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

[onemind]

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 )

Comments

[cur]

[ He can feel the walls coming back just as much as he can feel her scraping for them, pulling back and pouring aggression into the cracks left by her nerves. He doesn't push. Or he tries not to, at least; his control is still a work in progress, and concern has a way of opening things up, reaching in ways it hadn't before.

His posture isn't half as strict as hers, but all prior attempts at nonchalance have been abandoned. He just looks tired. As for the threat, it's very obvious and mostly unanswered — at least not with words. Remus holds her gaze for a moment, making his understanding clear, underscored by a current of sympathy and grief in their connection. ]

It may be easier to tell you what I can't do — or won't. Magic is flexible, easily adapted to a person's needs with enough creativity and discipline. I can summon objects, as you have. [ A beat, then he hedges, guessing at what her real interest is. ] There are both offensive and defensive spells. Is it the same for your Force?

[snaphiss]

No. [Her voice is as hard as it always is.] There are no spells. The Force is... [She shakes her head.] It's not easy to explain.

[She can use the link from the Nest, so she intends to. Any tool is worth using. She concentrates, and sends a feeling, a memory, to Lupin.]

[It starts with darkness, silence, peace. There's a sense of clarity and oneness with the living world around her. All things are even and equal and interconnected, and that energy responds to her touch, gives her power. The control is passive and restful, but it could be active and violent if she pushes. It could consume her entirely, but she would be so powerful. A man stands before her, different than before but just as old, beckoning her-]

[The memory cuts off. Mara catches Lupin's eye.] That is the Force.

[cur]

[ Non-verbal magic, maybe. That's his assumption before the memory sets in, but it doesn't take long to change: this is constant and consuming. There's an element of some spells in it that he can recognize, the sense of connection and power — but those are all temporary. This isn't.

Remus doesn't break from the memory as cleanly as she does. Curiosity keeps it present, lingering on the image of the man and reaching back to her first, more violent thoughts, working out the connection between them. His expression's distracted for it, pensive. ]

Is it genetic?

[ midi-chlorians.jpg ]

[snaphiss]

[Lupin stays, lost in the thought, and Mara appreciates that he's truly considering his words instead of blustering forward. She likes feeling considered, properly regarded, and she knows her input is necessary for this discussion.]

[The discussion of whether or not a sith is in her brood.]

It can be. [Her mind flashes to the memory of a sandy-haired boy with an infectious smile and his behemoth father, all black metal and bulging eyes-] But sometimes it comes from nowhere. In truth, all living beings have it, but only some have enough to influence it or be influenced by it.

[And what about your magic- no, she would say that normally, if she wanted to keep him on his toes, from thinking properly about her answer. But now she wants to wait. They'll both come through this stronger, with a better understanding of power. That, she decides, is her new goal.]

[cur]

[ Another difference, though no less divisive — there are still those with control and those without it. He wonders what the Ministry would make of something like that, the concept of everyone being capable of magic with the right push. Chaos, surely. It's a thought that's both disappointing and bitterly amusing.

He's in about as much of a rush to speak as she is, but it only takes him a second to hedge further, testing the limits of comparison. ]

And those who have it — do they oppress those who don't?

[ Another way of asking if they abuse their power, though not much kinder. The word sith is in his thoughts, bled from hers, and it's very slowly gaining context. ]

[snaphiss]

In the memory I sent you, did you feel a pull of anger? And... power? [If she sent that memory, that feeling correctly, he should have.] The Force has another side, one that's quicker and easier and stronger, at the cost of yourself.

Those people are- [There's a moment's pause, quick and smooth and easy to miss-- unless you're connected closely to Mara's heart, feeling the hesitation. But she still says it-] Tyrants. They're tyrants.

[cur]

[ The question earns a slight nod in acknowledgment, his thoughts flicking back through the ones she'd shared. And that's the biggest difference, maybe. Magic can be abused, but that doesn't make it any less passive.

Still makes tyrants in the end, though. At least that's consistent. ]

Death Eaters—

[ Remus starts, then hesitates. Mara's shown him what the connection can be used for, with practice. Maybe it's time to start. It isn't as focused, wavering between too much information and too little. Figures in cloaks and masks and bright flashes of green and red and screams, choked out. A small street with the cobblestones torn up. Then the focus starts to fray, wandering to dark woods and tracks in the snow, an old man in elaborate robes. That one is nothing like the figure in her memories, at least; intense, but good. Safe. That's still where it stops, Remus gradually getting hold of the connection and drawing it back.

He looks somewhere between concerned and confused as he comes back from it, searching her expression. ]

Did that work?

[snaphiss]

[Mara hates having her mind touched, hates seeing other people's memories, but she relents in this case. She knows from experience she can throw a sith from her mind, she's in no danger. But the sense of oneness that comes with sharing still chafes at her pride.]

[The robed figures are unfamiliar to her. They walk without finesse, without training. This 'magic' feels insultingly straightforward compared to the potent mysteries of the Force. There is the same potential for destruction, though it seems on a much smaller scale, more personal.]

It did. [Her voice is halting and stubborn.] Tell me what they can do, and what are the signs of- of someone being a death eater. [She says with a little roll of her eyes; the name is ridiculously unsubtle. Still, if they're dangerous, she wants to be prepared.]

[cur]

[ It's a little tiresome, the way she's all tactics and criticism and very little give, but it's easy to sympathize with. It reminds him of the war, the way it had made everyone sharper. Less forgiving. He thinks briefly of Lily and her red hair, though that's about where the comparison ends; she'd never lost her kindness, even then. ]

The masks and Dark Marks tend to give it away. [ Which is a very poor joke, and one even he isn't capable of making without sounding bitter. ] They hide in plain sight. But they use the Dark Arts freely, without regard for human life.

[ A short pause as he considers the hive and the impressions he's gotten from others. ] If they were here, you'd likely sense them by their cruelty.

[snaphiss]

[The Dark Arts, the Dark Side... everyone has their own line in the sand, it seems. That only makes it more worthwhile to find out where Lupin's is.]

And that's the difference between these Dark Arts and... 'magic'?

[So she keeps pushing, keeps asking and taking and not giving. She intends to take up every inch she gets, tactical to the end. Lupin is right; this is what war makes.]

[cur]

[ He can feel what she's looking for, even if it's not quite there in her words. Something clean, simple. Nothing he can offer, unfortunately. ]

Intent is the difference. Any witch or wizard can use the Dark Arts — a good one knows that it's rarely worth the cost.

[ Rarely implies sometimes, of course, though that's left unsaid. Remus wonders if he's just making excuses, then decides easily that he isn't. War changes things. The Order wouldn't have held any ground without using magic to coerce or to kill, and there's a big difference between using power for survival or self-defense and using it to oppress. ]

[snaphiss]

[It all buzzes in Mara's mind, just under her consciousness. Would she ever use Force Lightening? Would she ever bend someone's mind until it broke? She knows the answer to that.]

You mean, they enjoy it. The pain, the confusion. [She looks down at her hands, studying them with a harsh expression.] The unlimited power.

[cur]

Yes.

[ Quiet, though no less direct for it. Not that she really needs the confirmation; it's obvious that she's got it. ]

Some believe that using the Dark Arts corrupts you — chips away at your soul. [ His own reservations are there, at the forefront of his mind and in his neutral tone. He's seen the consequences of it, how the abuse of magic can turn someone from a man into a monster (a word that touches on something else altogether, bitter and quickly cut off).

There's merit to it. But if it hadn't been magic, it would've been something else. Blaming the Dark Arts just feels strangely cheap. ]

Is it the same for your Sith?

[ She's still studying her hands when he asks, and using a word she hasn't actually spoken feels rudely abrupt. It's practice, testing boundaries when the goalposts for privacy have been very dramatically moved. ]

[snaphiss]

[Mara looks up, gaze even, edging toward suspicious. Her posture straightens.] Yes. It's not something only some believe. It's a fact.

[Mara taps her fingers on the table. What else is there to say?] You aren't one. I'd be able to tell by now. [The corrosive energy in the Force, strengthened through their bond in the symbiote... she'd know.]

[cur]

[ Her response earns a measured look, though there's no trace of skepticism behind it. He's just trying to judge whether that's her opinion or fact, as she says. Her conviction has him leaning towards the latter.

A beat, then he seems to relax — as much as he ever does, anyway, which is to say he lets go of the inherent tension of such sobering subjects and slips back into simply being tired. ]

You'd know it on sight, I should think. If not sooner.

[ The last bit's accompanied by a light tap at his own temple. He'd been aware of Kate and Peter before he'd seen them; Mara's practice makes this different, but secrets still seem like a challenge. ]

[snaphiss]

[And, despite everything, Mara can't help but to appreciate that. He's... calm, he's comfortable, that's good. She wouldn't like to see him agitated, aggrieved.]

[Stupid brain slug.]

I'm sure you'll know soon enough. There's a Sith here, you know. [Hmm.] It'd be in your best interests to avoid him, honestly. He goes by Kylo Ren.

[cur]

[ That earns a curious look, his eyes narrowing. ]

And you're expected to work alongside him?

[ Ethical questions aside, knowing what he knows about Mara and the Sith thus far, that sounds like a stretch. ]

[snaphiss]

[Mara's expression goes harsh.] I can work with him. You can't, so don't try it.

[Her words aren't harsh, but they are unwavering. She has absolute confidence in her assertion, and expects her orders followed.]

[cur]

[ He hears it, both the order and that unwavering confidence, but it's met with a brief hum of skepticism before he quells it. ]

Of course. I only meant that I can't imagine you'd like to — it seems like an odd choice, putting the two of you on the same team.

[snaphiss]

The Force is more complex than you think. [She stands.] You should find your room. Acclimate yourself.

[Or whatever. Look, social skills are hard.]