( you wake up, alone in the dark. )
CHARACTERS: EVERYONE.
LOCATION: The Medbay, the Locker Room, the Passenger Quarters. Pick your poison.
WARNINGS: I didn't write this. The wonderful wonderment that are the mods did. I'm only borrowing so we can get this party started.
SUMMARY: You wake up. Now choose your own adventure. (Start a new thread, tag someone else's. Whatever, people. ( Read more... )
LOCATION: The Medbay, the Locker Room, the Passenger Quarters. Pick your poison.
WARNINGS: I didn't write this. The wonderful wonderment that are the mods did. I'm only borrowing so we can get this party started.
SUMMARY: You wake up. Now choose your own adventure. (Start a new thread, tag someone else's. Whatever, people. ( Read more... )
He was human.
He was human.
Sitting down heavily and trying to ignore how odd it felt to breathe, the feel of (everything) against his new flesh, he tried to remember how he'd gotten here and received only flickers of feeling and disjointed nothing. He remembered...base. On Earth. And going over his reports while Soundwave did something with his cassettes in the corner. Other than that...
He couldn't remember.
Not entirely an unfamiliar situation.
He let his head fall forward the way his - body? - body seemed to want it to and laughed softly to himself. It was strained, but more amused than bitter. He coughed immediately at the feel of it against his throat.
"Again? I thought once was considered unlucky."
Okay. First things first, then, if he'd lost another few million years. What had he done first when this had happened last time? He needed information. He needed to see if-
If what? There was something...someone-
No. Gone now. Leave it be. If it was important, it would come back.
He needed information. First, he needed to stop the way his fuel tank. Stomach. Stomach, right? Felt like it was twisting itself into knots. Now. While the situation was still mostly calm and everyone was mostly still too disoriented to care. He smiled (it felt weird on his face) and felt it twist into a grimace as he raised his voice to something croaking but audible. It might seem he was talking to the room at large, but anyone particularly observant would notice his face was turned toward the bundle of clothes in his lap and the communicator peeking out of a fold. His hand rested lightly against it. He was cut off from the rest of the network, but the comm is still there.
"Hey. I am Heatwave. Would it be too much trouble to ask what's going on?"
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Lockers. Numbers. Okay, he's got a number. (Which he doesn't remember.) And there were still people here, but not nearly as bad as where all the tubes were, so. That was something. Hey, there was even a locker with his numbers on it. And his glasses were inside.
Shit, is that weird guy talking to him or to someone else?
"Heatwwavve is a stupid name." His tone was more than a little distracted, but he did have some bite in there. He happened to be a bit too busy trying to decide whether he was supposed to wear the jumpsuit or burn it to be properly scathing and catty at the moment. (That, and there was probably some kind of PTSD going on, but he didn't have a clue about that sort of thing.)
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He grinned good-naturedly. "I guess it might be, to you. It doesn't translate well into an organic language, and the naming structure for my species is a little odd by human standards." He tilted his head, abruptly deciding to notice the physical features that were...all wrong. "The same might be true for your species...if you're not human?"
Heatwave didn't think humans came in different builds like that, however.
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He finally gave up hope on real clothing and started to struggle into his special jumpsuit of fashion disaster-dom, feeling even more stupid for being clumsy about it. "Anywway, take a fuckin' number on this wwhole 'wwhat's goin' on' business. I'm first in line."
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"Eridan. Sorry. I haven't ever met a member of your species before. Pleased to meet you."
Oh, right. Clothes. Was that how you were supposed to put them on? Heatwave was just going to. Stand up then. And do that. Hopefully without tripped and crushing his face, but Heatwave was an optimistic sort of guy.
"No ideas? I take it you don't remember anything either."
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He paused halfway through pulling a leg over his foot at the question. Did he remember anything? Shit. Yeah, he did. He remembered stupid fish puns and his name and he remembered that the reason the scarf hanging in his locker was so torn up and bloodied was because he'd killed someone. And then there was a chainsaw, somewhere in there. And then... Here he was and what did that mean?
"...Nope. Don't remember anyfin. Just me, sittin' here, havvin' fuckin' trouble wwith a stupid jumpsuit! An' bein' completely none-the-wwiser about anyfin wwhatsoevver." Yeah. That was natural.
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Heatwave was still trying to get the leg parts on , but he hadn't thught to brace himself. He laughed sheepishly he fell against the wall, wincing at the sensation of pain at his back before letting himself slide back down to the floor. He could finish from there. "And you're not having more trouble than me. You're already doing fine. We'll figure out what's going on as soon as we have the opportunity - equipment like this can't maintain itself. Have you tried your comm?"
Eridan seemed a little upset. Obviously this meant Heatwave needed to try and improve his morale.
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His fingertips were numb enough that the zipper was giving him trouble, so once he managed to settle the jumpsuit at his waist, he gave up for the timebeing. The question about the comm came enough out of left field that, instead of making a catty comment, Eridan just looked into his locker and pulled out the little device. "Huh. ...No, not yet, wwhy bother? The person wwho knowws wwhat's goin' on is probably right inside that medical lab. Wwatchin'."
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"It's designed to connect to the ship's network. It doesn't seem to be accessible from here - probably a purposeful dead zone to prevent interference with the medical equipment - but once we're out of this area you might be able to talk to the rest of us on a wider scale. I know I want to see if any of my comrades made it here."
...Now how was he supposed to bend his leg to get it in the other pant leg? Humans couldn't honestly be that flexible?
Oh, dear motherboard, they were. That was not natural.
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"Wwell, maybe once you figure out howw to fuckin' dress yourself, you can go an' check it out. Sure as fuck wwhat I'm gonna do." The idea of anyone he knew being here, though... He wasn't sure if he wanted that, or if he was terrified of it. He pulled out his scarf and draped it over his neck, despite the fact that he looked ridiculous with it while his suit was still hanging at his waist.
Oh, wait. Back up the conversation a second. He frowned. "Wwhat wwere you sayin' about your species? You look pretty fuckin' human to me right noww."
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Heatwave dragged the legs up and started working on the zipper and sleeves, easily ignoring Eridan's remarks. The clothes were easy enough to figure out. The physical capabilities of this malfunctioning body that would let him get those clothes on? Not so much. He wasn't sure Eridan could help with that though, so he didn't ask.
"I hope you find some familiar faces."
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Finally feeling confident enough, he pulled the sleeves over his arms and started working the zipper up himself, losing hold of it a few times but determinedly zipping it up until it rested just below his collarbone. "An' by the wway, Cybertron is such a lame fuckin' name. Totally unoriginal." He was more partial to names like the Land of Wrath and Angels. Or Brains and Fire. Really, anything that had two words in it. That made more sense.
"Guess I'll leavve you to your fumblin', or wwhatevver."
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"I like it. It's home," Heatwave says instead, working on trying to shove some of his own cheer off on Eridan instead. Not that Eridan seemed the type to appreciate it, but you never knew. Heatwave goes back to grinning brightly in farewell.
"I'll figure it out. Take care of yourself."
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"Right. Yeah. ...You too, I guess." He wasn't even sure how goodbyes were supposed to go, but that sounded all right, he guessed. He made sure he had everything from his locker, then slammed it with finality and decided to go looking for some coddamn answers. Fuck these peppy bastards - he needed to find someone who knew what was going on.
And also maybe flip out some.
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Remembering to breathe--which was really more like "forgetting that you don't normally breathe"--was one thing, but taking his disc, kidnapping him, and then dumping him naked on the freezing-cold floor somewhere completely unfamiliar? Frankly, that was just rude.
Still, it wasn't like he had much else to do but follow the disoriented clumps of people into the locker bay, so that's exactly what he did. It didn't take much guesswork to figure out which locker he was supposed to choose, and the door clicked easily open when he touched the handle. Conveniently, locker number 148 was wedged into one of the far corners of the room... right next to the guy introducing himself to the entire room.
"You are definitely asking the wrong program," Gibson said, ignoring Heatwave in favor of inspecting the jumpsuit dubiously. There was no way he was actually going to wear this; it was all one piece, it didn't look right, and it didn't immediately rez onto him like clothing was supposed to. Besides, what was it even supposed to be made of? (Poly-cotton blend is sadly not a thing that exists inside the average computer.)
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Heatwave didn't look from his lap as he said this, prodding at the communicator gently. He sighed. "This one doesn't seem to have the required information, though. Strange. You'd think its connection to the ship would give it something, but it keeps insisting I go the passenger's quarters and nothing else." And it was being creepy, but Heatwave hadn't yet noticed that something giving you the equivalent of a fixed, overly cheerful smile and forcefully rerouting you back to the main screen wasn't being nice.
This time Heatwave did look up, and his frown disappeared in favor of a grin. "What is your designation?"
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