[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

thread jacking encouraged-!!

[vocalis]

[ More hosts arrive at Bearings. Despite his prolonged nap, it's a process Aoba has seen enough times; he knows the drill by now. Carata leaves and returns a day or so later with fresh faces. More members for more complete broods, a fuller Nest. This many newcomers has been difficult to keep up with, but with Angel gone from his mind it's been sort of a comfort, too. A little less lonely.

Seeing a sparking and stripped android collapse in their doorway, though... that's is not part of the drill. After the initial shock, Aoba's heart is quick to go out to it. His body follows as if acting unconsciously, rushing just a few beats later to kneel at it's side. He moves as if it were no different than a fallen human. The sparks and hot wires of it's metal body make it difficult to touch, though- ]

Someone help me with him-!

[ Someone new to the nest or old - anyone. ]

[spideys]

❚❚❚❚❚ day 35 - a. arrival

[ Peter Parker can hear voices in his head.

He can hear voices in his head and they are not at all thinking about the kind of stuff he'd be prone to thinking of, which, he realizes, is kind of a huge relief. It means he hasn't lost his mind, he hasn't gone off the deep-end just yet. Except ... for the fact that, uh. He can hear voices in his head.

That's not normal, is it?

As soon as he unplugs himself from a tube and emerges from the small room, he collects his things and a set of what look like white scrubs, and makes his way into the Nesting Deck. He's a little daze and confused, and ... crap. Definitely in his tattered Spider costume. Aw, man. One of the lenses is still missing, probably in an alley somewhere, and ... are his webshooters even working anymore?

He raises a hand, turning his wrist upwards, and shoots a line of webbing forward. It's a relief to hear the familiar thwip! cut through the air like a knife, and he watches tendrils of biocable hook itself to the nearest surface - which so happens to be an overhead beam. Okay. Okay, good. They still work.

He should probably change. Something in the back of his mind is telling him that walking around in tattered spandex, looking like you'd been through a shredder, is probably not the way you want to make any kind of an introduction. Of course, neither are the voices in your head, but. One thing at a time, right? ]


❚❚❚❚❚ day 35 - b. concordia

This place is kind of a --

[ Peter doesn't exactly get to finish his sentence when he's shuffled from one transport to another. He's wearing the all-white scrub-suit over his tattered Spider-costume, and on top of that he's got his trusty hoodie from home. How he managed to cling to his backpack during the whole ordeal, he'll never know, but good job Pete, your neediness for familiar things gave you an extra set of clothes and webbing.

He follows the rest of his fellow hosts through the Apartment Block, not really in the mood to say all that much. It isn't until he's got himself a space to dump his bag, and is about to embark on some low-key exploration, that he turns to his nearby companion to ask them: ]

So - uh. What's there to eat around here anyway? Anything I might have heard of? Hot dogs, maybe?

[ There's no time for food, however, when the creepiest android appears, looking for someone called 'Sim Anderson'.

Peter frowns, hands tightened into fists, mostly through reflex. He'd been about to web the guy up, and it's only his instinct to keep his superhero identity undercover that he doesn't make a move. He's staring at the thing though. It doesn't look like it's active anymore. In fact, it looks kind of ... well, dead. If an android could die. ]

I do not want to be Sim Anderson when this thing wakes up.

[ He says to whoever happens to be beside him. ]

[cur]

one | station, locked to elnath.

[ Everything's sharp edges, too loud. For a few panicked seconds his only thoughts are of calendars and potions he has or hasn't forgotten to take, but then the edges start to round off: the loud gains depth instead of a narrow pitch, settles in instead of clawing out. There are pale walls ahead of him and above him, and his hand is still gripping the cord he's just pulled from his neck, tense and white-knuckled and human.

He waits for the fear to follow suit. It does, growing quieter and heavier all at once. That's something he can work with, and he's as close to calm as the situation can possibly merit as he sits up. His robes are torn at the edges and starkly filthy against the white bed, but he ignores the clean clothes that have been set out. Pockets the map and the chocolate. The wand stays in his hand.

Everything's louder once he's off the ladder. He lifts one hand to rub at his temple, which accomplishes nothing, and the noise of footsteps to his left sounds like a cage being rattled. The urge to draw his wand is stifled by the sense that there's no need, contradictory, and that only adds to the surge of confusion as he looks at a face he does and doesn't know. He thinks of several things at once, who are you and where is this and more, but instead he says, hoarsely: ]

You've just woken up.

two | bearings, ota.

[ Werewolves tend to avoid cities, as a general rule. Remus isn't an exception. The towering buildings and glaring lights don't make him feel unwelcome so much as transient, and when they drop him off in front of the Bearings and the inevitable room inside, there's a moment of doubt — they've made a mistake. Or he has, clearly, to have ended up here.

The 13th level is a mess. Not because it's cluttered or dirty or lived-in, but because there are people, different and loud and familiar (sort of). He doesn't rush to claim a room, and the ( common room ) offers up a quick distraction. Remus slides his hands into his pockets as he steps over to the broad window, deceptively nonchalant. Or not-so-deceptively, all things considered; the low note of worry is there, keen and steady, clear in the knit of his brows and more direct means.

The skyline rests under a colorful haze, too bright and busy to reveal much in the way of stars. It doesn't stop him from looking.

Later, once he's actually picked out a ( bedroom ) — as close to the end of the hall he can manage, as if that guarantees some kind of privacy — he empties his pockets and hangs up his dusty, tattered coat. The map's silent and blank on the bed alongside a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and Remus watches it for a moment before he speaks, tone curious: ]

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

[ Ink bleeds across the parchment, creeps out to the edges. Then it stops. And it stays still, which is more or less what he'd been expecting: no names, no footprints. Just a map of a place that's very, very far away, and well out of reach. ]

this seemed obligatory

[headinjuries]

[ Somewhere, puking into a bucket -



- okay, actually, no, but Sam looks like he's coming close. Practice and it gets easier, he was told.

So he's decided to test his weird new powers of super-nausea triggered by liars whose pants may or may not be on fire with the surest source of absolute bullshit he can think of: daytime talk shows.

He's taking up the end of a couch in the common room, with a feed to the Extranet popped up and showing something that looks distressingly like a higher-tech Jerry Springer, with a subtitle along the bottom of the screen saying "MY GIRLFRIEND LEFT ME FOR A ROBOT" and a couple of people screaming at each other. He's got a bowl of popcorn, a soda, and an empty bag; this may look like some downtime with trashy television, but he's on a mission: practice figuring out what, exactly, is the bullshit in every argument they're making. ]

- no, he didn't. [ A beat. ] Actually, she did. [ A short screaming match and a dive-tackle across the studio later... ] It definitely wasn't five thousand credits...ugh.

[ Popcorn bowl is shoved to the side, bag is grabbed and opened, and the program's muted for a moment while Sam tries very valiantly not to lose his lunch into it.

This still totally sucks.

He's gonna put a frog in your bed, Kylo Ren. ]

[quivers]

nesting deck —

[ It hits her like a punch to the face. A mere second filled with a titanic urge to cry in a fit of agonized rage, like even the essence of breathing might be too much to bear. And then it's gone. A single second filled with something that amplifies what it'd felt to be attacked in New York, to watch her friends face death in her place before she — but when was that? It'd just happened, but then it had't. It was ages ago maybe. What was she even — oh, right. She rids the tube from her hands, rubbing the sore spot at the back of her neck where it'd been connected before she quickly makes her way for the ladder, that solitary glimmering object of hope in figuring this all out somehow.

The white garbs, aka the sad excuse for fashionable hospital pj's goes untouched. Maybe she's in a tattered purple hoodie, but it's hers and it's got a splash of good color at least (even if, you know, the few red splotches of blood don't actually belong on there).

Everything is silent as she climbs down, like a stillness that goes unexplained, but once her feet touch the ground, it's there — a wolf howls and she's flying, a vision of glistening starlight above, suddenly it moves into a cityscape, an array of lit buildings, definitely New York, it has to be, and she's swinging, no, she's falling, falling, and she's convinced she'll hit the ground, but then she isn't, because she knows she'll fly, the stick of wood in her hands will let her, the magic of it — and then it's done. Another mere second of something.

What was ... ? That couldn't have been hers, could it? And yet, it flows in through her head, so consistently, so naturally, like it belongs there.

Kate takes another step within the deck. Another rushing wave of memories, of a strange familiarity. Someone else is here. Someone she knows? She thinks so. She's convinced so. Her heart pounds, yet another wave. She wants to scream. There's pain, but there's not. Someone's doing this to her. Somehow.

Finally, she spins on her heel, hands high in the air, yelling as she turns at whoever happens to be nearby. ]

Hey, hey! Come on, bro! Would you cut that out? Time and place.

concordia —

[ Kate treats the transfer over to Concordia as nothing more than something typical. Because she's done this bit, universal traveling and mission tasks. As an Avenger, this should all be pretty basic principle, right? Okay, so the transport over here was a bit more nauseating than the typical space ships she's hopped on, but it's fine. This is cool. This is superhero kind of stuff. The nifty apartment eases her a bit more into it, pleased with at least getting to snag her own bedroom. She doesn't waste time in trying to customize the place, not even bothering to close the door as she's already playing with the wall customization, frowning as the colors and patterns switch around. ]

Tacky, tacky, tacky. [ Her brow lifts with intrigue at a spurt of purple flashes before her, but her lips quickly swerved into a pout, displeased at the obnoxious floral. ] So Concordia lacks taste. Duly noted.

[ But the room is too contained that she doesn't stay there all night, more urged to explore and get a taste for this brave new world. She stops in her tracks upon noting the window in the common room, overlooking the Beta Block. ]

Well, hot damn. [ She mutters, smirking at the view. It's not New York, that's for sure, but with the flash of lights and color, it honestly looks better. ] Mama like. [ And to anyone who happens to be within earshot, ] Anyone down to provide an exclusive awesome tour to the new girl?

[ Of course, excitement always cuts short when, well, something happens. Something major apparently with some funky robot spouting weird names.

Of course, she wants to know what the deal is here. Bizarre robots popping out of the void is what they call a typical Tuesday back home. But there's panic and suddenly the "new hosts" (she thinks it's safe to assume she's included in that) are being told to leave in light of the apparent alarming events.

Frowning at being ordered around without an explanation, Kate holds up a palm, glancing to someone, anyone nearby. ] Okay, hold the train. Deets? Someone give a quick summary of this chaos, please.

Cathaway - NPC - Station 72 (closed to new hosts)

[polyphonos]

[She's not on the nesting deck, but there's a mental hum pervading the Station that isn't difficult to track once it's been detected. It leads from the strange hexagonal room with it's hundreds of empty stasis compartments up a slight ramp, through the empty door-less living quarters and past empty rooms that look like someone lived in them only moments ago; the hum murmurs through pale light motted corridors, across a vast circular terraced garden, and up, up, up through the guts of the quiet, waiting Station where it finally terminates in a long room characterized by a still pool and the woman thigh deep in its water. She's tending to the large aquatic flowers bobbing on the surface and doesn't raise her attention when someone passes into the room.

Sshk. Her shears hiss close, severing one of the thick vines of the overgrown plants.]

I've sent the message out. Don't worry; you won't have to stay here long.

Prince - NPC - The Station

[regalled]

[Away from the room where Cathaway resides, in the opposite direction of the stretch of entryways of rooms belonging to absent Hosts, down a winding hallway that eventually opens up into a far larger chamber. Within it there are further doorways- something unsettling about the branching nature of almost every part of the Station- as if the space couldn't possibly contain it.

Beyond the simmering anxiety, however, there is a presence. In the first of the spacious rooms off of the open chamber there is the sound of movement- loud in the quiet. Far louder than the mind of the man currently occupying it. The training hall- strangely mundane for the space, padded walls and padded floors, rows of practice weapons, open space and training dummies- is empty except for Prince- a tall, broad man, apparently well into his middle age, rich brown hair beginning to streak with grey, a purple streak dashed across the front. He can be found almost in the exact center of the room, his cape left draping over one of the dummies, put aside in favor of a weapon- a spear, perhaps, a halberd, crisp white and bearing a strong resemblance to the Station itself.

Despite the interruption, he doesn't turn his attention immediately to whoever has stumbled upon him. Instead he continues what is clearly a well-practiced routine, shifting smoothly from stance to stance, swinging the weapon in broad arcs that start and stop at precise points, feet sliding across the mat beneath his feet. He comes to a stop after a short period of time, a minute, maybe less, and then he lowers his weapon, sliding his palm across it as he turns to face the interloper, the long handle collapsing in on itself, blade away, leaving him with a baton in his hand and focus solely on his guest.]

Forgive my rudeness. Welcome to the Station.

a continuation.

[wrackful]

[Murphy's head is throbbing. It's not like a headache, or the pain of an impact to the skull. It's more like bloodloss, dizziness, disorienting drag at the edges of his senses. Whatever the hell Anders is doing, Murphy wants to get far away from it, feels like his slim concept of mental barriers are going to wear through at any second.

Bellamy's are already gone. Lexa's might be too, but Murphy isn't familiar with the wash of guilt from her, doesn't want to spend any time focussing on the flood to try and discern between the two of them. The last time he'd paid attention to what was coming off Bellamy, they'd gotten stuck, reflecting and echoing back at each other like a loop with no end and no beginning. He isn't letting that happen again.

Maybe it's lucky, then, that the blood on Bellamy's face draws a different image to mind. Clarke, pale and seizing, black blood dribbling from her nose, foam at her mouth. He could even think of the robot gathering going on as a stand in for ALIE, if he wanted.]

Good to know you're still missing any self-preservation skills.

[Definitely directed at Bellamy, but he glances at Lexa, too. They'd both been idiots, as far as he's concerned.]

We should get out of here, before he cooks what's left of your brain.

[And get that wrist seen to, because the dull not-his pain rolling up his arm is one more touch of weird he doesn't want to deal with right now.]

post mindmeld fiasco

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Using his symbiote ability on Sam Anders hadn't been the most enjoyable option, but hell, it'd worked. Anders is up and doing his thing with the droid, and Sam himself hadn't been knocked out that long. By the time he's awake and assured himself - and anyone else - that there's no lasting harm, there's already more than enough interrogators crowded around the droid. Sam's not all that eager to get back into it, so he backs off.

He lingers on the outskirts of the group anyway, not willing to leave until things are settled for sure, either. When he ends up wandering nearby the Darkling, Sam can't resist heading over to check in. He only really knows Clint's impressions of him, but honestly, Sam'd like to change that, especially after the way Darkling helped them out when Clint got stuck.

And he's pretty sure he'd gotten the impression that Darkling was just as unimpressed with their security on this as Sam himself is. ]

I know I'm not the only one wondering how the hell that got up here with none of us knowing about it.