station72 | ( hella open, hatch log )

Entry tags:

( hella open, hatch log )

Who: Sam Anders and yooooou
Where: Nesting deck, Flight deck, Circle Gardens, Life Support/Telepathy
When: Day 165
Summary: Hatch log, delivery for Castor brood + wandering the station
Warnings: Sam's fuzzy little coma head, n/a

[A] wakey wakey eggs and bacey;

--on the other side. [ there's distant, monotone muttering just before sam gasps in a deep breath, eyes snapping open wide - too wide, like he can see to the end of the universe, through the walls of the pod and the station and all the endless void of space through to the moment of the big bang. for a moment that seems like an eternity, there's silence in his mind, a deafening kind of silence after hearing so, so much, and he just breathes. it's been months since he's moved his limbs, but the fingers of his right hand curl, holding a necklace on a chain, pressing the edges of it into the soft flesh of his palm, eyes blank and wide, but mind scrambling, chest heaving, like he's mid-panic attack. it's hard to go from what he was, back to this, but something's reaching out to him, soothing and spreading warmth through his mind, and soon, he knows he's safe here. healthy and well, repaired, pieced back together, and safe. eventually, his limbs twitch, muscles in his shoulders flex and contract, and he raises a hand up slowly to the base of his skill, and the thick cable plugged into it. a deep breath, and sam yanks it free. ]

Frak! [ ow, headache. not an incredibly fierce one, but sudden, along with a wave of sensation, both familiar and entirely foreigner, causing him to squeeze eyes shut, blinking them rapidly open, and yet, he knows this. memories flash, the cold of a viscous he's lowered into, sparks of electricity felt somewhere far away, and then, everything. he's had more in his head than this, before, and while Sam can't quite place his finger on the details of it, like a word you've forgotten. but he'd been there. he knows that much. ] When...

[ there was a rescue. the light of New Earth's sun had filled up the CIC, blinding him, and for a moment, Sam knew perfection. but something had come, and this he has such a clear picture of - someone had reached out for him. live. and then, here. he must have been in this pod for some time, the datastream liquid no longer clinging to him, his hair having grown slightly back, though there's still an ache at the base of his skull, where the bullet had been removed, a couple fingertips touching tenderly to a healed scar there now. carefully, cautiously, Sam starts to move, shimmying down the length of the pod, until his bare feet touch the bars of a ladder below, some weird medical space pajama being all that's keeping him decent for the moment. pulling himself free, Sam looks out, over the nesting pods lining the vast open deck, and feels like he's forgotten how to breathe. ]

The hell... [ how many times can his world be completely turned on its head? how many times can Sam Anders feel lost beyond any kind of retrieval? clinging at the edge of the ladder, breathing coming heavy and staggered, there's a singular longing for stability, for assurance, and a single name that comes from his lips in vain hope, right hand squeezing tight around the necklace there. ] ...Kara?

[B] flight deck, that's not a viper;

[ kara's necklace lays heavy on his chest, heavier than it should be. a chain, with a dogtag, a simple silver ring, and a bullet. ] Bullet that killed me. [ sam murmurs, as he paces through the flight deck, letting out a humorless snort. it's both very touching and very sad to know she attached it with the rest. and very telling, where she laid blame. always, where she laid blame. these clothes feel odd on his frame, the silence of the ship disquieting, and he's practically bald, which he hates. there's some fuzz there, like a very buzzed buzzcut, but it still feels like being a hospital patient. note - find a hat later.

simple shoes tapping against the smooth, flawless floors of the station, he's still not really sure if it's a building or a craft or something much stranger, but through the whispers and blurred passing emotions streaming through his mind, he gets the feeling of something immense. but he'll take that one room at a time. right now - flight deck. pacing in, he doesn't immediately see anyone else, which feels so bizarre to him. an empty deck. no engineers scrambling, no pilots shouting as they drop into their planes. just quiet. too much quiet, and, of course, the hum of so many consciousnesses in his head. foreign, and still the same. ] And still frakking confusing.

[ letting out a begrudging exhale, hand on the tag of Kara's necklace with his thumb passing over the engraved letters, sam lets his feet carry him to one of the ships, the other hand reaching up to smooth over the hull, before he stops, blinking at that hand. he's petting it like it's an animal - a dog or a horse. like it's a damn Cylon Raider. gods, this never stops being weird. ]

[C] wandering/circle gardens;

[ hours, it seems like, sam's been wandering the station. he'd met with some people, had some questions answered, but this place still mystifies him. not to mention, in the life support room, and the rec wing, there'd been things left around. belonging to who, the other hosts? where was the crew for this thing? why have such a massive thing with nobody in it? and the most striking thing he's noticing, as he paces through, is that it seems so, so much like a Cylon basestar. chrome and white walls, bare, and the organic spliced in here and there. and yet, it isn't.

turning a corner to wander aimlessly down another hall, sam finds himself facing the circle gardens. for the first time since waking up, something that isn't completely weird. grass. halleloo.

his shuffled walking towards to power walking, and then to jogging, and then to running, before sam's flopping himself bodily against the lawn of the gardens. not only had it been an eternity since he'd touched grass this green and alive, since Caprica's fall (the New Caprican grass was just never the same), but this station has seemed so empty and lifeless, aside from the other hosts. chest against the grass (close probably stained), and cheek turned against it as he lays there, sprawled, he spots another person some distance away, feels the vague pull of their connection again, and calls out. ]

Hey! This place is empty. Why's it empty?

[D] telepathy, sam would like some pants pls;

[ eventually, he settles in the room he'd found for himself in life support, staring down at the grass stains on his white space pajamas. which feel entirely too loose and too thin on him. like pajamas, imagine that. he's heard a few other snippets of thoughts and conversation here and there, in the mush of his mind, and he decides to give it a shot himself. he'd operated the entire frakking Galactica with just his brain, how hard is chatting? ]

( Anyone have any normal pants to spare around here? Or a hat? Feels like I'm shuffling around an old peoples' home. )

[ a really high tech old peoples' home. but that's it, that's all he has for now. did it work? sam's sitting still on the edge of his mattress, head tilted, like it'll make him hear the voices any better, waiting for something to come back. ]

[E] wildcard;

[ idk man choose your own adventure, slap sam anywhere you need him /o/ ]

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[ he'd felt the mental pull of a few of them, this way and that. maybe that's how he'd ended up here. but it becomes resoundingly loud when Anakin starts to approach. Not like the others - connected. Brood, it'd been called.

this one seems to have chaos rolling all through him, all intensity and anger. guy need's a massage or something. at the comment, though, sam snorts a short laugh, one corner of his lips quirking up, as he drops his hand away from the ship he'd been... petting. ]

It's okay. Kinda gotten used to being confused by now. It's comfortable. Like a security blanket. [ which is sarcasm, but wry, with humor, not any kind of sass. he doesn't have a reason, with this guy, and it generally takes something big for sam to start treating anyone with much hostility. like, you know, nuclear holocaust. or stealing his wife. anyway.

it seems redundant to mentioned 'you're in my brood'. sam knows he is, this guy probably knows he is too. so he'll just move on from that part, for the sake of not sounding like an idiot. ]

Are you a pilot? Mechanic? [ he's guessing, since he's on the flight deck. or maybe the brood thing pulls both ways and this was just the middle point. who knows. ]

[ if there is one thing anakin understands it's assholes trying to steal wives. "fuck those guys" is the healthiest response there.

speaking of healthy, sam's attitude is among the better to take. speaks more, perhaps, to the other's past experiences than his character. not a bad thing, either. particularly in light of how many others had never even been off their planet before, did not know it was a possibility. two of his, their, brood are such. ]

Both. [ coming closer, his foot nudges the droid into free space, which it promptly takes advantage of to wheel in circles. anakin lets it be with a sigh. ]

You?

[ with you there, bro, so with you there. fuck those guys and also maybe bomb their shit.

His eyes draw down to the little droid, though, seeing it whirl around in circles like an excited puppy chasing it's tail, and Sam lets out a short, sputtered laugh. Crouching down, Sam watches it do a few more orbits around... nothing, really. ] Having some trouble there, buddy?

[ which is actually sam talking to the droid and not Anakin. maybe someone from Galactica would be freaked out by any kind of self managing machinery, even as simple as this droid, but given history always reaches this point, without fail - creating synthetic life - you can't really hold it against them. Besides, Sam's essentially the most advanced form of AI you can get, before it's just another route to Human. So maybe there's some fondness there. Gods, his life is freaking weird now.

Glancing back up, he smiles, happy to find someone with at least the one thing in common with him. Aside from the whole brain bond thing. ] Pilot.

And, sort of mechanic. [ uh. well once he'd been a lot of things. not that he remembers much of them anymore, either from 2,000 years ago, or the datastream tank. fresh from the coma, and all of that, his mind's still trying to piece together what the hell he is now. ] Sort of some other things. It's complicated, we'll stick with pilot.

You get to fly any of these yet?

Edited 2016-04-29 06:39 (UTC)

[ oh, new bff, where have you been all his life. ]

Not yet. I've been…indisposed. [ someone inform webster's: indisposed has been redefined as a two week coma. anakin does not linger. ]

Mostly, I've been familiarizing myself with the ships. The ones I can access, at least. [ a beat. ] He's a side project.

[ the droid by then has stopped turning. anakin programmed it to respond to the sound of a voice. he wanted something to help him in his tasks. long grown accustomed to r2-d2's company, being without a droid has been odd. not that any he made could replace the blue-and-silver astromech. r2 is his friend.

but for want of something to fetch his tools, anakin ended up with a droid with an intelligence level somewhere between a bucket of nails and a gungan. ]

[ also feeling you on the coma, homie. it's a bitch. ]

Sorry to hear that. [ moving on just as quickly. if anakin would rather not talk about it, sam's not going to push it. besides, the ships are what's peaking his interest. ]

Yeah? Would you mind showing me some of them? [ he'd really like to see the strange looking nest grown ones off to the side, but sam's doubting those are the ones Anakin has access to. maybe he'll go looking for Prince later. ]

And, I think I might be able to help you out with your droid. [ after all, he knows he has this power, and somewhere in the back of his mind, likely due to the symbiote, he knows how it's supposed to work.

but he also remembers what it was like to do this before. maybe not sure how controllable it is, but he'll have to try it sometime. better to do it here than somewhere out on a mission, when they'll need him to know what he's doing. ]

Edited (formatting, typos) 2016-04-29 19:56 (UTC)

[ sadly, no. the cool ships are above his pay grade. considering what the cost of being able to access one is, he makes do with the ones made, not grown.

anakin steps away from the ship he had been leaning against, tipping his head in ever so slight indication for sam to follow. ]

You wouldn't happen to have a personality matrix on you. [ spoken so drily it barely pings as sarcasm. ]

[ raising up from where he'd been peering at the little droid, Sam stuffs hands into his pockets and steps out to tread behind him. ]

You know, you'd be surprised. [ Sam half-mutters wryly, as he follows along. honestly, he has no idea what he has in him, but seeing as he remembers going to human doctors for human physicals for the human sports team he definitely played on, he's assuming his insides look pretty normal.

but after running an entire battlestar with his brain alone, and apparently reinventing Resurrection, it shouldn't be too hard to manage a personality program for a maintenance droid. well, for Hybrid-him. who knows. ]

Try me.

[ he was briefly comatose and attached to the station via an umbilical cord at the neck after he was rescued by a collective conscious that would make jung weep. his bar for being shocked has been hiked stupidly high. ]

[ sam's bar for being shocked had gotten pretty damn high before. and then he heard a song and realized he's a 2,000 year old machine. try me he says. aaahhahaaha. well, maybe at least one of his brood should know, because not even someone with technopathy is going to be able to tell Thirteenth Tribe Cylon from normal human. ]

I'm an AI.

[ and just standing here now, looking very human, feeling very human, breathing very human, and having all the human organs and bones and all that nonsense. making a very human WELP face. ]

I guess.

[ slowing, anakin looks over his shoulder. ] You mean you have a cyborg construct.

[ the image of one floats up briefly: a grey headpiece wrapping around the back of an alien head. not something whose use was condoned in the republic. remarkable productivity, endless data streams of information…at the cost of what made the wearer a person. anakin does not know of any small enough that it could be hidden. he…seems human. the force is an echo of what it should be when anakin leans on it on the hopes it will provide him with something more. ]

No, I mean I'm man-made. My entire race is man-made. [ nothing cyborg - the Colonial hybrids are cyborg, he's just an organic machine. as far as the strict definition goes. stopping in their walk towards whatever ship Anakin was taking him to, Sam stands there and rambles out the entire story in quick summary, hands gesturing and nervousness seeming to overtake him so. This is still a thing that freaks him out to face. ]

Cylons started out big metal robots, we developed organic bodies, we developed biological reproduction. I was born by Cylon parents, and everything inside me looks human until you run a DNA test, but I'm an AI.

[ he feels like he has a soul. he knows he's capable of love, of existential thought, of everything a human knows about emotion - and really, he was convinced he was human for so long, until his memories were unlocked, and it's still very hard to come to terms with. there's nearly no difference, and perhaps that's the point. ] Plug me into a battleship and I can run the entire thing with my brain. But I lived for about 5... 10 years before I even knew.

Wait. [ anakin holds a hand up in a 'stop' gesture. ] You're not human?

[ or…humanoid, for that matter? what sam is talking about is so advanced as to be impossible. no droid can pretend so perfectly to be human. they can be covered in synthetic skin, given the most advanced vocabulators, a sophisticated intelligence— a droid is a droid. this is— ]

Not technically... no. But, I was born, nobody programmed me, so--

[ he sort of hates owning up to this, and another, more distant, part of himself hates that he hates it. you are what you are, sam, you're one of only four left of your kind, so don't shun it. but so much of him still so fiercely believes in everything in him that was human. is human, he supposes. but if you're getting down to the DNA of it, no. he isn't human, and he never was, no matter what he'd believed or remembered. just the fact the memories could be so effectively blocked from his conscious mind was proof enough of that. ]

'Looks like a duck, walks like a duck, talks like a duck', doesn't actually make it a duck.

Edited 2016-05-07 08:50 (UTC)

[ that's

what. ]

You really didn't know? [ anakin looks away with an exhale. after a moment, he shakes his head. it's brain-breaking to him trying to come to grips with it. trying to imagine it from sam's point of view… ]

I don't envy you finding out.

[ look, brain-bro, he knows. he knows so much. it's a trip. ]

Not at all. In fact, I'd been leading a resistance force and an Insurrection against my own people for years before that. [ he'd killed so many of them. blasted them into bits and sent them to back to their Resurrection ship. Some of them, into permanent death. He hadn't even realized they were his children, in a real sense. ]

Nah, wasn't a great time. Especially considering that made me the enemy of all the people I loved, then.

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( hella open, hatch log )

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fjdksla gdi forgot to mention the droid last tag, durr

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