station72 | MISSION: WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT. I

Entry tags:

MISSION: WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT. I

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: WAYPOINT SHRIL
WHEN: Day :025 - :029
SUMMARY: Welcome to Waypoint Shril, the soon-to-be home to the galaxy's most incredible competition!
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Strange, how a moment ago everything seemed perfectly fine - as normal as things get on Station 72 - and then the next the entire void shifts by a degree. There's a crackling, anticipatory feel in the air. Dwelled on too long and it might become nauseating, triggering some hindbrain impulse the nervous system under the skin or--

Something is coming.

Something is coming undone.

In the heart of the Station in a small, featureless circular room, The Prince and Cathaway dredge the Station from its mooring. There's a rush of shared adrenaline, then an massive sensation like an inhale. A gulp of breath. Relief floods through the body like something palpable as the massive beehive structure of the Station snaps into real space above the deep space space station known as Waypoint Shril.

( ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬...Please meet us in the hangar. We have your next assignment....▬▬▬. )

Once they've arrived at the hangar, the Hosts will be briefed by Cathaway and Prince on their new objective. They'll be given their mission kits, along with a written brief on their databanks. The usual warnings apply. Try not to kill anyone. Do not get killed yourself. And accomplish your mission. From there, pack yourself onto the transport shuttle and make your way to the Waypoint. --One of you knows how to drive, right?

Once ejected from the Station, you'll find yourself on one of literally thousands of ships. The black space above Waypoint Shril is full to bursting with air traffic from the smallest pod-shaped one being ship to the most gargantuan floating planet cruisers. Some of them rival even the Station which now lurks, a mottled white and grey latticework structure that's no more bizarre to look at than any of its neighbors.

VROOM. A ship shaped like a sword with a naked multi-limbed alien painted in lascivious, technicolor detail along the blade slices directly across the path of the shuttle transport. It blares a proximity alarm and a holographic message full of swearing and threats pops up even as the ship blasts down toward the traffic choked landing platform in the distance. A school of insectoid fighters go swarming after it. In the distance, the flash of ships dropping out of hyperspace through the gate rings gleams like a strobe light and on around the landing platform itself buzz two dozen security vessels desperately trying to keep order.

Welcome to Waypoint Shril. Don't crash into anyone on the way in.

     I. PLATFORM ALFA
When the ship finally docks on Waypoint Shril - after a lot, lot longer than you may have liked -, the scene that greets you is more hectic than even the busiest rush-hour on Concordia. There are simply too many people in too small and too hastily prepared of a space. The platform itself was clearly designed for utility, not for comfort and not for style. The walls- towering sheets of welded metal from a countless number of sources, flecked with old paint and the occasional slash of grafitti - offer nothing in the realm of sound dampening, and the electro-cloth banners that hang from the ceiling, advertising the Aurora Blue Arena! in dozens of different languages do little to help. As a result, the entire platform echoes with thousands of voices trying to talk over each other and the newly enhanced intercom system struggling to be heard over the din as it works to provide simple directions and instructions for the teeming mass of tourists.

In the press of flesh and the constant motion, it’s easy to get swept away from your party. It’s easy to find that the items you just had on you are suddenly missing, expertly palmed away by slippery fingers as you try to push your way towards the series of pneumatic tubes leading to the Waypoint proper. Ship's hydraulics hiss, lights flash, and the smell of greasy stall food spreads out from the edges of the platform. There are a few bright-eyed, clever locals - or what count for locals on Waypoint Shril - who don’t hesitate to reach out and grab your arm, offering to be your guide. Asking if you’re here as a spectator or a participant. Asking if you need information. Company. Everything has a price.

Get your bearings - if you can. It’s going to be a long couple of weeks.

     II. THE MOST FABULOUS PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE (Please Excuse Our Dust!)
Waypoint Shril's main thoroughfares and twisting platforms may have made sense to someone, but now absolutely no one knows how to navigate them as the ABA! has swept through Waypoint, bulldozing and building up anything and everything in its path. Oh, did you like that tentacle sandwich shop you stopped in five minutes ago? Too bad! We decided two minutes ago we're tearing it down to make way for a spa-slash-beer-garden! Stand back please, there are explosives detonating in this area in 3, 2, 1…--!

Everywhere you look, Waypoint Shril is undergoing a dramatic transformation. Maybe there are places on the outskirts, far from the Arena Zone that aren't literally being paved over or built on top of, but they seem to be the exception to the rule. Don't get lost as the neighborhood quite literally changes shape around you!

     III. MEET THE COMPETITION
Between the fabulous prizes and the fabulous fame - every single still-living winner of the previous competitions became household names before they stepped out of the Arena, then went on to live lavish lives of excess where they're paid exorbitant fees just to be seen and heard, known for canoodling and cavorting with the best, the brightest, the most privileged the Galaxy has to offer- it’s no surprise that the ABA! draws competitors like a magnet. And while not everyone advertises their status, plenty do - hoping to exchange the slimmest possibility of their victory for favors or drinks or just plain old attention. They’re loud, they’re visible, and plenty of them are very, very drunk, or whatever counts for drunk for their species.

If you want to size up the competition, now’s the time - in the middle of Blunt Force, with scores of other competitors lined up. The club itself is home to a deep, thrumming beat that vibrates through your chest, the industrial concrete walls covered in splashes of electro-paint that pulses in time with the beat. The floor is dark and smooth, the bar is long and there isn’t a single seat to be found at it, just an endless slab of some ancient black stone that drinks slide back and forth across. Every bartender wears a half of a mask in clear plastic run through with simple circuitry in complex patterns and they’ll keep you hydrated for a modest price. Above the floor on a catwalk composed of corrugated metal and transparasteel there are low couches and cushions in rich fabrics of a hundred different patterns of velvet and neon, two dozen tables, and another small bar that will hand out drinks and powders and oils and smoke. The patrons are as varied as anything else in this place, as hodge-podge. Slender, slick looking people with hunched backs and long necks. Short, broad aliens with four legs and four arms. Something heavily shrouded, the only part of them visible a proboscis. Some are here to dance, some to drink, some to talk and more than a few to fight - maybe for keeps. Hell, you might be one of them.

     IV. WILDCARD
There's plenty to see, do and explore. You've got a few days before the competition kicks off - might as well make the most of it.

((OOC NOTES: Welcome to Waypoint Shril! This log covers the arrival on the Waypoint and can be used for anything prior to the start of the Aurora Blue Arena! on Day :029. However, feel free to make your own logs if you choose! You can find a complete mission overview and a place to ask any mission-specific questions over at the OOC post.

Thanks everyone!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It cuts him deeper than he'd ever thought, that Bucky doesn't believe him. That he can feel distrust burning through their bond, and he has to pull in a few breaths to calm himself down. To prevent himself from reacting out of fear that he's messed this up irrevocably, or out of a desire to get that trust back no matter what it takes. ]

I did. I promised I'd protect the others from you, that HYDRA'd never make you hurt an innocent again. That's why I shot you, why I bashed your head against the ground so you wouldn't get out of the building and into the crowd. [ He swallows, heavy and rough, and his own voice goes quiet. ] I didn't promise to put you out of your misery.

[And there it is. The reality of it all. Bucky feels like he's been punched in the gut and all of the air leaves his lungs in a moment. He expected to be taken out, not knocked unconscious after he killed two strangers and shot one of his dearest friends. Yet he's alive and covered in blood again. It doesn't matter if Sam says it's his.

He's just now coming to realize how much hope he'd placed in the promise, in the vow that he wouldn't have to live with killing another. In fact, he'd been almost cheerful in his approach to others, knowing that he could trust Sam to kill him if it came down to it.

Without that... he can't seem to find his breath and he doesn't want to be here. Not right now. He needs to be anywhere else but here.

He surges up from the bed, heart in his throat. The room is so small, too small. The walls are folding in on him. He has to get out of here.]

Damn it, Barnes, will you listen to me? I shot you, I killed those guys, stop taking the choices I made and making them about you.

[ Maybe that's not fair to either of them, but it's out before Sam can stop it. He gets it, he does, Bucky thought there was an end coming, thought he'd never have to deal with something like this again. But Sam'd tired of Bucky acting like Sam didn't have a part in anything that happened last night, like everyone's blood is on Bucky's hands and Sam did nothing.

Nothing expect destroy Bucky's trust in him, apparently.

And then Bucky's up and trying to get out of there, and Sam's heart launches right up into his throat along with Bucky's. ]

Don't run from me, sunshine, please.

[It doesn't matter, in Bucky's mind. None of it does. The Soldier caused those deaths and he doesn't believe Sam when he says he killed them not the Soldier, not Bucky. The programming shoves rods in his feet, stiffens his shoulders. Listen is forced down on him like a collar and don't run chains on his ankles. He can't breathe. He can't breathe and he can't move and he can't speak.

He still doesn't look at Sam, instead directing his gaze down to the floor, nostrils flaring even as the programming eats up his emotions. Weapons don't have feelings, weapons don't disobey.]

[ For a moment, frustration rears up in Sam so strong he can't get past it. But the alien birds are chirping their displeasure at Bucky's launch from the bed and Sam's aborted attempt to follow him, and it gives Sam something to focus on.

He counts his breathing, in to seven and out to eleven, lets that pass through their mental link. He can't try to talk to Bucky like this, when it's something he's forced to do instead of something he's reluctantly willing to do. ]

You don't have to stay if you need some space. But there's stuff you need to know, and I don't like leaving it like this.

[Bucky doesn't breathe with Sam, doesn't count with him. There's no point to it, in Bucky's mind. The Soldier will come again anyways and he will be just as helpless. Breathing won't stop that. Nothing will. Not Sam, not Shepard, not anyone. The only thing he can do is run. At least, until they get back to the Station. Then he can ask whoever to put him back to sleep.

The thought of going back to sleep, of locking himself away, doesn't bring as much comfort as he expected. Instead, he's quietly afraid that he'll be refused that as well.

Bucky pivots and grabs his knapsack but stops, stuck between wanting to run and the last shreds of his trust in Sam for a moment. The former wins and he makes a dash for the door to the stairs.]

[ Sam lets him go. Maybe it's not the best decision, maybe he should have tried to convince Bucky to stay - but he doesn't know if he can do that right now without accidentally tripping the programming, and Bucky's clearly not interested in working with him to fight it like they have in the past.

It's not the first time that Bucky's needed space from him. It's not the first time they've gotten pissed at each other and fought and needed to take some time to cool down, and Sam tries hard to remind himself of that. It's just - it's not that he didn't care the other times, of course he did. He always has. He's not even sure it's that he cares more now, or just that he feels like he let Bucky down, even if there's nothing he can think that he could've done different. Except maybe kill the other two robbers before the Soldier could, but he's not sure Bucky'd like that.

And except kill the Soldier, but Sam's not willing to make that concession without talking to Bucky more, either.

At least this time Bucky actually hesitates before he runs, but it still hurts.

Sam pushes himself out of bed, tossing some pellets on the ground for the birds - and doesn't close his connection with Bucky. It's not that he wants to track him, it's just... he doesn't want to close it, and he wants to make sure he gets out of the pet store all right. ]

[Bucky tries not to take the steps more than one at a time. There's no need to make a bunch of noise. He just needs to get out of here, away where he can think, away where he can't hurt anyone. However, as soon as he pushes open the door to the pet store proper and sees the scale of destruction, he stops cold in his path. Five bodies continue to lay on the floor, spread between a pond of glass, a broken metal register, a tipped over display and three pistols. Once again, he finds himself without air as he stares down at the faces of the dead.

It's almost like the tape in Siberia, watching himself kill Howard Stark and his wife. Except this time he has absolutely no memory of these five deaths, not like the Starks. Not like the begging and crying from the car that night, the quiet question of Sergeant Barnes murmured before metal broke and distorted Howard Stark's face.

He has no memory of these five or how he killed them. Like Concordia, there's empty space in his head that should be filled with something, anything. As soon as emotions rise in his throat, the programming devours them, leaving him numb in a way that is so wrong for the death laid out on the floor before him. He should remember.

But he doesn't.]

[ He feels it when Bucky stops, feels what makes him stop. At some point last night, Sam thinks he'd had the thought that Bucky shouldn't be alone when he came back down and saw what happened - but Bucky'd wanted to leave, and Sam wasn't going to try to stop him just because of that. Bucky isn't a child, and Sam doesn't want to coddle him like that.

But he doesn't want him to face it alone, either, so he pulls on a pair of pants and heads down the stairs.

For the first time, there's a stab of regret as he looks at the mess before him. It's not guilt, not really, because the robbers had made their choice when they decided to bring weapons to try to knock over a pet store, but it's not like he's happy about what happened, either.

Bucky's staring blankly at them, and Sam doesn't need the mental link to be able to figure out that he still doesn't remember. ]

That's one of the things that we need to talk about. I think I figured out what's tripping you up and activating the Soldier.

[Bucky's staring at the corpses, mindlessly moving toward one of them, when he hears Sam come down the stairs behind him. He can feel Sam's own regret feeding back into the link and Bucky doesn't understand why strangers deserve death, but the Soldier doesn't. If he'd pulled this on any of his handlers, he'd be taken back for re-conditioning. Needles under his skin, frost on his lashes, and the hum of the chair fill his mind for a moment before he returns to the present and the five cold bodies on floor.

He tips his head to the side, brow furrowed.

He's listening, though with a measure of reluctance.]

[ There's a tentative trickle of warmth spreading out before Sam can help it, pulled automatically by the cold of the frost and the hum of the chair. He doesn't try to stop it, though he will if Bucky tries to pull away again.

But he'll take reluctance, as long as Bucky's giving him at least half an ear. ]

It's your symbiote ability, it's gotta be. We've all got one, just some take awhile to figure out. Yours must have something to do with electricity. It happened the last time the Soldier came out, too; you zapped me and then it... reset, somehow. Both times you didn't remember anything.

[Bucky looks back to the bodies on the floor as Sam speaks, brow furrowing deeper. That makes some sense. He tries to recall to the other blank spaces in his head. Concordia, Steve said he tazed someone in a fight, but Bucky hadn't brought a taser. Then another empty hole where he remembers waking up sitting on top of Sam in their room with half of the furniture demolished. Again at the end of the mission in Concordia in the memory bank and now here. None of them involved the words or the chair, but the Soldier still came out.

If it's electricity, that might explain how it brings out the Soldier. His mind flashes to the jumbled memories surrounding the chair, the taste of rubber in his mouth as the arms of the machine lower to the sides of his face. It's blurred, but there are pieces. Screaming. Screaming until his voice breaks as a vacuum inhales every inch of him that isn't the programming. And then the words.

желание, ржaвый, cемнадцать, pассвет, Печь, девять, добросердечный, озвращение на родину, oдин, грузовой вагон.

In Berlin, the guy only needed the words. In DC, his handlers used the chair.

Here? It seems the symbiote is providing its own means to bring the Soldier to life.

Anywhere. Anywhen.

A literal time bomb sitting under the feet of the Nest.]

[ Sam waits, watching Bucky think it over and not bothering to hide the relief he feels when Bucky believes him. There's evidence, sure, but without Bucky remembering it himself, Sam hadn't been sure if it would end up like it had when Sam'd tried to tell Bucky about last night.

A chill goes up his spine at the jumbled memories, at the words he never, ever wanted to know - Sam doesn't speak Russian, but that doesn't matter, apparently, he understands them perfectly - and immediately lets them go, burying them deep in his own mind.

He struggles not to reach out to Bucky, either physically or mentally, to keep giving him the space that he asked for, but the screaming - he can't help it, he's a stronger presence in Bucky's mind before he even thinks about it, the gentle brush of fingers over Bucky's hair and a wordless support. ]

Bucky. If we know what's triggering it, then we can figure out how to stop it. You know what to look for know, and we can figure out how to use the symbiote to our advantage.

[Bucky shies away from the mental touch, from the offer of comfort. He doesn't deserve that. Not after this. He might be angry with the reality of being alive, deeply disappointed at the results of the promise, but he still doesn't deserve to be cared for, not like this. Listening to Sam doesn't bring much hope either. If the Soldier emerges because of the symbiote, there's nothing he can do. Sam himself said he didn't have much control over his powers and Sam has been actively practicing.

If it brings up the Soldier, Bucky doesn't want to practice. He can't remember what happens anyway. Who's to say any progress won't be immediately lost upon another episode.]

[ Sam doesn't chase him in his mind, but he doesn't back off, either. You're not a weapon, you deserve comfort.

He can feel where Bucky's head's going, though, and he shakes his head. Honestly, Sam doesn't think it's a good idea for Bucky to practice it, either. ]

That's not what I meant. I meant we can fight against it. You and me, last night we fought the programming and won. We can get better at it, we don't gotta bring the Soldier out to practice that. I meant if you're dead set on the perimeters of this promise - we gotta talk more before I agree, because you don't know what you're asking me.

[Sam talks about last night like it's a victory, but looking out upon the five cold bodies, Bucky disagrees. He worries at his lip at the mention of the promise again. Underneath the shadow of the programming, he wonders if he was selfish to insist on a promise in the first place. Weapons don't get things like wants and even fewer promises; he should have known better. In his mind's eye, he can see Pierce across from him talking about sacrifice, hear what he's saying, but wanting to hold onto the memory of the man on the bridge.

He's selfish- still, after all this time- and five lives have paid for it. He thought holing up in a quiet pet store away from the arena would be okay, but there's only one thing he's good at. Bucky Barnes was nothing to HYDRA, still is nothing in the shadow of the Soldier.

Shaking his head, Bucky's gaze settles on the empty eyes of a corpse. Each of them was a person with a life more significant than his own, with friends and family. He can't ask Sam to put his life on the line for a broken man and the faraway hope of a someday.]

[ This is... maybe not the best place to talk about this. Maybe they should have cleaned everything up first, maybe he should still give Bucky a few days to himself. But cleaning it up won't change that it happened, and he can feel Bucky struggling with it. Wonders if Bucky can feel the way Sam struggles with himself, when he's not sure if the guilt he feels is Bucky's over the dead men or because he broke a promise he didn't know he was making.

Maybe Sam is the selfish one, when he'd still choose his own life and Bucky's over the lives of the people holding guns on them every time. ]

You think you don't got friends? Your life is significant to me, all right, and I'll put my life on the line anyway. I'll still take you out if I gotta protect people from you, I just... You didn't seem all that upset when you were fighting off agents in Bucharest, I didn't think it extended to people who're trying to kill us. [ He should have asked, is the thing, should have made sure he knew what he was agreeing to, and he sighs quietly. ] I know it's different, cause that was you and this was the Soldier. I know you're tired, sunshine, and I know you're feeling pretty damn hopeless right now. I know. But the only thing I've ever asked of you is not to give up; did you only agree to that because you thought you wouldn't have to follow through with it?

[Bucharest was different, but Bucky's glad he doesn't have to say it out loud. In Bucharest, he didn't kill anyone. In Bucharest, he was fighting for his freedom, to get away. He had more control, then. Now, there's no hope of controlling his power or the symbiote or the Soldier as a result. Bucky doesn't agree that his life is significant in the wake of the threat of the Soldier. He thought Sam would see that, see that Bucky isn't worth all this effort, all this wasted life.

The question posed weighs heavy on Bucky's shoulders. He can't lie and say that he didn't think about it, that he wouldn't have to fight to keep his head above water, that his life would be over in an instant. However, the larger part of him never wanted to kill another living thing, to add to the collection of amber glass in his head. Yet another part of him took his part of the oath seriously. He'd done his best to hold onto hope and work on keeping the Soldier down.

But none of that matters now. The answer is too complicated to put into words, so he doesn't. Because he's selfish, he thinks.]

[ That's the thing - Bucky is worth it to Sam. He still believes in both of them, still believes that working together, they can make the symbiote work for them instead of against them. He just doesn't know how he's supposed to convince Bucky of that, especially when all of this is so damn fresh.

When Bucky's still looking at the people they killed, and completely blaming himself.

Bucky's silence weighs heavy on Sam in return, and even if he can't quite get a grip on all the things that're flicking through Bucky's mind - he gets that it's complicated.

Goddamn does he get that it's complicated. ]

It still matters. But you don't gotta answer if you need the space to think about it. I'm not- [ He cuts off, trying to get his own thoughts in order and not exactly succeeding. Sam's not as good or as soft as most people in the Nest seem to think he is, and he'd thought that Bucky knew that better than anyone here except maybe Clint. ] It ain't ever gonna be as simple as not killing good, killing bad. But there'll always be hope, Bucky, long as I'm still breathing I'll have enough for both of us.

[Of course it won't be simple black and white, though a part of him wishes it could be. For all that Sam speaks of hope, Bucky finds himself losing more. He can't seem to pull his gaze away from the corpses spread across the floor, blanketed in glass. He knows Sam won't sugarcoat explanations, but Bucky can't help but doubt there's any hope at all for him. He can't control his power or the symbiote, with deadly results he can see so clearly.

How many more have to die before the Soldier is put down?

He exhales thickly, still worrying at his lip as he reaches over for one of the robbers' faces. Cold. Dead. He's never had to clean up one of his messes before.]

[ Sam can feel Bucky's despair, but all he can do is stubbornly match it with his own determination. It's all he's ever done, really, meet Bucky where he's at with compassion and understanding but at the same time refuse to move.

Bucky'll probably always have his doubts, but as long as Sam's got any say about it, he'll be there to counter them and try to keep that balance between realistic and hope. ]

Man, you can go take your space if you need it. I'll be here whenever you're ready to actually talk about this with me and come up with a plan. [ There's a tiny pause, then he admits, ] Or when I'm tired of waiting.

[ When he starts getting itchy about he and Bucky being out of sync, but he doesn't want to say how much better he likes it when their connection is going strong. ]

Can't leave them like this. [Bucky speaks for the first time since coming downstairs. It doesn't feel right to leave Sam to clean up the bodies or to simply let them lie until some future day. For one, the corpses will start to seriously smell, but more importantly, they're victims of the Soldier like the hundreds of faces burned into Bucky's memory. Then he'll run. He owes the robbers that much, owes Sam that much, promise or no promise.]

Awesome. You sulking and being cranky at me the whole time, sounds great.

[ Of course Sam was planning on cleaning things up. He half wants to tell Bucky to just get out of here and Sam'll take care of it - but with where Bucky's head's at now, Sam's pretty sure it'll just make him feel more guilty.

No guarantees on how long he's gonna be able to put up with it, but for now he crouches down to start cleaning up. ]

We can put them out back, I'll call around for someone to pick them up later.

[Bucky doesn't have enough vinegar in him to argue with Sam. Instead he nods in silence, shifting to kneel beside the first body. He knows he's physically stronger than Sam, so he relegates himself to doing the heavy lifting. He lugs it over his good shoulder in a fireman's carry. The glass tinkling to the floor almost sounds like wind chimes. When he passes Sam on the way to the back door, he doesn't look up at him and continues to work in silence.]

[ Bucky may be physically stronger than him, but Sam is stubborn as hell and used to hauling people around. He's not going to let Bucky carry all of the bodies out, even if he only takes one himself. He lugs one of them up over his shoulders with a little bit more difficulty than Bucky, but not as much as he might've had back home, before his symbiote enhancements.

It's not until all of the bodies are outside that Sam speaks again, looking over at Bucky as he pulls out a couple of brooms. ]

You gonna let me find you this time?

MISSION: WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT. I

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

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)