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

[battlesleep]

[ She turns and it is her and something in his heart seizes, either with relief or dread. (What has the power to put him in a new body and to take Shepard? Shepard is a force of nature. )

But he takes a step forward, and then another and she recognized him, somehow even in all of this unfamiliarity and an entirely different body Shepard knew him. The last time he felt this grateful she had saved his son, and he makes his way through the last people between them so that at least they can speak quietly, relief on his face. ]

Siha. I seem to be - [ Well. He lifts one hand, turns it over and drops it again. ]

You do not seem surprised to be here. [ She has a gun in her hand, unlike any of the others he can see around them, all with nothing. ]

[2leftfeet]

[There's something high in her throat at the sight of him and she doesn't know what it is except for some sharp disappointment - not that he's here (or maybe it is) or that he's only recognizable by the particular tone of his voice (though maybe it's that too), but by the time he's closed the distance she's swallowed it down and squared her shoulders despite the sustained bumps of passengers trying to slide past.

With no way to ease him into any of this, especially not when he's been shoved into a new body, she doesn't bother with overtures.]

I've been here five months-- six jumps. [She doesn't loosen her grip on the gun, the towel, but she does instinctively take a step closer to him.] The ship isn't fond of alien biology. Tali, Garrus, Javik - they all have new bodies too.

[battlesleep]

[ It is like Shepard, to be this blunt and to the point, and there is a part of him reeling with the information given because he knows it to be false but Shepard would not lie to him. Unless this abduction - has he been left suspended for months? ]

I was just trying to reach you and the Councilor on the Citadel - [ he pauses, brow wrinkling with concern. ] They are all here too? What is this place?

[2leftfeet]

[So wracks her brain for a moment and then stops herself - he's from ahead of her as well then. Or from some other universe entirely, though at least one where she looks the same, maybe even one where she sometimes makes the same decisions. He'd called her Siha.]

And Joker. We're on a ship - the Tranquility - in the Andromedan galaxy. Something in its jump tech is misaligned and has it punching holes through the space-time continuum. [There's a faint curl to her lip because yes, those words just came out of her mouth.] It might be Reapers, might be something else.

[There's an urge to gloss over the rest, but she wrestles it down.]

The last thing I remember is getting ready to jump through the Omega-4 Relay to go after the Collectors. I've been briefed on the rest. [Imperfectly, but it's not like she can ask for more than that.]

[battlesleep]

[ He listens to all that she's saying attentively, the lines of his confusion and faint distress showing through more clearly on this face than he means them to. He is not used to concealment with this body, not used to how you stand so that nothing comes across that you do not mean it to.

He will learn, in time, but for the moment his concern is clear in the set of his shoulders and eyes, the cant of his body towards her. One hand drifts forwards and touches hers on the gun. ] Shepard, that was months ago. I don't understand - what could have this power?

[ Not even the Reapers could toy with time like this, not that he was aware of. ] You have been here for five months?

[2leftfeet]

[She goes very still at the brush of his hand against hers.]

Yeah, I know. Five months, Garrus too. Everyone else is on four. It might be longer than that; no one's really sure how long we sit in stasis during the jumps. [A pause, then an abrupt turn:] --You should find your locker and see if anything useful came with you.

[Which is more sharp edged than what she means to have come out of her mouth and there's a flicker across her face like she immediately regrets the word choice, mouth drawn momentarily tight.]

[battlesleep]

I see.

[ Absorbing, still, and it's not just the information he's taking in. It's her stillness when he touches her hand, the sternness of her words. The lack of - he's not sure what he's looking for in her but it isn't there. Something is wrong. ]

Certainly. It will be - [ he turns to look to where others had headed, gestures in that direction. ] There is a chance they will have brought my things?

[2leftfeet]

If you're lucky. [And because it'd be remiss of her not to say something--] Be careful when you open the door.

[For a moment, she lets it sit. Then Shepard looses her fingers from the knot in her towel, catching his arm to get a look at the tattoo there. Her grip is light, hands callused, She wants to be happier to see him here. Instead she memorizes the number and then turns, shoulders leading.]

You're this way.

[battlesleep]

Will it attempt to bite me?

[ He lets her take his arm, glances at the tattoo only a moment before glancing back up at her and moving to follow, letting himself be carried in her wake as ever. It is easy. Always is, with her.

But he can't shake the sense of unease about this entire place as he glances around the lockers, and it is only a moment later that he realizes he does not remember what number his tattoo was.

His second glance is more thorough, the muscles of his body rigid though he says nothing. ] Did you receive anything?

[2leftfeet]

It might.

[Which is light enough to be a joke, though the hint of a grin she offers back at him is thin as she leads the way toward the correct aisle, the correct locker.]

A locker full of blood after jump twenty-four, but other than that? No.

[battlesleep]

[ The number is easy enough to find, a brief glance enough to confirm it is the correct one, and he imitates those he saw opening their lockers, lifts out his gun and clothes, the apparently standard issue uniform. ]

It seems my luck has been slightly better than yours. [ Testing that the gun is loaded. Not enough ammunition, but better than nothing. ] My arm is yours once more, Shepard.

[2leftfeet]

[Any jealousy over the contents of his locker - actual clothes she recognizes (though fleetingly considers whether they'll fit), the weapon - is negligible to the point of non-existence. It's been a long month, a long time in stasis, and she's glad to see he's armed.

It'll make things easier.]

Good. [Which sounds genuine. She pauses then, glancing at some point on his shoulder - pointedly not giving his the once over that's probably warranted.] How's that arm feeling? Acclimating?