MISSION: WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT. I

[onemind]

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 )

Comments

[bracchium]

[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.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ 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. ]

[bracchium]

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.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

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.

[bracchium]

[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.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ 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?

[bracchium]

[Bucky carries out four of the five bodies with a solemn silence. Each time he lays one down on the concrete behind the pet store, he pauses to memorize the face, to etch it into the amber glass in his mind. By the time he's finished with his portion of the haul, the despair and exhaustion weigh him down further than he thought possible. His head is throbbing again when Sam speaks and Bucky doesn't have the energy to shield his immediate thought of no. He doesn't plan to be found, by Sam or anyone else in the Nest if he can help it. There's too much that's happened and too great a danger if his power is set off.

With the bodies clear, he shoulders his knapsack again. He could stay to help clean up the glass, but he's pretty sure Sam is going to either stop sulking or leave.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Sam hasn't been shielding since they woke up, really. He probably could if he tried - maybe - but it just seems like so much effort after last night, after spending so much time in Bucky's mind and falling asleep with the connection still open wider than it'd ever been.

It rips him up, the idea of letting Bucky go off by himself when he's carrying that much exhaustion and despair, but he's not going to make Bucky stay if he doesn't want to. Sam can't keep his feelings to himself, though, and there's a fainter echo of the mix of emotions that Sam'd shoved at Bucky last night - exasperation-determination-frustration-love-friendship-irritation-support-comfort-hope - only a little more emphasis on irritation at the moment. ]

( Fuck you, Barnes, you wanna think about being selfish, you spend the next couple of days thinking about that answer right there. )

[bracchium]

[Since leaving HYDRA, Bucky's not used to being scolded, but he takes Sam's response in stride. Bucky's quite sure he's selfish, though for different reasons. He adds Sam's words to the guilt, a few more bricks to the pile he's carrying and departs without looking back. It's for the good of the Nest, that he leave it and his broodmates alone. On the Station, there's only so many places he can hide before someone finds him, but the Waypoint? Infinitely more.

The more distance he puts between himself and his broodmate, the quieter their connection becomes, which is both its own brand of comforting and disconcerting.]