twenty-eighth 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: It could just be the standard sensation of air on wet skin, but if you bother to check, you might notice the steam rising from your body, barely there and gone within a minute. By the time you get to the showers, it will be clear that it's not just taking you time to adjust. The room is cold — colder than usual, but no worse than the last jump. While it's nothing dangerous, it's certainly motivation to hurry through the usual routine and get dressed quickly.



It's getting closer.




YOUR EYES ARE OPEN.

KEEP LOOKING.

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

[cargojet]

[ Oh, he is not putting up with this shit. No, he's not going to strike out again, not going to hit her now he knows who she is, now that he's more collected.

But he is not. Absolutely not. Putting up with this. She can try and eviscerate him if she likes, but he'll take that before being belittled and undermined. Over being ordered to obey someone, anyone, but especially Daphne, as though he cares remotely what she thinks. Yes, the ship tried to kill them, but they learned more from that one act than from sitting on their butts for the last two years. ]

I understand that you think you have more of a say in this than anyone else here. If I choose, and if other people choose to put their lives in danger to try and achieve something, then that is their right, not yours. Just as, if people choose to follow me, yes, even especially now, it's not remotely your business either.

And they will.

[chuffle]

You know, I'm not even angry that you went into this stupid plan. I'm angry that you went into this stupid plan without obviously thinking it through, and that you endangered other people to do it. Are you pleased? Have you proved your point?

[She slaps him, heavily, like a tiger cuffing a cub. That's exactly what this is. A tiger cuffing an especially stupid cub.]

You're an idiot, Nathan. I see it, and soon everyone else will, too.

[And she turns around and walks away.]