MARCH ARRIVAL LOG;

[freezers]

⬡ WHO: Everyone!!
⬡ WHAT: Waking up in space, naked and... not actually that alone. Also, a hull breach, also, some fuckery in the AC room.
⬡ WHEN: Day 001 - 004
⬡ WHERE: Kostka IV, all over.
⬡ NOTES: WARNINGS: Body horror, scary monsters, creepy invisible things, rude naked people, Mass Effect Banshee Screech, 2% Cannibalism.

Please send all QUESTIONS here!

GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE

⬡ [ DAY 001 - 003 ] A spark of electricity convulses through your body, and you jolt awake - underwater. Or, at least, that's most peoples' first guess. The color is more vibrant than water should be, and heavier, your body feeling sluggish against the weight and drag of it. Or perhaps you're just slower to respond, distant, limbs and mind still drowsy and reeling. The bright fluid doesn't sting when you blink, if anything, it's soothing, healing, calming. Fortunate, that, because you're going to need it. As the pod-like chamber you're held in starts to drain of the liquid, your senses begin to flood back in. Awareness filters in like a window curtain holding back the morning sun, gradually easing away with each inch the water line lowers. There's something on your face - a mask, strapped around the back of your head, and other thinner tendrils against your cheeks, your ears, your neck. Narrow tubes are channeled through in your nostrils, and cables have slithered in through your ears, plugging into God knows what on the inside of your skull. There's a click that you feel more than hear, and the tension on them slacks, disconnected from somewhere inside you. Pull - up, back, to the side, whichever way you want - and they start to drag free. Far from the most pleasant feeling (likely leaves you wanting to crawl right out of your skin), but it doesn't quite hurt or burn, yet. That's for the inch wide tube shoved down your throat and held in place by the mask. It's also what's keeping you breathing underneath this blue space-goo though, so maybe don't go yanking it off until the lid of your pod opens. As the fluid drains, a voice crackles in over the sound of water oscillating around your ears. Not something played from a speaker anywhere, nothing projected on a screen, and whether the cables are still in your ears or not, you hear her all the same, as if she's more inside your head than she is broadcasting over a speaker inside the pod or coming muffled from outside. Even still, it's stuttered and interrupted, like the connection is weak, interference like static white noise buzzing through and covering up parts of sentences. ❝ I don’t have a lot of tim— RIP can’t spare the power to run this more t—, so pay attention. No one knows where it came fr— out of radio contact when it happened, whatever it w— Everything in its path. There is no fighting it. Only surviv— Droids handle most of the maintenance, but she’s getting wor— Take the load off. Whatever happe— just keep Ripley running. If the ship stops, we’re all dea— —’re bodies are new, still adjusting. You’ll be on unsteady legs for a while, so take it slo— might end up face-planting, and there’s only so many replacemen— Mess hall’s lock— so make do. The cryo pod fluid’s the most nutritious thing around, just don’t think about wh— —’s all I can tell you. Good luck. ❞ » » » READ MORE HERE « « « At the end of the long lines of cryo pods, the halls meet at a small medbay. It seems some merciful someone has left a stack of thin, cloth sheets on one of the medbay tables, so it's best you pick one up, towel off a bit, and then toga it, until you find something more durable. Hopefully, at some point, someone will discover a door leading to a storage room is unlocked. There, you'll find some very stylish, bright orange jumpsuits. With luck, you'll make it there before you freeze. [[ OOC CONTENT WARNING (2% Cannibalism): This is OOC knowledge only, but given the sketchy nature of this, we wanted to make sure you guys are aware of what's coming ahead of time, so if you'd like to avoid having to RP the fallout from it, you have that option. The blue goop in the cryo pods that the NPCs have been telling characters to eat in order to expedite their acclimation to their new bodies/get over their Bambi Legs syndrome? It's 2% people. That's actual people, not recycled HOST bodies. This 2% is largely what aids the organic part of HOST bodies to work seamlessly with the synthetic part, but drinking the goop is not actually necessary to HOST body survival after emerging from the pods. Foregoing it will leave your character in a weakened state for a longer period of time (think more like 1 - 2 weeks of varying states of bambi legs rather than 1-3 days), but do have another option for sustenance worked into the O2 Garden prompt below if you'd like to avoid dealing you character realizing they ate People Soup in the future. Again, this is OOC knowledge only. Definitely don't feel obligated to have your character eat People Soup if you don't want them to, but please come up with a reason for your character to seek alternate food sources rather than "you know, I think this might have people in it", as we don't want to go into info-modding territory. Thanks, homies!! ]] MAINTENANCE ⬡ [ DAY 001 - 003 ] We're hoping you had time to get over the Bambi legs and get your space legs under you (as well as some space pants onto your body), because Ripley expended a lot of processing power to waking you up. That means it's up to you to make up the difference and get to work cleaning this place up to make it habitable for you and your new crewmates. It's been nothing but RIP and her droids for the last who knows how long, so those things that need to be functioning for the continued survival of organic bodies need to get working. Here's the chores on the docket: ⬡ Water Filtration; Hydration - always a must for you squishy, fleshy things, isn't it? The canal that runs through the Ring atrium is a large part of the reserves, and at one dark innocuous end an uncomfortable grinding noise can be heard. Beneath the surface of the water where there should be wall, there is instead an enormous fan about ten feet in diameter. It's grinding so loud the sound escapes the water barrier, and the cause is pretty clear. There's something wedged between one of the fan blades and the circular housing it's contained in. Someone will need to dive down ten or twelve feet and unstick the human skull stopping the filtration system from running. Beware, though — the second it's free the fan blades will begin spinning, sucking gallons upon gallons of water down into the depths. Hope you can swim! ⬡ O2 Garden; Oxygen - another must. The up-side here is that the facility has been virtually untouched, yielding unchecked growth for the time no one's been tending to it, so there's no need to worry about a lack of oxygen for the time being. The bad part is more about the chaos that's left behind. The garden is nearly a jungle at this point, and if crew is to make their way around easily, manage the hydroponics, and set up the vegetable gardens again to provide food outside of the cryo soup, there's some major work to be done. It likely doesn't help that some of the more volatile samples have broken free from containment and mixed in with the rest of the garden. One hostile species will spit acidic venom at things wandering close to its roots while others just chomp down on anything that ventures within reach. Ripley advises boots and protective gear when taking on this task, but getting rid of those weeds is up to you. Here, crew can also find their alternate food sources here, if you're OOCly wanting to avoid dealing with the People Soup reveal later on. If crew can slay some of the hostile plants, then find a means to make a fire and fry them up, the weirdly chewy salad your left with won't taste great by any means, and you'll be left with Bambi Legs for more like a couple weeks rather than a couple days without the cryo soup, but you can keep yourself fed this way. We recommend the little bitey ones over the big, venomy ones (they give a bit of indigestion). Those that explore the garden may stumble upon what looks like a miniature altar placed carefully on the ground: a shoebox sized box, made of metal and encircled by a ring traced deep into the dirt. A hexagon marks the top of the box, and when touched it reads on the HUD as ‘EDIBLE’. Inside are what looks to be clear packets and packets of dead seeds. At the bottom, however, is an opaque packet that initially lets out a puff of white dust when opened. It might freak you out, but it will prove to be harmless-- and the reward might be worth the minor scare: the hexagon on the packet, acting like a QR code, similar to the one on the outside of the box, explains that these are seeds for genetically altered potatoes. They might not taste great, but with a little extra care they can grow within 2 weeks. There’s a hundred seeds at least, and most of them appear to be viable. ⬡ Assist the Droids; The won't talk, but they do beep and boop and shove things at your person to hold. If you're unwilling to help with anything else going on, you'll be assigned as a glorified pack-mule. Hold whatever the droids give you, hold it right there, hold it steady, and if you get shocked because you moved too much to the left, well, you really only have yourself to blame. Keep a mind to where your feet are falling as well - stepping on a droid zooming past will not only be likely to get you knocked on your ass, but probably earn you an short, sharp, electric shock from them as well. Good luck, have fun, try not to die because Ripley's exhausted from waking you up, and the droids suck at first aid— not to mention, very stiff bedside manner. SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS; ⬡ [ DAY 001 - 005 ] Currently, there is no access to any proper crew quarters or barracks. The Ring is likely the best place to sleep, given the space and the various park benches scattered around, though not the most comforting, as it’s large and shadowy, with unsettling echos bouncing off the walls and traveling all throughout. A VIIK spontaneously malfunctioning could jolt a person awake with violent screams, or invade their dreams with creeping, hissing whispers. If you happen to hear something tapping along in the dark corners of the massive Ring in the night, surely it’s just a droid going about its work, or another glitchy kiosk, right? Right. Ripley recommends returning to the cryo pods for sleep. They’re very ergonomic, well insulated, and perfectly out of the way of all foot and droid traffic. Just a little bit slimy, but as we’ve discussed, that slime is the most nutrient rich substance you’ll find on the ship. Easy midnight snack, right? If you happen to wake up in the middle of the night and think you spot a human-shaped shadow hovering over you through the glass lid of the pod, just blink hard a time or two, and it’ll be gone. No worries at all, safe and sound. Otherwise, find a nice little corner and curl up. GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM; ⬡ [ DAY 003 ] While Projection is not yet available, all HOST bodies share free access to a neural network through which they can communicate via text, audio, or video. One of the first things the HOST platform will prompt the new mind housed inside it will be to set up a sequence of finger taps to open up the network HUD. The system is fairly intuitive, and all one need do is reach up a hand to touch the option they wish to select. For text, a keyboard overlay will appear in the HOST's visual perception, and, dy default, all messages will show: a name, a username, and an ID code. Feel free to make these up as you like. These can be adjusted, and a HOST can post anonymously to the network as well (no guarantees Ripley can't trace it back to the origin, but she's not going to tell). There are no real rules on the usage of this network, aside from don't try to hack your friends, or your not-friends (just don't hack anyone, okay, it's rude). Ripley does understand the human need to socialize, especially in trying and stressful circumstances, so have at it kids. On the third day, once everyone’s woken up, Ripley will be making one quick announcement that she will not be capable of replying to just yet - waking you jerks up took a lot out of her, so give her some time. The voice that you hear doesn't come through any speaker or intercom around you, nor is it originating from any of the bodies or droids nearby. You hear what sounds like a young girl speaking as if inside your head, and she sounds exhausted: ❝ ATTENTION ALL CREW: This is Ripley. While I realize abduction and consciousness displacement is frowned upon in many human societies, please understand this was an emergency protocol enacted at the last possible moment. You have questions. I will answer as best as I'm able, as much as I'm able, but much of the data you're looking for has suffered massive corruption, held in a type of quarantine. The most important thing you need to know is that you, and all organic life within the multiverse, are being hunted. The mission of this vessel is to protect and preserve what remains of that life. Take time to acclimate to your new platforms. We'll talk more later. Ripley out. ❞ BLOW OUT IN THE SHIP HULL (NOT A SPACE PORN TITLE (THIS TIME)); ⬡ [ DAY 004 ] Somewhere around three am (according to the time listed on your HUD, if you pull it up), an explosion rocks the ship, jolting the crew awake. A rapid, whooshing sound can be heard for a second or two, like wind whipping passed an open door, but it’s shut up quickly, with a metal door dropping down somewhere in the halls, a metallic thud echoing. Those choosing to sleep further into the ship, in the halls past the Ring, likely feel a sharp chill pass through the air around them, frigid. Seconds later, Ripley’s voice comes on through the network. ❝ EMERGENCY ALERT, ALL CREW: Hull breach detected in Level 16 Maintenance Hall Airlock. Droids in the area are... unresponsive. No external threat detected. Please report — ❞ Is that a tinge of fear and fatigue in her synthetic voice? Directions are given to the maintenance closet holding the gear for space walks, but every question directed to Ripley about the cause are only met with “inconclusive” and further repeated instruction to seal the breach for the safety of the ship. Questions about the droids will be redirected the the same answer: please check the hole in her side ASAP, Ripley currently has no eyes in that section of the ship. The closer crew gets to the damaged site, the colder the air seems to grow, and the more the shadows around everyone start to flicker, lights buzzing weakly overhead. The droids that initially responded to the threat all appear to be having some issues, either banging into walls or shut down entirely. Attempts to manually break into their system to get them functional will unintentionally force them into an internal security scan loop, which leaves them useless. Stop by the gear room, grab some pistol grip lasers (there will be a handful of these, enough if everyone buddies up) or the larger laser-saw and get ready to do some space welding. Something brushes past your shoulder in the dim light, and you glance to the side, expecting to see another crewmate there, only to find empty space. Maybe you were imagining things? Stepping out of the makeshift airlock Ripley has made out of the hall section just before the breach, gravity immediately shifts, first a vague suggestion, than nothing at all. The door opens, and you’re released into the open space surrounding the ship - coincidentally, your first real view outside of Kostka IV. Yep, sure is a lot of space. All the typical things you’d expect - blackness, distant stars, no planets of note nearby. No one will recognize the star patterns here, as they’re in a completely foreign dimension. There’s also no sign of whatever breached the original airlock. In fact, there’s no sign of the Level 16 Maintenance Hall Airlock at all: beyond the emergency doors of the hall that led to the airlock is nothing, as though the airlock never existed in the first place. Close examination will yield that the internal walls are now covered in the same metallic material as the outer shell, the whole area an almost perfectly shaped indent in the side of the ship. Almost. There are some cracks in the metal, enough to question the stability of the outer hull. Observant folks might notice that it looks like the damage blew outward rather than inward. If you followed the instructions in the gear room and were able to find a safety cable to secure to the makeshift airlock door. They should provide a lifeline back to the ship-- especially for those that swear they see another suit exiting an airlock from an upper level, about 80 meters away, their safety line hanging uselessly in the void, disconnected from the ship. You might point this out to whoever is close by, though there’s no guarantee that they see it too. Turn your head or blink and the figure is gone. Those unlucky enough to spot the lone spaceman will find their tethers suddenly snap, broken by some unseen force. If you’re especially unlucky, you’re not particularly close to the airlock when this happens. The suits do have small jets to aid in propelling yourself back to the ship, if you’re confident in how to use them without making the situation worse. Otherwise, it’s up to your crewmates to give you a hand. ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS HOSTILE TAKE-OVER; ⬡ [ DAY 004 ] While the breach in the hull is being repaired, things are going wrong elsewhere on the ship. Environmental Control has locked itself down, the room apparently empty of all crew at the time. Putting an ear to the door, you can hear something or someone moving around inside the room, feet shuffling, a clatter as they bump into tables, a tapping at the keyboards. There’s perhaps even mumbling, but it’s too indistinct to make out any words, or maybe you’re just imagining it? Regardless of who or what is on the other side of the door, the controls start to go awry. All through the ship, the temperature fluctuates, from a brisk chill to a deadly icy cold, or even a heat that feels like boiling. On top of that, air is thinning, starting to slowly suffocate the rest of the ship. You have roughly five hours to get that door open, deal with whatever’s inside, and right the control settings before people start to pass out. Ripley is entirely out of touch during this crisis, and the droids are unresponsive, caught in a loop of internal security checks. You’re on your own. There’s a few options here: 1) Climb through the vents. There is one that a small, skinny person or two could wiggle through that drops out from the east wall of the room. The problem here is the fans, which seem to be turning on and off irregularly. Disabling them is possibly by wedging something strong in between the blades, but you’ll have to carry enough for the four fans you’ll have to pass through by to get to the room. Each blast of air from them is powerful enough to knock anyone inside a few meters back and will greatly impede travel, if not completely toss you out of the vent. Fortunately, the pattern isn’t as irregular as it seems at first: anyone inside the vents should be able to count out a two minute interval between each blast that should allow them just enough time to get from one safe section of the vent to the next, squeezing past the fans while they are temporarily immobile. Should you miscalculate your time and end up stuck between two fans, you’ll end up caught in the blades of the fan behind you. While that may not kill you, there will most definitely be blood. 2) Override the keypad. ( CW: BODY HORROR ELEMENTS ) If anyone had been feeling chafed by Ripley cramping their techno-wiz style, now’s your time to shine. Break that bitch open and start fiddling. What you’ll find inside the keypad is… odd. The original, fairly mundanely designed wiring for the keypad is appears to be overgrown with what can only be described as a rat’s nest of extra wires that don’t seem to do anything in particular. You’ll have to cut past them to get to the wires that actually control the doors, but just like weeds, if you chop them off at the middle without pulling them from their roots, they’ll grow back with a vengeance - and in real time, and will start to overrun the keypad. They may even take a liking to your new body, latching on and trying to dig beneath your skin. While physically alarming, as far as you can tell they don’t do any damage to you. If you’re a patient and careful gardener, you should be able to eventually prune past the unruly wires and get to the actual controls beneath. 3) Lastly, you can try laser-sawing through the door. In the same gear storage room the space walk suits came from were all the tools used to repair the breach in the hull. Some of them are capable of cutting through the kind of steel the interior doors are made of, so it’s a matter of figuring out which ones. Try not to blow yourself up. This option will take the longest, nearly four hours, so maybe start early and use it as a back-up in case all other options fail. Regardless of which route gets you in, when the door is finally open, or you get a glimpse down through the vent grate, crew will spot a vague shadow of something humanoid hovering over a console, though distorted, as if blurred at the edges, or like pieces of it are fading in and out. Whether or not the observing crew has made their presence know, the shadow seems to realize they’re there, and its “head” jerks up, before letting out a piercing, inhuman sounding scream that’s somehow so loud and violent that characters have to cover their ears to protect against the pain of it, while their vision blurs, fading in and out for a small handful of seconds. Once blinking it clear, the shadow is no longer there, and the room is free. Get in there and put the settings back to default, please. THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING; ⬡ [ DAY 005 ] Ripley will be making an open network post that all characters will be able to respond to for questions, conversation, shooting the space shit, you know, whatever you fancy. She’s finally done being busy and has decided to pay attention to you squishy little fleshbag things. This will be done in a separate network post, not included on the intro log. We just wanted to let you guys know that it’s coming. Please send all QUESTIONS here! » NAVIGATION «

Comments

[freightcars]

[ There were a few days (weeks) in duplicity where things got so bad he picked up chain smoking again; not because he's capable of nicotine addiction anymore, but because it was something mechanical to do with his hands. Because it was something to fixate on, like knitting or bouncing his leg. Something to do, sitting there by the kitchen window blowing smoke out trying to process the next round of lives he took before he got the words stripped out of his head. Jack joined him sometimes, Steve joined him sometimes.

After he got it together, he retired the habit again. Now, he kind of wouldn't mind a pack. Is smoking on spaceships against the rules, like smoking on airplanes?

He heard it. They both did. It's a silent conversation, takes no words to come to that mutual understanding. Just a few seconds after the second noise he's pushing up, rising silently to his feet — still bare, boots abandoned by the wall because they're uncomfortable as hell to sleep in. He doesn't take the time to pull them on.

The second round of whirring comes from his arm, like the electronic equivalent of muscles going tense.

Around them are sleeping bodies dozing none the wiser, five or six familiar faces clustered close enough to him that he keeps his mouth shut so as not to wake them on the off chance.

Another tapping, three or four in a row sort of like a ball bearing bouncing along the floor with gravity bringing it down faster every following bounce, halving the time it takes and then halving it again and then again. It sounds maybe a dozen yards off, and he glances back at Steve just the once before he starts pacing toward it, bare feet padding almost soundlessly, the whites of his eyes showing.

When he reaches about where he heard it coming from he slows to a stop, shoulders drawn, waiting.

Silence. Stillness. ]

[accountability]

[ Steve never even kicked his boots off.

Muscle memory guides him through the hobbled functionality of his limbs. His steps land heavier against the floor thanks to the boots. He meets Bucky's wild gaze with slightly narrowed eyes, a brush of concern in what he sees-- or thinks he sees from that brief glance. He pushes it back down, following a few paces behind. On a cloudy night, against the backdrop of a battered countryside, he might be his shadow.

The seconds drag into minutes.

If he were alone, he would've called this hair trigger. Even now, he's doubting they heard anything more than a droid dropping a tool. The robots have been everywhere, buzzing up and down the halls like worker bees, carrying scraps from one section to another. The ship's mostly derelict.

His posture starts to shift, less defensive now. Still alert. His tone is hushed, he's close enough to Bucky that they could brush shoulders, though he faces away. ]

Hate to think we've got rats too.

[ Could be nothing, could be something, he seems to say. The words fail to draw any confirmation from the shadows. No tapping of nails, no echoing of metal against metal. ]

[freightcars]

[ It's mostly that he'd been asleep; whether he remembers them or not at least half the time his sleep is restless and violent. They may or may not be nightmares, but they almost always involve fighting. Dreams where his body is sluggish and he battles a threat, but his punches move as though through quicksand. They feel like they land with no effect, ramping up a claustrophobic anxiety that he often wakes up still feeling.

When he doesn't get the chance to transition slowly from asleep to awake, he comes with that adrenaline still surging. It's no surprise, waking up the way they did in those pods, that tonight is one of the less pleasant sleeps he's had.

The longer he stands there, the less wild he looks. Still drawn tight, still braced for something, but... wary.

Lips press together tightly at Steve's comment, no huff of a laugh follows it. No wry commentary, no well, you're on board aren't you? Eventually, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders and they carefully drop. When they do, his shoulder brushes Steve's properly. It makes his fingers curl. ]

Not sure I wanna know what the space version of stowaway rats are.

[ Muttered unhappily, tonelessly. A glance over. ]

Just glad you heard it too, so I know I'm not outta my damn mind.

[accountability]

[ His body relaxes as he shifts to better glance back over at Bucky, the tension released with an exhale through his nose. No real promises that they're both not actually crazy, but at least not this particular time.

When their eyes meet after the words are said, he answers first with a smile. Maybe a bit forced, a slight wrinkle at his brow. He retreats before he lets the question leave his lips so about that conversation earlier, brushing it back for the moment. ]

Get your boots? Let's take a walk.

[ His hand lifts to grip Bucky's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and a gentle shake. Even with the weariness settling into his shoulders in place of the tension, he's not ready to close his eyes and let sleep take him yet.

Walking is good. Their legs need it anyway.

(and maybe Bucky'll bring up the conversation on his own, so that he doesn't have to) ]

[freightcars]

[ Still weird, seeing Steve smile behind that beard. It's like the shining red flag, the beacon to signify the difference between the Steve he knew and this guy. Although a part of him will always believe Steve is Steve, with or without those memories, he's still having a hard time coming to terms with the thought that they're essentially starting over from scratch again. The months and months of learning the guy in the city, of getting learned in turn, they're gone.

He doesn't know who this guy is any more than he knew who Steve was standing across the apartment from him in Romania. Knew him viscerally, the deep things, the unchanging things, but surface level? The small intricacies?

They're new all over again.

Like that beard.

He doesn't have it in him to smile back, but he does nod at the instruction. Does appreciate the grip on his shoulder, even if it makes him feel a little like what he imagines Steve used to feel like back when he had asthma. Like if he parts his lips he might wheeze out some pathetic sound that isn't even a proper exhale.

They head back, and he toes his boots on without even bothering to put on socks. Laces go loose and sloppy, lazy but functional. They walk shoulder to shoulder, Bucky's hands tucked into his jumpsuit pockets as they vaguely steer themselves farther away from sleeping bodies so as not to disturb them.

Eyes flicker over Steve at his right hardly for the first time, but he keeps retaking inventory over and over like he's searching for subtle details, hidden meanings in puzzle pieces. He doesn't bring the conversation up outright, but it's not hard to make it there from where he starts them. ]

You didn't have that last time I saw you. Not... in the city where we were, but. Before that. Back home.

[ And funny that "home" now means an entire universe to him rather than one place, one house, one state. ]

[accountability]

[ Their boots echo in the cavernous atrium. The further they get from the sleepers, the closer they get to the canal. It's quiet, and the stink of algae bothers his nose. Something they'll be working on, tomorrow.

He cocks an eyebrow, rubs at his cheek with one hand. Yeah, people keep mentioning it. Easy to comment on, compared to everything else.

Twice now that Bucky's given him shit for the change. First time was when they'd gone back to Wakanda, less than a year after Bucky went into stasis again. It'd been a month since Shuri and her team undid the conditioning.

The mood had been different. Lighter. ]

Helps with keeping a low profile. [ A pause. Thinks about his words carefully. Not to hide anything, but he remembers that conversation on the quinjet. He doesn't know how long ago that's been for Bucky-- ] Been about two years since then. Sam, Natasha-- the three of us were doing a lot of traveling. There's still a ton of those Chitarui weapons out there.

[ And other illegal trade that they figure fits more in their wheelhouse than most others. Not easy or pretty work, but it keeps them busy. He needs to be in motion.

Steve cocks his head to one side, glancing over. Softly: ] What's the last thing you remember from home?

[freightcars]

[ Low profile, because after what Steve did for him he wouldn't exactly be welcomed back with open arms. He made off with a terrorist, stole a quinjet, fought the accords. Hell, they probably pinned the destruction of the entire airport all on him too, and why not? They'd need a scapegoat.

Eyes flicker down, a churning of guilt barely stifled in his stomach. ]

Going under. After everything.

[ His choice that time. He looks up and over again, meets the glance. Figures he might as well touch on what Steve's probably wondering about most.]

Went to sleep in Wakanda, woke up in some kind of processing center in a city. Surrounded by... Doctors, lab coats. They had to sedate me, I thought it was...

[ Thought maybe the whole reunion had been a dream, the whole two years of freedom over, that maybe he'd been reclaimed. But no.]

They had kind of a... This society in place. A class system, but there were only two. You get randomly assigned one or the other, luck of the draw.

[accountability]

[ His jaw clenches as he studies Bucky's profile. Wants to tell him that the Wakandan scientists sort it out. Reassure him, somehow, that things actually end up okay. Not great, not perfect, but the words are gone and they get to see each other again, and talk every so often, when it's safe to communicate. That every time he's seen Bucky he's looked tired, but relaxed.

Steve want to tell him that he's safe. That there is no city, no more strange lab coats and forced sedation.

That all of it was supposed to be in the past and he was never gonna let anyone touch him again--

He was there.

Someone was there.

Steve's quiet again for a handful of seconds, mulling over his next words just are carefully as before, brow pinched and one hand curling into a fist that turns his knuckles white. ]

Jack mentioned it was something like six months. [ He goes with that. A plain statement. ]

[freightcars]

[ Inside his pockets, metal fingers twitch. He used to do that with his left hand sometimes, used to press his thumb up against the side of his forefinger until he felt the callouses up under his fingernail. He gets as far as a twitch before the movement gets aborted because he doesn't have fingernails on that hand anymore. He thinks about neither of these things, the action nor giving up on it before he sees it through. It's just a twitch, a little whir, unacknowledged by the larger part of his mind.

These days, he chews his cheek instead. He does that now at the mention of Jack, brow drawing up a little in concern all over again.

Jack hadn't said anything, though, and he probably won't. Not until him and Bucky talk about it. Figure out what they're supposed to... do. How to handle it. He'll follow Bucky's lead on this, because he's supposed to be the expert on all things Steve Rogers.

Except they almost feel like strangers again, and he can already see a few differences between the guy beside him and the guy they stole off that cot in the middle of the night. ]

Yeah. We showed up at the same time, same day, except—

[ A pause, a huff, a little shake of his head. ]

We weren't really lined up then either. They grabbed you from right after I pulled you out of the river, that's the last thing you remembered there. Nothing from Romania, nothing after.

[ So before they were almost themselves to each other again. Feels the need to tag on: ]

Sometimes it was like that, people came from... different points, sometimes they left and came back from later on but they didn't remember ever being there in the first place, so I'm not sure if... if it was... There were two of you there, the guy I knew and some other guy like you from a place where things were off. Different.

[ Alternate universe different. Different histories different. Some guy named Steve Rogers who never grew up with Bucky Barnes. Like that other version of Bucky running around that Steve's probably met, with the short hair and the metal arm.

Different. ]

[accountability]

[ DC and Romania-- that was about two years, again. Same with himself and Natasha, who's from roughly around Germany. Something about that specific increment of time? Maybe there are others. He files that bit of information away for now. Numbers aren't exactly what he's itching to discuss right now. His gaze has been fixed on Bucky the entire time. ]

Any connection between the city and the ship that you've noticed?

[ Also not the question that's itching under his skin, but he has to clarify. Feels like there's too many of them that remember the city for it to be a complete coincidence.

I think you probably ought to know.

Maybe he underestimated Steve's ability to handle alternate dimensions, and alternates of themselves. Not that his head isn't spinning. He's got a million questions about what it means (it's not starting over for him, not the way six months side by side would be), and he's struggling to voice a single one of them. Tension rides through his shoulders again.

He'll build another wall between them if he's not careful, he realizes. That's just about the last damn thing that he wants.

He thinks about the way that the man who asked to be called James looked at him. He remembers Bucky's face when he realized Steve didn't know what the hell he was talking about. ]

I'm not gonna ever have those six months. [ Of memories. He said something similar to Jack.

Jack's not Bucky, though. And the next part is both hard statement and a plea. ]

But I'm still me.

[ The guy you grew up with. And even if there's some number system written into their atoms that could prove they weren't from exactly the same universe, he doesn't believe it changes the root of them. ]

[freightcars]

[ He's wondered the same thing, thought about it, tried to somehow connect dots between Kostka and Duplicity, but the only common factors seem to be a few of the people. It's a no more concrete pattern than the time increment is, or the people from home are, or the memories are. It's all so goddamn random, circumstantial, that he can't help but to shake his head as an answer.

No. Not that he can pick up on.

He knows, objectively, that's important. Hashing out the details, solving the mystery. It should rank number one to both of them, but selfishly what impacts him the most is the next bit.

I'm still me.

The look Bucky pins him with is one of understanding, like he's looking straight through Steve to something inside him. Like he's spotting somebody a couple decades younger, framed out in vignette. Honestly, earnestly, he says: ]

I know.

[ And it's not about who Steve is or isn't, not really. It's not that undoing six months of memories makes him any less important. Any less Steve. It's maybe more that six months has made Bucky into something different. He's the one who changed, at least some very important facets of him changed. Very important opinions, feelings, ideas on things. Specific things.

He passes a tongue along his lips again, surely they'll be just as chapped as they'd been in the city by the time the week is out if he keeps doing that. Sores in his mouth from biting his cheeks, too, probably. Really wouldn't mind a cigarette.

He could leave it here, end the conversation, Steve would walk away thinking that the worst of it was a class system and alternate universes. He probably wouldn't ask again. They'd pick up with him being none the wiser, except there are complications that'll keep that from being true. First and foremost, Bucky's not so sure how well he'll be able to keep it bottled up himself. He's an excellent internalizer, always has been, but lying on top of it feels inherently wrong.

Then there's Jack.
Will.
Cable.
James.
Too many variables to feel safe holding it back.

He can't. Even if he wanted to. ]

There's... more to it than just that.

[accountability]

[ Bucky's gaze has him frozen in place, and so he can only say, quietly: ]

So tell me.

[ He'd meant it earlier, when he said he didn't need to know. Swears that if Bucky would've told him to forget about it and not to ask again, he wouldn't have. Six months in a place that no one wants to talk about. He can be selfish, but he's not cruel. Never to anyone he cares about, not on purpose.

That was before Bucky told him he should know, and now it's all half out of the box, and he can't imagine what could be so awful-- what could be worse than anything in that file he read four years ago, whether it's what was done to Bucky and the others, or something they did--

He can handle it. ]

[freightcars]

[ The problem is that it's not awful. Not completely, not to him. Not all of it, anyway, although objectively it was a terrible place. But... there were moments sometimes, quiet ones, when his bare back was pressed into the sheets and he'd look over and Steve would look back—

—like he's doing now, but a little different. He turns his attention to the canal, the algae, the gentle slopping of water.

He never was the brave one, of the two of them. Not really. Never really was a coward though either, so why does he all of a sudden feel like one? His trouble is just with the framing. How he's supposed to say it. How to jump off the diving board, which end to point toward the water. Feet first or head first. It feels stuck in his throat. ]

The city was a messed up place. Their whole culture was built around sex. There was a mandated requirement for it, three times a month or they hauled you to a reeducation center and messed with your head. They'd do things to twist you until you did it anyway, whether you wanted to or not.

[ In his mind, he puts up a wall. Not between himself and Steve, but between his logic and his emotions. Between what he's feeling about it and just saying the words. That slightly off-center space, that slight disassociation, that slight depersonalization. Mission mode. Detached like that, he can look over to gauge Steve's reaction for what comes next.

The bandaid coming off. ]

That's why we did it at first. Stopped being why later.

[accountability]

[ Seconds ago, his thoughts were in a completely different direction, a whole different zip code, so the actual truth is processed in pieces:

Shock, anger, grief and back again.

In his life, there have only been a handful of times that he's felt sheer violence burn cold in him this way, where he knows if he had his hands on anyone responsible, he wouldn't be a better man. He would kill them, without hesitation.

(his hands were bound by cuffs the last time, Sam at one side and Natasha bleeding out next to them)

The second part takes longer to register. We. Why we did it.

His face flushed red during the first part, features taut with pain and anger. He doesn't have a mask to hide those particular two, he fixes his hard gaze to the side instead.

Six months.

He tries to turn away. Starts to, then stops halfway, his hand lifting to run through his hair, except his fingers are gripping hard instead. He doesn't let out a huff or scoff, no c'mon, buck-, there's nothing on his face to say that he might take the implication as a joke, because he knows it's not. Bucky doesn't joke this way.

(- you gotta tell me you remember it )

A minute goes by, another. He's standing there, half turned and his hand caught like a rake through his hair, the flush of anger drained from his skin and not a damn word on his tongue. ]

[freightcars]

[ The truth is, he's not sure what to make of it. He's expecting a few things, got a few expressions lined up in his mind that he can picture Steve making even with the new beard. Even with all their differences, he can still paint a vivid mental image of disbelief behind his eyelids. That's what he's thinking he'll get, sheer unadulterated disbelief. Incredulity, shock maybe, something that says he'd sooner not believe it.

That ain't what he gets.

What he gets is pain, what he gets is pissed off, and it's... well, it's hard not to take that a little personally. It's muted, dimmed by decades of experience in wedging distance between what's happening and his heart. Might be all the more telling that he still feels something anyway, twisting at him behind the muffled curtain he's drawn. It cuts.

It's a little hard to breathe. He manages anyway, one steady inhale and exhale after the other, though his chin dips down when Steve starts to turn away. Isn't sure what he'll feel if he just keeps walking. Fortunately he's spared finding out, and for long ticking silence there's just Steve looking out at nothing and Bucky looking at the ground, hands in his pockets, hair half-tucked behind his ears and starting to come loose around his face.

Mouth opens.

Wasn't even really why I did it in the first place, that's just what I told you.
Already met my quota the first time you put your hands on me.
Wasn't just me you slept with, wasn't just each other.
Meant more than it—

Mouth closes again.

Not yet. (Maybe not ever.) Give him a goddamn minute to process it. Instead, after a nice long awkward silence, he speaks up in some mix of hoarse and apologetic. ]

Thought I should tell you first, before... [ All those other people told you, because- ] It wasn't a secret.

[accountability]

[ He's quick to glance at Bucky again when he speaks up, that apologetic tone twisting up his chest. Gives a mute nod, lips parted. He gets it. Can't imagine what he'd have done to hear it from a stranger. Probably all the reactions Bucky imagined and then some: disbelief, figuring he's being screwed with and-- yeah.

He gets it. That part. He does.

He wouldn't have wanted to hear it from someone else.

Another glance at the floor, eyes closing for a second as he wrenches himself back into a semblance of composure before looking at Bucky again, shifting his body back to face him. ]

I know. [ He goes for some measure of control, neutral, but his own voice sounds rough to his ear. ] You made the right call.

[ Like it's a mission. He winces, and finally: ]

I'm sorry.

[freightcars]

[ You made the right call. This time, maybe, for the first time in months. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, burdened and in need of unloading to a version of Steve that wouldn't even understand it if he did. He made the right call now, but the wrong one in a city that may as well not even exist anymore as far as it impacts anything here. He made the wrong call and Steve got taken, but something jammed the reset button and now here they are. He's got guilt over a ghost.

Where to go from here?

Steve looks at him, he looks back.

Could've been worse. Definitely could have gone worse. They're both still standing in the same room, Steve hasn't exploded at him or stormed out like he might've done back in that city and for that he's damn grateful. Also could've been better, probably, if you ask any screenwriter for any romance movie ever made. Maybe he had a few private, unrealistic notions that held on until the very last second to give up and fizzle out not with a bang but a whimper.

But this is real life, and it took a certain set of circumstances for them to-
For Steve to-

He works his throat a little, clearing it, head bobbing in a sort of awkward nod. ]

It's okay.

[ Like a dismissal, like an understanding. No need to be sorry, no need to say anything else either. It is what it is, and now it isn't, and he's not gonna...

He's not gonna push for anything more than that. He addresses the wall instead of Steve for a second when he adds on: ]

Jack, too. He's gonna try and sell you that he's not bothered by it, but he's... All sharp on the outside, soft on the inside, so. Be easy on him.

[accountability]

[ It's easier to look at Bucky when he's not looking back, and he hates it. Then he mentions Jack--

I'm still me, he'd only just said. Told Jack earlier that they might as well get to know each other again.

It's like the words are thrown back in his face.

He's still the same person. But he's not their guy.

(lost the coin flip)

His hand runs through his hair again, absently and with less force this time, a nod following. ]

I will. [ Auto-pilot. His gaze drops again before Bucky might take the chance to look over, arms falling to his sides. ] I'll figure it out.

[freightcars]

[ Not for the first time, he wishes he could read Steve's mind. Pick up exactly what it is about this that's hanging him up, what pieces and parts are putting that look on his face. It doesn't even occur to him to ask outright, rather he looks on for clues or signs in the wrinkles around Steve's eyes and the way his hands slide through his hair.

Not sure how he feels about Steve sounding rote about this whole thing. Like it's another in a long line of problems to just be dealt with, that perhaps can't be solved. Something to be tolerated.

He checks his pride, though. Puts away his feelings for now, to stew on later in private where nobody can see.

For now it's all he can do to hesitate only a second before reaching out and curling a hand around Steve's shoulder. A tentative grip that goes firm when he decides he's allowed to touch his best friend without it necessarily meaning anything more than what it is, and if Steve's ever gonna believe that himself Bucky's gotta show him.

So.

He presses his lips into a tight line hand hangs on for a second, some mix of apologetic and understanding.

It doesn't have to mean anything, he almost says, but that'd be a bold faced lie. It doesn't have to change anything would be his second idea, but he's already changed.

He goes with option c, a quiet, serious: ]

I'm glad you're here.

[ If he were gonna be stuck in space with anyone... memories or no memories. ]

[accountability]

[ Been months since he's been able to fully snap out of mission mode. Less than twenty four hours on the ship, with all of the new information to absorb and think on-- even he has his limits. Perspective's not all there, his footing is less sound than he's used to, in more ways than one.

Wouldn't be the first time he let himself get distracted during a mission, and other people suffered for it.

Wouldn't be the first time he couldn't get the right words out.

The hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts, his muscles going tense as quickly as they relax again. Lets out a breath through his nose and closes his eyes for a second before letting them find Bucky's again. He does his best to offer a smile that's both earnest and tired, his hand lifting to wrap around Bucky's forearm and give a gentle squeeze.

This part of them is muscle memory, his body can't forget even when his head is struggling. ]

Glad you're here too. [ Here, and not in that city. The thought of re-education centers almost pulls him back to that cold rage, and he lets his hand drop again.

The truth is, he can't think about the rest right now-- why we did it. Not in front of Bucky. ]