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WHO: Shaw and open
WHERE: Various parts of the ship
WHEN: December 22
WHAT: Getting her bearings, trying not to kill people, reuniting with a ghost
WARNINGS: There will be references to psychological torture and reality warping via immersion simulation and mentions of suicide.
[ ooc: Will match format. ]
open: hallway to the promenade
The numbers never stop. That was the first thing she learned when she joined the Program. That's only natural, isn't it? Someone, somewhere, will always be plotting something. Of course their numbers keep coming. They just don't know that they're being watched. For a little while, the all-seeing eye went away for a side project known as self preservation. A fight for her life, as Root put it. Whether she's alive or not is still something Shaw hasn't decided, but what she does know is this: she is back. And it's a fortunate thing too, because Shaw wouldn't have known what to do with herself if The Machine shut down for good.
Things seemed to be going swimmingly this morning. The Machine gave her a number. Shaw picked up her gun, took her dog, and went out to investigate.
Now she's here.
No guns, no dog, just strange faces saying strange things, like 'spaceship' and 'anomaly' and other kinds of nonsense. Shaw might've knocked a few of them around when she first stepped out of the glass tube, but nothing that would leave a permanent mark. Probably. There are words she does understand, like 'brig' and 'airlock,' and while she's had plenty of Samaritan's bullshit, maybe she's curious about this next new challenge that she reins it in just enough to find out more. Because this has to be Samaritan, right? A elaborate simulation with some sort of design. The alternative is too ridiculous to entertain.
She sits through 'orientation' with a disgruntled frown. By the time a crewman shows up to hand her a duffle bag, her face reflects exactly how unamused she is by these shenanigans. He tries to lead her out to the promenade but doesn't get very far. She grabs him by the collar and shoves him against the wall of the ship's corridor.
"What's this really about? You know you can't break me. You want The Machine, you find another way."
If this is Samaritan, it'll have to learn eventually how futile this charade is.
open: hallways around the ship
The poor schmuck didn't know anything, or pretended not to. Shaw didn't think it would be so easy to get answers anyway. In any case, the threat of being jettisoned from the airlock, while amusing, doesn't sound all that great for the short term. Maybe she'll arrange for it when it seems like the only way to end it. Putting a bullet through her head is an option too, now that she's got her weapons back. Bear too, which was a nice touch, even for Samaritan.
She's got to hand it to the AI, this is one helluva sim, if it is one.
"I guess we can play along, hm?" she says to Bear, who perks up as she opens the doors to her chambers. "Let's see what they've got."
She tucks her weapons under her leather jacket and lets the dog sniff ahead unleashed. She'll follow his lead for now.
[ ooc: Feel free to encounter the dog first. He's a fairly large one (70 lb Belgian Malnois). He's a well trained military dog, so he's not going to attack without a command or an obvious threat. ]
closed: Root
[ Bear's onto something. He catches some scent, lets off a yelp (which is weird -- he sounds a little too emotional for a normal scouting mission) and takes off down the corridor. Shaw dashes after him, whizzing by bewildered looking bystanders so she can keep up.
He disappears around the corner. She catches up a few seconds later and sees an opening to a sterile looking room beyond. She draws her Beretta and slides up to the door frame. Her finger is on the trigger, ready. She peers into the room, scanning for Bear. ]
WHERE: Various parts of the ship
WHEN: December 22
WHAT: Getting her bearings, trying not to kill people, reuniting with a ghost
WARNINGS: There will be references to psychological torture and reality warping via immersion simulation and mentions of suicide.
[ ooc: Will match format. ]
open: hallway to the promenade
The numbers never stop. That was the first thing she learned when she joined the Program. That's only natural, isn't it? Someone, somewhere, will always be plotting something. Of course their numbers keep coming. They just don't know that they're being watched. For a little while, the all-seeing eye went away for a side project known as self preservation. A fight for her life, as Root put it. Whether she's alive or not is still something Shaw hasn't decided, but what she does know is this: she is back. And it's a fortunate thing too, because Shaw wouldn't have known what to do with herself if The Machine shut down for good.
Things seemed to be going swimmingly this morning. The Machine gave her a number. Shaw picked up her gun, took her dog, and went out to investigate.
Now she's here.
No guns, no dog, just strange faces saying strange things, like 'spaceship' and 'anomaly' and other kinds of nonsense. Shaw might've knocked a few of them around when she first stepped out of the glass tube, but nothing that would leave a permanent mark. Probably. There are words she does understand, like 'brig' and 'airlock,' and while she's had plenty of Samaritan's bullshit, maybe she's curious about this next new challenge that she reins it in just enough to find out more. Because this has to be Samaritan, right? A elaborate simulation with some sort of design. The alternative is too ridiculous to entertain.
She sits through 'orientation' with a disgruntled frown. By the time a crewman shows up to hand her a duffle bag, her face reflects exactly how unamused she is by these shenanigans. He tries to lead her out to the promenade but doesn't get very far. She grabs him by the collar and shoves him against the wall of the ship's corridor.
"What's this really about? You know you can't break me. You want The Machine, you find another way."
If this is Samaritan, it'll have to learn eventually how futile this charade is.
open: hallways around the ship
The poor schmuck didn't know anything, or pretended not to. Shaw didn't think it would be so easy to get answers anyway. In any case, the threat of being jettisoned from the airlock, while amusing, doesn't sound all that great for the short term. Maybe she'll arrange for it when it seems like the only way to end it. Putting a bullet through her head is an option too, now that she's got her weapons back. Bear too, which was a nice touch, even for Samaritan.
She's got to hand it to the AI, this is one helluva sim, if it is one.
"I guess we can play along, hm?" she says to Bear, who perks up as she opens the doors to her chambers. "Let's see what they've got."
She tucks her weapons under her leather jacket and lets the dog sniff ahead unleashed. She'll follow his lead for now.
[ ooc: Feel free to encounter the dog first. He's a fairly large one (70 lb Belgian Malnois). He's a well trained military dog, so he's not going to attack without a command or an obvious threat. ]
closed: Root
[ Bear's onto something. He catches some scent, lets off a yelp (which is weird -- he sounds a little too emotional for a normal scouting mission) and takes off down the corridor. Shaw dashes after him, whizzing by bewildered looking bystanders so she can keep up.
He disappears around the corner. She catches up a few seconds later and sees an opening to a sterile looking room beyond. She draws her Beretta and slides up to the door frame. Her finger is on the trigger, ready. She peers into the room, scanning for Bear. ]
no subject
Death is real, Shaw has seen it many times before. She's been the cause of it, too. A lot. But sometimes it's not permanent. Not in the world that Samaritan created around her.
And sometimes, maybe ... in places like these. Somewhere far away from everything she's ever known. It's not heaven or hell or in between. Just something different. The circulating air inside this med bay, the insular hallways and portholes looking out into the vacuum of space. The hollow echo of her footsteps against the steel floor, pinging off the belly of the ship. A dream or not? A sim or something more bizarre than imagination?
Real. ]
Fusco saw you in the morgue. Weeks ago. How long have you been here?
no subject
She blinks when Shaw mentions it's been weeks since her last day on Earth, obviously surprised that so much time has passed already, although she's immensely glad to hear 'weeks' instead of 'years'. But more importantly, what exactly happened after she died? Did they make any progress at all? Did they lose anyone else?]
I have no idea, [she says with a quiet sigh.] The last thing I remember is being taken to a hospital, and then I woke up here, only a couple of hours ago.
[Is it just her imagination, or does Sam look a little less tense than before? She feels less tense, like the instinct to fight has toned down just a little bit.]
What happened since then? [She takes one good look at the other woman, examining her for any injuries and to make sure she's okay; it's only then that Root recognizes the leather jacket Shaw is wearing as one of her own, and her eyes widen as a result. The implications behind that seemingly innocent gesture hit her hard enough for the tears to finally spill over, and Root immediately reaches up to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hands. She feels all warm and fuzzy inside, but she doesn't want Shaw to feel awkward about any of this, so she brings her hands down again, placing them on Sameen's shoulders. She touches the leather jacket as if she's smoothing it, pretending that the piece of clothing does in fact have a few invisible wrinkles here and there.] Love the jacket, by the way.