apathetic-adaptability-blog

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

Hey guys.

I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to leave the RP due to personal circumstance.

You guys can absolutely keep the RP going if you like, and I apologize for all the inconvenience my leaving will cause.

It's been awesome RPing with you all, seriously. You've all been fantastic.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

First Contact (Nash & Peter)

Nashville: Don't fucking talk to me about psychology right now.

Nashville: We're on the south side of the crash, near where the hanger used to be. Lincoln's AI is trapped inside, we're trying to save them.

A.I. Unit Pisces: ...My apologies, Agent.

A.I. Unit Pisces: I will be there as quickly as I am able.

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First Contact (Nash & Peter)

Nashville: Peter, please tell me you snagged a medkit somewhere. Lincoln is hurt pretty bad and I need… He can’t die, Peaches, okay? He can’t.

Nashville: I don't want to talk about my goddamn emotions.

A.I. Unit Pisces: Er, yes, Orion and I salvaged what medical supplies we could.

A.I. Unit Pisces: And every human psychology text book I have read informs me that speaking about one's emotions is healthy and-- well. We can save for later. What is your location?

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

The frailty of humans was indeed a disturbing sight. Peter had, of course, seen many of the Agents with injuries, both on the field and in the med bay. But this seemed different. Perhaps it was because there was no safety net; the Equinox was too damaged, there would be no rescue. All they had was what they could salvage, and what looked like a a forest that was definitely not as clean as the med bay.

But at least Peter could help. He could be useful. He had been spending time in the med bay recently, learning how to treat the humans, and he liked that much better than training for war.

At Orion's prompt, Peter started digging through one of the med kits they had salvaged. Needles, he thought, were a horrible way to deliver drugs, however effective they were.

"Agent Charleston?" Peter did his best to make his voice low and calm. He'd been told that he had a nice bedside manner, though Peter was not entirely sure if the Agent who had told him that had been serious or not. "I will need you to be as still as you can."

He injected Charleston as quickly as he could, finding a vein in his uninjured arm.

"That should start lessening your pain levels shortly." He looked over at Orion, worry making him frown. "Should we move him to be with the other Agents?"

Letting Go || Charleston & Peter & Orion

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First Contact (Nash & Peter)

Nashville: Peter? I…everyone is dead, I assume you are as well. All the Pelicans are destroyed. And Richmond…

Nashville: Are you okay?

A.I. Unit Pisces: Oh, I-- hello. I was wondering when you would realize that our implant was online once more. You have been experiencing many emotions, Agent.

A.I. Unit Pisces: I am fine. My corporeal form was crushed in the hangar but my programming was sent to a spare form. Both Scorpio and Orion are also alive, but I have seen nobody else.

A.I. Unit Pisces: I have felt your distress about your brother. I am very sorry, Agent.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

It turned out that making one's way through a ship that was slowly collapsing to the ground as not as easy as it sounded. Several times, Peter and Orion were forced to stop and grab hold of something as the ship shuddered, creaking around them.

They found no survivors.

It was entirely possible that there were some still in the ship, just in areas that Peter and Orion had been able to gain access to because of destruction. Unfortunately, they would have to make their own way out--something that Peter hated to admit, but it would be impossible for him to help.

He knew, at least, that Agent Nashville was alive. The thought was a relief, even though nothing that Peter had attempted to say to him seemed to have gotten through to Nashville. Possibly it was because, amid Peter's own relief, he could feel absolute desolation coming from Nashville, grief and disbelief.

Agent Richmond was dead. Nashville's brother.

Peter understood the grief of death. And while he had not known Richmond that well, he was sad, because Richmond had seemed very nice. And nobody should have to lose their sibling. But Nashville did not seem to hear him.

They emerged from the ship to a strangely colored forest, and voices in the distance. Hope was a dangerous thing, but Peter could hear at least five different voices, though he could not identify them. They started forward--and almost missed seeing Agent Charleston, who appeared to be rather unconscious. It was the pink of his helmet that caught Peter's eye and, startled, he crouched over Charleston, attempting to figure out how injured he was.

His arm was definitely broken. A head injury seemed likely, though Peter could not check the severity of that without Charleston being awake. But he was alive.

"Agent Charleston?" Peter tentatively touched Charleston's shoulder, the uninjured one. He glanced over at the escape pod--damaged, which meant that Charleston may have other injuries he could not see. "Agent? I require you to wake up so that I can check how injured you are and then perform the appropriate helpful aid. Orion is here, he is much better at medical aid than I am."

Letting Go || Charleston & Peter & Orion

Charleston barely remembered the descent - everything had gone by so quickly, and as the escape pod fell to the planet below them, he would only ever recall a couple of thoughts from that time.

The first was Trent. No matter what she had been like or what everyone thought of her, she had died protecting him. And he had left her behind like a coward.

The second was Providence. Strong, brave, Providence. He didn’t think she’d ever fall, but she had indeed. Flashes of cyan splattered with red flitted across his mind, and he closed his eyes and mumbled nonsense, anything to get it out of his head.

And then there was a small bump. Charleston’s head slammed against the back of the escape pod as it shook violently.

"Wh-wh-what?" Brought back to the moment, he tried to figure out what went on. A glancing blow from some debris of some kind. His stomach fell in panic - he had survived everything up to this point, and he was about to die to this and -

No no no no I can’t I won’t

Charleston reached out. A small wheel rested on the wall for corrective maneuvers. Not enough to do anything significant, but he had to do something. Charleston worked the wheel, sweat dripping from his hair and into his eyes. A beeping noise alerted him to the fact that he had entered the atmosphere and was descending rapidly.

Shit shit goddammit fuck no shit -

And then it occurred to him. He was speaking in his head, but no one was speaking back. The one thought paralyzed him for a moment. Just enough to stop him from making the one correction that would’ve ensured a smooth landing, but by the time he noticed he was about to hit the ground, it was too late. The pod slammed into the ground, and Charleston was thrown about, screams lost in the whining sound as the pod ground to a halt.

<><><><><>

It took him a while to wake up. When he did, everything was dark except for the dim display of his suit. He groaned softly and reached out to open the pod. As soon as he put any pressure to the button, though, a searing pain flared in his arm. He screamed, half from the pain itself and half from the shock of being injured in the first place. His ears were ringing and his stomach was churning, but he managed enough willpower to extend his other arm to open the pod. The door hissed as it opened, almost hinging on something, but open it did, and Charleston fell out and rolled upon the ground.

He thought he saw movement in the far off distance, but everything was blurry. The flash of bright colors that indicated movement. With his good arm, the one that wasn’t red hot with pain, he undid the clasps of his helmet - it rolled a couple of feet away, the pink standing out amongst the dusty ground. It seemed to take an hour just to do that, though - and it took almost everything he had.

"G-gggguys…" His voice was a hoarse whisper. Fingers crawled languidly yet desparately at the ground in front of him. His teammates were there, but there was no way Charleston was getting up. He barely had enough strength to keep his eyes open, and even then, it was fading rapidly.

"Please," was all he could mumble before everything went dark again.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

Scorpio was not speaking.

Peter's first instinct was to assume that his voice box had perhaps been damaged. He could see no injury to Scorpio's throat, but internal injuries were always possible.

Still, he was not sure that was the cause. There was a look in Scorpio's eyes that spoke of a far more personal reason, a tremble to his synthetic muscles that had Peter pulling back in concern. Things that were dead did not come back to life, so it followed that . . . perhaps Scorpio had not been dead. Perhaps his programming had been stuck somewhere.

Perhaps Scorpio had forgotten how to speak.

Peter had wished, vaguely, in times before now, that A.I. could implant to one another. It would make conversation so much easier, to speak them at the speed of thought, not sound. But as that was impossible, he was going to resort to words.

"You cannot speak," he assumed. "Do not worry, you do not need to. We just need to get off this ship."

For a minute, Peter had forgotten the situation entirely. The crash, the Agents. All of it had ceased to matter at the sight of Scorpio, alive.

"We crashed. I am not sure if you are aware of this, or when you woke up. There were three Covenant ships that attacked us just outside this solar system, and it appears that we have crashed on one of the planets. I am not sure which." Peter normally did not speak so much, but there he was, filling in the silence. Rambling, he supposed. "I am not sure how many survivors there are, only that--"

He broke off, suddenly registering exactly what it was that Scorpio was holding. Speedy. Or rather, Speedy's broken parts.

"Oh." It was a thoughtless exhalation, devastation dawning over his expression. Strange, to feel so sad, after feeling so amazed and relieved that Scorpio was alive. Peter reached forward, gently taking the pieces of Speedy, cradling them close. The corpse looked flattened in places, like he had been stepped on. He went to speak, found that he could not, and closed his mouth again.

After a struggle, he finally said, "Come. We should leave the ship. If there are survivors, we will find them along the way."

[Equinox Crew] Crashed and Burning

Pisces was—Scorpio had read about this. It was a gesture of affection between humans, this arm-enfolding motion. A hug. Scorpio had never experienced one before and now it felt foreign to him, even more foreign than it would have had he not just spent eternity locked inside his own mind, unable to move, to see, to breathe. Having another physical being so close to him when he was already so bewildered by his own existence on this plane already hurt.

Flashes of memory. Pisces’ eyes, wide and desperate. Scorpio’s hand on Sacramento’s shoulder. A scream.

He closed his eyes. The images were still there, burning into him, blinding him. He was shaking. Were units born of metal such as himself capable of the tiny muscle spasm that were involved with trembling? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know how he was supposed to act, what was right. What he was supposed to be or do or feel.

There were a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue, all fighting to be the first to meet Pisces’ sound receptors. None of them emerged. He couldn’t remember how to speak. His tongue was leaden, his vocal processors dead. He opened his eyes and looked hard at Pisces, his lips parted slightly as if to speak, but uttered nothing.

Was this even real? Could he really be here, staring at his fellow unit, the corpse of an old friend cradled carefully in his hands? He did not know what death was like. He had thought, perhaps, he had died before, when he was alone, but clearly that had not been the case. Or perhaps these were steps in a process. But surely he should be allowed to talk during it?

Maybe it was some kind of—some kind of divine punishment for being nonhuman. Scorpio had read much on the humans’ God before; he knew how wrathful they had depicted him. Perhaps this was their God’s way of telling a cruel joke.

But no, he did not believe in God. He had not believed before his time in solitude and he did not believe now. He truly must have been alive, but standing before Pisces, he did not feel it.

He felt dead.

He felt dead, and he hurt, and he hurt, and he hurt, and all he could think of was Pisces, Boston, Sacramento, over and over, a broken record in his broken mind, doomed endlessly to repeat. Maybe if he found Sacramento all of this would be better. Maybe if he could just see her, he could find some way to cope, to readjust to living again. Maybe.

But he couldn’t manage the words. His lips quivered slightly, ready to enunciate what he had to say, but no speech came. This was a problem and the solution, unlike a day’s typical conundrums, was not easily found. Perhaps if he thought hard enough at Pisces, something would get through. Anything.

As long as he stopped feeling so alone.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

Peter had heard footsteps behind him--he would have had to have been deaf to miss them--but he had not turned right away. He had almost not wanted to know who it was. What if it was the Director? What if they were the only two alive? Or what if it was one of the Agents who despised him, like Olympia, or Phoenix?

But he had had to turn eventually. And when he did--

"Scorpio?"

As an A.I., Peter was built with processing speeds many times faster than that of a human. He thought faster, he reacted faster, his mind was more efficient in nearly every single way. And even so, he spent a long few seconds just staring, utterly baffled, at the A.I. that had walked up to him. It could not be Scorpio. The form was definitely Scorpio's, but there had to be a mistake--perhaps one of the other A.I. had accidentally gotten put into one of Scorpio's old bodies. Perhaps there was no real consciousness in there at all, just misfiring wires.

But as he took a step closer, both options seemed invalid. Scorpio, before, had almost never gone without his little smirk, his curious spark, and while his expression now was markedly different, it was nonetheless him.

Alive.

How?

The last time he had seen Scorpio, the A.I. had been standing very calmly at Agent Sacramento's side, that permanent smirk in place, like he was absolutely okay with the thought of perishing at his Agent's side. For the most part, Peter's attention had been turned mainly toward Boston, begging him, pleading with him to let Peter die by his side as they had approached the Covenant ship they were intending to blow up. His emotions had been running so chaotically that Peter remembered those moments in fragments.

But right as his programming had started to get transferred to Agent Atlanta's armor, he had locked eyes with Scorpio for a moment. Just a fraction of a second.

Peter had hated him in that moment. And he had screamed at Atlanta to that effect--why did Scorpio get his decision respected, while nobody listened to what Peter had wanted? Why did Peter not get the choice?

After, Peter had thought about that moment a great deal. He had wondered if Scorpio was as peaceful as he had seemed. He had wondered what it had felt like--the explosion, the death. And he had missed Scorpio so badly that he still thought of him at odd moments, like he did of Boston.

In a moment as quick as that last glance had been, Peter stepped forward, and applied his knowledge of 'hugs', wrapping his arms around Scorpio and holding him tight. He did not notice what Scorpio was holding; that was less important. Everything felt less important right then.

"How--" Peter broke off, perplexed. 'Shocked' would be too vague a descriptor. "We all thought you were dead."

[Equinox Crew] Crashed and Burning

The figure was alive.

Scorpio knew this because he heard it speak, and when the voice registered in his brain, he knew who it was immediately. It was a voice he knew well, the last AI he had been with before his suicide mission with Sacramento and Boston.

Pisces.

The flood of questions he had was immediately replaced by a wave of images pounding into his brain from every direction: Pisces’ eyes, wide and desperate, as he fought to join his agent in death. His form falling to the ground lifelessly, as if a moment before it hadn’t been occupied by an intelligent being. Lifting away to do their duty, Pisces’ empty form with them, knowing that he would not get the closure of death that Scorpio would.

Or thought he would, anyway.

Scorpio felt weak. He was being buffeted by images he’d seen a hundred, a thousand, a million times, and yet still they tore at him with every bit of force as they’d had when they first began to torment him, ripping into his mind and leaving him reeling.

He wanted to speak. He wanted to ask Pisces how long he’d been gone, wanted to gain some sense of his situation. Wanted to find out how the mission had proceeded… and if Sacramento was alive.

Really, though, she had to be. She had to be alive. If he’d survived, she was—she was so much stronger than him. She had to have made it through somehow. There was no way she hadn’t.

But his tongue was leaden. He couldn’t remember how to speak, not after spending what seemed like eternity trapped in his own mind. He couldn’t speak, so instead he did the only thing he could: he held Speedy out, that poor, forgotten corpse, toward the unit who had been the closest thing it had to an owner.

The gesture seemed fitting.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

Peter was not entirely sure how he would feel if they were the only two left alive.

He was at least grateful that it was Orion. But there were people that he would . . . grieve, as foreign as the emotion felt to him right now. Agents and A.I. that he liked, that he had fought alongside, that he had spent time with and had grown close to. Perhaps not as close as he had felt to Agent Boston, but still close.

Friends, he would call them. That word was appropriate.

And he did not want to leave and possibly abandon them. Even if there was nothing other than their bodies, did not want to just walk away as if they were nothing.

The weight of Orion's hand, at least, was reassuring. Because Peter honestly did not know how much more death he could take. First Boston, along with Sacramento and Scorpio. Gemini and Acadia. Then Atlanta and Annapolis, not dead, but as good as. And--

Boston's dog tags.

They would be on his former body.

"We have to go to the hangar." Was Orion not distressed at the thought of his own Agent possibly being deceased? He seemed calm, and Orion had never been one to really hide his emotions, though Peter had no doubt that he could do so, if he chose. "I-- there is something there I must retrieve. And perhaps on the way we may find more survivors."

Was it weak of him, to contemplate asking Orion to lead him, so that Peter would not have to look? He did not want to see bodies.

[Equinox Crew] Crashed and Burning

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Though Peter was supposed to be able to adapt to any situation, to any fate, he had found himself frozen.

Standing at the tear in the Equinox, looking down on what appeared to be a forest, he had not wanted to look back into the ship. He had not wanted to be confronted with the knowledge of which A.I. were alive, and which were dead. The thought of seeing their shells was too much for him.

So he had frozen, unable to face the truth. Peter was aware that he would have to find out eventually, he could not simply stay here for the rest of his natural life. But it was tempting. It would be easier than knowing.

Orion's voice shattered the silence, and Peter would have liked to say that he was relieved, but he could not feel anything right now, as if his emotions were clouded over so thickly that he could only get the barest glimpse of them. But there was relief. Of everybody on this ship, Peter considered Orion to be . . . valuable.

That was not the best word for it. But it was the only one he had right now.

"I do not know if any of the Agents survived. Or any of the other A.I." Even his voice was numb, bland. "There is every possibility that we are the only two left."

[Equinox Crew] Crashed and Burning

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]

[Equinox Crew] Crashed and Burning

The silence was perhaps the most unnerving thing to Peter.

While others had gotten to the escape pods, Peter had not. He had not known if his consciousness would transfer to one of the spare forms that the Equinox held in storage, but he got his answer when he opened his eyes and found that he was indeed still alive. He remembered his corporeal form being destroyed--the hangar had crumpled upon impact--and the feeling had been . . . disconcerting.

The storage he had woken up in was right at the tear in the ship; the far wall was gone, replaced with a chasm of blackened metal and blue sky beyond that.

Agent Nashville?

No answer. The implant link was still offline.

And he was surrounded by the very still spare bodies of his brothers and sisters.

Scrambling upright, Peter cautiously made his way to the very edge of the tear in the ship, standing on the precipice. He could not hear anything. No voices. Just the whistle of wind through the torn ship.

He had seen some of the Agents get to escape pods. But he had no way of knowing if they had survived or not. And what of the A.I.? What of the Director?

There was a feeling that Peter distinctly recalled feeling at several moments in his life--the cold, burrowing sensation of dread, but a strangely numb one. Shock, then. A very human feeling, he had been told.

"Hello?"

He surely could not be the only survivor.

[apathetic-adaptability-blog]