#glad to see the reanimation project be handed off to someone else though

[stitchwraith-stingers]

thinking about that one person that got exposed today and i think that i should also share about it on here since they own the community you see when you look up fop, probably not active enough on tumblr anyway so it would be nice to give people a heads up but idk if i would like to keep the post up long enough nor if i would be brave enough to post it in the main tags

[kayr0ss]

Hands that Remember [AO3 Link]

[Horizon Zero Dawn, Elisabet Sobeck Lives, Found Family, Mother-Daughter Feelings, GAIA is recovering, Ereloy]

Summary: Aloy saw the recordings, felt their grief over the death of their culture - the loss of their identity. Ted Faro had blown away the light meant to guide humanity through darkness - but she was willing to risk it all to take it back. To bring APOLLO back.  It wasn't the first time that the world asked her for a miracle, but it bargained with a miracle of its own: This time - she didn't have to do it alone.

[Wherein Elisabet Sobeck returns, GAIA is recovering, Erend is done waiting around, and Aloy discovers a family she's never had before to help lift the weight of the world off her shoulders.]

---

Chapter 1: Resurfacing

It was endless.

The dust and sand reminded him of the canyons north of Meridian—but it seemed harsher.  Endless, expansive. Flat. He’d lost sight of All-Mother Mountain days ago and soon even the icy northern peaks of the Cut had fallen behind the horizon. All that was around him were rocks and packed earth.

Clouds of dust rose from under his footsteps, caught in a wind swooping over from further west. He wondered if they would reach the end of the world before the end of this desert. Did it just… stop? Was there an edge where everything ceased to be, a void down below ready to consume anything unfortunate enough to travel just a bit too far?

He grunted at his thoughts. Way too poetic. Been hanging around too many Carja these days—and not enough ale to drown out all the needless chatter.

What was Aloy doing out here anyway?

Still, he pressed on with gritted teeth, pulling up the fabric of his scarf above his nose. There was shelter up ahead. The faint purple glow he was following led him straight down its path: a ruin of the Old Ones full of rusting metal and crumbling rock. There were a few trees in the vicinity, tall and shooting straight up from the ground as though they were arrows.

“Must’ve taken shelter here,” he grumbled to himself.

It was a short trek to reach the threshold of the ruins. There was an archway holding a dilapidated sign, looking as if a strong kick to the base would be enough to knock it over. For a minute he entertained the thought, but what for?

A pile of metal junk lies near the perimeter of the building—one of those rectangular containers, similar to those dumped by the Old Ones in the scrapyard near Free Heap. The building itself was covered in vines and… flowers? That’s when he noticed the grass by his feet. It was lush and green, much like in the Embrace, and where plant life thrives it means—

“Water.”

He picked up his pace, falling into a jog. The journey had taken a toll on him. He was glad to have kept some empty water skins on hand—a fresh refill and his store of dried meats would be more than enough to last him the walk back. It was a small comfort against the mounting restlessness that clawed at the back of his mind, the feeling that he was never going to catch up with her at the rate he was going. He wondered if he’d tracked Aloy down this far west only to have her meet him on the road—already on the way back.

At least he hoped she was. Coming back, that is. He shook his head. Not the best time to think about that.

Further inspection revealed no machines in sight. Odd. Did Aloy clear the way already? Or was there something else, something that kept them away? The thought was unnerving, but he kept his hammer stowed away at his back. Couldn’t pick up any threats, anyway. No mines either, he nodded to himself. Stalkers could be ruled out.

He looked up towards the building. It was worn down, only the haunting twisted metal of its skeleton left standing, rubble littered at the base. “Probably fed a whole thunderjaw into a forge to build this one.” He chortled. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself. Right. Water.”

He followed the way to a patch where the growth was thicker. “Huh.” He paused, frowning. There were purple flowers arranged in a triangle too perfect to be natural. Some sort of stone seating structure was in the center and—

“Fire and spit!” he sputtered out, war-hammer pulled at the ready while he awkwardly regained his footing after nearly tripping. For some reason, even in the heat of battle he decided he didn’t want to step on the violet blooms that seemed so dainty and beautiful.

Was that… a person?

His frown deepened, brows knitting together as he looked over some sort of machine suit. It reminded him of the material Aloy had crafted over standard Nora leathers. He gently prodded at the suit with the end of his hammer’s grip. No movement. The overgrowth consuming it was an indication that it’d been sitting there for, well, a while.

He stepped in a little closer, laying a hand along the suit’s shoulder to dust it away. Cold. He recoiled.

Cold as death.

For a second or two he considered scavenging the strange machine-suit for parts, but quickly dismissed the thought when he realized there might be someone… inside. He stepped back, putting down his hammer. Oseram were delvers, not grave robbers.

I should probably go. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling intrusive and out of place, but one last look over the suit made him shake his head. Was this their home? He tried to imagine what the ruins might have looked before. Like Meridian, perhaps?

The person looked peaceful. Content. But it looked like a lonely way to go.

“You, uh…” he set a heavy gloved hand on the suit’s shoulder. “Have a good rest.”

The stillness didn’t last for very long. As he lifted his hand a cloud of cold, frigid gas began to leak from the small slits along the suit’s shoulders and joints.

The focus Aloy gifted him began to buzz, in sync with the deep onset of frantic panic at the pit of his stomach. By the forge did he break something? He stumbled backwards, hand coming up to tap his focus. Purple lights sprung to life—a spattering of odd blinking symbols and words that were enough to disorient him. Circles of light hovered highlighted portions of the suit, bringing up numbers and flashing words—counting down with urgency.

[WARNING:  Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Atmospheric Seal Compromised]

"Seal?" What was that supposed to mean? He frowned. Too sober for this.

A disembodied voice buzzed into his ear—eerie and inhuman, like how the Shadow Carja’s god HADES sounded, except not quite as threatening. A woman’s voice.

[Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Oxygen Supply—Depleted. Ultraweave Terrestrial Suit Potable Liquid Tank—Depleted]

There was a chilling pause.

[External Personnel Detected. Assessment: User of FAS Standard-Issue FOCUS Unit Number ZERO-ONE-ONE-THREE - Assistance Required. Please attend to personnel within UTS Unit Zero-Alpha-Psi.]

“What am I—?!” He looked around in a panic, feeling out of his element. Was it talking to him? This was the sort of thing Aloy was good at! “What am I supposed to do?!”

[Please attend to personnel within UTS Unit Zero-Alpha-Psi.]

“You already said that.” He grumbled back, frustrated. Does that mean this thing—this…Old One—was still alive? Upon closer inspection he could see it: frost crawling out of the vents. Cold. Still as cold as death.

He couldn’t believe it. Frozen in time.

[Stand-by for assisted reanimation.]

He reached out towards the blinking lights across the rectangular badge on the suit’s odd chest plate. It responded to his touch with purple lights blinking into living words floating across his fingertips. He gasped.

He recognized that name.

[Disengaging Cryostasis Protocol. Stand-by for assisted reanimation. Projection: ninety-three minutes to thermal homeostasis.]

--

“Captain, what happened?”

Voices. Too far away. Or were they nearby? Damn. She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t even open her eyes. It was cold. So fucking cold—colder than Nevada had any right to be.

“Get blankets! Anything! Beladga, got any shirts you can spare?”

Why was everyone in a panic? Had she fallen asleep in the control center? Huh. She didn’t recall Travis sounding nearly as gruff as that.

Travis? The others—

She… she had a job to do. A mission. What was it? Everything felt distant—disconnected. She vaguely realized she that she was shivering but why? She tried to call out but realized that she was physically unable to speak, her throat feeling dry as sandpaper. Coughing erratically, she noticed that she was partially intubated with a sort of breathing apparatus.

[Seventeen minutes to thermal homeostasis. Please prepare for disengagement of auxiliary respirator.]

An automated voice was buzzing into her ear through her focus. She could feel her senses turning, along with the slight mobility of her limbs. It seems she was being carried—or rather, being laid down onto something soft. There were footsteps. Movements. The voices were hushed, secretive and confused. There was a soft yellow light through the ambiguous blur of color that swam around her vision.

[Auxiliary respirator disengaging.]

The machinery abruptly detached the mask from her nose and mouth. The sudden brightness made her recoil, her face feeling exposed. She fell into a fit of violent coughing—as if she had forgotten how to breathe. It was painful. God, it fucking sucked.

“Take it easy now,” said the voice from earlier. It was a man. He—He was speaking with her through his own voice. How is that possible? No one could survive out here without a suit. The atmosphere was too—

A sudden wave of nausea overcame her.

Memories of her last excursion came flooding back: the bunker door failing to seal. Her last transmission to the Alphas. Project Zero Dawn. GAIA—the Swarm!

Coming home.

Dying.

I’m supposed to be dead.

“I—” she rasped out, voice hoarse and jagged. Panicked.

“Whoa there,” there was a steady hand on her shoulder, helping her turn to her side. She felt something press against her mouth almost forcefully. “Drink this.”

“We got to get her out of that suit, captain.” There was another voice, female this time.

“I think—” the captain, she assumed, replied “—I think we need to wait a few more minutes. The device is telling me that—”

Everything was fading into black again.

--

“—else to go follow her trail, or just hope she comes back. She has to… she needsto see this. I just… Oh. She’s awake, I think.”

There was some shuffling. Once again, she was offered water. It was sweet this time. Did they mix in sugar? She tried to ask but she was so, so tired and…

--

Sobeck Journal, 1-27-66

I wasn’t going to see any of it anyway.

Best I can do is hope, I guess. The landscape is barren now – I’m kind of glad the other Alphas don’t have to see it this close up. Stings. I’m half-expecting to hear Patrick patch me in via holo, asking why I haven’t dragged my feet to the conference hall for the scheduled status briefing. He’ll take good care of the younger kids, him and Charles both. ZD and the Swarm seem so small and faraway now that I’m walking away from it all. Quite literally. Hauled my ass all the way to Nevada.

Glad mom isn’t around to see the ranch like this. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine it: the tall pine trees, the grass. Maybe I’ll get to see things the way they were before on the other side… wherever that might be.

I’m tired.

Time to rest.

--

She woke up with a jolt.

“Hey.

He was still there, sitting on the ground across from her and looking just as confused as she was. Her vision was clearer now—and every detail she managed to catalogue drove a spike of panic and confusion deeper into the hollow of her chest. They were in a leather tent lit by a small gasoline lamp in the corner. They seemed to be in the outskirts of an encampment, faraway enough to not be disturbed.

“I’m guessing this is freaking you out a little.” He scratched at the back of his head, unable to meet her eyes. He pointed to a waterskin laid down beside her bedroll. “Maybe get some more water in before you speak? I’ve got some dried meats too. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten in… a while.”

On the matter of guesses, she had a vague idea what might be going on. It was equal parts terrifying and exciting and a hundred percent something she did notask for.

She had an unfortunately stellar track record for hypothesizing, though. Chances of her guess being wrong were dreadfully slim. The cold. The scenery. Even the clinical tone and instructions of her Ultraweave Suit’s reanimation module—a system she helped develop herself, back when the prospect of sleeping through the disaster was considered an option.

It wasn’t. Not consistent enough to use en masse—not enough foresight to secure species continuity.

She took a drink of water, willing to steel her nerves before panic caught up with her executive faculties. She needed to orient herself with wherever it was she woke up in. Hell, forget where, the real question is—

“When… is it?”

He blinked. “Uh, today?”

“What year is it?”

The man’s expression softened—a look that didn’t quite fit with the rest of his character. He was big. Towering—even while seated on the floor—with broad shoulders and a figure strong enough to walk around with enough steel to build a car door, apparently. “You sound so much like her.”

“I don’t follow.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming along. She needed to eat.

“Sorry I—” he scratched at his beard. “It’s the reign of the 14th Sun-King, Avad the Liberator.”

Kings? Again?

“I’m Erend, captain of the King’s vanguard.”

He paused.

“You’re Aloy’s mother, aren’t you?”

-

fin

-

A/N: I'd like to acknowledge Tototops for doing an amazing job beta-reading this! It's always a pleasure, and my writing is always pushed to grow better with every suggestion and correction you help me with. x) And to my friends Sleepy, @theguardiandragon1, @saltypyrotato, @tanuki-pyon and Fridge for listening to my HZD manic fever ramblings and helping me make sense of the plot I had in mind.

Just finished the game about two weeks ago and read a bunch of fanfic. I consumed Writerly's Second Dawn (which is absolutely amazing!!!!), which is my foremost inspiration for even attempting to write fanfic of this wonderful franchise. I base a lot of my characterizations and format of story telling in this fic from their work, and hope to do so in a way which is still true to the unique plot I've set for it. I am very excited to be trying something new and to learn and get better along the way. Hope you all enjoy. :)

[ellewritesfiction]

Never Say Never for @sciencebrosweek

Day Two: Pending (one week post patient zero)

Despite the huddles of administrative staff watching TV shell shocked and the multitude of samples shipped in to be studied and cataloged from the west coast, the clinic was surprisingly a haven of relative calm.

Bruce had been there for over two days now, coming in on Friday night to study the arriving samples in full hazmat gear alongside Natasha. The looting hadn’t started yet, the panic hadn’t fully set in. He wouldn’t go out now, though. The CDC was giving it another twenty-four hours before it fully settled into New York, Atlanta. Then Bruce wasn’t really sure what was going to happen, but a part of him was glad he was able to maintain the image of his city unmarred by this disease.

“You should have Steve come here,” Bruce had suggested softly in the breakroom as they chugged stale coffee and tried to relax for a minute – whatever that meant.

Natasha hadn’t replied.

No one had come in on Monday. The only staff that was there had been there since Friday and it was a skeleton crew. Bruce didn’t blame them, really – who the fuck would want to spend what might be the last remaining days of their lives at work? The thing was, he really just wished Tony had been there.

Fury was supposed to be reaching out to people, making sure they were okay, but he hadn’t come out of his office for hours and Bruce sure as hell wasn’t going to knock on that door so he just dutifully donned his yellow full body gear and went to work.

It was better in the lab, anyway. Made him feel like he had some measure of control over the situation.

“It reacts differently to epithelial tissues than brain tissue,” Natasha murmured from behind her mask.

Bruce glanced up, interested. So far nothing had seemed to affect the pathogen. Not heat, not cold, not electricity – at least not in any meaningful way that they could see. The only thing that appeared to affect it was starvation – when it became dormant until reintroduced to a food source. So far, the length of dormancy before it expired was unknown.

“Holy shit,” Nat muttered, getting Bruce’s full attention – Nat rarely cursed at work. “How much brain tissue do we have in storage?”

“I...” Bruce trailed off, with no knowledge of that answer.

“It’s going crazy,” she murmured, eyes glued to the magnification as her hands worked to turn on the projection without looking away.

Bruce glanced up, staring at the spots of methylene blue as they danced around the screen, the extra large flagella characteristic of this bacteria practically corkscrewing as they shot back and forth across the brain tissue – markedly different from the relatively still expression found in epithelial tissue thus far. And then, suddenly, they all stopped – gliding along in their projected patterns but otherwise dormant.

“What the fuck?”

They sat there in stunned silence for a moment, stewing over the possibilities – was it a fluke, was it this specific brain tissue, was it these specific samples? But slowly they came to the same conclusion.

“Didn’t that CDC memo say stage one was asymptomatic, stage two characterized by bursts of energy, and stage three –”

“True death?” Bruce finished, confirming his memory of the document.

“Could stage two be related specifically to the brain?” Nat asked as she poked at the sample with a pipette to no avail.

“It’s certainly possible,” Bruce said, mulling it over himself.

Up until this point they had seen no extreme activity from the pathogen – not that that was any indication that it wasn’t able to affect the host in such a way. But still, although stage one seemed asymptomatic, it ended in brain death according to LA, and to reanimate a host in such a way as seen in stage two, well...

It was sci-fi. Until now.

“How much tissue sample do you have?” Bruce asked, offering to get her more when she indicated she had only what the sample came with.

He knew it would be difficult to convince her to leave after a finding like that, especially when it meant a shower and having to redon the damn hazmat suit. But if he were honest with himself, Bruce would’ve admitted that he had a selfish, secondary reason for leaving the lab.

“Check coms?” she asked as he stood. “No one is telling us anything in here.”

“Sure. Someone else might’ve had similar findings,” Bruce agreed.

Natasha had the dedication of a saint. Nothing could drag her from that room. It made Bruce feel guilty that he could be persuaded out so easily by an unrequited crush.

Bruce padded through the break room after his shower, prolonging the inevitable disappointment he’d find downstairs, grabbing a styrofoam cup of coffee and a granola bar before heading to his desk to check e-mail. He printed out a couple for Nat – seemed a team in Denver had similar findings. There was also some info out of the CDC on the supposedly asymptomatic first stage and signs to watch for.

Things looked bad on the west coast – already an estimated five percent of the population was dead and in 36 hours it could easily be ten. There were a hundred and fifteen reported cases in Atlanta alone, more in New York. He couldn’t bear to watch any live video broadcast – though he guessed it probably wouldn’t be long now before there wasn’t anything live out there at all.

When Bruce checked downstairs he found a couple members of the office staff had come in, another lab tech who was zoned out watching the TV downstairs, clearly in shock – but Tony wasn’t there and Fury was still locked in his room. Of course Bruce was disappointed but that was the thing about having a crush – he was always disappointed. So he shoved it down in the little hole in his heart he had built just for it and moved on.

He made his way back upstairs with his handful of papers, checked a large amount of brain tissue out of storage, glanced down the hallway at the rooms empty of the normal array of sample subjects, wondering how long it would be before they descended en masse – sick and dying and wildly contagious. Why the fuck would Tony want to be here? Bruce didn’t even want to be here.

But he had nowhere else to go – so he headed back down the hall to the lab to don his suit once more. Yet halfway down the hall he heard his name and the sound of it sent his heart reeling so hard into his chest he nearly dropped the haphazard collection of stuff in his arms from the whiplash.

Turning carefully – unable to believe it was really him, that he said his name that way – Bruce found himself staring at Tony, breathing heavily, eyes panicked and simultaneously mimicking the relief Bruce felt just to see his face there, really there, looking for him. He didn’t know what the fuck his heart was doing, standing there, watching Tony watching him. And he sure as shit didn’t know what his brain was doing, making the whole thing ever more awkward with each passing moment. But he knew he was going to remember the way Tony was looking at him right then for the rest of his life.

“You – you’re here!” Tony stuttered at long last, trying to save it and make it sound smooth when it was clearly nothing more than unrestrained relief.

Bruce managed a much more suave half grin. “Where else would I be?”

“You weren’t answering your phone and it’s fucking – it’s fucking crazy out there,” Tony explained but Bruce shook his head. “Took me half the day just to make it down here in one piece with the looting and people just shooting anyone that looks remotely suspicious on sight since they’ve started reporting cases and Jesus Christ – I thought you’d never make it from fucking midtown and – fucking hell Bruce.”

“No – I’ve been here with Nat since Friday night going through samples,” he explained, watching Tony slacken, run his hands through his hair, relax. “My phone’s at my desk and I was so caught up – I’m sorry. I thought you’d be... I don’t know where.”

“It’s – the cell phone towers are glitchy as fuck right now anyway and – wait. Samples?” Tony asked, curiosity piqued as he finally stepped towards him and Bruce nodded, handing him over some of the tissue.

“Yeah – a few of the partner sites out west overnighted them,” Bruce began, easily slipping into their amiable work mode, unable to feel anything but relief now that Tony was there, safe, where he could watch over him and make sure they both made it out of this thing alive.