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Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Early Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty
Felicity Smoak and Natasha Romanoff, have been selected for today’s mission. Details are below:

‘In order to help us improve our combat simulators, you will need to run through any combat situation you encounter at least three times. On the second pass through, engage the combat at a greater range than originally. On the third pass through, attempt it at a much closer range. You will provide tactical notes to our staff afterwards. If the simulators catch fire, or fail to respond to override commands... note that too. The eggheads were supposed to have fixed that.’

Please debrief the computer on the status of your mission by the end of the Daycycle here.

Morning & 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.

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 1700 in Hangar 15, Armed Forces Sector and will be hosted by the Alpha Complex Dogeball Association. Join us for a game of Alpha Dodgeball! All clearance levels above INFRARED welcome.

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Stiles had been eliminated earlier in the evening, letting the more competitive players continue on to the later rounds, with him and some of the other players hanging around the water dispensers that were set at one end of the midline.

Other than the occasional ducking that happened given the nature of the sport, and yes - dodge ball is a real sport - the group gathered there have the best view of the ongoing game. The referee's whistle goes off, the shrill sound announcing the end of the game.

Stiles watches as the two current teams step off, others stepping on to take their place. As he recognizes Buffy among the people milling around, he waves. He's not sure if she's still playing, or if she's finished for the night, but it'll be easier talking here, rather than at the back of the room during a puppet show.

He waits till she's close enough so that he's not shouting over the rest of the crowd: "What happened to your face?"

Oliver frowned when he saw the man. He wasn't the only one who seemed to keep to the walls and this was the second person so far he'd found who'd been there. Nothing particular had brought him to Oliver's attention, but now he was right here, practically stumbling over Oliver's heels. Either it was a coincidence, something he didn't particularly believe in, or else he was being followed.

"Very," he replied, mouth not even so much as twitching at the man's - kid's, really - antics. He was nervous. Whether he was nervous because of the place, because Oliver was just plain intimidating, or because he'd been following Oliver remained to be seen. That just meant that he'd have to confront the kid.

"Can I help you?" There was a touch of a sharp edge at the end that would either paint him as impatient or having recognized...something. The fact that he hadn't quite probably said more about Oliver than it did the kid. Hearing Felicity's name had distracted him.

First it was Tony, now it was Natasha. Steve was starting to suspect that the Computer was targeting people specifically from his past, for her next clones.

Shock, muted by the caution of being watched, was the only expression on his face as she walked over. But when she opens with ‘eligible bachelor’, Steve’s mouth opens in apprehension. He already has a bad feeling about what she’s might say next.

When there’s two feet left between them — a close, by not intimate distance — she chooses to talk about 27 inches, and Steve’s eyes give her the most bewildered and incredulous look. For two entire seconds, he doesn’t say anything. Then a faint smile tugs at his lips, fueled by both his embarrassment and the marvel that was Natasha Romanoff.

“I don’t even think that’s possible,” he says, clasping his hands together and glancing away. Not even Banner's hulk could pull off that feat of nature.

But when his eyes are on hers again, there’s real concern. “Natasha, when did you … wake up?”

Because unlike her and Tony, Steve had no trouble knowing where he stood with the both of them. Their relationships weren’t perfect, no. But in his memories, even if they were no longer fighting together, Steve never doubted all of them were still fighting the same fight.

The final games were winding down when Stiles had spotted Derek. At first, he'd thought that nobody is that unlucky, but had quickly revised it. It's Derek Hale, they guy would definitely be unfortunate enough to end up here after getting out of Beacon Hills. If there was ever a lottery for horrible things - the man would have the winning ticket, and probably the next few prizes afterwards. It makes him wonder about a few things too: if the familiarity of between some of the other clones was because of things before, and not just from meeting up here.

(If he went looking, just who would he find? And would he even want to find anyone else he knows - because they'd be here.)

From the way Derek's going at the other team, he's glad he'd been tagged out a lot earlier, and he winces when one of the other players gets hit in the face when she's too slow to duck. Her teammate tries to avenge her, but Stiles can see that the team's flagging, enough so that they'll probably be out before the ref calls the game.

He makes himself comfortable on one of the benches, one of the few remaining spectators near the front. Most had moved further back when the game had heated up, or had left already to give themselves ample time to meet curfew - he's learned that lesson: being in your room isn't enough - cheering or booing with the rest of the crowd through the rest of the game.

The way that Steve stares at her with such bewilderment is almost comforting, because the look on his face is so very simply him. Steve Rogers wins wars, conquers battles and survives invasions... but she still manages to make him smile with embarrassment with a crude joke.

"What, twenty seven inches or you being a bachelor?" Her response comes with a casual drawl of boredom but there's a flicker of life in her eyes that's paired with the rise of one delicate eyebrow. It's a little too easy to fall into old patterns; teasing. Banter. It almost makes her forget that he might be upset with her, but when his next question comes it shatters that false comfort with a reminder that he may not be the man that she remembers after all. Steve has a strong mind, Natasha recognized that about him the moment they had met, but the attempts that this place makes at conditioning newcomers are no joke. She had forgotten to consider that he may be missing bits and pieces of his memory... he may not even remember the Accords. She can't decide if that would be good or bad.

Natasha's arms crossed over her chest in a subtle a indistinct sign of defense when the thought finally dawns on her, and she looks at Steve with a hint of concern in her gaze as her amusement fades away. "I don't know, yesterday? I just got back from fighting a few killer droids in a room with a girl who barely knew how to flail properly, my head is a bit foggy. What about you?" She gives a single nod in his direction, eyes flickering down to his green jumpsuit before they return to his face. "You've been here a while?"

Edited 2016-09-01 15:09 (UTC)

So maybe he's getting a little rough with the other team. He's being careful enough to aim the especially hard blows at other REDs or INFRAREDs, because he's really not in the mood to be arrested for treason today, but he's still delivering them all the same. It's kind of weirdly cathartic, he thinks, and maybe this makes him an especially big asshole, but the sound of the ball hitting someone in the face of the side of the head is really, really goddamn satisfying. He's always thought so; even when he was a kid.

For most of the game, he'd been pretty good at dodging the balls coming back in his direction, but the closer it gets to the end of the game, oddly enough since the other team has been so heavily thinned out, the harder it is for Derek to keep doing it. He's tired. He never gets tired this fast, does he? After a couple of hours of playing, finally Derek gets pegged and he stalks off the court and back to the benches. He looks up in search of his roommate, but before he spots Buffy, he spots another familiar face instead.

Except he's never met him. Right? Curiouser and curiouser; with every passing hour, it feels like, Buffy seems more and more right about the fact that those "glitches" aren't actually glitches at all. "...Stiles?" he tries, because that name is floating around in his head and it's honestly too weird a name to forget. He's ninety-nine percent sure that it's the right one to attach to that face, even though he's definitely to the salad spinner phase of his brain mush at this point. Buffy's right again. It's almost more scrambled in the salad spinner phase than it was in the blender phase, but he's reasonably sure he's right about this one thing in particular.

Oliver is very intimidating. And to be honest, Adam can be easily intimidated at times. He grew up in a world of being intimidated and looked down upon. He's only just recently realized that people who put out the kind of aura that Oliver does, still put their pants on one leg at a time, so to speak. They're just people. They have weaknesses just like anyone else.

That doesn't mean Adam is an expert at intimidating people. Sharp edges cut. And while he's used to Ronan's sharp edges, Ronan is the only one he lets cut him anymore. And that's only when Adam is having a day where he forgets that he can fight back.

This guy is definitely intimidating, definitely put out by Adam's presence in his obvious impatience and definitely all sharp edges. Truthfully, it intimidated Adam to the point of being a little bit frightened. This is the guy who's supposed to be rooming with him and Ronan? Adam wishes Ronan were here right now. Ronan could fight sharp edges with sharp edges. Adam is too polite and down trodden for that. He isn't good with confrontation for the most part.

"N-no." He says with a slight shake of his head. He doesn't need any help, especially from strangers. Adam takes several steps back and looks around for Ronan. "I know you're Oliver Queen." He only knows this because he'd been watching him. Adam doesn't fight with sharp edges, he fights with knowledge. He's kind of brilliant in that way even if he'd never admit it himself.

Of course he'd experienced the orientation. Barry wondered just how many times Oliver had seen the video with Teela O'Malley's high-pitched voice. He winced slightly in sympathy. "Right."

It was easy enough to pick up on Oliver's pointed tone and he gave a slight nod to the right. "This way, RED." Under normal circumstances it might have thought the fact that he was bossing around Oliver Queen was a little funny, but as it was, he was just focusing on finding a safe place for them to talk. He could only hope that he did a better job of explaining how things worked to Oliver than he had to Felicity and Cisco.

He led the way through the Commissary, trusting Oliver to follow him before stepping into the side hallway with the broken bouncy beverage machine and the two dots under the camera. He stopped and turned towards Oliver. "We can talk here, the cameras have been disabled."

It's not just Derek. Other players on both sides are getting into the spirit of things, by which he means hitting each other with the foam balls as hard as they can. There's even a few who have been tag-teaming in an effort to tag out as many others as they can; much more entertaining to watch than experience on a personal level.

Stiles slouches back into into his seat when he notices that Derek had been eliminated - it had to happen sometime - but he sits up sharply when Derek calls his name. That answers one question, the other man had recognized him, and had thought that it was worth trying to find out more.

Stiles meets his eyes with a nod. "That's my name," he says. "I'd say it's funny running into you here, but --" he shrugs, "we've never officially met, technically." Which is about as much acknowledgement of the fact that he knows Derek as he's willing to push under the circumstances. Too many people listening, and he has his own suspicions on just how people move up the ranks besides the meritorious ones.

"Which is a weird way of greeting people, but not the oddest I can think of." That includes the spiel they all got right off the bat when they woke up on the biobed or whatever the official name was. Hi, welcome to the City and by way, you're a clone? That's right up there with phrases like Take me to your leader and Welcome to Wonderland. Unless it's an in-joke. It's always different when it's an in-joke.

[ Directly after this. ]

Over the past few days, Specials have been created nearly every night. It was a suspicious change of pace.

This however, was his first orientation today, and comparatively late in the evening. Technical Services had pinged him on his PDC just a few minutes ago that a new clone was about to sign her paperwork. He'd rushed over from the Wagon Wheel immediately.

He doesn't know when she'll come out, or what her name will be, but he waits patiently by the lobby door. Another ten minutes go by before he sees a woman emerge from one of the inner rooms, and is being guided towards the GREEN bureaucrat with all her new Troubleshooter equipment.

He gives her a small smile across the room. Whenever she's done signing, Caitlin should be directed to come towards Steve.

Derek's eyes narrow a little in thought as he looks back at Stiles. Either he doesn't also recognize Derek or he does and he's intentionally avoiding saying so. There are a lot of people around, so that makes sense. Derek had only really been comfortable bringing it up in a subtle, passing mention to Buffy when they'd been alone in their room. He can't exactly blame Stiles for feeling equally uncomfortable with making that sort of acknowledgement where anyone could overhear it.

"Right," Derek agrees slowly and he suddenly feels so naked when he catches himself trying to listen for other conversation to see if they're being talked about behind their backs; whether anyone has taken a little too much notice in their awkward discussion. He can't hear a goddamned thing outside Alphas being hit with dodge balls, and the crowd booing or cheering them on.

"I need a drink. Let's go for a walk," he suggests, nodding toward the door. His eyes shift up over the door to note the time. They have a few hours before curfew; he's been playing for a while, but the game itself hasn't lasted super long.

Izzy can't help but think about how badly this bodes for the near future. Then again, hearing that her memories were glitches had already sort of cemented that. She's been struggling not to think about the people that she remembers in such vivid detail, but they keep going back, and it keeps leading her back to the idea that what she's been told is a lie.

It seems easier, or rather more likely, that her memories are the truth...as opposed to a glitch. They're too strong, and too vivid to just be a flaw in her programing. Izzy isn't sure she's ready to vocalize that thought, but she's sure that she has a brother, two actually, and the rest....maybe it's the glitch, but there are some things she's certain about.

"How long have you had to settle so far, handsome?" Izzy asks, shifting to angle her body so that it's a little easier to converse with him. She's not sure she could answer him if he asked why she felt compelled to talk to him, but she does. And she doesn't think that he's wrong about the way this place works either, so she nods, a slight dip of her chin before lifting it back up, all the while allowing her understanding to melt through onto her face. If that's what she's got to look forward to, she's going to get bored fast.

Part of Izzy wants to try and find a positive note for her current sour companion, but even she can't get blood from a stone. She can't make this place into something it isn't, unfortunately. What the hell are they supposed to do other than go on autopilot in this place?

Stretching her hand out, to offer for a handshake, Izzy managed one of her charming smiles. "I'm Izzy, and I don't know what they expect, but I know that I don't plan on being bored and stuck in monotony every day, personally. So, I guess we make our own excitement...one way or another." She gives a half shrug, lifting up her right shoulder and then letting it drop. She's not sure exactly how they're going to do that, or if it's considered treason. And it's probably mostly bluster that she can even get it out, but she hasn't been here long enough to really muster up actual hatred for the place yet.

And Izzy....well, she's never been good at wallowing in misery.

It’s not something she’d blurt out on a first date, but Felicity’s been shot at, kidnapped, and had a knife held to her throat by a homicidal maniac. A burning droid zeroing in for the kill is still terrifying, but the girl who might have reacted by squealing and crying was stomped out her two years ago.

Felicity is still wondering if ‘How are you going to shoot something with your eyes closed’ is a rhetorical question when Natasha tells her to relax her hand. This wasn’t a chastising. Natasha wasn’t going to tell her that she was useless and a liability. Instead she was going to teach Felicity something that she should have asked Oliver or John to teach her a long time ago.

She swallows again, eyes concentrated on Natasha as she wills her body off the wall and extends her blaster arm out in front of her. Felicity doesn’t say a word, she just does as Natasha says.

Firm writs, loose hand, straight arm, front sight, relaxed finger.

“Okay, I can do this.” Her eyes are on the sight, not her target. “I can do this.” She wants to close her eyes because she’s scared of the recoil, scared of not hitting the target, but she fights it. “I can do this.” She could feel Natasha behind her, watching, and then-

Bang. Bang.

One grazes the droid’s hip, but the other hits him in the lower abdomen. Felicity lowers her blaster two inches for just a moment, eyes focusing on the droid to see what and if she hit, before her arm is up again and she first off three more rounds.

One shot even manages to blast off the droid’s left ear. The two others hits the droid’s shoulder, both shots landing right next to each other. But none of her attempts were enough to take the thing down. It was still slowly advancing.

“Nataaaasha,” she says, with an urgency in her voice that escalates to mild panic. Help.

"Uh, sure," he agrees. The second word comes out decisively. Stiles gives the plastic water coolers lining the far end of the room a glance; they'd been there since the games started, and are probably empty, there's nobody even around them now. "Getting out of here's better than listening whatever water cooler gossip gets passed around the place. It's almost like a pack of starving wolves, how people pass on stuff about the newest vids and things. You know?"

As far as secret messages go, well, subtlety isn't his strong point - but it helps that it can be dismissed as just a turn of phrase. Stiles gets to his feet, edging towards the sidelines. He has to ask a couple of people to move so he doesn't step on them, but eventually he gets out to the little walkway marked off just for that purpose. It went all the way around the room.

"Do you have any place in mind? Because I've found that picking a direction and walking works just as well." Learning some of the areas he hadn't been through yet at his own pace, and he'd stayed within his clearance zone too.

While Felicity starts to fire off her rounds Natasha's eyes aren't on the droid at all. She sees it in her peripheral, knowing just how far off it is to be sure that it can't cause too much damage yet, but her focus is on the blonde. Natasha is pretty sure she's Felicity, having heard her name called when they were announcing the mission, but she hadn't been really listening in her momentary annoyance after her own name was called. She's sort of glad that she's been chosen now, though, because this poor girl would have been in real trouble if she was alone. She's got potential, Natasha sees that right away, but she still takes the time to study her stance and the way she moves as she blasts the droid across the room.

"You're fine." Natasha replies simply, sounding neither concerned nor patronizing as Felicity says her name with a hint of fear. "You've still got more than enough distance, and the closer your target moves the better your shot. It's Felicity, right?" It's a simple tactic; distract her with dialogue just enough to keep her mind occupied from tipping into panic, but not enough to make her turn her head. "You didn't miss once, believe it or not that's pretty damn good. You just have to - here." Natasha settles herself behind her and reaches past to wrap her hand over Felicity's, guiding her hand more directly to hold the blaster higher than before. "If you're bending your head down that much then your sight isn't accurate, keep the gun eye level. If you need to move your aim you move with the top half of your body, not just your hands. Always eye level. Deep breath." Natasha waits for the droid to get a little closer as she guides Felicity in an audible inhale and exhale. "Relax your shoulders. Brace with your feet and arms, not your back. Both eyes open. Eye on sight..." She keeps still for another second. "Pull."

She waits for Felicity to pull the trigger and the shot doesn't hit directly between the eyes, but it lands where the droids mouth would be and it's good enough. The mechanical mess crumbles to the ground and Natasha releases Felicity with a proud smirk that's followed by a quick facial shrug. "Not bad, Blondie," she teases, clapping Felicity on the shoulder with an encouraging squeeze before letting go once more. "We'll make a sharp shooter out of you yet."

It's the next part that Natasha is concerned about though, although she doesn't let it on. The last phase is supposed to be close combat and there's nothing that can be taught in such a short amount of time to help with that. Well... usually, nothing. But usually, people aren't being taught by Natasha Romanoff. "No celebrating yet, look at me." She speaks briskly but without urgency, wanting to convey importance but not panic. "Third phase is close combat, you don't want to have your blaster out. The risk of hurting yourself is too high, put it away. I'm going to concentrate on offense, I want you to concentrate on evasion." Her eyebrow arches in a visual sign that she isn't finished just yet. "That doesn't mean run away. You've got a decent reaction time, I want you to concentrate on dodging and getting low. Go for the legs, if you fall, sweep, if you're on your feet, go for their center of gravity. Right here." The redhead places her hands low on her waist. "Use their weight against them, the harder that they fall the more damage it causes. And if you feel like you're in over your head, get away. Understand?" Natasha rolls her shoulders, one after the other in a test to feel whether there are any residual aches from the first round that have gone numb from stagnancy. "Get low, drop down, get away, start over. Just keep moving. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Natasha finally offers a small smile, one of comfort and a hint of warmth to try and keep Felicity from getting too overwhelmed. "And here." She bends down swiftly, coming back up with the dismembered mechanical arm that she discarded and, with a firm nod, she holds it out to Felicity. The hand is facing her and flops at the end of the wrist. "Take this. You can't shoot your leg off with it. Take it by the hand, flexibility from the wrist is going to add more power behind you swing because of the rotation." She pauses, realizing that this might be one of those moments where she accidentally transitioned from helpful to a little too helpful. So, she shrugs. "I used to play softball?"

"Derek," he corrects her flatly. Cute the first time, a little too reminiscent of Kate Argent's smooth, confident attitude for his taste the second. He shifts uncomfortably in place, frowning. "Two days." It's frustrating dealing with the warring sides of his mind, especially since he doesn't actually want any of those "glitches" to be real memories. If they are, it just means everything in his life was awful and most of that was his own fault. Who would want the memory of getting one's whole family and half of their subsequent pack killed to be a real one?

He's in his own head and he feels a little bad about being rude but he'd sort of shut himself down in the absence of someone he gave a shit about impressing and he's fallen down the rabbit hole of his own confusion since. What's real? What isn't? Is he take a mutant and, if so, why can't be do anything with that?

When she offers her hand, Derek shakes it and gives a small nod. "I guess so," he agrees, because she's right, really... Although, Derek has no interest in being arrested — Again, he thinks — so he can't really offer to join her in her crusade. "Good luck with that," he adds and it's the first time he has sounded genuine rather than sour this whole conversation. He does mean that. Derek hopes Izzy finds what she's looking for. He still needs to sort out his own head before me can delve into all that. While he hasn't decided whether or not he'll bother because he's too damn distracted to think straight, Derek does get a good look at her and makes a mental note of her name to check back in with her another time. After he sorts out the mush in his head, anyway.

The reference isn't lost on Derek — in fact, hearing someone else say the word out loud in such a significant way actually has a clarifying effect. He blinks, his chin lifting slightly. "Yeah," he says slowly; uncertainly before looking directly at the other man. "Yeah, you're right."

The two of them move toward the exit to leave the room and Derek shakes his head at the question. He waits, though, until they're out of earshot of the playing area. "I don't care where we go. You're real. ...So what else is real in here?" he asks more than says, tapping a finger against the side of his head. "I can't sort anything out, anymore. I was in orientation for days," he says, looking over at Stiles, suggesting without saying that yes, he spent days watching that film on loop; days being brainwashed, and at some point, it actually started working.

His voice is lower still when be speaks once more, looking over at Stiles, knowing his face, knowing his name; remembering things that can't be real but certainly feel like it, and he's weak enough in the moment to ask. "Help me."

Izzy nods, noting the name that she didn't have before. Derek is definitely a guy with a lot of...weight on him, and not of the physical variety. It'd take an idiot not to be able to see that he has a lot going on. Izzy's been struggling with her own stuff, so she can't be particularly offended by the terse reaction. She doesn't know him, after all. "Looks like we're both relatively new around here, then, Derek." Izzy surmises, understanding the surliness.

She had been right, initially, with her thought that he was like Alec. It was in part because of that, and in part because it took much more than a sour mood, that Izzy doesn't choose to write him off just yet. Emotions, memories, and the war within her own head over what to believe and what not to is difficult for her. He's not much further in than her, so she can only assume that he's experiencing very much the same.

Shaking his hand, firmly, Izzy releases it after a moment already having made a decision to give him some of the space that he quite obviously needs. Maybe she'll check in on him later? "Thanks." Izzy, gently, places her hand on Derek's arm in the lightest touch. "Good luck with the rest of your day. I hope it gets better from here." And she means her words too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, Alec definitely never was, but some people are more prone to these sorts of moods and if anybody knows that...it's Izzy because she's related to someone that fits into that category.

"I'll see you around, I'm sure." After all, where the hell else are they going to go? Izzy rises from her seat, graceful despite her frumpy shoes and jumpsuit, and moves on. Derek made for one person other than Steve that she'd met and talked to now, but she's got more to go ifs he's going to figure things out and find a niche here.

"Yeah? Some blonde chick said the same thing," Ronan responds. "Guessing you're from the same place she's from."

His voice has softened a little now that Oliver has acknowledged he isn't Roy. He pauses a moment. "There's a chick here named Lydia. Red head. She says I look like someone named Jackson."

Ronan has considered the same things. How the hell do two people look like him and yet not be him? It's scary.

Ronan knows that Adam isn't happy. He knew that Adam wouldn't be happy when he told him what he was going to do, but for Ronan, it's a way to make extra credits. There are things on the black market that they need, things that they want. Ronan isn't used to not being able to either afford or dream the things he wants and needs. He's going to fix that if he possibly can. He wouldn't say that he'll do it any way he possibly can, but fighting is something he'd do anyway, something he enjoys. At some point, Ronan knows that this probably won't be in his favor, but he's going to ride it while he can. Besides, he can take a bit of a beating.

There was a hint?

Ronan knows that Adam is there. He'd promised that he'd come watch. The fight that first night isn't too much of a challenge. The guy is a good fighter, but he's not a boxer and Ronan actually knows how to box. The fight the second night features a guy that knows how to throw a punch and Ronan ends up a little more bruised and battered. He still manages to take the fight when the guy he's fighting can't stand up in the allotted time. By the third night, Ronan is tired, bruised and cut up. Winning the third fight takes a toll on him. When he leaves the ring, one eye is swollen nearly shut and his lip is split. HIs left side is bruised and sore. He wouldn't be surprised if he's got a cracked rib. He walks out of the ring on his own power though, making his way to Adam, chin lifted.

It does not say good things, Barry. It does not say good things. It probably doesn't say good things that Buffy is drinking the coffee regardless of how terrible it is.

She hesitates because from what she remembers it's not a good thing when strangers know her name. She hasn't been here long enough to have a reputation, has she? "Yup. That's me," she chirps, cheerier than she looks like she ought to be. "Hi Ouch," she smiles at him, softly though so she doesn't pull at her bruises. "It's not fun but it's nice to meet you, Barry."

Sometimes, Buffy likes to pretend that she isn't competitive. She likes to pretend that it doesn't matter to her how she does. It never lasts long. She goes into the game of dodgeball thinking that she'll play casually. It's something to do with her evening. It doesn't last long.

Her team is finished for the night. She has a feeling she ought to apologize to a few people because she's gotten a little carried away. She catches sight of Stiles as she's going over to get a drink of water. She waves at him, grabs some water and walks over to him. "Work. Think I'll get hazardous pay?"

Yeah, little miss 5'4 and blonde is on the very specials teams.

There could have been any number of reasons that the kid recognized him, but the fact that he knew his name as well as his face was something that put Oliver on edge. If he'd been someone from back home, then Oliver would have expected to recognize the kid in return and he didn't. The stuttering and nerves could be a pose or they could be actual nerves.

"All right," he forced himself to say slowly. If it was nerves, he didn't want to intimidate the kid too severely. If it was something more, he wanted to be cautious anyway. It was his first day and he wasn't about to cause waves until he understood the water he was in. He also had to remember that any enemies he made would be enemies Felicity made. There was no way he was going to be able to keep their friendship under wraps in so small a space.

"Then I suppose my next question will be how you know me." It was what most people in his situation would ask and he didn't currently have the luxury of having alternative ways of answering it for himself. "Because I don't think we've been introduced."

The only new people he'd met were Steve and the various scientists who'd been there when he woke up.

"Have they?" Oliver said, deliberately avoiding saying anything that misconstrued. If Barry were right, he could do anything he wanted, but he hadn't said anything about their voices being overheard. He tapped his mouth and ears. Just because there weren't things here that could see you, it didn't mean that there weren't things that could hear you and he wanted to be absolutely sure before he started asking the kind of questions he needed to.

Felicity was feeling pretty proud of herself — she defeated THREE, okay maybe just two, robot droids today — as she stepped out of her room and headed over to Adam's. The many bruises on her body still hurt and her hair was a little singed, but she'd learned how to push someone over and she learned how to properly shoot a gun and she'd survived.

As Curtis would one day say to her "You're kind of a badass." And badass was how she felt right now. Nothing outside of hacking has made her feel this way before.

So she's in an incredible mood when she knocks a few times on Adam's door, intending to ask him to come look at something in her room. She has a sneaking suspicion that her roommate has been removing all the screws in the furniture.

"Adam, it's Felicity. You know. The girl ... with the ... bookshelves." Ennhh. "I need your help-"

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Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Evening

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Orientation for Caitlin Snow

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phone tag, sorry for any errors LOL

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Evening | Closed to Oliver