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Daycycle 131 [Mar 19 - Mar 25]

daycycle 131

[Mar 19 - Mar 25]

[OOC Plotting for this Daycycle can be found here.]

Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty

Oliver Queen and Morgana have been selected for today's mission.

'A small Bedding Inspector parade is scheduled for this afternoon down corridor AEX 39224- X. As we are currently understaffed in the Bedding Inspection branch of Technical Services, you will temporarily fill in as Bedding Inspectors, wearing our uniform and participating in the parade. You have two hours to learn the choreography.'

Afternoon [0900 - 1600] — Service Firm Positions

All Troubleshooters not assigned a mission should report to their Service Firm for their daily duties, unless specifically assigned a different shift.

At 1130, A parade organized by the Bedding Inspection branch of Technical Services will take place down corridor AEX 39224-X. The parade will include flags, banners, live music and choreography. It is scheduled to last until 1300, as AEX 39224-X is one of the longest corridors in the Complex. The purpose of the parade is to raise awareness for the unsung heroes in Bedding Inspection, who are responsible for making sure that your beds are free of contraband not approved for your level and overturning your mattresses in the middle of the day. You are welcome.

At 1400, a Memorial Special for Teela O'Malley organized by Jack Harkness will air on all public screens in Alpha Complex.

Evening [1600 - 2200] — Citizen Improvement
All Alpha citizens are encouraged to better themselves through Alpha’s wide variety of educational, entertainment and cultural opportunities offered each evening. Attending these sanctioned events are not mandatory, but is highly encouraged by The Computer. Citizens choosing not to take advantage of these opportunities, have a growing number of other options available to them in how to spend their hard earned credits and free time.

Tonight’s event will be at 1600 in room MXV-89224-R and hosted by the Wellness of Well Being Club. Come and learn how deep breathing, compromising positions and purposefully induced existential crises can help you find enlightenment in your dark, dreary world.

Those who attend will soon realize that the event is an undercover meeting for the Mystics Secret Society and will be offered several experimental drugs that are being advertised as 'at least 47.823333% legal'. The side effects of these drugs include: hallucinations, strange colored lights, vertigo, periods of extreme heat, periods of extreme cold, periods of perfect body temperature, numbness of the body, heightened sensitivity, inconsistent thought processing, hyperfocus, and several other things that have not yet been documented.

Those who refuse to take any of the drugs offered will be deemed as an Empty Shell and will be asked to leave.

Alpha Curfew Restrictions
All Alpha citizens should be in their quarters within the Wagon Wheel by 2200, unless they’ve been given permission from a GREEN or higher clearance level citizen. Sleeping Aid gas is dispelled each night in the Wagon Wheel at 2200 to assist citizens in getting a productive sleeping period.

Confession Booths
There are hundreds of confession booths available around Alpha Complex if a citizen would like to communicate directly with the computer. Please use these confession booths to report mission statuses, report treason or terrorist acts, unregistered mutants, confess your trespasses against Alpha Complex, request propaganda or speak with Your Friend, The Computer, at any time.

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EARLY MORNING [CLOSED]

It isn't the first time he's woken up on a table and been given what amounts to a briefing running him through all the information that's been deemed relevant to him for the mission. He isn't going to object to the location, to the intel that his memories are false memories—he'd always suspected HYDRA of planting false memories, but how would he have known?—and he isn't about to argue or ask any questions. Questions lead to pain. The memories he has might be false, that's what they're telling him, but the body remembers too.

The tour is conducted with silence on his end, maybe an eerie amount of silence, observation only unless a response is required, absorbing the information he's being given and storing it away for future use. He knows how to do this. It isn't the first time he's been ready to comply.

It is weird that he has both arms though. One of his false memories, the one of getting his metal arm blasted off somewhere in Siberia, that's a real vivid one. That's one of the ones that brings an echo of pain with it to back it up, and it's proving awful hard to shake. He's still thinking about it when he's escorted to his room and informed he has a courtesy thirty seconds to find a bed before he'll be helpfully gassed to sleep. He doesn't make it to the bed. A more immediate problem is that he isn't alone in the room, and that the person asleep in one of the five beds belongs to his false memories, several sets of them, and that doesn't make a damn bit of sense either. If they're false, who is she really, and why is she here, and—he winces with the memory—is she going to try and squeeze his head off with her thighs (again)?

No one's activated the Asset programming, so he's still Bucky (he thinks) (that's what they told him) and still standing with his back against the door and staring when the gas hits and drops him in his tracks. Which is how Natasha will find him when she wakes the next morning: collapsed in an unconscious heap that's blocking the only exit.

MORNING/AFTERNOON [OPEN]

As ordered, Bucky reports for the briefing in the morning, listens a little too intently to everything that's said, and then heads to his assigned area, a little curious to find out what a Power Drill Sergeant does. Turns out it's a lot of shouting, and it brings back good (false? true? either way, still good) memories of whipping the 107th into shape in Alsace back in the day. It puts him in a pretty decent mood, all things considered. Shouting gives him some time to think, too, not always the easiest job, but Natasha's given him a lot to think about.

The Bedding Inspector parade sure is a thing that happens. Recognizing unsung heroes is something he feels strongly in favor of, but these unsung heroes don't exactly fall into his own personal category of unsung heroes. Anyone around him might hear one or two snarky comments along the lines of, "This is real nice and all, but we really did parades right back in the day," or, "Maybe the rules are different around here but it ain't much of a parade if you don't throw candy."

After that's over, he stops by the Commissary for whatever passes as food in this place. Which isn't much. He isn't complaining about it, he's had worse, but it's no wonder they pass out pills like they're candy if this is what passes as food. He's sitting alone, examining what's on his tray with an air of resigned suspicion—he knows he's gotta eat it, but the resurfacing Bucky Barnes memories mean he's less than happy about it—but he doesn't much feel the need to stay that way if anyone wants to join him.

They told her that she was already completely healed, the bullets used during her attack less technologically advanced than plasma essence released from the end of a barrel. The phantom pain is still lingering by the time she gets back to her room, arms still sore from dragging herself across the HQ floor, and for the first time since her arrival Natasha finds herself thankful for the gas that they release into the rooms a night. She's certain she wouldn't have been able to sleep without it.

Upon awakening she still feels sluggish, the first image that flashes behind her lids being one of Tony standing before her with his gun steady. Natasha pushes it away, because that's certainly not going to help her function throughout the day, and she's got too much to concentrate on right now for distractions. So she compartmentalizes, focuses on what she needs to accomplish and exactly how she's going to do so with as little obstruction as possible, and when she sits up she goes to look at her closet when her gaze is immediately pulled by a foreign object in the room.

Object. Not necessarily accurate, it's a man, and although he's face down and fast asleep Natasha would recognize that arm anywhere. Ah. Of course. Of course the Winter Soldier is unconcious on the floor of her room.

The absurdity of this place barely fazes her anymore. For a few moments Natasha simply stares at him as he lies there before she gets out of bed and goes through her daily routine, stepping over him twice to get to her closet and then back, and once she's gotten dressed and fixed her hair to look presentable Natasha sighs and lets her attention move, once again, to the obvious assassin in the room. She's weighing her odds; what are the chances he'll immediately get up to kill her? A solid 80/20, she decides, but the chances of her actually being able to take him down now that she knows his superhuman abilities have been removed? Much higher. Natasha's giving herself a bit of a head start on that one, because when was the last time the Winter Soldier in a fight without having that special arm to save him?

With that in mind she moves closer, staring down at him with her hands planted firmly on her hips and an exasperated look on her face. "Hey." He doesn't react immediately, and Natasha rolls her eyes before giving him a little nudge with the toe of her boot in the leg. "Hey. Get up. I don't have the patience for this, you need to leave."

To his credit, or something, Bucky goes from unconscious to 110% alert in the amount of time it takes her to pull her foot back after nudging him. At least she didn't kick him. Thanks for that, lady. Maybe more to his credit, he doesn't react other than opening his eyes and fixing them on her for a few seconds, before sitting up slowly, back pressed against the door. He's sore and achy from spending the night in an unconscious heap, but none of that shows. It's less important.

What the hell had they tranq'd him with that had shut him down to the point of letting the Black Widow get this close? But wait, isn't she supposed to be a figment of his imagination or something? "Hey yourself," he mutters, shifting like he's going to stand, but not quite yet. "Back off, huh? A guy's gotta breathe."

Without waiting for her to back off, he now does move smoothly to his feet, but his body language still puts him on the defensive, not a threat, and he hasn't looked away from her yet but why would he, this is what he needs answers about. "How come you're real, anyway? They just got done telling me yesterday that you're not. Or something. I dunno, I didn't ask a lot of questions."

She watches him carefully, and Natasha almost wishes that he'll lash out just so she can shove that confused face into the wall. But he doesn't, and she behaves, her eyes not moving from him as he starts to slowly work his way up to his feet.

She does, however, give a dramatic gasp when he responds, eyebrows rising and eyes widening all at once. "And he can speak! Here I thought the only language you knew was attempted murder, what a refreshing turn of events." The words practically drip in sarcasm, and she makes no show of moving back until she sees the way that he stands there; defensive. Uncertain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and she gives a sigh of exasperation, but she takes a step back to give him some space. One.

"Yes, because we both know that when you wake up to a room full of scientists telling you that everything in your head isn't real, the first step is to believe them. Blind trust, it's a skill we're both well versed in given our track records." She's usually gentle about this, carefully prodding to guide her target to their own realizations. Then again, her target isn't usually someone who's tried to kill her three times. He can deal.

"Ya vyglyazhu dostatochno real'nym dlya vas?"

Edited 2017-03-25 03:32 (UTC)

One step back is better than a poke in the eye. He can appreciate the breathing room a lot more than the sarcasm, which earns her a narrow-eyed stare. Starting off with low blows? "Yeah? If it's so damn easy, you can tell the scientists off next time and get the hose before the chair."

He folds his arms, partly because he's feeling a little petulant at this stage and partly because it's less threatening somehow than just standing on the defensive. It makes him look a little more approachable, supposedly. He already feels weird, he feels tired which doesn't make any sense, he just woke up from some drug-induced sleep, he has no idea what time it is, and he's a lot more anxious about all of this than he wants to be. He can feel his heart speeding up a little as she slips into Russian, not exactly something he'd wanted to hear, bad things tended to follow when people started speaking Russian around him.

"Da," he shoots back warily. "Stiv kak cel' vygljadel real'nym takzhe. What's that supposed to prove?"

When he crosses his arms Natasha mirrors the motion, her torso still stiff from the previous day but she ignores the vague ache. They told her that she should stay another night in the hospital and Natasha would have none of it, because she's got too much to do. The man before her, literally standing between her and her only exit, is getting in the way of that.

But then he responds and damn it, she really doesn't have the time to feel compassion right now. The way that he looks at her reminds her far too much of herself the first day she woke up in SHIELD headquarters, and it's much easier for her to dislike him when he doesn't talk. Now, with him standing there in his red jumpsuit, metal hand peeking out of the sleeve, it's hard to put him into the 'them' category of her mind.

And he's Steve's friend. She can't ignore Steve's friend, especially when she's one of the only people here who's qualified enough to give him the answers that he needs.

Natasha's gaze softens and a slight frown rises to the surface, a single nod eventually given in understanding instead of another snarky response. Well, there goes her morning and her chances of getting to the Commissary before it fills up with people that she has no desire to interact with.

"Alright." She begins with a sigh but not one of impatience. Rather, one of preparation, as if she knows that she's got a rough road ahead of her, and hell, couldn't he have shown up any other day than the one after she was gunned down by a man she trusted? She barely has the energy to go about her day normally, but this is important. She can't lose sight of that.

When she finally moves away from him it's to show two things, the first being that she's willing to give him the space he needs. The second one, most importantly, is to prove that she's willing to turn her back on him, and although it's partially because she knows she has a better chance of taking him down now if necessary, it's mostly because she's sure she won't have to. She sits on the edge of her bed, gesturing to the one across from her or him to sit as well.

"You know." It sounds like a reminder although it shouldn't be. "You know that this is real because you could always know, on a certain level. Sometimes you'd wake up and realize that you were in a body doing things that you didn't want to do. Those were the malfunctions, right? But you knew. And you know now, you know how to tell the difference, you just need to remember how." She pauses, her eyes moving to the floor for a moment. "And you're questioning." When she looks back at him it's with a smile, but one of empathy that's paired with tired eyes. "Questioning doesn't happen when it's not real. You know that too. Questioning means being reset, and I'm not resetting you. Am I?"

It takes several moments of her sitting before he starts moving, slow and careful, like he isn't quite familiar with himself. It's easy enough to box up the aches and pains, but he can't shake the idea that there are still more of them than there should be. "Not yet, you're not," he says, but he's thinking about what she's saying. There's a set to his face now, a little under-layer of stubborn determination that hadn't been there as the Asset.

It's making sense, what she's saying, which he supposes should be dubious enough considering she's supposed to be a figment of his imagination. But no, she isn't, is she? She's real. She's been real every other time he's run across her. Each one of them spools out in full Technicolor, and he flinches just a little, but not much. He's better at remembering now, better at knowing what to do with the cascades of images and sounds that would download from long-term storage. The first few weeks out of cryo had been rougher, before he'd remembered how to remember.

He can remember her tricking the Asset into turning his back so she could scythe through the air and come damn close to garotting him. Much more recently he can remember her flashing past him on the tarmac, much further back he can remember aiming through her, but there's something else...that disappears when he makes the mistake of trying to chase it.

"I wasn't gonna open my big mouth out there, no matter how bullshit they sounded," he says after a few moments wasted trying to get it back. He'll remember eventually if it's important, he reminds himself. Instead, he lifts his left hand, flexes the fingers, sets it back down, spread on his knee. "How'd I get this back, then? I got a lot of memories telling me this thing got blown to Kingdom Come."

Although she makes sure not to show it Natasha is admittedly surprised when he finally manages to make his way closer, wary as he is. Not because she doesn't think that she's convincing enough, because Natasha knows how to handle these situations a little more than she'd like, but because he's comprehending what she's telling him without an unexpected outburst of anger or denial. He's not simply accepting her word either, which is good, but she didn't expect him to be capable of such tactical thinking in this state. He's mentally stronger than she though, apparently, and that leads her to one question that she'll bring with her to the grave before asking; just how many times did he have to be calibrated if he's so capable of seeing reason?

"The tech around here is pretty advanced, I'm honestly not surprised that they put that thing on you," she responds to that first, her eyes moving to his hand and then back to his face. "They say that we're clones but I don't know just how much of that I believe, I haven't seen proof of it yet. They have the technology to pull it off though, I've seen their medical practices and their rate of healing severe wounds is impressive. Not that I like to admit it." Too impressive, but she can't complain. She's sitting here, after all.

"You can't let them know that you have memories. That's very important." Natasha looks at him pointedly. "They treat you like you're malfunctioning when you do. There isn't any actual reformatting going on, it's a lot of conditioning with video and media, but still. It's best to avoid that whole thing." She hesitates, and this time when she asks a question there's an edge to it; uncertainty and almost insecurity, as if she's asking for herself instead of the situation in general. "Do you remember all of it? ...The Accords? People arrive here with different stages of memory, is that - what's the last thing that you remember?"

He nods slowly, thoughtful. He'd made the mistake a few times of letting on that he was starting to remember, but every time he started to remember, he hadn't always let on. It hadn't mattered, they'd wiped him anyway, but it's nice to have a heads-up to keep it to himself.

It doesn't occur to him not to believe her. Even though he knows she's a master at lies. What she's saying matches up with what he thinks he knows, which he's learned means it's probably real. More real than what they'd been spewing at him before anyway. Real enough to move forward with. Considering the way he'd been wiped before, he doesn't think video and media will do a damn thing to his brain, but it sounds like a pain. She's right, best to avoid.

The hesitation is weird. He knows her, somehow, and knows she doesn't hesitate. "Yeah, I remember," he answers with a one-shouldered shrug. "I remember all that. Last thing, I was in Wakanda with Steve. Getting this thing figured out," he flexes his metal fingers again. "I'd, uh. I wanted to go back under. They could do it. The Wakandans. They were gonna stick me back in cryo until I could get my head right. Hadn't told Stevie yet. That's the last thing I remember, waiting on Steve to come in so I could tell him I was doing it."

Maybe that isn't the most reassuring thing, letting her know he doesn't know if he can keep himself steady, that he doesn't necessarily trust himself to maintain. The Asset programming runs deep, and it runs right beneath the surface, he can feel it now assessing the room, assessing her as a threat, attacks and defenses and exits. It's always there, no matter what he's doing, or the life he's trying to lead, and it might always be there.

Although the memory of the Accords is something that Natasha actively tries to avoid whenever it starts to bubble its way up to the surface of her mind, only to be shoved back into a compartment of her subconscious where it belongs, there's undeniable relief in the way her face softens when he says that he remembers. It's possible that she would never have to explain it to him, but it's possible she would, and that's something that Natasha wants to avoid at all costs of she can manage it. There are too many emotions there, a tangled web of anger and hurt and betrayal, and she doesn't have time for it.

At the admission that he wanted to be put back into cryo Natasha simply nods, because that doesn't surprise her one bit even if Barnes thinks that it's something that should be considered a red flag. Others might; Natasha knows better. "It was a smart choice, but if you're still concerned about that I'll be able to work with you. I used to have a trigger phrase myself, it takes a lot of deconditioning to get something like that resolved, but it isn't impossible. It might not even be necessary, I don't know if something like that would carry over to this place, but if you want, we'll work on it. I'll leave that in your hands."

She gives a low sigh through her nose, her fingers pushing through her hair with slight frustration. Natasha looks tired, weary, the mental exhaustion from yesterday carrying over in a way that sleep can't restore. Her focus remains intact though, because it's easier to ignore the sense of dread that comes with realizing that someone is trying to kill you by using your close friend as the weapon when a more immediate objective is sitting on the bed across from her. "I have one thing to brief you on that you need to know, and one thing that I need to know from you." Green eyes meet his again with an alertness that doesn't match her body language.

"You need to know that Steve is here, as is Tony Stark. They both remember the Accords, and I can't assume whether he's going to be angry with you or not at this point but I'm pretty sure violence isn't going to be an issue. We've got enough going on and... it's probably safe to say that he's gained a new perspective on things." Her gaze falters down for a split second before returning. "What I need to know from you, is, your name."

It's a simple question on the surface but she knows that it's a loaded one. Natasha also knows that Bucky is fully aware of why she's asking, and she doesn't have to explain it. Who he was, versus who he is, can only be truly determined in his own mind despite any outside influence that may be able to sway him. "I went from Natalia to Natasha, Romanov to Romanoff. That was necessary for me, but I know the same might not be for you. If you're going to be here, especially here," she gestures to the room they're in, "I should know what you want me to call you."

The idea of working with her to deprogram himself is something that has him looking wary again, but he doesn't automatically refuse. Partly because she isn't saying whether it would be a good idea or not, just offering it as an option and leaving it there. He hadn't been used to those decisions being left up to him when the med team in Wakanda had started working on him either, but she's moving on and unconsciously he sits up as her voice takes on a briefing tone.

And then he slumps again. Steve's here? Stark's here? That could go a whole lot of ways, especially if they both remember that fight in Siberia. He sometimes feels like he's still got bruises from that. "Hell," he mutters, the annoyed wrinkling of his nose making him look more like the Bucky Barnes from the old newsreel footage than he has at all so far. But again, he can't dwell on it, there's another issue here. It's an issue he's been wrestling with for months, too, and he hadn't quite settled on an answer before Steve caught up with him in Romania.

"I dunno," he says with a little shrug. "Lots of people call me Bucky. I know I used to be Bucky Barnes. It's not like I wouldn't answer to it, I know that used to be my name." But it doesn't sit right. He has all the Bucky-memories, he doesn't flinch when Steve calls him that, but it doesn't feel like him. Not really.

He looks at the metal arm for a long time, and even though he's sure she must be wanting to get on with her day, whatever that's like here, Natasha waits for him. "James," he says at last, looking up at her again, and there's something more settled in his features now. "What about you?"

"Don't worry," she begins when he sees the slight emotional protest at the information that Stark is around, and Natasha can't help but give a slight and crooked smile despite everything that's happened within the past twenty four hours. "They're still the same. Both as bullheaded and stubborn as ever." And they're a thing, whatever that thing is, but that isn't something for Natasha to tell Bucky. It's not her secret to give.

She waits patiently as he seems to work through what he prefers to be called, and despite the fact that they're on limited time before she has to make it to the Commissary, she doesn't push him. To anybody on the outside it might seem like the answer should be simple, but it's not. Natasha knows that it's not, more than anybody else. The answer that he gives, though, makes her smile again, because it's a good one. It's not the person who he's known as, but on some level it's still him. That's a good sign.

"James," she repeats it aloud, partially to memorize it and partially so he can hear how it sounds. "I can do that." Once the question is reversed, however, Natasha shakes her head with a little facial shrug. "Natasha is fine. I've already been through the whole renaming process, that's what was assigned to me to make it easier for people to view me as a part of their team and it stuck. So. Natasha. It's what everybody else calls me, we'll keep it simple."

With that she slowly stands. There's more to brief him on, but pouring information on someone who's still trying to get a firm grasp on their own reality isn't a wise move; she knows from experience. "Come on. Let's get you to the Commissary, if you're lucky you won't be announced for a mission this morning. I had one on my first day. Wasn't fun."

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Daycycle 131 [Mar 19 - Mar 25]

daycycle 131

[Mar 19 - Mar 25]

Bucky Barnes | Open morning and afternoon

Early Morning

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