ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

Entry tags:

twenty-eighth jump;

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Wake up. Wake up. C'mon, Nate, rise and shine."

To say Nate was rattled was ridiculous. There was no word strong enough to describe the level of unrest in that mind of his, especially after all that had transpired on the Ishimura. A dull ache in his arm became far more pronounced as a shooting pain as consciousness came to him. His eyes snapped open and sudden confusion caused a panic in his chest. The tubes were far too familiar; just like the ones on the Ishimura, the ones Nicole had put he and the others in. The urge to struggle and scream was far more prevalent than Nate wanted to admit, but he had no chance to. The tube was gone, the liquid with it, and he found himself squirming out of the strange container like a lowly belly crawling slug.

He coughed violently. The tube was out, but he never liked the feeling left behind after a stint in a recovery chamber. That was the least of his concerns, however. He was cold, vulnerable and impossibly tired. Sore, paranoid... there were too many things going on in his head. He went to brush the excess liquid out of his face, but then came to remember that his hand was no longer there. Nate's stomach twisted into a painful knot. His wound appeared to be properly wrapped, at the very least, but the fact remained that he hadn't a clue what transpired. Did he black out? Probably. Where was Gabe and Lexine?

Nate hadn't even noticed the numbers permanently engraved on his left arm, but he had noticed the familiar glow of his RIG reflecting off the various metallic surfaces around him. Red. That wasn't good. Someone clearly took care of his arm, but not much else. As a matter of fact, he felt weak. His knees didn't want to support him, so Nate ended up crouched near the pods, left hand pressed firmly into his face.

[ ooc; JUST A NOTE: nate is missing his right arm from his elbow down. think malik from assassin's creed! also, a rig unit is installed in his back, which will draw much attention due to the fact that it's, yknow, a glowing thing sticking out of his back. ]

Edited (ooc note!) 2014-02-08 06:21 (UTC)

[ He's known for taking care of his own, but none of these men and women are "his own." They're not his marines--UNSC issue and bright-eyed and willing to follow him through hell and (sparingly) back. But there is something to be said about a man huddled on the floor that brings John briefly back to marines hunched over, bleeding through their shoulders, their arms, their legs, their guts.

Over the shoulder and double time. Back home if they're able to be saved.

So he moves forward slowly, a behemoth of a man at 6'10" but with movements like that of liquid, easy and adjusted. He's naked and covered in damnable goop, but he can't seem to really care all that much. He slips into a slight crouch.

Observing him briefly, he speaks. ]

Can you stand?

[ nate wasn't terribly aware of what his current posture indicated, but he wasn't aware of a lot of things at that point in time. some whispers here and there were distracting and made nate pale over. he wanted to scream in agony and frustration, but he simply didn't have the energy to.

when he heard the unfamiliar voice, it was jarring. no mocking cadence of eckhardt, no stern meter of gabe, no helpless cry of lexine. nate wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign, but it didn't matter. the rest of the world filtered in around him and he realized that someone was standing there. crouching there. staring at him. nate's mouth was drawn into a thin, terse line, and his eyes scattered around, as if he was trying to see past the large man in front of him.

he hadn't any idea what to do. what if this wasn't a real person? then again, what if it was? he stared up at him, his green eyes finally focusing in the present, in the now, rather than lost in some haze of confusion. ]

...I don't. [ his voice was cracked and uncomfortable. the tube hadn't done him any favors. ] I don't know. Maybe? I haven't really tried.

Try.

[ It's a quiet suggestion. He says only what needs to be said. That's how he's always been. He'll stay crouched, see if he can. And if he can't, well, there's a reason he's there. He doesn't go out of his way for many people (not anymore), but memories can be terribly persistent. ]

If not, I'll help.

[ His tone never quite changes, a rough and detached sound. ]

[ nate regarded the man with a measured look. it was about then that he was noticing just how tall and built he was. it was unnatural, in fact. furthermore, he couldn't see the glow of a RIG unit on the guy's back. that was... strange.

as he attempted to stand on shaky legs, nate decided to pry about it. what the hell happened to this guy if he didn't have a RIG? ]

...Where's your RIG? [ probably a bit rude of him, all things considered, but his curiosity was too strong. ]

Edited 2014-02-13 04:58 (UTC)

RIG.

[ He says it as if maybe trying the word out. Word? Acronym? He would ask Cortana to search anything and everything for what it might mean, but he can't. She's not in his head anymore. He eases into a position that would be apt for catching someone who's about to fall over. ]

What is that?

... You're kidding, right? [ nate couldn't help but laugh a little, despite the disorientation and shaky posture. ] Resource Integrated Gear? This thing? [ he gestured to his back and the glowing device attached to it. ]

No.

[ I'm not kidding. He tips his head just a bit to see the strip along his back, glowing a soft red color. That... didn't seem like a good thing. He's got a neural lace sure, integrative technology to let Cortana in and out, to contact with his fellow Spartan-IIs back on Reach. But it didn't look like... that. ]

Never heard of it.

... How is that possible? You must be from somewhere way out there. [ once nate was on his feet, he pressed his hand against a wall to steady himself. ] I mean, everyone's supposed to have one.

[ sometimes people show up in worse conditions than others, and han can't help but marvel that it could be him. or how bad this guy's luck has to be to come in with only one arm and it has to be this place. it could have been a hospital, it could have been another place that could have given it back to him.

but it wasn't. it was the tranquility. he can't help it, somewhere in the back of his head, he decides to the do the right thing and help him out.]

Hey. You need a hand or something? [or something makes it seem kind of antagonistic, but still gets the message across. isn't he lucky?]

[ nate usually wasn't short on good humor; he had the uncanny ability to take the piss out of himself regardless of the situation. this was one of those times where it was unfortunately too serious and too painful to get a laugh at his own expense. in fact, after the dazed look that ran across nate's face, he became positively infuriated. ]

Funny. [ lucky for this man, nate also had the uncanny ability to measure himself. the fact that he hadn't flown off the handle just yet, despite the pain in his arm, the whispers in his head, was nothing short of miraculous. he didn't move, however; crouched like a wounded animal, wary of just about everything around him. the red light on his back flashed in time with his pulse, unsteady and uneven. he felt dizzy, in no shape for a tussle. why his mind snapped to that conclusion could probably be chalked up to the biting paranoia that swelled up within.

his eyes flicked around, never setting their gaze in one spot for more than a few moments. he expected the man to disappear, or perhaps turn into one of those beasts. or for a beast to come up behind him and decapitate him. anything was possible as far as nate was concerned. he said nothing further, his left hand hovering over the bandaged wound of his right arm. ]

[oh, right. han has to close his eyes for a moment, wondering what possessed him to even say something like that. maybe he was losing his edge, or maybe he just felt bad for the guy without having the dig the knife in deeper. usually people get nicknames about their ailments, but it wasn't until they got a shot or two at you before you could laugh about it.

or say it in hatred.

regardless, he was still offering the guy a hand to get up and get out of there. call it the rebel spirit in him or the fact that han was actually a good guy.]

Let's get you the hell out of here.

[ nate's eyes flicked up to the man's face, then past him. he was almost certain he saw movement behind him, but whether it was real or simply something he perceived wasn't clear. it probably wouldn't be, either. sweat started to form at his brow, and his breathing became heavier. now was the time to make a decision: go with this stranger or stagger around aimlessly.

well, nate was a risk taker. being alone probably wasn't a good idea, anyway. he reached out and grasped at the man's hand firmly, shakily urging himself up. ]

... Thank you.

Don't mention it.

[seriously. either people wouldn't believe him or it'll be extra painful when ncneill goes ahead and betrays him. han finds himself in the same situation, but at least he has two arms to fight people off.]

Come on, showers are this way.

Isaac couldn't stand the chill in the air anymore. He felt uncomfortably sticky as well, and he knew couldn't linger by his pod forever. He started for the showers, keeping an eye on as many things as he humanly could while he moved. There was so much to look at. New faces, new places- and a glimpse of glowing red that had him lurching to a stop, as if he'd run face-first in to an invisible wall.

He'd thought he was imagining things. No one in this place, no matter how unique some of them were, seemed to have a RIG. Except for this guy.

Isaac stayed there, frozen and staring openly. His head was urging his body to go, but his legs refused to listen.

Nate had the same issues, atop his more unique afflictions. Stickiness, frozen to the bone, a marked inability to move from the spot he had came to. Granted, this other fellow clearly had an upper hand on Nate as far as mere distance traveled; Nate had barely made it three feet from his personal little sludge tube before his knees decided they had enough.

By the time Isaac's presence had been registered by Nate, he had moved from an awkward crouch to a far less pitiful stance of hunched over on his knees, left hand pressed firmly against the floor. Supporting his entire weight was a difficult task, especially given how slick the floor was and how weak Nate had become, but he managed... Taking a deep, shaky breath, he looked up to see this stranger, his eyes fighting to focus. Why was he staring at him like that...

"...What's the matter? Haven't seen a naked man before?" Ahahah... okay, he had a little bite left in him, but if this guy decided to poke fun at his condition, that shaky neutral state could quickly turn aggressive. He didn't have time to screw around, after all.

Damn, he looked bad. Isaac was caught up in an internal conflict; help him, or leave him. On one hand, he felt like this stranger was one of his own kind, so to speak. On the other, that was precisely the reason why he felt he should keep his distance. For all Isaac knew, he was a Unitologist or EarthGov. Maybe even the same asshole who'd broken in to his apartment and smashed him in the face before he woke up here.

But he was spotted before he could settle on a decision, and he had to admit, he was surprised by the choice of conversation starter. About to keel over and he still had jokes, wow.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes- and may have failed. "Never. I've just decided it's not my thing." There was a brief pause, then. "Do you have this," he made a vague gesture towards Nate, "under control, or...?"

He was just getting started with the jokes, apparently; Isaac gave him an opening he couldn't resist. "Your loss, I guess." HahahAHAHAHA ok Nate laughed a little at himself just... out of how ridiculous the entire situation was. It hurt his ribs doing so, but he couldn't help it. He was nude, for Christ's sake, and critically, if not fatally, injured. The loss of blood and all the stress must have really been getting to him. If that was the case, he wasn't about to go out without embarrassing himself a little.

He'd start on that task by trying to get up off the floor. His legs felt like the gelatin that he had come out of, but he managed to get up... a little. He cussed in frustration, looking around bleakly for something to support himself on. "Oh yeah. Totally."

His eyes flicked up to this man suddenly, as if he was waiting for him to lunge out or attack him. "You're a pretty vivid... hallucination." Talking to his supposed spectres? Or was he kidding, making a reference to the situation in general? Nate felt himself sink into a defeated state. Even he hadn't a clue. "I don't suppose you'd know where I could hook myself up to an implant station, do you?"

Fuck. Isaac sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on- not because of Nate's terrible jokes, but because of himself. His own idiotic God damned head. There were plenty of people around; he could leave, the guy would be fine, someone else would probably do something. But Isaac knew exactly what that blinking red light meant, and he couldn't in all good consciousness just split when someone was wobbling in front of him and obviously loopy from traumatic injuries.

His inability to get the fuck out of dodge made him angry; he had a surly look on his face when he dropped his hand and glanced back up at Nate. Fine. Fine, he'd at least get him... somewhere. Isaac took a step towards Nate, reaching a hand out, intending to grab hold of him and lead him away-

Until he heard the word hallucination. Nothing made a knot of anxiety form in his gut like that word. He recoiled slowly, drawing his arm back toward himself, suddenly not wanting to touch Nate at all.

It was probably nothing- a side effect from blood loss, or disbelief at waking up in a place like this. Vivid hallucinations didn't have to mean anything. But Isaac still watched him warily, like he was contagious. "No," he said quietly, clearly uncomfortable. "This is my first time here, I don't know where anything is. You should flag down a doctor."

Nate would have clearly shown genuine gratitude in Isaac's gesture, had he been given the chance. He wouldn't have blamed him for jerking away, either; if their situations were reversed, it was probably pretty likely Nate would be wary, too. But that was assuming that Nate was of clearheaded persuasion, which he definitely was not.

He hazily watched Isaac approach, his mouth open to say something defeatist and sarcastic, but Isaac snatched it right out of his throat when he caught sight of him jerking back. Nate was an untouchable, apparently. His eyes studied Isaac's face, searching for some sort of unspoken answer, but he found none. His ability to read people was off its game, predictably. All Nate could see was someone disgusted or fearful.

"...I see," Nate croaked roughly, stumbling backwards in an attempt to put distance between them. It was embarrassing, being so helpless, but Nate was stubborn, too. He managed to grasp onto a wall clumsily while he caught his breath. Sweat was starting to run down his face and he was markedly paler than he had been. "This isn't the Ishimura, is it..." His voice was soft, as if he was speaking to someone that wasn't there.

Isaac heard it. He wasn't lucky enough to not have heard it.

This isn't the Ishimura, is it...

His head hurt. His chest hurt, his stomach hurt. This was- something. A trap, or a bad joke, or a dream? Isaac didn't know. What he knew was that he felt sick, worried, and livid all at once; his brain and body couldn't settle on a state of being, so he did the only thing he could do. He shut down.

Face and voice equally blank, he answered, "No, it's not."

He stared for a moment longer, branding the stranger's sickly looking face in to his memory for future reference (avoid, avoid, avoid) before speaking again. "I have to go." That said, he turned, and began to walk.

He'd point a doctor his way or something.

Well, that wasn't a reaction he expected, especially since he hadn't really directed the question Isaac's way in the first place. He looked confused, then it sort of clicked: this guy probably heard about what went down on the ship. It was too personal of a reaction to be just a flat out rejection. "--Wait,"

Nate was in absolutely no shape to be chasing people around, but he made the effort regardless. Pushing from the wall, he stumbled and swayed for a few steps before managing a semi-straight line towards Isaac's quicker pace. It was difficult, it hurt all over, and he was certain he'd faint eventually, but he needed at least some more context before he made a bed on the floor. The voices in his head were starting up again, hissing dissonance and chiding Nate for behaving the way he was. "S-stop." That wasn't exactly directed at Isaac, either, but he'd probably take it that way.

"I... I need... I need my friends. I need to know if they're okay," His voice strained and started to pick up in volume, and with it, stress and panic. His chest was tight. This guy couldn't just leave him like this, right?! He was dying, for shit's sake! "We were headed towards the Sprawl, I passed out on the pod and woke up here. Please, I need--" Nate sucked in a breath and knocked right into a wall, unable to force his legs further along. "I won't... forgive myself. I have to find them."

Isaac whirled around on Nate like a snarling animal. There was something furious and desperate about the way he glared at him, not unlike agitated, cornered prey ready to fight to the death. "I don't know what kind of shit you're playing at-" He nearly felt a twinge of guilt; it seemed wrong to spit fire at someone in such pitiful shape, someone whose begging sounded almost honest, but there had to be something shady behind this.

First the Ishimura, now the Sprawl? That wasn't a coincidence. He didn't know who Nate was working for or how he'd ended up so injured, and he didn't care. This was bullshit.

Nevertheless, much to his own disgust, he took the bait. "Good luck finding them, since the Sprawl's fucking gone, and all." Trying to pit Isaac's own empathy against him- what a cheap move. Again, he turned away, taking off once more. "Just stay the fuck there, I'll send someone to you."

Oh.

"You failed."

Nate stared, wide-eyed and slack jawed at Isaac's accusations. His brain went completely blank. There was nothing there, nothing firing off, just the hissing words spoken in Gabe's voice, over and over again.

"You killed us."

The Sprawl. The Sprawl was gone? How?? Nate had made contact to a station on the Sprawl not a week or two before the whole incident went down on Aegis VII. There was no way it was gone. That didn't make any fucking sense! Against his wishes, Nate's legs buckled and he slid down the wall, staring past Isaac as he tried to piece a sequence of events together. Normally, Nate might have regarded that information rationally, asking and prodding for information--who, what, how, why??--but the thought of Lexine and Gabe, dead and gone was too much.

"No," Nate murmured, reaching up to his face with his remaining hand. He gripped into his still slick hair, pulling and digging. "No, no, no." Flashes of memories came, old with new, twisting and melding together. "Get a hold of yourself." Nate gnashed at himself, digging into his short hair more desperately when his fingers couldn't gain enough purchase to tug with force.

"They can't be..." If Isaac was out of earshot by then, Nate hadn't noticed. He was working through frustrated grief; all that work, all that loss, just to get to some ship alone, without his friends? The ones he had to protect? He failed, badly.

"Fuck you, you're lying!" All of that frustration suddenly erupted from Nate like water boiled over from a pressure cooker. He glared at Isaac's back, that fucking RIG, fully functional and not red, mocking his own pitiful state. "You're a fucking liar!" What Gabe had said about Eckhardt, the suspicion in his voice, it created a path for Nate to charge down blindly. "You're probably one of those Goddamned Unitologists, aren't you?" His chest was tight, his RIG blinking wildly in time with his quickened pulse, and his vision was hazing over. Nate shook his head, then suddenly and sharply slammed his hand into the wall behind him. "Fuck! Fuck..." And as quickly as his temper flared, it died down, Nate's posture slumped against the cold wall.

Isaac was gone. Out. Done. Finished.

...Mostly. He was well on his way, figuring someone else could deal with Nate, but he hadn't traveled far enough to be out of earshot. He mainly ignored the yelling, but there was one particular insult that made him pause.

Someone speaking ill of Unitology... it was a breath of fresh air. Isaac knew, logically, that it could be an effort to lure him back in. He'd been lied to enough times before, but the seed of doubt had been planted in his mind, and now all he could think was what if I'm wrong.

God, he felt like throwing up.

Against his (possibly) better judgement, he turned back around, returning to Nate. "Hey. Hey!" Shit, shit, he wasn't screaming or flailing around anymore. Was he awake? Or alive? "What'd you call me?"

twenty-eighth jump;

PODS | OPEN

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)