hadriel_logs | [closed] and since we've one place to go

epiphany

[Some brief collaboration with the Taacos on sorting through the alien words and maneuvering their way through several menus had Nate drifting over to one of a few enormous screens in the lab. Technology has never been his forte but picking up the patterns makes navigating things feel more like a puzzle, even if the noxious smell from the broken tube behind him is starting to make the bile rise in his throat. It's like sulfur and decay, burning the insides of his lungs and making his stomach turn when the stagnant air shifts.

He scrolls through the garbled options on the keyboard and selects one, flinching as some kind of camera feed flickers across the screen, accompanied by what sounds like an alien scream.

Bathed in the eerie light of the viewing panels Nate watches in horror as one of the shelled captives - an original host, he thinks, based on what he knows from his dive over a year ago - in the tank is subjected to what looks like experiments in electrocution. It thrashes wildly against the glass and stills when something black starts oozing from its body and swirling into the green liquid. He switches feeds.

Another recording shows an operating table, mechanical limbs stretching in to peel apart the insides of a long tentacle. Footage of metal panels being forcibly attached to shells and carapaces, drilled into place; complex diagrams of anatomical structures with photographs of internal organs; dissections of the hosts with notations in the margins; equipment installed into gray matter, sutured shut with lasers that make his old Null scars twinge.

The revelation that this is not an isolated incident - that this is the reason for the hosts' "return" - does not escape him.]

Jesus Christ.

[Nate runs out of files to rifle through, staring blankly at the flickering screen before turning back to look at the shattered tube.]

This could be us.

a good host

[Nate doesn't know if it's salvageable, the carcass floating in the dimmed chamber. The tentacles float limply in dull, almost cloudy fluid, and being this close to the rest of the tanks has his stomach lurching, but they have scientists back in the city who will want samples or, failing that, detailed drawings. He'd ripped a piece of fabric from one of his blankets and has it wrapped tightly over his nose and mouth, giving him the appearance of a woolen bandit, hunched in the half-light of the room and sketching the shell of an animal he knows has suffered.]

No wonder Hope was so mad when I found you guys,

[he chats conversationally, peering at a glassy eye and tracing the shape without looking at the paper.]

Maybe he knew what you went through.

[Peter had been tinkering with something else in the room, but the horrible alien screaming from the video Nate found quickly draws his attention. He refrains from commenting on being startled and instead just steps up next to Nate, and watches this straight up nightmare unfold before his eyes. Despite everything they'd already found evidence of in the bunker, he was completely unprepared for what the videos revealed.

Peter had known that the expedition wouldn't be all fun and games. He'd come prepared to defend the party from dangers they might face along the way, he'd been sure that there might be obstacles that he'd have to do a little creative thinking to get around. He knew this was all important work, but he'd still managed to maintain a certain level of optimism on the way here. Every last ounce of whatever childlike excitement he might have had left for this trip had completely faded by the end of the first recording, and by the time Nate runs out of files to play, the color has drained from his face. It's one thing to see this sort of thing in a movie, but knowing that what you're looking at is recorded documentation of living things, living people suffering and dying, that's on a completely different level.

He turns away from the screen when Nate speaks, glancing at him before following his gaze to the shattered tube. It takes a moment before he can manage to form any words of his own.]

Holy shit.

[I mean I never said they were intelligent words. Those'll come after he's had a moment to process this, but for now he's just going to focus on trying not to puke in terror.]

[Nate didn't realize he wasn't alone. So engrossed in the (frankly, disturbing) media, he just barely catches sight of Peter in the periphery, standing struck in the blue glow of the screens, watching. He regrets not checking if anyone else was around beforehand, reminded of the jagged footage he found back in Panama in the Nazi bunker, the trials and experiments done on people to test the effect of El Dorado's "treasure."

Peter looks like he's going to throw up and Nate doesn't blame him, something protective kicking in like a stuttering engine as he turns from the panels and moves toward the kid.]

Hey.

[Nate crowds in, blocking the view of the shattered containment tube, hands on Peter's shoulders as he ducks his head to make eye contact.]

Peter, you okay? Let's get some air, all right?

I'm okay.

[It's less a response to Nate's question and more a reflex, which probably isn't a good thing, but hey. Kid's seen some shit. This isn't his first rodeo, but it might be his most fucked up one.

It takes Peter a second to realize that Nate's planted himself in front of him, and another couple of seconds before he actually registers everything that Nate's said to him. He rakes his fingers through his hair anxiously and takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself.]

I-- I'll be okay. I just need a minute.

[Yeah, no, that's a defense mechanism, not an affirmation.

Peter's movements are stilted and Nate knows them because he had them, at that age. Just after someone had him cornered at the far edge of a building, a gun trained on his tiny teenage skull after he thought he'd beaten them across the rooftops. After he'd accidentally killed someone when they fell from the tiles, and he'd pushed.]

C'mon.

[He urges gently, squeezing his shoulders and jerking his head to the door.]

We'll get some water. Take a breath of some oxygen that isn't recycled.

[If there's one thing Peter has going for him, it's his resiliency. He's only been Spider-Man for a couple of years, but there's still a certain level of self discipline that comes with the responsibility. His determination to get back into the action no matter how physically or emotionally he ends up damaged might be keeping him from just having a breakdown right now, but it's also keeping him from focusing on Nate for longer than a couple seconds.

There's work to be done, evidence to record, notes to take, leads to follow. An Avenger doesn't have time to freak out. Peter may have only been one for like, a day before he ended up here, but that didn't mean he could slack off. He reaches into a pocket for his phone with one hand, starts digging around in another pocket for his charging cable. Can he even hook this shit up to these computers? He's about to find out--

Nate squeezes his shoulders. Peter's jarred out of his thoughts once again, and he's suddenly acutely aware of how upset his stomach is, how lightheaded he feels. He may not be on the verge of a panic attack or anything, but his nerves are definitely rattled. Taking a break doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.]

Yeah, I uh. I don't feel so good. Let's-- let's go for a bit.

[Resiliency doesn't mean shit when you've still got the emotional maturity of any other teenager. Nate put on a good show after he almost got shot by a cult at fifteen, he joked with the man who had saved his life, they exchanged names and had a decent chat over ajiaco, but that didn't mean he didn't still feel the shake of near-death in his bones. Kids are resilient through defiance rather than experience.

He knows.

He also knows there's shit to do, but they have more than enough time to do it. Peter makes shaky eye contact again and knows he's pulled him out of the same distracted headspace that Nate often enters himself.]

Yeah, do us some good. The lab isn't going anywhere. [Nate reassures him, guiding the way back into the dimly-lit corridor.] Y'know I found a Nazi bunker once? In the middle of a rainforest.

[Peter can at least claim to have some experience. Granted it's more from trying to save half the goddamn universe from a giant alien fuckball than it is from stumbling across creepy alien torture bunkers. He's seen worse, he can deal with this.

In the long run, at least. Right now he just needs to take a minute to get his head in the game.]

Ah, right. For the tropical Nazis, of course. Weird subject change, by the way.

Edited 2019-03-05 01:33 (UTC)

I'm trying to distract you.

[Nate says helpfully, a little defensively, because he thought the mental leap from bunker to bunker made sense in his head. It's unfortunately less effective in practice.]

They were looking for ancient power sources, y'know? Fringe science, magical artifacts. Weird Nazi stuff.

I know what you're doing.

[Peter rolls his eyes, more in a playful way than in a shitty angsty teenager way. But shit, maybe the best thing to do right now is to just let himself be distracted for a minute. So, okay Nate, let's talk Nazis.]

They also bred their own turbo-cows, but right, I'm with you so far.

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[Kyna doesn't really know what to say in situations like these, so since they found the video, she's mostly clammed up. Most of the group is in varying states of shock or horror, and she's certainly not the type of person who can fix that with words. Besides, she's dealing with her own messy emotions. One of these things killed Harlan, but a large part of her feels sorry for them, too, and she hates that dichotomy.

So, for a few minutes, Kyna just watches Nate drawing from a distance, arms crossed over her chest. When she finally speaks up, it's hesitant.]

Do you think... Uh... Hope could bring it back?

[Everyone is processing shock in different ways, but the large majority seem to be stewing in disquiet. Nate hears her enter the room but doesn't dissuade her from staying, because company is nice even in the silence. He doesn't know Kyna particularly well, but he knows her type, and he can hear the gears turning from a couple meters away.

When she finally speaks his pencil slows, just a little.]

Honestly?

[Nate turns to look at her over his shoulder, the fabric obscuring most of his face. He hopes she can read his tone.]

I think whatever it used to be is gone.

[Kyna bites her lip, tugging on her ponytail.]

God, this is all so shitty. I feel like we should be fixing it.

There's nothing to fix.

[Nate says without thinking, before realizing he sounds like a callous asshole. It wasn't the intent, and he lowers his sketchbook with a sigh, turning to her more fully.]

...I've come across a lot of stuff in my line of work that's- that can't be fixed. Or it isn't my fight, or there's nothing you can do.

[ The civil war Lazarevic exacerbated in Nepal. The scattered remains of Marco Polo's lost fleet, rotting in Borneo. People - entire civilizations - that were hurt and wronged before he got there. ]

Yeah, but you don't know that this is one of those things. I mean... Okay, maybe this one is, but what about the rest?

I don't know.

[There's something that borders on the defeatist in his tone - he hasn't felt this way since Shambhala, since he realized he couldn't do anything and had to be proven wrong - but Nate wishes he had all the answers.

At least then he could give some comfort to somebody else.]

I don't know where to start, Kyna.

[Taako's been nearby to Nate since they ended up down here; this is Nate's forte and he knows it, and they do good work when they're together. While he and Lup are doing what they do best- taking things apart, picking at difficult problems, finding things they can pocket- there's been a lot to see. A lot to do. He doesn't like any of it.

Taako's steps are quiet, as he is, when he approaches Nate this time. It's amazing how much he can sober up when it tends to matter.]

So. This was it, huh? Back in the lake.

[A slight pause.]

Probably not down there anymore.

[It's the most quiet Nate has ever seen his friend.

Taako is usually reliable for a quip or a come-on, sometimes both at the same time, and even with circumstances being as understandably dire as they are it feels strange. The silence that hangs between them is heavy and nauseating, almost more so than the smell of containment fluid, and Nate turns a little to better face him even while his pencil flies across the paper.

In the shock of blue-green light that filters through the tubes on the ceilings, in the walls, Taako looks sick. They all do.]

Yeah.

[He agrees, exhaling a sigh through his nose. Part of him wants to respect the fact that this place is a fucking tomb, but the other part of him feels rubbed raw, an itchy trigger finger looking for a target.]

They have to know, don't they? The gods? They never fucking told us this was where the hosts were from, because how else could they get here? They never said because they didn't want us to side with the Null.

[Nate huffs a mirthless laugh, bitterness tightening his jaw.]

Joke's on them, I don't want any part of either side's bullshit.

[It's a weird space with them. Taako doesn't know if Nate's ever seen him in a situation like this, where they're pushed further than he likes, where even jokes fail him. Taako's not really worried about their deaths, the place in which he's found corpses. He just doesn't want theirs to join them.]

Maybe they don't. But I wouldn't give 'em that kinda chance.

[Why assume better of people you hate? That sounds like a lot of effort. Taako doesn't even bother to assume the best from people he likes most of the time.]

Kinda feels like if they had more of a reason to make us hate the Null they'd've said so.

[He doesn't know. He doesn't know, he doesn't even have an idea, and that's what galls him. Nate is accustomed to picking out what he sees as easy answers to otherwise complex problems, but he doesn't have enough information to do anything but throw spaghetti at a wall and hope something sticks.

For a long moment Nate stares at his sketchbook, at the smudges he made on accident, at a drying drop of fluid from one of the tanks. It's clear he's wrestling with something, for once at a loss of what to say, hand hovering over the paper. Hesitating.

Eventually Nate's shoulders sag and he looks at the host in the tube; the expression on his face isn't sad, but neither is it angry. More than anything, it is resigned.]

...I've seen a lot of shit, Taako. I don't think I ever...thought about it much. Didn't have time to.

[He sucks his lip into his mouth, worrying it briefly.]

Guess I didn't realize how fucked up that made me, until I saw how everyone here was reacting.

[As if to illustrate the abject irony of who Nate decided to say those words to, Taako's immediate response is to laugh. It's not explosive or high pitched, just a few shakes of his chest in a knowing chuckle. Of all the people you could say that to, Nate. All of them. You picked Taako "everyone else is walking dust" Taaco.

Sure.

He crosses his arms, shaking his head just enough to see his hair move with it.]

That's how it is. What happens when you still trust people.

[Taako exhales, like for once he's contemplating what to say instead of just dropping every word out of his mouth in an order he hasn't worked out until it's out of him. He watches the drip of some liquid as he speaks, the drops falling slower and slower like a dying heartbeat.]

We ever tell you what we were doin' out there, Nate? Exploring planets, writing information, tracking artifacts? We ever tell you why?

[The statement makes him flinch, if imperceptibly. It's the kind of thing he's said in his lowest moments, in his darkest times. Not for years - maybe over a decade - but the words are enough to catapult him back to an era of apathetic cynicism. After Sam died.

Brow furrowed he turns to look at Taako, knowing by his tone that things are much worse than he was ever led to believe.]

...Lup said you were surveying planets. She didn't say why.

[He doesn't notice, caught up in his own head. Taako's gotten better at trust since the end of the apocalypse, since everything was laid out bare and Lup came back to him. But he's never been good at it, never golden at relinquishing all his safeties, putting his hand in another's. It was a protection when he was a kid, it was necessity when he had no one, it's the biggest strife he's felt since he figured out what Lucretia did. Even the people closest to him- even the woman second only to Lup- could control him anytime. It's violent, and messy, and something he'll likely never unlearn.

After all, how do you take something born into you? Or so he figures.]

Well, we were running.

[He isn't open, meticulous, careful like one of the other birds might be telling this tale. Taako is all about feeling, but he thinks Nate might understand.]

The Hunger. Thing so big it ate whole planes, universes right on up. It found a world a year after a relic dropped it wanted, and only we got to escape every year so long as one of us survived. If we found it, it'd chase us out, but wreck the world's shop pretty bad. If we didn't... world got taken. And we kept going.

[His sigh feels heavier, the breath in his lungs stuck with the rot of the room, with the cloying of this story, his place in it all.]

So it was show up. Get a year to make nice, get info, find the Light, and fight for our lives on the way out. And as long as one person made it... we all wake up again to go over on day 1. No matter what it took to make it through.

[Finally, Taako tilts his head down, the side of his eye peering towards Nate.]

We were responsible for the deaths of a lot of planets. Lot of species, Nate. Lots and lots that ended up dust.

[His gaze goes back to the host in the tank, feeling too still, his chest constricted. And he just shrugs.]

So this isn't anything new. Don't think this starts mattering now.

[ He isn't open or meticulous but Nate understands that methodology better, to run off of tangents and take different paths and use a road less traveled. It is emotional, and it's difficult to separate things when they're as personal as whatever this is. It might be the most meaningful string of words Taako has ever put together in front of him, heavy with something he identifies as pragmatism born of trauma.

He doesn't understand all the disparate parts - being able to come back provided one person survived, how something like this "Hunger" could even exist - but his full comprehension doesn't matter compared to the weight of it all.

A lot of things suddenly make sense, strange pieces in a puzzle he didn't know he was working on, behavior or responses he didn't exactly expect outside of what little he could glean from a childhood similar to his own. It's so much. So much, and Taako's laissez-faire delivery suggests he stopped caring because he had to and didn't have a choice. Nate's experiences aren't even close, but it's like looking in a fucking mirror.

It isn't denial that has him wanting to negate the suggestion that it's all dust, all fetid remains, all fly-blown corpses in the end. Taako's assertion makes sense, it's constructed of a century's worth of effort. Time doesn't heal all wounds so much as it dulls you to new ones, like scar tissue lacking the nerve endings.

Enough scars, and you just stop feeling. ]

Maybe not to you. Or me.

[ He's seen enough wrecks, enough civilizations scattered across the globe and worn to nubs, to nothing. He's killed enough people with his own hands. ]

But it matters to the others.

[Opening up to someone is hard. Not all admissions are made equal, cautious steps into trust and knowledge. Nate started like everyone does, with some jokes and some shit and some things that never mattered at all. But somewhere along the way, he got access to a lot and still didn't turn away. A tattered childhood with just a brother's hand. A prison yard and scrappy fights and bloody knuckles. Screaming and exploration and the willingness to push just a little further because death is at his heels but not there yet, not there yet, not there yet.

They're alike in a lot of ways, ones Taako doesn't know how to admit at the front of his mind so they become feelings instead, just an appeal to something that fits together in the right way.]

Don't know how you have time to care that much about that many people, my man.

[Keep it tight, keep it close, shove out everyone else. Even then, his vetting system isn't perfect if Lucretia got in, if anyone can rob him of anything. Taako reaches up, pushing some hair back in an idle and unimportant motion.]

It's just... figures, right? That some horrible shit went down, like, what else is new. And here we are.

[He picks a bit at the skin of his hands, looking at the edges.]

Standing in the bones.