station72 | [MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[A few steps behind, Bucky does indeed follow, though with a flickering gaze. As they depart from the common room, the noise in his head quiets bit by bit until he feels almost alone. Glancing into one of the empty rooms allows him the excuse to look away from Steve, away from the disappointed expression he's seen so many times in the last week alone. The door looks heavy enough to keep someone- anyone- out, or keep him in. He's not sure which is better, but when he turns back to Steve, he finds the other staring at his missing arm before looking away.

Steve says he's across the floor and Bucky can't exactly say he's happy about that. Taking another once-over of the much smaller form, though, reminds Bucky of the importance of the distance. If Bucky gets triggered, Steve can't take a beating. Steve doesn't know anything, not yet--- but he's still disappointing him, his brain provides helpfully--- and there's a chance it could stay that way.

An infinitely small chance, but a chance. One night in this place would ruin that. Maybe he should board up with Sam instead, someone who can handle a soldier with nightmares.

We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. There was a funeral, black suits all around, and a spare key under the brick by the door. End of the line.

End of the line in the belly of the gunship, end of the line as Steve runs a gauntlet to keep him away from the vibrating claws.

End of the line includes here, doesn't it.]

You don't have to. [He replies, head blaring warnings in the background.]

[ There's a half of this conversation that he's missing all the context for. The warning doesn't register on any frequency he knows. This is his friend. They don't always talk about everything, but they've never needed to, that was another part of being there for each other.

(and wasn't it more often that Steve was the one to try to reject the offer?)

He lifts his eyes, lips parting and closing, his mouth twisting downward at one side. ]

I'm here, Buck. Whatever you need. [ His voice is low and contained, eyes drawn back to the metal one more time.

Christ

What the hell happened? ]

Edited 2016-05-26 05:00 (UTC)

[Normal conversation is still something Bucky's trying to pick back up. With strangers, in other languages, he can provide the quick necessities for transactions, but talking to people who aren't that? He feels clumsy and stupid and slow and he hates it. Steve's eyes return to the missing arm and the smell of burnt flesh and metal fills his nose.

Gold slices through him, tears away at flesh and metal alike, and then he's falling to his knees. When he tries to stand, his entire body unbalances, leaving him stumbling. Another blast to his back sends him tumbling onto his back, pain buzzing through every inch of his body.

He steps into the empty room in silence and sets down the small pack the Nest sent with him. Flicking open one of the clasps is easy enough, but of course there's a zipper underneath. Unzipping is easier than zipping, but he still has yet to figure out the best way to do either one-handed.]

[ The same scent hits him, faint as the flash of gold that sears through his left arm. Steve swallows dryly, heart hammering in his chest. His fist tightens on reflex, and he has to glance down to know for sure that it's still there, giving it a blank stare while Bucky enters the room.

Disoriented, his attention is slow to return to the present, back to Bucky and the pack. His hand continues to flex, it takes him another few seconds to recognize that there's an issue. He walks over, holding the pack steady so that it'll be a bit easier for Bucky to pull on the zipper. ]

[Bucky glances up when Steve reaches for the pack. Frowning, he pulls down the zipper with relative ease now and reaches in to fish out the contents. First come his fake ID and databank before his "uniform" and gloves fall onto the bed beside them. He focuses on the fake ID, silently reading 'James Barnes, zamboni driver at the Winter Dome, victim of a horrific zamboni accident that resulted in the loss of his arm.' Blinking down at it only causes more confusion.

The wind rushes through his ears and his left arm spikes with pain as the rest of him stops for a heartbeat. Ice and stone tear through him and then he's falling again, stomach in his head screaming dead dead dead. And yet, he opens his eyes again at the base of a ravine, body vibrating with agony, a river of blood trailing behind him as he's dragged. Saw blades strip away flesh and chip bone. A new fist appears and then he's locked away and frozen.

He buries the fake ID back in the leather pack.]

[ His temple throbs, copper and acid on his tongue. Both hands pull away from the pack as he swallows back bile rising in the back of his throat - but he reaches, securing the link between them, trying to sharpen the images instead of cutting the line.

The mental touch is light, a hand bumping against another. ]

[Steve recoils and Bucky does much the same, but the noise in his head doesn't seem to be getting quieter. Instead growing louder and more present and he can see his fingers again where now there's only open air.

His knuckles grow whiter with each passing heartbeat he's trying to hold on, but the railing gives way. His head screams at him dead dead dead and he reaches out his left arm to try stopping his descent. Instead, it catches on something else and agony rips through him, leaving him in a pile of broken bones and bleeding organs in the snow. He can hardly breathe, his lips gasping in the cold. Darkness is breached by olive uniforms and hands dragging him through snow.

Sargeant Barnes.

Metal fingers curl and strike and a woman's shrieks of horror spill through the muggy air on a quiet drive. They tighten again and strike a pilot, sending the man tumbling into an engine that disintegrates him. They latch onto a glowing blue reactor and then the flash of gold appears and he's falling again.]

[ His breaths quicken, sharp and ragged against cold air that only exists in his head. The connection snaps, breaking off - but he's gasping, eyes unfocused and his face blanched.

Some kind of accident. A long fall.

Something else - ]

Jesus - you killed them. [ Anger and disbelief muddle together in his eyes, threatening to sharpen into accusation. These weren't the flashes of a battlefield, but the scenes of murder. Every muscle in his body goes tense, unable to react.

who are you? rings and rings and rings ]

[The connection snaps back like a rubber band and Bucky's back bumps against the wall. His breath surges again and he's no longer in knee-deep memories he doesn't want Steve to see. Swallowing, he looks back up at Steve and doesn't even think to deny the accusation hanging in the air.]

Yeah, I did. [This was the reaction he expected in the quinnjet, in Bucharest, in Siberia. He does his best to clamp down on his head, to keep anything else from leaking through, but he receives a strong dose of who are you.

Soldat. The new fist of HYDRA.

Who the hell is Bucky is met with good morning soldier. It doesn't matter if he's said he doesn't do that anymore; he already did it in the first place. He killed so many, targets and otherwise. ]

Why? [ His eyes narrow, struggling to grasp any reason in this. ]

[Bucky still doesn't have the answer to that after two years of memories slowly coming back in bits and pieces. He doesn't look away from Steve when he responds,] I don't know.

[But he did it. He remembers every single one of them.]

[ He holds Bucky's gaze, expression twisting. ]

You're gonna have to give me more than that. [ There has to be more, some kind of explanation to make sense of those images. ] What happened to you?

[ He's not leaving this spot until he gets an answer. ]

[This part's familiar, though he's now missing the arm that would be in a vice. He sighs, not even sure where to start or if to start. Instead, he finally tears his gaze away from Steve and focuses on the floor instead. Every murder is clear in his head, but everything else lays in pieces, too jumbled up to stitch together.

The best he can do is try and he owes Steve, but... but he doesn't have much to go on.] ...Steve.

[He blows out another sigh.] I was in Siberia. They kept me there. HYDRA. The doctor said he started when I was at the factory. I got pneumonia, couldn't work. Put a bunch of stuff in me.

[Then the train, he thinks. Or did the train come after?] I fell and they took me.

HYDRA? [ Johann Schmidt and his splinter group of occultists, Erskine had spoken about them the night before the attack. The serum was meant to be the SSR's weapon against them -

His jaw clenches, chin tilting down even as he keeps his eyes on Bucky. ]

They forced you. [ Captured him, tortured him. Did something to his head and forced him to kill for them. Slow, creeping horror builds again, mixing with grief. ]

How long did they hold you captive? [ Though there's no accusation in the words, he speaks slowly, confusion coloring his tone.

Something's still not right about the timeline. ]

[Forced, maybe, but Bucky still killed all those people. He could've fought harder, smarter, something against the programming that's still in his head. He can say he won't kill anyone, but whether or not he'll be able to keep his word is something entirely different.]

Museum said I died in 1944. [He remembers standing there, looking at a picture of himself, wondering if he really was Bucky or just another soldier.] HYDRA collapsed in 2014.

[ He says nothing for almost a minute, his end of the link little more than a low buzz. ]

It was 1941 when I left. [ His gaze lowers, fixing on the floor. He feels like he needs to sit but his legs won't move. ]

We lost? [ The war. ]

[The silence prompts Bucky to look up again then back down, before settling on the pack again. Picking up the long-sleeved shirt, he shakes his head.] Book I read says we won it.

[Not that he saw it.

His hand presses up against the glass as it frosts over and in the next moment, he's seated in a chair with electricity crackling around him.]

[ The answer gives him less relief than it should. Lightning runs through his teeth and he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. His back bumps against the doorway as he leans back, pins and needles running over his skin.

Seventy years.

He goes silent again while Bucky sifts through the pack. ]

[Steve's backing away again, Bucky sees it in his peripheral as he starts unbuttoning his blood-soaked vest. Maybe getting into some fresh clothes will help keep his mind quieter. The vest comes off easily enough, sliding off his left shoulder with ease and he tosses it down on the bed as his mind continues to churn.

Fighting down in the street roughens the knees of his pants as he stands and a hand closes over his face, stripping away the mask. He flies head over heels.

'Who the hell is Bucky?'

Returning to the bank is sadder than before and he feels slow and almost reluctant to sit back down in the chair. For once he has something concrete in his head besides programming. Pierce slaps him. Gun barrels leveled and ready to take his head off if he doesn't respond.

He doesn't get to hold onto this one thing.]

[ Flashes of memory continue to bleed through the link, the sounds of body armor skidding across pavement interspersed between sickly greens and yellows with a blow to the face.

He should feel bloated with foreign thoughts, not hollowed out like a pumpkin scooped of its innards on Halloween, raw and messy. The back of his tongue burns again and he swallows - it's some minutes before he opens his mouth. ]

How did you escape?

Bucky goes still when he hears Steve's voice again and allows it to pull him out of the memories that keep piling into his head. His fingers tighten on the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt.]

I didn't. [He didn't free himself of anything, he wasn't strong enough. Even now, HYDRA's programming buzzes low in the back of his mind and he will never ever be truly free.]

[ Another pause. ]

You're not with them anymore.

[ I'm sorry beats in time with the pounding in his ears. Sorry for not being there, tied to the irrational, arrogant kind of guilt that if he hadn't gotten pulled into this mess with the Station then things would've turned out differently. ]

Edited 2016-05-29 17:28 (UTC)

[Bucky sucks in a breath and holds it without meaning to. He can feel the murmured apologies curling up behind his eyes, aching in his skull intensifying. This is the part he desperately doesn't want to talk about, that it doesn't matter how far away HYDRA is, they will still have their hold on him.

Instead of answering, he tugs off his ~~tactical turtleneck~~ singed thermal shirt and tosses it down with the vest on the bed. His new uniform shirt will need to be pinned on the left side, but it's better than slicing off the sleeve altogether.]

[ The silence stings this time. He keeps his gaze on the wall on the other side of the room, his voice a bit distance. Still processing. ]

- the noise calms down after a day. Touching someone else'll make it worse. [ It'd been that way with Ilde when they first woke up, worse in a different way than what's coming from Bucky's head. ]

[Bucky threads his head through the hole of his shirt before pausing. It sounds almost as if Steve were standing miles away than more or less beside him. With a nod, he gently slides the remains of his left arm through one sleeve, then his right arm through the other. It's awkward, but so far it's not an impossible task.

Not like holding a conversation.]

[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

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omfg that fake id

a tragedy really

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