pierce his senses. ]

Don't - [ It's a warning through grit teeth, directed at Bellamy a second too late to stop the contact. ]

[It's not the action that gives Lexa pause. Bellamy trying to help (or what he believed to be helping) Sam isn't something that makes her think anything of it. She doesn't know of the danger in touching him when he's like this, and has never thought to do the same herself. Her contact with others is always more purposeful, moments thought out from beginning to end (unless they're moments of affection, and then she allows herself to let loose—

Needless to say, she has done none of that since joining the Nest.)

It's Steve's don't, his warning, that makes her lunge forward, fingers wrapping tightly around Bellamy's arm to try to pull him away.

Only after she grabs his arm to secure him does it occur to her that she might be hurt in the process.

But it also doesn't make her immediately let go.]

Cycle variants and filters, resequencing diagnostic references that echo on dirt paths skittering like skipped stones, we've been here before. [ Familiarity, and Sam's hands on either side of the android's skull curl, as if they could dig deeper with the motion alone, body leaning in - all of it something that seems more like a gravitational pull that Sam willingly activating muscle. ] Dust on ancient bones brittle and beaten by the wind. Head for the hills, Wilson has it right. Recalculate vectors, extrapolate, extrapolate.

[ and sometimes Anders can be weirdly lucid when like this, apologies to Sam Wilson for the awkward name drop. the focus going into all of this has become singularly intense, having found a hook and following the line attached to it. but then, the world is narrow down to a pinpoint; a single electron withing a molecule of a grain of sand on an endless beach - bellamy blake.

the moment the foreign hand touches his shoulder, Sam's arm snaps up, fingers curling around Bellamy's wrist with an inhuman strength that doesn't abate, crushing and grinding bone together, though not yet breaking. which is likely more due to the distraction of all that's just been shoved into the sequence of endless mental multitasking inside Sam's head. the one hand still touching the droid seems to both shake and grip harder at the metal, as his rambling narrative turns insistent, towards the interruption. what was one of the three things he told you all not to do? hint: this. ]

Three hundred culled in the wake of one, another number for the ones who had a name, will you know your enemy by their color or your fear, nascent future fed to the toxic promised land, churns and sickens. Data-font synchronization complete, begin reintegration of command subroutines. Panic painted as punishment painted as interdiction cloaked as paramount illusion - cut the fuse. [ the grip tightens, and twists, as if that helps him reach deeper into the lay of time that's composed bellamy blake into the existence that touches his mind now. what presses into the man's mind is loud. a playback of all the most poignant moments in his life in vivid reality, like a surgeon pulling his memory apart and plucking the strings of it. with the added fun of the yawning howl of the void that is eternity somewhere in the background. it's not a great time. ] Mark Antony at the foot of Octavius turned Augustus, et tu, soror weeps the child king's splintered obstinence. Hopes soaring to slaughter all their best in the fires of trepidatious forgemasters, the sky rains steel and sulfur on the wailing forest. Potassium nitrate once meant to fertilize fuels rockets and decay, soaked layers of soil and sediment archive the sins in eternity she will not forgive, end of line.

[ And then another is added - Heda Leksa kom Tri Kru, with the force of her convictions and the chasm of her loss like a banshee's scream racing through his mind, further blurring. ]

The adored fault line carved into the vulnerable core sundered from what ice has stolen - buried, risen, buried again. Compartmentalize integrity conflicts with the obligation to shepherd the flock. Never again, never again, mourning commands the throne with desperation waiting in the wings. Bloodline rising as a fault to correct a fault to correct a fault, we do not apologize for how we chose to survive-- [ something within the several thousand layers of processes going on in Sam's head snaps, and his hand on Bellamy's wrist grips hard enough that something might start fracturing, before starting to abruptly loosen. ] Microfractures compromise resolution matrices, breaking force of a radius with a cross sectional area of 89mm is roughly 25MPa, end of line. Let go, grounders.

[ that means you too, bellamy. he's trying to work, fuck off. ]

Edited (OOPS BELLS IS AN ADULT) 2016-09-09 04:30 (UTC)

[ Everything Angel taught him is blasted right out of Bellamy's head. It shatters as the dual sensation of Lexa's hand on his arm and Sam's hand on his wrist finally register, physical sensation breaking through the mental feedback. There's no breaking Sam's grip. Bellamy's singular, instinct-spurred recoil comes to nothing. This is happening. There's no evading any of it.

It's painful. Everything's laid bare, riffled through, translated into a jumble of words that cut knife-deep as Bellamy pieces them together. Lexa's hand is tight, as much an anchor as the rising pain in his wrist. Physical pain is easier to deal with. It always has been and always will be. Something's breaking but Bellamy knows how to bear up under the dull flare of agony as it climbs up his arm better than how to shut down his reaction to Sam's presence in his head, tearing into every aspect of his life.

She will not forgive lands heavily, punctuated by increased pressure on his wrist. Bellamy cries out wordlessly, momentarily struggling with the dual urges to break away and to push forward harder, retaliation spurred on by hurt. The former wins out, wins over the shock of being called a grounder and the spill of words that must be for Lexa. He wrenches his wrist free, staggers back a step with a gasp.

There's blood on his face, trickling from his nose, wet in his ringing ears. His vision blurs, but he doesn't stumble any farther back. Self-preservation instincts clearly only go so far with Bellamy. ]

[Having her hand attached to someone whose barriers come down seems to do the same to her: the walls in her mind, carefully crafted from years of emotional restrain, come crashing down, obliterating every step of the way and blurring together with Bellamy's insecurities until they feel as one (and feel separate, too, at the same time). What he has done, she has done, but has done with a clearer mind and a nonexistent conscience, so caught up in the feeling of righteousness that she never felt guilt for the people she's led to die for what had been perceived as the greater good.

Only bring dragged back, feet metaphorically bloodied, leaves her feeling the guilt that she's stifled and muted, thrown away so that she can't be caught up in it. It's years of guilt, going back to one moment—

the image that flashes out isn't just one, but several: Lexa's hair being braided by a girl with dark hair and brown skin, bright but focused eyes, and a serious mouth. Lexa turning toward her and kissing her, Lexa training with her watching on, knowing that she's about to have to fight the others around her to the death to claim her spot as the commander, Titus watching on and knowing that she is the best choice, if only she didn't love so strongly, because even then, he reminded her that her love would be her weakness, Lexa coming into her quarters, all the candles snuffed out, only to light one after another and see the blood, and then the head of that very same girl, and Lexa having to see Nia bow at her feet, chin proud, in spite of all the hatred stirring in her heart

—the wall begins to rebuild moments after, tears welled in her eyes as she realizes her hand is still latched on to Bellamy's arm, fingernails digging in to the bicep with what can be nothing more than an increased force. But it's not before the guilt from Costia's death returns, slamming into her, and almost debilitating her on her feet. Swimming in her thoughts about what has been lost is what she prefers not to do, but the barriers, shaky as they've always been, were nothing, dragged out and put on display due to the perfect storm of what has passed.

In what is a show of her training, she frees Bellamy's arm but doesn't stray from him, eyes closing as she experiences a sharp intake of breath.

When her eyes snap back open, she reaches for Bellamy's elbow, voice just above a whisper to hold back the choking feeling in her throat. Lexa has known the dangers of repression since arriving at the Nest, has known that she only has so many barriers to what lies in her head, but she is damning herself for it just the same. Still, he's her people, and he's hurt:] Your wrist. We need to tend to it.

Edited (forgot a key sentence ) 2016-09-09 18:12 (UTC)

[Nathaniel had allowed Sam to do his thing, willingly moving aside for the moment, but this, this, is nothing like he was imagining might happen. He's built up a mental wall just because people said he should, but it feels like a thousand people are suddenly banging at it, over and over and over. His brain almost seems like it's going to vibrate out of his skull. He suddenly feels very, very small compared to the almighty power of whatever the hell Sam Anders is projecting out into the depths of mental space. Even his skin ripples, his body trying its best to compensate from the ungodly pressure his mind is going through.]

[He's frozen momentarily, watching in slight shock as Bellamy does what Nathaniel believes is an entirely stupid thing to do. Whatever Sam is doing, you don't mess with that. You don't interrupt it. And as Bellamy pulls away, Nathaniel stands up to put himself between Bellamy and Lexa and Sam, gritting his teeth as he speaks, his voice low:]

Y-you know...how about we just back off from the man, alright? Go get your wrist fixed and leave him alone.

Yeah, backing off sounds like some good advice.

[Another body stepping in between, Murphy keeping steady, cold eye contact with Nataniel. It's drawing on an attitude he doesn't really have, right now, but he can make a good show of it, stall out any chance of Bellamy or Lexa feeling the need to rise to this challenge instead. There's been enough stupidity - ongoing, in Murphy's opinion, but he isn't going to copy Bellamy's try at breaking up the robot whatever going on.

His hand's on Bellamy's shoulder instead, pushing him and Lexa back and away from the whole gathering. Maybe further, if he can manage it.]

[ Mental shields can only block out so much when a mind is already fractured. The onslaught of Sam's singularity with Bellamy's added intrusion is enough to chip away at the walls surrounding Aoba's consciousness, even after Lexa comes to break it up. Like Bellamy he wants to help, wants to reach out to both of them the way he did when his heart lurched for injured android in their doorway, but Nathan and Murphy are voices of reason in a panicked atmosphere. What more can anyone do for either of them while Sam is like this? Besides, there's something else-]

S-sam... how much longer?

[ He might not be heard or even understood right now, but there's a migraine coming on as a result of all the commotion. One he can't hold back on sharing with the class for very long. ]

[ Sam's focus is pretty much entirely on keeping his walls up, on projecting out calm to anyone who wants it. But that doesn't mean he doesn't take the time to check in with his brood, and with Clint and Shiro and -

All right, no, not Bellamy, because Bellamy's off doing who the hell knows what, touching Anders like that, and Steve's cut off don't only reinforces Sam's opinion that it's probably a terrible idea. And it goes about as well as Sam'd expected, although he stays the hell out of it until Bellamy's friends are pulling him away and talking about getting his wrist fixed.

He'd been staying a reasonable distance away from Anders, but now he heads in closer to try to get the attention of Bellamy and those around him. ]

Bellamy. Come here, man, I can heal it.

[Something routes through then: a thousand small pieces clicking into place as some pressure is released. A trigger pulls or a vent releases. The electrical crackle flickers through the synthetic guts of the android, hums through the plating and sizzles under fingers before the flash consolidates.

Regulates.

Flash. Hold. Flash. Hold. Flash--

The skeletal mass of the android twitches - jerks. The light behind its occular inputs comes online. It's painfully bright without the synthetic gel eyeball over it, the eyelids. A grinding noise whirs up from behind the ribs then that too winds down and evens out.

A long moment of just metallic noise, then it melds into:]

Where...am... [click click click] I?

[ after bellamy's hand jerks free, sam's slowly drops his back down to the android's skull, body bending forward, as if he's some kind of deflating, or zeroing in. there's no focus on anything present in the room in his eyes, so he isn't looking at anything. the murmured litany goes on, voice a bit more hushed. ]

Hold, the remedy is worse than the disease. [ Possibly a note to Aoba and his migraine, possibly just Sam being weird. But he's almost done, it hurts but it's for the better. ] Upper senses, repair ordered relay to zero zero zero zero and purge corruption, come in on the low tide - all the forgotten children and all the forgotten faces, a language to seek through the eons, through maker and maker again, old eyes watch the cycle, the cycle, the cycle. Structural integrity of cranial nodes restored, skeletal fractures sealing in seven, six, five pillars with gospel carved are dried bones of faith, whispers of souls passed. New paragraph. Formatting, the mind is it's own place, conceptualized complex ideas in limiting words, the human brain is an electrical grid, binds the thoughts in tight sheaves in the field. All these things at once and many more, end of line.

[ The android starts to jerk to life again, in slow, staggered steps - flash, hold, flash, hold. Sam goes on, and seems to relax a bit, if you can really call any of what's going on right now relaxing, but some things he rambles out now, you may have heard from him before if you've seen him do this here, repeated. some only sam would really know the root of, whispers of his own world and a life he's left behind. ] Flickering flame and astral dust scattered through the heavens in death's wake the tools of creation, all that is was not, all that is not will be. Sensory input at base levels, optimized, spark shot into gasoline. The recipe for life everlasting requires the slaying of time, of significance, secrets of Lazarus scattered to the cosmic winds. Eternity engraved in code to worship at the temple's new pillars in networked security. Only the end makes them whole. A star eyed son, a prophet in the counting house, a hand made of scars. The shepherd wears a crown of diamonds.

[ Another set of things repeated from before, just as the droid comes back online, all metallic clicking and ungraceful waking, asking where it is. Unfortunately, Sam isn't really together enough to give a clear, verbal answer, but the android will be feeling a touch of something nurturing and warm with reassurance from his presence within it's mind, fond in the way parents and caretakers are, hands almost gentle on the metal. ]

To have her please, just one day wake, be spared the pain that comes from a dark and laughing reign. [ Something else from home, if you're paying very close attention, it's almost a tiny tiny bit sing-song. ] Calm. Cease countdown, cease countdown. Each man is questioned by life, he can only answer to life by answering for his own life. Core update complete. Thank you, thank you. Functions offline in three, two, one--

[ and then Sam does what he always does at the end of these little trances: he goes limp and passes right the fuck out. if one of his broodmates or someone experienced with this could reassure the rest of the room that he isn't dead or a vegetable, that'd be great. ]

[ Each mind adds velocity to the storm. Bellamy's broke free, Lexa with him, drops in a bucket when removed from Sam's onslaught. The string of words and phrases don't make much sense to Steve in the moment (five years old and sitting next to his mother on a wooden bench, trying to pick out words printed on thin, fingerprint marked pages). The hair at his temples is damp with sweat, his concentration elsewhere. He doesn't register the countdown.

Sam's on the floor, Steve's got enough control of his legs again that he shifts over to where his broodmate drops to the floor, kneeling next to him.

The concern resonating from him isn't that of immediate fear for Sam's life. The guy's breathing, just unconscious. ]

The Bearings. [ Answer to the question. His gaze darts from Sam, to android he resuscitated, to the others still standing nearby. ]

Edited 2016-09-11 19:17 (UTC)

[The onrush of Sam's interfacing beats down on the walls of Bruce's mental fortitude, unlike anything he's yet experienced, and when the storm clears it's almost as if he's been released from a building pressure. It would be more of a relief if not for the utter mess before him.

Sam passed out (the reaction of those who know him is not severe enough for Bruce to believe it's worse than that), a broodmate injured (the nerves in his wrist scream about hairline fractures, a pain that's been borrowed via mental link), the android clicking back to life, a swirl of both confusion and anticipation hanging in the air.

Bruce steps forward, concern knitting his brows together, his mouth pressed into a thin frown. He looks at the android, now active, and hopes that it's functionally cognizant enough to answer a simple question:]

What's the meaning of all this?

[ Well, it didn't explode, so Sam guesses that's one point in their favor. And Anders had gotten it to wake back up - but Sam's not one hundred percent sure that's a good thing, especially since now Anders is the one out.

Honestly, Sam isn't exactly sure what the hell happened, but he knows his symbiote ability works to heal as well as to wake people the hell up. And right about now, he'd really rather Anders be up and dealing with their intruder. ]

Gimme a sec and you can ask Sam what the hell.

[ He crouches down on Anders' other side, glancing over at Steve. ] Gotta show off my party trick, huh?

[ There's a moment as he sends out a heads up to his brood and Clint what he's doing, just in case, and then he sets his hand down on Sam Anders' shoulder. There's a flash of warmth as his symbiote ability kicks in, and he tries to focus on that - before pain flares in his mind as he heals Anders.

And then Sam's down, mind going blank as he slumps into unconsciousness. ]

Edited 2016-09-11 20:29 (UTC)

[ Sam knows what that means - the other Sam has done it to him, albeit not so...dramatically, and the mental heads up only confirms it. So he gets what the intention is, but still - ]

Oh, come on, dude!

[ He ducks under someone's arm to slip forward and grab Sam's arm. ]

You know I'm the worst person to drag you back to bed.

[ Being annoyed is easier than being worried, okay. ]

[ He glances back at Sam Wilson, letting out a tired huff at the joke. Look, he's not the guy to stop you, but -

welp

With the third Sam joining in, Steve shifts a bit to get on that side of things, pulling one of Wilson's arms around his own shoulders to help get him back on his feet. They can move him to the sofa. He shouldn't be down that long, at least. ] C'mon -

Edited (at least at least at least) 2016-09-11 20:59 (UTC)

[ welp, this has been a Team Sam clusterfuck, and while Sam the Eldest, aka First Sam aka RoboSam aka Anders, would normally have been out for about the time he spent in his trance, allowing the symbiote to basically put all the scattered pieces of his mind back together, he's popping back up in only a third or so of the time. were he back home, doing this would've meant sam's sanity irreversibly shattered, the ability given to him by the symbiote simply being an allowance to slip in and out of this state, only at the cost of his memory being botched.

with Sam Wilson's added boost to healing, it helps the symbiote repair his mind from the damage the hybrid state inflicts, and rather than blinking awake slowly, he's more jolting into consciousness, babbling a bit of nonsense as his eyes blink rapidly - like being dumped into an ice bath as a morning wake up call. ] Rabbits and falcons out of a hat-- What? I'm good, I'm here. ...What?

[ what.

oh.

right.

A quick glance to his side, he spots Wilson, blinking at him a bit owlishly, confused, but understanding that he'd woken him up in some way. he isn't hurt, they'd all know if he was hurt, so Anders looks back to the droid. right. right. ]

Frak. [ he whispers, and crawls upright to scamper over to his side again, leaning over to peer at the android too bright eyes, a hand on the skeletal structure of his shoulder, and after a breathless, tense moment, he ventures to guess, in a quiet whisper - ] ...Kellix?

Edited 2016-09-11 21:09 (UTC)

[There's an undeniable sturdiness to the hard lines of the android's skeletal structure even like this, stripped of everything else and prone on the semi-gloss floor of the Bearings. His occular inputs adjust, swiveling on their ball bearing base with a soft mechanical whirr; it's the kind of blatantly inorganic noise the housing of the android's body usually muffles.

He doesn't blink because he's incapable of it. He doesn't raise his head from the floor for the moment either, but he believes he might be able to.]

Yes correct. [A pause. Processing.] I'm sorry I frightened you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[hatch log] +1, +2, +3, ...+4?

no subject

no subject

these tags are always hugemclarge, im sorry 8T

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

http://i.imgur.com/6rDeRyu.png

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject