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

[dislimb]

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.

[wrecktified]

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?"

[dislimb]

"Fuck you, Markerhead..!!" Nate's venom was far weaker then it had been a moment ago, mostly due to the fact that he was wildly out of breath and energy. His RIG was flickering against the wall, but at least it seemed to steady out rather than blink rapidly, as it had been. The insult was pretty out of character for Nate in general, but knowing that one of those "Markerheads" had nearly killed his best friend seemed to lessen his guilt over it. That, and the fact that he was under the impression that they had something to do with all that nonsense that had transpired.

And ultimately, in his mind, led to Gabe and Lexine's deaths.

Even so, Nate hadn't been able to protect them. He was just as terrible as those extremists.

Nate didn't even raise his head as Isaac neared. It was like he gave up. And in actuality, he had. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a point in fighting to stay conscious. His hand pressed weakly into his face, and Nate made a pitiful sound, something akin to a groan. He was just Done.

"Just..." Just what? Nate hadn't any idea what to say. He was overcome with exhaustion, with grief. "Why couldn't it have been me." A worthless question, though on Nate's lips, it was more a statement.

[wrecktified]

Standing before Nate, Isaac was having a hell of an argument with himself. He scrubbed the palms of his hands against his face, grinding his teeth in his frustration.

He dropped down in to a kneel in front of Nate after giving himself a severe mental scolding, grabbing him by the arms so he could drag him back up. "You're just a son of a bitch, aren't you?" Funny thing was, he wasn't sure who he was talking to- himself, or Nate.

Isaac supported his weight, dragging him along as he struggled to think of something to do with him. He didn't see any medics nearby and he didn't know where to find any. He wasn't a doctor, either, so he had no clue what needed to be done to patch Nate up. The only thing he could come up with was the locker room- earlier, a girl had told him there were sometimes things in there. Maybe he could find something useful, whether it was a damn bandage or an emergency contact system of some kind.

[dislimb]

Nate's vision was blurring, tunneling and blackening around the edges. He hadn't a damn care about what was to happen to him next. He was going to let things operate around him, go with the flow of it all, so to speak. He wasn't the type to off himself, at least the dementia hadn't suggested it yet, thankfully. Didn't change the fact that Nate didn't very much care for himself anymore. There wasn't a reason to fight anymore.

Which was why he allowed Isaac to move him around, like a ragdoll. He was deadweight, for the most part, aside from occasional squirms of discomfort. Somewhere halfway into their shared trek down the hallway, Nate suddenly tuned back into the action. Like a switch flipped in his head.

"Where are you taking me," He asked, weakly and almost disinterested. It wasn't that, though. He simply lacked energy to shout anymore. Everything started to catch up to him now that someone else was supporting his body. The adrenaline, what had been pushing him to continue on for hours now, was wearing off. Even if he cared about his ultimate destination, it didn't necessarily mean he cared enough to fight. "I thought you had someplace to be."

[wrecktified]

He didn't know where he was taking him. To the locker room, but aside from that, fuck if he knew. He left that question unanswered, instead responding to Nate's attempt at attitude. "I do." Hah... hahah...

Ugh.

The girl said his locker would be the one that matched the number on his arm- he hunted it down, dumping Nate off on the nearby bench so his hands would be free. He swung the locker open, thankful that no leeches jumped out at him; nothing much else did, either. A jumpsuit, plasma cutter, a single medium medpack...

A fucking medpack.

Isaac laughed bitterly. Giving his only medpack to a guy he couldn't even trust? Sure, why not. It wasn't the first stupid decision he'd made, and it wouldn't be the last. He removed it from his locker, dropping it in Nate's lap instead. It wouldn't do much for him, but it'd at least get him to yellow.

[dislimb]

Their little journey was boring enough to get Nate zoning out again until they reached the locker area. It was probably a bad idea to let himself drift off, as the whispers were bound to start up again. Luckily, some stuff went down soon enough. The feeling of a bench under his ass made Nate wake up enough to get a good look around; it was pretty much exactly as the lady had described it to him, but seeing it was sort of strange.

Even stranger was how Isaac rummaged around a seemingly random locker and dug out a medpack. Stranger still was that it ended up in his lap. Nate stared at it dimly, clearly confused beyond the exhaustion. "...Why are you giving this to me?" After all, the guy was a jerk... ready to leave him there to pass out... he looked at Isaac then, trying to read his face.

[wrecktified]

"Because I don't know what else to do, okay?" When in doubt, honesty is the best policy? Sometimes? Whatever. Isaac's voice was tense and exhausted at the same time. He wasn't ready to be backstabbed again, nor was he ready to answer a bunch of questions he wasn't prepared for.

All he wanted was a shower and to find a quiet place to collect himself.

"Look, do you want it or not?"

[dislimb]

"..." Nate's face clearly displayed his own level of distrust, as well. It was a sudden and abrupt turn around in attitude, especially without explanation. But, it was needed medicine; Nate wouldn't make it much further without a boost.

"...Thank you." His voice was soft in volume, but rough in cadence. As though he was fighting the urge to yell or cry or scream. All were valid reactions, as far as Nate was concerned. The whispers didn't agree.

Nate fumbled with the medkit, shakily waiting for it to properly enter his blood stream. It didn't take long, thankfully, and the blinking red soon faded into a steady orange, then yellow. It was almost like he had gotten a nap in, with the mere difference in energy level from a moment ago to the present. "Fuck..."

Nate inhaled sharply. He regarded his own nudity then, with a lack of shame but more with confused curiosity. "Last time I was in one of those pods I didn't think I'd get out." He said, distantly. Like it was almost a fond memory in comparison to their current situation.

[wrecktified]

"Yeah," he answered flatly, shutting the locker (in case Nate felt the urge to loot) and leaning his shoulder against it. Way to accept thanks gracefully, Isaac.

He watched Nate stabilize with a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Now that the crisis was over, the urge to flee had returned; it could wait, though, until he cleared one thing up. "You've been here before?" Isaac assumed he was referring to that specific sort of pod. Wrong, but a good try.

[dislimb]

"No," Nate shook his head. Now that he had some medicine in him, his concentration was amended. It was like magic... Didn't do anything for his mood, though. He leaned forward and rubbed his hand through his hair, ignoring the soreness of his scalp. "I was on the Ishimura's medbay. I was under quarantine, sort of. They thought me and my friends were... infected."

If he knew about the Ishimura, then Nate had to assume he knew about the necromorph infestation. It wasn't exactly easy to keep under wraps that an entire planet cracker was devastated by aliens. "Definitely not a pleasant way to wake up."

[wrecktified]

The Ishimura again, huh.

"I see." Isaac closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. He remained quiet, thinking and reeling in his temper. He wanted to prod Nate for answers and snap at him at the same time. There weren't supposed to be other Ishimura survivors. How had that happened? How many were there? Where had he been for the past six years? Had he been in stasis here all that time? How could Isaac be sure he wasn't a lying asshole?

He rested his head against the lockers as well, before he opened his eyes again. All of the cold metal pressed against his skin made him feel uncomfortably chilled, but the cool sensation against his temple also helped ease the ache he felt there. That's all this guy was, so far- a headache.

Idly, he wondered if Nate was sick of being stared at yet.

[dislimb]

"Seems like the Ishimura's a sore spot for you," That much was obvious, more so now that Nate was growing more aware of what was going on around him. Isaac was probably going to regret giving him that medicine sooner or later. Still, even if Nate had questions himself, he also was wary of this guy's temper. Unitologist or not, he didn't want to set him off when he was at such a gross disadvantage.

"I'm sorry." He didn't really know what he was sorry for, but putting together the pieces seemed to suggest that maybe Isaac had known someone on the ship. Or maybe the colony? Either way, he didn't like seeing others in pain over losing a loved one. Lexine had been heartbreaking enough.

As for the staring, Nate chalked it up to ... whatever reason that caused Isaac to jerk away from him initially. Maybe he thought he'd turn into a necromorph? Seemed legit.

[wrecktified]

Shrug. "I heard about it, it was a sad story." Maybe Isaac just had a lot of feelings...

Or, rather, maybe he wasn't all that keen on sharing yet. It was funny, in an accidental and pathetic way- Nate suspected Isaac was a Unitologist, and Isaac suspected Nate was another EarthGov agent, like Kendra had been.

They were both dumb.

"Are you good to go now?"

[dislimb]

"...Yeah. Real sad. Understatement of the century." Really? Sad? That didn't even begin to describe the level of hell Nate went through on that damned ship. But, he didn't feel like talking about it. Not yet; he was still reeling from the fact that the Sprawl was gone.

"...I should be." Nate looked Isaac's way, then down at the floor. Time to try getting up again! This time, his legs didn't buckle, though he was still a bit shaky. Not too bad. He should have been able to get where he needed to go now. A shower sounded wonderful, though getting clothed was probably more prudent. "Thanks. You didn't have to come back to help me, so I appreciate that." Even if it was a bit suspicious...

[wrecktified]

Oh, good, he could stand on his own. Isaac was relieved- he wouldn't have to pull him around anywhere else. This was awkward enough, he felt like he'd overstayed.

Even though this was his locker...

Isaac pushed away from the lockers, righting himself as well, and acknowledged Nate's gratitude in the kindest way he could. "I know," he said with a sigh, voice sounding suddenly tired. The way he looked at Nate practically radiated a sense of don't make me regret it.

"Well, since you've got this under control, I'll leave you to it." Isaac had places to be, things to take care of. Like this crusty shit on his skin. That wasn't going to work. And he couldn't think of a tidy way to wrap things up with Nate, so he just... awkardly moved away and headed for the showers.