Entry tags:

August Event Log: Part I

Who: Everyone
When: August 9 and onward
Where: An unexpected destination
What: The newcomers go on a trip and end up far from where they expected
Warnings: Potential violence. Please label your content!

NOTE: PLEASE READ THIS OOC POST FIRST.

When the time comes for the travelers to go on the off-world trip that will help restore Thisavrou, they are not alone. Others who have settled on the planets longer and come to call them home are also prepared to travel; through the Ingress and do their part. Yet when the newcomers step through, whether they stepped through the Ingress seconds or hours apart, they will find that they have arrived at the same time, and only newcomers are in sight.

What awaits them is not a land of plenty. The land is barren, and dark storms in the sky resemble those held at bay by the Ingress complex—but much, much closer. Those who traveled on the Moira may recognize the landscape; though they have come through at a different point from the crash, they are on the Midway Hub. And there is no portal back. They are trapped.

hitting the road

Though some have been here before, the Midway Hub is not as they remember it. The storms fill the sky, leaving it dark and ominous even when they are not sweeping across the landscape—but they have clearly done so in recent times, and often. While never a lush land, large patches of ground an acre or more wide looking nothing more than utterly dead; the thistle that naturally grows is brittle, black and unable to be consumed even with the usual preparations to make it edible, and here and there animal corpses are found twisted into unnatural poses, but seemingly uninjured. These places are particularly concentrated near the broken Ingresses litter the landscape. While Midway Hub as a whole may seem naturally arid, these dead spots leave no hope that anything can possibly live there again.

The travelers have two options: stay where they are, or move on. While it might seem that they've been tricked into coming here and been left abandoned, those with the technological ability to do so may detect a sign of hope: a familiar energy source, far in the distance. Although none of the Ingresses they pass will ever work again, the faint energy shows that one still-functioning Ingress lies far in the distance, days away.

Although technological scanning or impressive memory of the landscape indicates that they are not separated from their destination by one of the gates that divide the land, they are also far from the shelter of the facility at the center of the Hub. Any attempt to travel in a direction other than that of the energy signal will result in a strange disorientation after several hours, bringing individuals back to their original path as though they've gone in circles. Meanwhile, though travelers will feel the need to slake their hunger and thirst through any natural water sources they discover, wildlife they can hunt for food and any supplies they have on them, if they don't find sustenance, they'll find that they will never pass out or reach the point of starvation. Instead, they'll be left alive and awake but feeling utterly hollow.

storm front

At regular intervals, the energy storms above descend onto the land, bringing not rain but violent clashes of negative energy and thunder so loud that nothing can be heard above it. The passing of the storms leaves some strange effects. The ground is warped and rotted by their touch, even solid stone degrading to a spongy surface. The air is tepid and oddly charged. Prolonged contact with air or ground will not supply energy, however — it drains it from organic and synthetic life alike.

Those who remember their last trip to the Hub, or simply explore in the right direction, may come across the cave complexes with their glowing surfaces and streams. The light is dimmer now, a sickly green, but drinking from the streams will still restore the energy lost, for a time. This time, however, the lethargy that inevitably follows is much more severe, and the drinkers are left with a raw, empty feeling leeching in from the wasteland around.

Those who are exposed to the storms, either by finding themselves in very close proximity or even closely observing them for too long as they approach, may lose their sight, or hearing, even much of the ability to feel touch — whatever sense they used in observation. What lingers in its place is a numbness. A hunger. And as time passes, the time between storms decreases; what seemed like hours between the storms becomes scarcely one, and their intensity grows.

wild life

Sentient beings are not the only ones affected by the storms; these creatures, attracted to sound and able to track by scent, and these panthers, which once looked normal but have been twisted by the storms into more monstrous forms, are numerous enough that travelers must be constantly alert for their presence. Though natural predators, the threat the creatures represent is not itself natural. They are also more aggressive. Some strange instinct drives them, not a need for food. While the panthers themselves can be caught and their meat cooked, it has little taste, offering nutrition but not satisfaction.

old familiar places

Although it's difficult to track the passage of time without day-night cycles, after what seems like more than a week of the travelers' unexpected trip, the storms abruptly come rushing in at the group of travelers, as if they're herding the group to move faster toward their destination and the Ingress energy that awaits them. The true nature of that destination becomes clear when debris appears on the horizon; the energy comes from the wreckage of the Moira, the interstellar ship that crashed here months ago.

Despite the trauma of impact, large sections of the ship remain surprisingly intact, though few of them are properly vertically oriented. If travelers are able to make their way inside the damaged sections of the ship, they'll find familiar territory, if they are one of those who traveled on the Moira, as well as shelter—something that's increasingly necessary as the storms seem to center over the ship, leaving little hope for survival outside. Useful items may be scavenged from the ship if they are willing to explore, but no personal items of any kind remain.

Strangely, the deeper travelers go into the crashed ship, the less familiar their surroundings will seem, regardless of their orientation. The inward-leading paths into the ship become generic metal, and as with the travel on the surface of the planet, they may find themselves back where they started. And no matter how far they go or how hard they try, they will find themselves unable to make it to the Ingress chamber itself...for now.

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[Her eyes might not have fully recovered, but she can see enough to watch him test the figurative water for her: that huge, hulking shadow reaching down and tentatively pressing on the frame. He doesn't get to blame her for the amused noise she makes while he's at it, just before she slinks over and drops down onto the mattress like it's the sturdiest thing in the universe.

And then she exhales. Hard.

Compared to the dusty, life-leeching landscape outside, this feels like heaven.]

Your old friend, Jack Morrison.

[She can't see the face he is making under his mask, but he is sure she feels the way his eyes narrow when she drops on the already mangled frame. Yes, of course it was Jack, it was always Jack. Even in death, they couldn't escape each other.]

What about him?

[They already knew he was there. He can't imagine he was very exciting to be around.]

That's who I ran into. [She rolls onto her side, one arm tucked under her head like a makeshift pillow. Aside from the stale air, dismal surroundings and broken living quarters, this place could pass for a five star hotel right about now.]

You should have been there, vato.

[Reaper comes closer to lean against the wall, taking in her condition. He'd been in the process of sussing out what she'd managed to get wrapped up in that gave her such a beating -- the fact that she cites Jack as someone she encountered is suspicious enough on its own.

Huh.]

Did he attack you?

Edited 2017-08-27 23:30 (UTC)

Like you wouldn't believe. [Like she didn't believe. Now that she's well out of the moment and in the clear, she has to admit, she kind of admires it: Jack Morrison had fangs.

And considering the kind of company she's always kept, well, that's a trait she's never been slow to appreciate.

But she's alive, functional and intact. The bruising and scrapes she can live with; earned and worn as proof that her plan had at the very least succeeded. One of the few benefits of being stranded in the middle of a dead world is that unless they somehow return to Kauto, Overwatch can't press her to bring Lena back. Another safeguard, another shield— albeit a flimsier one than perpetually lingering in Reaper's shadow.

She shifts again, unable to get comfortable where a sore patch across her shoulder sinks too deeply into the mattress. Instead, she starts to tug off the shoulder-high lines of her gloves, peeling it away from aching skin. Half her cybernetics are running on reserves, anyway: there's no point in keeping all her layers of supportive wiring intact.]

Made him think you were behind him, though— you should have seen the look on his face.

[Mostly because, you know, she couldn't.]

[Reaper stays quiet while Sombra shifts and relays her information. There is a moment, when she tells him of how Jack had reacted. It wasn't exactly an unreasonable guess -- more often than not, Reaper would have been behind him.

But today, he'd been occupied.]

What makes you say that?

[He can imagine what she tells him, but he can't imagine Jack telegraphing it without some context.]

Because he fell for it. Easily.

[One glove tugged off— then the other, folded and set near the back of the bunk. With her arms and shoulders bare, her skin can breathe again. No outside pressure digging into muscle where wiring and cloth catch.] It was just after I got caught up in that storm trying to get here. Didn't realize it'd blind me. Didn't realize it was Morrison trying to sneak up on me.

Once he figured out I couldn't see him, he thought dragging me off would be a good idea.

[Her lips twist upwards into a wry grin, clearly proud of herself when she sinks back down into the mattress like a cat draped across a ledge.] I don't think he knew how wrong he was.

Anyway, when he started to close in, he asked where you were. I told him you were right behind him— and just like that, he snapped around. So worried.

[There is a moment where Reaper tilts his head again to digest everything Sombra was saying. And then, abruptly, he barks out a cruel laugh. Yes, he had that effect on people but:]

Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

[His voice drips with sarcastic venom, but he is no less delighted for it. But, that said, Jack is no push over. If he actually attacked Sombra, then there was a decent chance she was lying about how bad he had hurt her.

So, he crouches in front of her, under the pretense of resting. What he is actually doing is getting a closer look at the worst of her bruising.]

How did you get away?

[She considers making a joke about the fact that a lot of bad things did in fact happen to a guy that nice, but she's already run Overwatch's miserable past through the ringer more times than she can bother to count, and considering current company, well...

She likes Gabe enough to not mention it, allies that they are. It's rare, him getting a chance to really laugh. Spoiling the moment isn't her style.]

Didn't. [Call that a grudging confession: under better circumstances she might have stood a chance, but without her eyesight, alone like that? Even Sombra knows to admit when she's lost.] Figured he was probably trying to head back to regroup with his friends. Maybe Amari.

[All bad options, all scenarios involving paper thin windows of opportunity for a viable exit. For someone that's always habitually thinking ahead, it was the only confrontational outcome she didn't want. Keeping Jack with her, alone— twisting his thoughts— might not have the best time of her life, but being here now is proof enough in her mind that she made the better call.

If she notices Gabe trying to peer, it doesn't show. Honestly, she's tired. Sore and tired and more ready to sleep as the seconds tick on. There are scuffs across her collar, her cheeks, shoulders— most of it more from trying to claw half-blind through the wastes, but there's dark bruising flush where Jack's forcibly stoked temper led to solid impact, particularly across her side where her shirt cuts off around her ribs. Near her collarbone, the back of her shoulders. Still, no obviously broken bones. Nothing worse. Knowing Jack's strength, it could've easily been.

Besides, she'll be the first person to admit, she incited it:] Decided it was better to piss him off before that happened. See if he'd forget his plan if I pushed him hard enough.

[He can hear the disappointment in her tone.]

Wouldn't have believed you if you said you did.

[Just throwing that out there; he knew she was blind, and Jack had an advantage over her normally with all of his enhancements. Maybe with his visor hacked, but -- he still wouldn't bet on her in those circumstances.

The damage is obvious, but his assessment confirms that she is mostly in tact. Still, they had just scavenged the med-bay -- better to clean the cuts and get them closed before they went back outside. Reaper stands, and moves over to their cache while she continues to talk.

He comes back with one of the antiseptic wipes and a wrap of bandages. No guarantees that the wipes weren't dried out, but it was better than nothing.]

Sit up.

What? No. Come on.

[Usually it's not like this after a mission. Usually she handles herself, or at worst, she'd ask Amélie to do a patch job if they were under specific time constraints— but then again, Reyes isn't usually the lone survivor of months of isolation, Sombra isn't usually working to keep their heads above the water in unfamiliar territory. It was always bigger than that. Less personal.

But maybe that's all the more reason to push back.] We don't know how long we're going to be stuck here like this, vato. What happens if we need those supplies later?

[He's a leader. A deserving one, not that she'd ever admit it where he can hear. He has to understand why this isn't the best idea.]

Sit. Up.

[There is a very annoyed growl in his tone that she is likely familiar with. Wasting time was high on the list of "things Reaper hates", not too far away from "Jack Morrison". If she doesn't sit up on her own, it's very clear that he will force her to.]

There is no telling how long the Moira has been here, and if those storms keep up, it'll get infected. I am not going to tell you a third time.

[He was used to Sombra being a general pill and questioning his judgement for fun but--this was different.]

[He gets a look. A lingering, stubborn scoff, a few degrees milder than what he's bringing to the table.

And then she pulls herself upright, tucking her legs beneath her as she pulls her hair around her shoulders to rest on one side. It's not like she's incapable of listening, after all— just that she tends to think she's right.

But even without Talon's immediate hierarchy present, he's got a point. Whatever they burn through now won't make a massive dent in what she's already acquired, and cutting off any early risks of infection means less trouble for them later. So...fine. Sure. Score one tally for Gabriel Reyes, who now has figured out how to get Sombra to both concede her argument and sit still for it.]

[The bruise is left alone, and Reaper instead focuses on where she has managed to scrape herself, starting with the most exposed areas. If she decides she needs help for the rest of it, she will guide him. If not, she will do it herself. He tips the package open with a quick snap of his claws and pinched it out of its pouch with surprising dexterity. As predicted, it's just enough moisture for one area.

He starts with her shoulders -- less intimate, more pressing than the other areas. He lays down the antiseptic without much warning and allows the wound to soak while he starts fiddling with the bandages.]

[Freezing and sharp compared to a swath of stale air around them; the sensation of it settling down into place prompts a sharp hiss from Sombra, expression pinching up for a moment.

Still, aside from it, she doesn't recoil or interfere. She's dealt with worse than antiseptic in an open wound before. After a beat, one eye slides open again, glancing over her shoulder towards him.]

You couldn't have warned me?

[It's a rhetorical question, technically: she already knows he never would.]

[She can complain all she want. Reaper has something to focus on, which means her protesting is not afforded his attention. He lets it soak for a minute or so before wiping away the grime and what had already managed to scab. Then, before she can complain again, he leans in to start wrapping her arm.

It's methodical, and he does it without saying a word.

When he is done, he glances back at her.]

You gonna do the rest?

[There is an insinuation about what he will think of her if she says no, but he doesn't voice it.]

[Nothing she ever does is based on anyone else's opinion of her. He could judge all he wants— imply he'll think less— but he should know by now that won't change much of anything between them.

But he does a better job of cleaning and dressing her scrapes than she'd expected. More practice in the field, maybe. Less reliance on medics— could be a Blackwatch thing. Could just be Gabe himself.]

You know I still can't see much, right?

Then don't complain.

[Reaper resumed his careful work at her collar bone. Field medic training had been a requirement as a SEP soldier, nevermind Blackwatch. Too many things could go wrong too fast to not have such knowledge at one's disposal. Instead of bandages, he pulls some gauze apart and tapes it down before moving to clean her cheek.]

Don't move.

[It's the only warning she gets before he moves in. If she happens to flinch, there is a good chance she will end up with antiseptic in her eye.]

Ah—!!

[It's a sharp yelp, one hand rushing to clasp over his, gripping it tight in terrible anguish where she's locked it in against her cheek...

...before she starts chuckling under her breath, one eye opening, then the other— a smug, toothy grin spreading wide across her face. Honestly, she couldn't resist.]

Gotcha.

[Reaper's wrist locks instinctively when he believes he might have hurt Sombra, which means when she starts chuckling, she is offered an unamused growl. If his mask had been off, she would have been afforded the roll of his eyes on top of that.]

You're lucky you're already blind.

[It isn't a real threat -- the tone is absent from his voice. He knows by now that Sombra couldn't survive without her humor, so he will let her have it. For now.

But she does get a bit off added pressure from the wipe when he pulls away the scabbing before tapping down gauze.]

Heheh— ow.

[Her nose scrunches in a wince as he drags the disinfecting wipe roughly away from her cheek, patiently enduring his (justified) retaliation for her prank. But after everything they've been through, and a few long weeks of wandering, Sombra figures the trade is well worth it.

When he's done, she drops back limp against the mattress— inhaling deeply— exhaling as she folds her hands across her stomach, the bandages flexing easily.]

Thanks, hermano.

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August Event Log: Part I

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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Go to bed

I got hungry don't judge me

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