Comm Specialist Samantha Traynor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chessspecialist) wrote2015-06-11 04:49 pm
chessspecialist) wrote2015-06-11 04:49 pm
Entry tags:
writing: Ataraxion Intro
[ Coming in during this. ]
Sleep was becoming something seldom and sought after. There was too much to be done, after all, and as much as Samantha had begun to trust her own abilities, there was a stark difference between the ones on the ground and the ones in the air. She was beginning to doubt if the Normandy could be hit, with Joker flying.
That wasn't the point.
The point was that there was so much to do, and suddenly she couldn't do anything else. The comm channels were full, all orders had been given. The night before they arrived in the space above Earth was completely and utterly free. She couldn't even think of it.
Too much to do, and everything.... And yet it wasn't long after she gave in to her cot, that she fell asleep. A deep sleep, overpowering and endless--or so it would seem. She dreamed of sleeping without gravity, enclosed and safe, and for a moment it was enough.
Her eyes fluttered against the dark to see blue. Nothing the same and all changed, and yet there was something pressed above her head. A hand above her face, and the feeling, the sensation of hate. Furious rage tempered by nothing, and all of that directed at Samantha.
She gasped harshly, and in the act, the enclosure around her released, fluid draining and tubes dispersing. She remember hate and recalled fear, and instead of blue, it was red--only red.
And now she was in her undergarments on an unknown floor. Her attention called instantly to the foreign substance on--no, in her arm: 044 ยป 123. She didn't understand. None of this....
The only way out was through the showers, and she would have relished it more if she had any idea what was going on. She stayed until she was clean, staring at the tattoo, then noted the lockers in the next room. The red paint an incomprehensible warning across them. And the relevant numbers.
"Forty-four... One twenty-three.... Here it is."
The locker opened to show things far too familiar. She changed into her Alliance uniform, clean and pressed, quickly, secure in the odd bit of familiarity. The rest was... her own things. Her omnitool, her pill bag, her chessboard... Even her toothbrush. What was this? Had she been restationed? Perhaps she had been hurt in the fight that she thought was tomorrow, and instead was lacking memory of the event.
It wasn't a comfort, to think that. Repressing a shudder, she picked up her things and headed for the elevator out. Only floors one to ten, was it?
She needed to gain more information.
Sleep was becoming something seldom and sought after. There was too much to be done, after all, and as much as Samantha had begun to trust her own abilities, there was a stark difference between the ones on the ground and the ones in the air. She was beginning to doubt if the Normandy could be hit, with Joker flying.
That wasn't the point.
The point was that there was so much to do, and suddenly she couldn't do anything else. The comm channels were full, all orders had been given. The night before they arrived in the space above Earth was completely and utterly free. She couldn't even think of it.
Too much to do, and everything.... And yet it wasn't long after she gave in to her cot, that she fell asleep. A deep sleep, overpowering and endless--or so it would seem. She dreamed of sleeping without gravity, enclosed and safe, and for a moment it was enough.
Her eyes fluttered against the dark to see blue. Nothing the same and all changed, and yet there was something pressed above her head. A hand above her face, and the feeling, the sensation of hate. Furious rage tempered by nothing, and all of that directed at Samantha.
She gasped harshly, and in the act, the enclosure around her released, fluid draining and tubes dispersing. She remember hate and recalled fear, and instead of blue, it was red--only red.
And now she was in her undergarments on an unknown floor. Her attention called instantly to the foreign substance on--no, in her arm: 044 ยป 123. She didn't understand. None of this....
The only way out was through the showers, and she would have relished it more if she had any idea what was going on. She stayed until she was clean, staring at the tattoo, then noted the lockers in the next room. The red paint an incomprehensible warning across them. And the relevant numbers.
"Forty-four... One twenty-three.... Here it is."
The locker opened to show things far too familiar. She changed into her Alliance uniform, clean and pressed, quickly, secure in the odd bit of familiarity. The rest was... her own things. Her omnitool, her pill bag, her chessboard... Even her toothbrush. What was this? Had she been restationed? Perhaps she had been hurt in the fight that she thought was tomorrow, and instead was lacking memory of the event.
It wasn't a comfort, to think that. Repressing a shudder, she picked up her things and headed for the elevator out. Only floors one to ten, was it?
She needed to gain more information.