As usual, Shepard's first moments of awareness came on slowly, with a distinct and troubling sense that she'd been drugged. Or rather, with the sense that it would be troubling in a moment, that she remembered this sensation being troubling in the past: right now, everything was just fine. A perverse part of her always liked this bit here, delusional and relaxed, the easy life of a child, before responsibility and duty cut through all those umbilical cords and thrust you out into the coldness of life. And some people wondered why a body might turn to drugs.
Speaking of umbilicals, this thing back here just had to...
It all rushed in, impossibly loud, and extremely close. Flashbang grenade of sensation, the chatter of conversation, voices, memories, like freefall for the first time, if the first time had been done in time's square at midnight, emotional backlash like a shower of confetti. She might have let out a shout, might have gripped the edge of... whatever the hell this is.
A bed? A pod. A fucking pod.
Even as the noise attenuated, Shepard allowed herself to be distracted by it, like the things the collectors had had, melting people down, peeling them away to sludge and then-- Nope. She wrenched herself away from the memory with a nearly physical snarl, and the motion turned her towards a footlocker. Investigation was rewarded with physical incentive. Leaving the armor, for now, she dressed in the civvies and dropped the ladder.
If they were here for combat, the world wouldn't look like the nice parts of a psych ward. That was what she told herself was why she knew it was safe enough, here; whatever else she'd gotten her damnfool self into now, wasn't going to get any better by acknowledging that for fatalism.
"Hello?" The place seemed comfortingly empty of threats. Either she was the first one out of bed, or the last. Given the... the radio contact, was a fine enough way to parse it, Shepard was forced to assume the latter, "Anybody around here?"
Shepard | Day 048 | ota
Speaking of umbilicals, this thing back here just had to...
It all rushed in, impossibly loud, and extremely close. Flashbang grenade of sensation, the chatter of conversation, voices, memories, like freefall for the first time, if the first time had been done in time's square at midnight, emotional backlash like a shower of confetti. She might have let out a shout, might have gripped the edge of... whatever the hell this is.
A bed? A pod. A fucking pod.
Even as the noise attenuated, Shepard allowed herself to be distracted by it, like the things the collectors had had, melting people down, peeling them away to sludge and then-- Nope. She wrenched herself away from the memory with a nearly physical snarl, and the motion turned her towards a footlocker. Investigation was rewarded with physical incentive. Leaving the armor, for now, she dressed in the civvies and dropped the ladder.
If they were here for combat, the world wouldn't look like the nice parts of a psych ward. That was what she told herself was why she knew it was safe enough, here; whatever else she'd gotten her damnfool self into now, wasn't going to get any better by acknowledging that for fatalism.
"Hello?" The place seemed comfortingly empty of threats. Either she was the first one out of bed, or the last. Given the... the radio contact, was a fine enough way to parse it, Shepard was forced to assume the latter, "Anybody around here?"