[hatch log] everything happens so much

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :039
SUMMARY: New faces and old losses - a hatch occurs and a number of older hosts go comatose. Coma'd hosts include all auto-piloted dropped characters to date.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and suddenly you're a different person. No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or like surfacing up from the darkness of the ocean and right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. While it’s impossible to tell exactly how long ago or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, you're certain it was more than a moment ago.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber, a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been briefly calmed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful 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 happening 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. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone. The closer you are to these stranger, the louder the sound in your head becomes. --Actually they're not quite strangers either, are they? Something is wound about and between you and these people, whoever they are, are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. The air buzzes with activity. Somewhere deep in the Station, other minds call to yours. They are bright, brilliantly celebratory spots in your subconscious. They are sun-warm gentle, or they are fire and the taste of ash, or they are a vibrant frenetic whirl, or they are a tangled garden, or they are the feeling of flight through dense cirrus clouds. No two links are exactly the same, but you know for certain that you are connected to all of them in at least some small way.

Which is why it's easy to tell when something goes terribly wrong:


OLD HOSTS
THE ENDORPHIN RUSH of making it back to Station 72 (relatively) unharmed, having successfully acquired exactly what you'd set out to get your hands on can't be denied. Even if you're not necessarily the type to celebrate, there's no ignoring the thrumming celebratory sensation from those Hosts who are.

After a few hours of being back in the void, something else stirs in the air: the clear, prickling sensation of new hosts hatching on the Nesting Deck. They're a rush of mental information - as if someone's turned the volume on the radio all the way up -, a cacophony of sensation and emotional feedback for anyone unprepared to shield against it.

The swell of feeling might make it easy to miss what follows immediately after: the dull, gut-deep quiet as The Darkling, Chuuya Nakahara, and Nasu Rei go suddenly comatose.

---

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care do. You can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. You can find additional setting information about the Station HERE If you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

Re: the station, that's cool!

[huntsmachines]

A voice cuts through the mental noise. Aloy's not used to having other's thoughts pressing down on her, intruding on what was normally someplace quiet and focused. She takes a breath and looks up at Clint.

"What is it?"

lmao whoops there was supposed to be an if in there

[cognitived]

She comes back to herself slowly, but steadily, and that's good. Clint stays where he is, sniper still and calm, giving her space. Watches, careful and cautious, thoughts reeled in behind the shadow and feather walls of his mind.

"Hivemind," is the short and simple answer. Not enough, though, so: "Part of the packaged deal when everyone joins up. Eventually you'll learn to filter it."

Re: lmao whoops there was supposed to be an if in there

[huntsmachines]

"Hivemind." That sounds a lot like the network that she remembers Sylens describing. An invisible net stretching between machines--computers. How could there be one between people? She takes another breath and nods, trying to build up mental walls. As she focuses, she finds it's much like filtering excess noise, something she's learned to do since she was a child. This is new. It takes effort. Concentration.

"A network. That's so... It doesn't make sense." Aloy shakes her head. "Who are you? Where am I?"

[cognitived]

She's still broadcasting, thoughts like sparks. But it fades a bit, mental walls building brick by brick. Slow and steady and not quite secure, not yet. But she'll get the hang of it, he's sure. For now, Clint nods, mouth curling faintly at the corners. It doesn't make sense, not really, even after all these months. Agreement slips easily, seemingly unconscious now.

"Clint Barton." Easy enough to answer, "And this is the Station, our home-base."

[huntsmachines]

"I'm Aloy of the Nora." Simple, straightforward. She doesn't want any of the attention her name seems to get her and maybe she'll be lucky This man doesn't look like an Oseram or a Carja, but maybe he's even more foreign. Her suspicion and confusion is still leaking out, sparking against Clint's mental barriers.

"The Station? Where is that in relation to Meridian? Or the Embrace?" She's trying to contextualize anything. They have to be close by, right?

[cognitived]

It isn't familiar, not one bit, but Clint commits it to memory regardless. Dips his head in acknowledgement, not reacting to the suspicion that sparks against his barriers. She's smart to question, to be wary. That said, Clint isa paranoid spysassin, so maybe take that with a grain of salt.

For now, he shrugs a shoulder, something sympathetic in the cast of his face. Not pitying, not about this.

"Lightyears away, probably. Far as I can tell, none of the places we've been are close to home for anybody here."

[huntsmachines]

"...I guess that's true then," Aloy murmurs. Seems that she's had this conversation once or twice before then. They're far from home in more ways than one. Possibly (almost certainly) further than she has ever been in her life or thought she could ever travel in her life.

"Seems like that offer of help was a bit conditional," she says with a touch of grim humor. It reminds her of Sylens--help when you get something from it, not because of altruism.

[cognitived]

Getting a second opinion can't hurt. Or a third, maybe even a fourth. But eventually, eventually inescapably, a decision must be made. There's no going back from here, their worlds barred from them in the exchange. Clint gets it, hell, he's pretty sure most if not all the others do too.

Still, the point is he understands.

"Just a bit," Clint agrees, wryly. "It's not all bad though."

[huntsmachines]

"It's strange." That's probably the word she's used the most since she got here and it still hasn't stopped being strange, weirdly enough. Aloy slowly begins to straighten to her feet. Her body unfolds and she stretches her arms over her head for a moment before dropping down into a more normal stance. She reaches back to gently adjust the bow on her back and her fingers grip her lance.

"I think I'll feel better after some sleep. And some food."

[cognitived]

Well, to be fair, strange is probably the most accurate description. Clint's been here for months, and he's still not entirely used to it all. Easier, with some distance from the immediate shock, and some familiarity. Still, Aloy's clearly one to adapt on her feet, and Clint can admire that. So he follows her to her feet, hands slipping into pockets, a lazy, seemingly uncaring pose.

But he doesn't miss the bow, gaze sharp and assessing. Nods absentmindedly in agreement.

"Long as the room's not taken, you have your pick. And I can show you the kitchen." A pause, brief. "Or what passes for a range, here."

[huntsmachines]

"...My pick of where? I've just seen where I woke up mostly. What else is there?" Aloy's brow furrows. She's still in alert mode, eyes moving from Clint to scan the room for anyone (or anything) else for a brief moment. Something could come at her. She needed to be prepared.

"A range? For targets and practicing your archery?" That's something she understands. Clint gets a flash of a young girl, barely 7, maybe younger. A small bow in her hands. A large man (larger in her memory) who is broad and bearded and shows her to make the bow, to string it, to fire it without thought.

"That sounds useful." The first normal thing she's heard since she got here.

[cognitived]

"It's a decent sized place," a bit of an understatement. "Life Support'll have most of what you're looking for to start with, rooms and showers and kitchens."

Easy, faint impressions of the places he's talk about slips across the tendrils of their minds. It tails the end of her own thoughts, the familiar motions of a bow making his fingers twitch. Clint simply nods, mouth curving with smile.

"Yeah, exactly. It's not too far."

[huntsmachines]

"Showers?" For her, a shower is something the rain does. You bathe in the river or with a wet cloth and a bowl of water. Or in a heated tub if you're a Carja and have wealth. The concept of a modern shower escapes her.

"It rains inside the station?" Her confusion lights up the link again.

[cognitived]

"Hm, not exactly?" A pause, thoughtful. "It's a sort of artificial rain that uses a series of heated pipes."

It's a very short sort of description, so he follows it up with a glimpse of the showers here. All gleaming chrome and tile, and the feeling of warm water. Side tracked by talking about modern showers, not how he imagined today going, but also not the worst thing out there?

[huntsmachines]

Aloy seems shocked by the idea. It's not entirely outlandish, but it's still something she hadn't thought possible. Or at the least, not practicable. Her eyes go wide at the mental images she's given and she rocks back a little on her heels.

"...That's amazing. Hot water to bathe in? Anytime you want?"

[cognitived]

Oh, that's rather adorable though. Clint can't help the way he grins when her eyes widen, or when Aloy rocks back on her heels. A childlike delight, something he hadn't really realized the station was missing until now.

"Yeah pretty much." He relaxes, hands in pockets, tone light. "Unless someone uses it all up before you get there."

A joke -- sort of?