twenty-sixth jump;

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: Your average, run-of-the-mill jump—except some characters don't seem to be waking up from stasis like they should.



Don't worry.




THEY NEEDED THE REST.

You wake up in darkness.

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

You are not alone.
There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

This is your welcome party.

Comments

[emergingspirit]

A world-wide--

[No. Don't focus on it. Even though there were already so few Assassin's in Connor's time, don't focus on it. It's not like they can do anything from here.]

There is nothing we can do from here. We must focus on our current situation first.

[Aw, listen to him, trying to sound uplifting and in control.]

[needsheadphones]

[ She knows. She knows, and it's so hard not to think about it all of a sudden -- about Clay, about Lucy. About Desmond yet again, whose death is still ringing in the back of her mind. She's still partially hoping that she'll wake up and it will have been a dream. ]

Right. Getting off the spaceship is kind of a big step in doing... anything, when it comes to back home.

[emergingspirit]

[Connor is nothing if not sympathetic; he knows loss when he sees it, and he reaches out to rest a hand on Rebecca's shoulder.]

You will get home.

[needsheadphones]

[ There's a half-smile in response. ]

Thanks. You will too, you know. [ Connor has the advantage of a historical record. ]