Piper 90: Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goneawaymod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
goneawaymod) wrote in goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
3..2...1...CONTACT!
Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
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His stomach turns but he doesn't close his eyes or cover his ears. Part of him needs to know for sure.
Just how bad is it?
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The south in the memory South doesn't answer North's calls. She only takes a deep breath, so deep its visible in the dramatic rise and fall of her shoulders, and stays silent, still. Her fingers scrape across the metal body of her rifle as she grips it tighter. It's almost like she's waiting for something, poised for action and yet not taking it.
North calls for her again, telling her he needs help, that something's here, asking if she's alright—because something must have happened to her if she's not coming, right?
But South just stands there, ready to move but not moving. A pillar of purple armour caught in a moment between action and inaction.
The real South, looking the kind of exhausted that doesn't come from a lack of sleep, is sat on the floor, this time, her knees pulled up to her chest. She didn't want to relive this even once, but a second time might kill her, she feels it in the pit of her stomach.
She's not sure if York being here is worse or better than Washington. Maybe it's about the same, for different reasons. Whatever good will she's earned with him... well, it won't last long, she's sure.
"I had a plan," she says, her voice much steadier than she feels. "That's... that's why she's not answering him."
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"What was it?" His voice is strained, but he's trying to believe her. Trying to be reasonable. "And why didn't you tell him that?"
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"Because I wasn't supposed to know the Meta existed. Because I probably knew, deep down, he'd never go for it. Because it's a shitty fucking plan. Take your pick."
The sounds of the fight pick up. The explosions get closer, the shots further apart; reloading takes time and there's less bullets in a sniper than there are grenades in a Bruteshot. Grenades can do more damage than a single bullet.
But the South in the memory just keeps waiting.
The next time North shouts for her, it's not over the radios. "SOUTH!"
Hearing the desperation in his voice again is enough to make the real South flinch, her teeth gritting at the same time that her past self's shoulders draw tighter. Both South's hands are shaking.
"...I was gonna let it take Theta," she says, and it feels worse to admit this to York, of all of the Freelancers. After everything. "I know— I know that's fucked up. I know it's super fucked up, I just—"
She holds her own hands, trying to still them.
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It threw Carolina off a cliff once it already had her AI, ones she wasn't even bonded to, probably wouldn't have fought for. South is right that North wouldn't have handed Theta over, but to take it from him the Meta would-- did-- fuck. Fuck! Bad enough that she doesn't consider Theta worth saving, worse that she didn't realize this would ensure her brother's death. Or maybe she did? That would be the worst case.
He doesn't want to see this anymore, doesn't want to hear his boyfriend desperately screaming for help. But he doesn't know how to get out of it. He's shaking too, now, uncertain whether it's from distress or anger.
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South flinches away from him. It feels like the ground's going to fall out from under her and it'd probably be better for everyone if it did.
"Everyone else who was attacked by the Meta for an AI was alone. We weren't. I thought— I thought I could let it take Theta then jump in before it killed him, get us out of there, get my brother back."
He wouldn't give Theta up, so they couldn't leave. They could only keep running. Always looking over their shoulders. Even working as Recovery Two she couldn't rule out that they'd send someone to try and collect them both, eventually, and then the Meta...
"I'm not fucking proud of this, York. Not any of it. I wouldn't... I wouldn't make this choice again, but back then—"
The next sound to pierce the air is is a scream, and something in past South finally snaps, a second before Theta's terrified, childish voice screams out too, "SOUTH! It's gonna—"
He's cut off mid-word and suddenly, finally, South is moving, all of that pent-up momentum released, a burst of speed that takes her around that corner out onto the walkway—
She doesn't want to watch this again, but maybe it's what she deserves; her eyes glued to the sight of North, held in place by the Meta as it finishes inserting Theta's chip, not yet dead, but only seconds away from being killed. Seconds she didn't use to try and stop it, because to stop the Meta then she'd have to have died for it, and she was too fucking selfish to do it.
She waited too fucking long and by the time she got there, she just couldn't do it.
It happens quickly, after that. It's not a drawn-out death. The Meta impales North with the blade of the Brute Shot and it's all over, the thing and the floor both covered in blood.
South looks like she's going to be sick.
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Oh god. He's gonna see it, isn't he, they're going to have to watch--
His breath comes unsteadily and his stomach turns again. It was quick, but that doesn't make it any better because in the end?
"He was alone."
Maybe, if South had gotten there sooner, if she hadn't waited until Theta was taken, things would have been different. Part of him wonders if it's her AI hangup that contributed to this. It doesn't matter, in the end. North is dead on the ground, a bloody pool spreading around his armored form, and York has to turn away and brace himself on his knees.
He doesn't know if it's better or worse than he'd thought, now that he's seen it. Part of him had hoped that Wash had been exaggerating that she let him be killed, that she'd just been scared and run but. That doesn't matter either -- this is the truth.
It's done. They can't change it, even if they want to. Maybe South just made a horrible mistake, an innocent miscalculation, but York feels sick knowing she was right there and did nothing until it was too late.
"I need to get out of here."
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The South in the memory is still rooted to the spot, staring at her brother's dead body, her gun clattering to the ground in her shock. The sound draws the Meta's eye and it surges forward, slamming her against the ground and knocking her out.
North never even got the chance to look up and see her standing there before it was over, but this is the third time South's seen her brother die. The third fucking time she's watched that blade strike and known she'd failed him; back then, back when it really happened, it had been her self-preservation instincts that kept her from acting, but here she's just powerless. There's not even a choice.
"If I could fucking end this, or kick you out, you'd already be gone," she says, tone now taking on a colder edge much more like the way she spoke when she first arrived on the rig. She can practically feel whatever non-negative feelings York had towards her dying.
Her eyes start stinging, tears welling in them, and she tries to swipe them away.
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...she regrets this, he tells himself as he straightens up. She wouldn't do it again, she knows she fucked up. Don't write her off for something you already knew. Double jeopardy... or something like that.
It's just that seeing it is. Rough. And the last thing North would have felt is that horrible emptiness of a missing AI, the same thing that York struggles with daily because of South. Just before that, he was probably assuming his sister was already dead, because why else wouldn't she come for him? York breathes. Don't. Don't go there right now. Any of those places. Just wake the fuck up and pull yourself together and go see North.
But the scenery doesn't fade. He's just stuck there with her, not knowing what to say anymore.
The worst part of it is probably that York understands her. He'd never have done it himself, but for someone worried about their own self preservation, who resents AI, who figured if she fought beside him she'd just die, too... it was a terrible plan and then she did worse to Wash but he can see how it happened. Where it came from.
"I get it," he says roughly, his own voice thick and trembling even though his eyes are dry. "But don't you ever fucking leave him alone again."
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'I get it'. She almost laughs at that, though it'd be a dark and humourless sound. She doesn't even get it herself, anymore. Oh, she knows the logic she used, she knows what she thought would happen, but she doesn't understand why she thought it would work. She doesn't understand how her desperation to get her brother back ended up in him dead at her feet and a part of him lost to her even now, with him alive on the rig.
"Wasn't fucking planning on it," she says, and it's true. Waking up in that goddamn sitcom town, her character an only child, had put fear into her like noting else; fear that he'd died, that she'd somehow failed him again, that she'd lost him again.
She'd wanted him close by, she wanted him there to know he was okay, but even that somehow bit her in the ass.
Her head drops against her knees and her shoulders start shaking. She'll never abandon him again, she couldn't, not unless he asked her to, and the worst thing is accepting that risk. That one day he might decide it's not worth it to keep trying, anymore, that he'll actually disown her the way she thought he was the day she arrived here on the rig.
Around them, the memory starts to shift. She can almost feel it, even without looking, and knows where it's going; it's like the two fucking memories are linked together and she can't separate them, no matter how hard she tries.
The new scene is a shitty motel parking lot somewhere else on the planet. Another version of past South—looking tired and ragged, wearing normal clothes over her undersuit with a bulky duffel over her shoulder—is heading inside.
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He blinks, freezing in front of her with his hand still extended.
"Where's this?"
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She doesn't even raise her head to answer. "Couple weeks later. Three days after I decided it was safe to stop running all the time."
The South in the new memory goes to the front desk and asks for a twin room, paying and taking the keycard. She heads to the room number she's been given and opens the door, calling back over her shoulder as she steps over the threshold:
"Dibs on the—"
—before abruptly cutting off, and suddenly it's like something's shoved her, except the room is empty besides her. Her legs simply give out under her, her back hitting the door, sliding down inch by inch as the duffel full of armour clatters noisily to the ground.
And then the room is silent, the kind of dead silence that comes with being so utterly, utterly alone. There's no one else there. There's no brother following on her heel, ready to claim whichever bed she didn't call dibs on.
There's no one there but South and—
Suddenly her fingers start clawing at the back of her neck, prying the chip there out with a sort of frantic desperation as tears shine in her eyes and threaten to fall. Delta's chip goes sailing across the room to land on the carpet, undamaged.
And South starts sobbing, pitiful, all-consuming sobs that sound like she's choking on them, gasping like she can barely even breathe for how hard it hits her. She curls in on herself, not unlike present South is sat now, but her fingers are tangling into her hair, tugging at it at the roots.
It's not a sight anyone would expect to see from South.
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He closes the distance between himself and present South, kneeling beside her and reaching out to grip her shoulder.
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She startles at the sudden, utterly unexpected touch, her fight instinct almost winning out over sense. Her head shoots up and it's clear, then, that the South in the memory isn't the only one who's crying, but only one of them is being loud about it.
She opens her mouth as if to say something, but there's no words on the tip of her tongue. Her jaw snaps back shut.
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"Come on. You've got a second chance."
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It's not at all what she expected.
She's not actually sure what she expected. Maybe him to be catching her off guard to make her look up so he could knock her out, or something. She knows he can do it when he's angry enough, after all. Maybe something else, she doesn't know, her head is scrambled.
But she didn't expect a hug.
If she didn't know how to handle it last time, in a much calmer moment, she doesn't know how to handle it now, even as she lets herself be pulled in. Her arms don't even seem to know where to go, this time, one remaining wrapped around her own knees and the other awkwardly hooking around him.
As soon as her face is out of sight of him, it crumples. She starts to sob, out of sync with the memory of South still playing around them.
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He doesn't say anything else, at least not yet, but hopefully it's clear that even if he got angry over the scene before that's not all there is here.
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She hates that she's crying in front of him, in front of anyone. The memory is violating enough to have seen by other people, the memory of a moment where she realised she was truly, truly alone for the first time in her life and it was all her own fault—but crying, here and now, in front of York?
It's fucking mortifying, but she can't stop.
The last time she cried on someone's shoulder it was North, and the thought of that conversation sends her into a fresh wave of sobs because it had meant so much, she'd been open and honest about deep-seated insecurities she never thought she'd share with him, and he'd reassured her that she hadn't always been this, been the person who let her brother die to save her own skin. It had meant so. fucking. much.
Only to know, now, that it could all just be bullshit.
"H-He never fucking forgave me," she mumbles, quiet and muffled and her voice shaking. "He shouldn't. He shouldn't, but he— he let me think he did, and— and— fuck."
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"Wait... what?"
For fuck's sake, North, if you did the 'everything's fine now' lying to yourself and everyone around you bullshit about something this big?
He shouldn't jump ahead of things, though. "And what, South?" he prompts her gently, hoping she doesn't lock back down.
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"He didn't. He fucking didn't, he's just been doing that stupid thing he does, lying to himself, trying to make everyone happy, and— and now I don't fucking know if anything he's fucking told me is anything but fucking bullshit."
It's insecurity talking, as much as anything else. She's been re-building herself from almost the ground up, trying to figure out who she is, now, and so much of the foundation of that was built on everything North said, the way he sat and talked her through it all.
But if he could let her think he'd forgiven her for what she did all this time, then what else might he have been lying about?
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But he can't be sure she's wrong, either. That 'stupid thing' North does is causing problems, isn't it? York sighs softly.
"When you wake up from this, go talk to him. I'll come with you if you want."
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"I know him, York. Better than fucking anyone," she says; the hand of the arm hooked around him grasps tight at the material of his coveralls for a moment before she makes herself let go. "I know."
And then she's quiet, for a long moment, besides the sound of her quieter sobs and sniffles that make her feel so pitiful and pathetic.
"...why would you even want to help?" Help her, is the implication. After everything he just saw, after everything she's done, when she still hasn't even given him back his goddamned AI...
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"It's for both of you," he says softly, because even if he's pissed at North right now he still loves the giant idiot and South is the most important thing to North.
But also?
"And because I know there's more to you than that. You used to have our backs. I'm not gonna blame it all on the Project, but you can get past this shit and be a better person. It might even make you happy."
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She snorts; it's quiet, though, weak. Her usual attitude is lost to her, right now. The energy she needs to keep it up is faltering under the pressure of everything she's been made to relive.
She scrubs at her face, as if that'll get rid of the redness and not just make it worse. It's a state she never wanted anyone else but North to see her in.
"...I'm trying," she says, and feels like she's said it a thousand times recently. She tries and she tries but everything seems to crumble apart again the second she thinks it might actually be getting better. "I've been trying."
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