[Mostly Open] So we'll press, and press 'til you can't take it anymore!

[groupiedrifter]

CHARACTERS: Precursors and you. And Eventually Newton. Hopefully!
LOCATION: A holding room in Ximilia Station.
DATE: Est. two days post-mission, after the kaiju is defeated and the orb is retrieved.
CONTENT: The precursors are revealed — and are finally removed from Newt's mind.
WARNINGS: Possession and the bodily autonomy issues that come with that. More will be added if necessary!

Closed and opened starters will be added as I go, which will be announced on plurk! But if you don't use plurk or would rather keep an eye out by email/tracking, feel free to use the tracking option and mark to receive notifs any new top level comments posted to this log! The log will involve an open starter to visit the precursors where they're cuffed/contained in the room, so stay tuned.

Also no rush once the open starters are posted!

Feel free to focus on the player plot log first and come back to this later.

CLOSED STARTER | THE DOCTOR
DARKLING'S TOP LEVEL | WHILE NEWT WAS SLEEPING...
OPEN STARTER | THE PRECURSORS, REVEALED
CLOSED FINAL CONCLUSION | THE PRECURSORS, REMOVED
OPEN PROMPTS | NEWTON GEISZLER'S RETURN

Comments

► Closed to The Eleventh Doctor

[groupiedrifter]

[There's nothing but quiet for two days. In those two days, Newton Geiszler himself doesn't think, doesn't feel, doesn't recognize that he's even trapped somewhere. But the precursors? They're still awake in there — cursing in their vitriol, bouncing off the mental recesses of Newton's vessel as they try over and over again to stir the body to consciousness once more. It's not until the stasis finally wears off that they emerge once more, eyes fluttering open to the sight of a very plain, very metallic room.

Glancing around, there is not much to be seen.

Smooth walls. Smooth floor. It might as well be a prison cell of some sort... And then their eyes land on the Doctor where he stands, just to the left. Their scraped up and bruised face twists into a look of revulsion and annoyance, though when they try to move Newton's arms forward to launch themselves to his feet, they find their wrists ache where they're cuffed behind Newt's back. And cuffed to the back of the chair. Their ankles... also do not move far when they try to jerk them loose, and the chain of the cuffs there jingle as if themselves furious.

Glowering up, their mouth contorts into an impatient, fake smile.]

Wow. That's no way to treat your pal, is it, Doc?

[They know they're screwed on the whole orb thing. For now. Chances are, someone aboard the ship's going to kill them off and shoot them out the airlock into the vast reaches of space... but it doesn't matter. As long as they can keep the information about the orbs from across the vast reaches of space, who cares what becomes of this vessel anymore?

As long as nobody knows who they are, anyway.

Newt's the only one around who has their faces in mind. Their 'name' to the human race.

It won't matter.]

[lateness]

[ The Doctor's got a new jacket on, this one a little more akin to his original tweed — in a deep brown to contrast the deep red of his bowtie today. Beneath the jacket, and under his button-down shirt, he's been bandaged and properly treated, and the pain isn't even all that bad today. (And even if it was, he's hardly going to give this face of Newton's the pleasure of seeing him weakened.) The scrapes and bruises are superficial at best, and overall he looks ... well, frustratingly alive.

He steps forward now, eyes trained on where Newt is strapped to a chair, all limbs properly subdued from kicking, punching, or otherwise flapping about. Certainly not without his restraints to make it extra cumbersome so that he wouldn't get very far even if he tried to make a break for it.

The Doctor smiles. ]

Just a couple of precautions, mate. Can't have you running off now, can we?

[ His hands are in his pockets and he steps just a little past Newt, as though to pace the room. (Actually, while Newt was coming to, the Doctor did have a proper pace-around.) ]

Now, of course, if we were pals, I suppose you wouldn't have set a kaiju on us, eh? That was really rather rude.

While Newt was sleeping - (open and closed) tw - violence, attempted murder

[cruelyethuman]

Closed to Kovach. Hallway by the infirmary.

[The reentry to the station is still jarring, it still tingles along his nerves until he wants to scratch at his skin. It makes the wounds from fighting the losing battle against the monster (Kaiju) itch.

But since the explosions echoed down the corridors on the train, since the calls for help rang out through the smoky air and since knowing who made this all happen, he'd had a plan.

He waits, not with bated breath or shaky hands, but calm. Collected. He showers and redresses in black, he nods and smiles sad smiles in commiseration with the other orbers as they all reel from the revelation.

And as soon as the false sun sets, when the lights turn down to allow them all to have a sense of the changing days, he sets out towards the infirmary.]

Kovach.

Open. Leaving the infirmary.

[Wiping a hand across his mouth, the Darkling stumbles out of the softly lit infirmary, hands still shaking with excess adrenaline and the sinking feeling of losing.

The threat remains, and any new attempt would likely be as thwarted as this one. Would end the same way, with the man responsible for this still sleeping soundly. Unhurt. Unharmed.

When so many others were not that lucky.

Shadows pool around his feet, writhing like snakes around his ankles as he walks away slowly.]

[Or hit up his inbox! If you want to talk, I'm on ireth

infirmary baby!

[aurable]

[ It was a predictable outcome by now that Drift haunted the infirmary at the end of every mission like a moody ghost or second shadow to the staff. He worried, even as he minded his heftier frame taking up space as he tried not to run underfoot with all his nine-foot mass.

Out in the hall he saw a figure stumble out, one he knew who loathed being seen in any state of weakness. The oil dark pools under his hobbled stride, and shadowy tendril that lashed out around his ankles either didn't deter Drift or went by his notice.

Drift was already making the short strides to meet the Darkling halfway, arms already going out. ]

Hey, you need to take it easy.

an hour or so later

[hatejakku]

[ Word really has a tendency to spread in this place, especially when it's something so public. Finn's pretty sure Kirigan's already been put through a few lectures but uh- ]

I'm sure you're busy but we need to talk. Where are you?

[ If he doesn't get a reply, Finn's just gonna track him down with the Force. This is a courtesy thing. ]

infirmaryyyyy

[homeostatic]

( The days following their return to the station are always busy for him, and getting away from the infirmary for a breather typically meant getting right back. Feeling fresher after a shower, if not yet well rested, McCoy leaves off his immediate return when Kirigan passes him out in the corridor. )

Hey, Kirigan. ( He glances to the darkness at his feet, because it's impossible to miss: an inky stain against the white flooring, seething and roiling like an angry sea. It puts McCoy in mind of something caged, throwing itself against its cell in a mad frenzy, and his gaze snaps back up to the man's face. )

You alright there? ( No, of course not, they're none of them 'alright', or fine, not after that, so he moves right on, gesturing back toward the infirmary. )

You look fit to be tied. Something I can help you with?

fighty fighty

[kovach]

[ everyone's got a reason to be pissed, he knows that. after his encounter on the train, he should be just as pissed, if not more (he'd almost lost marta on there, damn it), and yet, here he stands at the door, as a guard to the man responsible for everything that came to pass on that ride.

because he knows newton geiszler wasn't responsible for it.

kovacs stands by the door, smoking yet another cigarette he's lost count of when a familiar face slips up. he straightens just slightly from where he's been leaning on the wall. ]

Kirigan. [ he responds back, looking him over. always quiet, still, hard to read. ] Going in for a visit?

[morethan084]

Hey.

[Daisy speaks up just loud enough for Aleksander to hear when she spots him leaving the room she knows Newt is in. She must've been asleep when he had gone in.]

How's he doing?

[Scooting up so she's more upright, she only notices the closer he gets that something isn't right and her stomach drops.]

What's wrong? He's not--?

► Open to All | (You look stressed out!) | The Precursors

[groupiedrifter]

[It's been two and a half unpleasant days since the kaiju attack on the train, and only a handful of hours since the Doctor had finally unearthed just what it was lurking in Newton's body.

Precursors.

People may have remembered Newton mentioned them months ago in passing, here and there in conversation — and now with the help of that annoying sonic screwdriver, their mental walls were stripped away, presence laid bare. This is officially not Newton Geiszler, though the bruised and scraped up face certainly belongs to him. Anyone with a knack for sensing these things will finally register them for what they are, and... if they focus hard enough passed the impossibly large hivemind that has woven itself through Newton's neurons, they may sense a faint, distant human consciousness wedged down deep in there, too far to reach, too far to hear.

The precursors are currently kept in a rather boring holding room that Viveca and Degar had set up, Their (Newton's) hands and feet cuffed to the holding chair they've been sat up in; their clothes still smell of smoke from the train, rips in the sleeve and a splash of dried blood on their collar and shoulder. Now that they've been ratted out by the good Timelord (ugh, their worst fear, confirmed), they're not bothering to fake it until they make it. The villains in the stupid human show with the talking dog never bothered denying their crimes after they've been unmasked; they suppose they'll just have to do the same.

They also don't seem quite that worried about this predicament, regardless.

After all, they're only neurally linked to Newton. They don't have to worry about retribution, not when their physical bodies are who knows how far away. Rather, they're just waiting now with mild interest to see how the rest of the crew handles the situation; what else can they really do? Well, other than hold Newton hostage in his own body. Cat's out the bag, and as frustrated as they are that their plan failed by a sliver of bad luck and annoying cremates, they don't consider it a complete loss.

Meanwhile, Kovacs and Peter keep taking shifts to watch over them, which is terribly annoying (and they may or may not have told them it'd be nicer if they faced the wall, just so they don't have to look at them). But hey, now is your time to talk to them. Just them, as themselves, albeit with some muscle keeping a watchful eye for any signs of someone looking to shiv the body they're housing in. Come on, come all, and talk to the hivemind.

... If you really want to subject yourself to that bullshit, anyway.

Then again, considering the shitshow that happened days prior, people probably have plenty to say.]

[spacedisaster]

[ It's been more than just two and a half unpleasant days for Peter, and he sometimes feels like his life is just a really long joke the universe is playing with itself for entertainment. It would be better, easier if he could just...not care. If he only walked away and hid in his room, ignoring everyone else and especially Newt -No, not Newt. The things inside him- instead of standing guard to make sure any other orbers tries to hurt or kill him. He could not fault them if they tried, not after the kaiju and the bombs and the deaths.

But even since he was a kid, that was Yondu's biggest complaint about Peter, that he was too soft-hearted and emotional, and no amount of beat-ups as he grew up with the Ravagers could change that. Besides, his memories of that dream he shared with Newt months ago have returned. He remembers crystal clearly how Newt was terrified, cowering as monstrous alien creatures stood, messing with his head and taking root in his mind. Peter too remembers that he blasted their faces, and while it did not hurt them, it annoyed them enough. Going by what happened recently, it is clear that they hold a grudge.

He is glad for Kovacs's company, even if they mostly stay silent, and cover each other when one has to take a break for whatever reason. Peter has been gone for a little while, cooking for Rey and Finn in exchange for helping him and healing his injuries. He left them the food on their doorstep before coming back to Newt's cell, carrying a third box with him. There are two bottles of water, rubbing alcohol, gauze pads, tweezers to remove any glass that might still be stuck to Newton's face, a blanket, and bandaids. For the latter, Peter made sure to grab some the most ridiculous ones he could find. He walks into the room and only briefly locks eyes with Newt before he puts the box down and grabs a gauze pads and the rubbing alcohol. ]

[bindsthedead]

[Sabriel's recovered her memories, by the time she meets with the creatures currently controlling Newton's body. She leaves her bells behind for now. She wants to see what they can do in person, rather than in a dreamscape... but not yet. And she can still draw on a much weaker echo of their power through her voice.]

Now... what are we going to do with you?

[Sabriel's tone is bone dry and carefully controlled. She knows what she promised Newton... but was that really him she'd promised it to? Or a hive of monsters wearing his face, laying one more spiteful preparation in case they were discovered.

Well. Using Belgaer will not be that risky. Especially if she's able to have help, when the time comes.

And it is not impossible, to harm something without a physical form. Not for someone like her, anyway.]

[homeostatic]

( Pressed for time and focused on the other orbers, McCoy hasn't had a moment to spare. Newt was, for the time being, secured, a word that sat uneasily with the doctor. Finding that the man has essentially been left to steep in his own injuries, in dirty clothes and Lord knows what else...

...he can't stand it. This is still a sentient being he's looking at, even after everything he-- they've --done, and whatever his feelings about that, they have to come second. Whatever it is lurking behind Newt's eyes, well, he'll get to them here in a bit.

He looks critically at the various bandaids dotting the man's face, the rusty red blood on his shirt, wrinkling his nose at the rising scent of smoke and rubbing alcohol and sweat-soaked body. )

I mean to run some tests on you, clean you up, fix whatever my compatriots have busted in capturing you, and put a line in your arm so you don't have another seizure, ( McCoy explains crisply, and gives the cart he wheeled in with him a tap. )

Is that gonna be a problem?

[hatejakku]

[ Finn has been debating off and on if he really wanted to see them right now, after everything that happened on the train. He didn't have a whole lot to say and there wasn't much to do so long as they had Newton hostage.

At least, Finn hoped they did. There was no evidence that their friend was gone, not yet, so he wasn't about to assume anything.

Which is partly why he finally decided to make a visit. He's one of the few telepaths on this station and considers himself one of Newton's friends just like Newton is his own. He owes it to him to go and see this for himself.

But Finn's also not entirely stupid. No one knows what all these Precursors can do. The last thing anyone on the station needs is for them to jump bodies into someone who can wield the Force, and creating a mental link might open that door for them. This isn't a mission to pull Newton to the surface and save him or something, not while Finn's the only telepath in the room. This is just recon. ]

Hey. [ Just as casual as you please. Besides, who knows how many times Finn had been talking to them instead of Newton?

He eyeballs the setup they've got to keep him on lockdown, even checks on the line McCoy put in him, but doesn't touch. Just moves about the room, walking around him. ]

Don't want to say I told you so, but-...

[coordination]

[ It's funny timing, when those memories of his "dream" with the Precursors come back to him. That timing is why Yzak is a lot more pissed off than he normally would be (which, lbr, would still be pretty pissed). Because he'd have to come to consider the possibility that he wouldn't remember his time here on the Ximilia when all is said and done here. That sort of lack of control over something that's his causes such a desperately visceral reaction in Yzak.

So to realize there was something he actually forgot, right after having those thoughts? Leaves him roiling when memory of that dream finally returns to him.

And as such, Yzak Jule stands in the doorway of where "Newton's" being held, arms crossed, leaned against the frame. I'd looks could kill, the one he's fixing Newton with would be the most dangerous of them all. ]

It's almost time to go, you miserable fucks.

Re: ► Open to All | (You look stressed out!) | The Precursors

[flickerandfade]

[ Megatron has spent time castigating himself. He should have known, he thinks, that something was wrong with Newt. He had been acting strangely--compared to his usual, in any case. Megatron had chalked it up to stress, the loss of a friend from home, something, anything else but the reality that Newton was not himself. Now, he seeks to confront these beings. If only verbally.

He's supposed to be intelligent. Insightful. Maybe the time in prison has made him slower than he used to be. Maybe he's just old.

The imposing figure of the Cybertronian steps into the room and almost casually takes a seat across from the Precursors, hands folded in his lap. ]

So, who are you? What do you want?

[laviny]

[Yelena is curious, after everything that has happened. She's fond of Newt and she's also someone who has dealt with having her mind fucked around with, so she can't quite resist coming to Prewt's holding room to see him.

She's not actually there to judge or to murder. She just wants to observe. Maybe talk a little bit, if Newt's alien brain worms are into that.

She arrives in the room with a bowel of mac and cheese casserole and takes a seat a few feet away.]

Hello, how are you doing? Have they been feeding you?

[callada]

[Word gets around quickly enough, and while eventually Rosinante does want to check on Newton, the knowledge that these things, whatever they are, are the ones responsible for so much conflict and cruelty within their crew is what has brought him here today.

He's not here to pretend to be pleasant, so he doesn't sit, or even slouch. He stands with arms folded, a cigarette between his fingers, as he eyes Newton's form and reminds himself that that is not the man himself before him and probably hasn't been for quite some time.]

Enjoying yourselves yet?

[winscenario]

[ Jim isn't really here to talk, he has very little interest in giving a bunch of genocidal parasitic maniacs more fodder for their destruction. After all, they're contained now, but the truth is they don't really know if anything will work in kicking them out of Newt's mind, and they might just have to deal with round two of destruction attempts.

But he is worried about Newt. He can't do much for his mental state right now, but he can at least check that he's fine physically. He's sure Bones has done a good job looking over him, but Jim comes by anyway, giving him a concerned once-over.

And admittedly, a small part of him is interested in hearing these creatures speak, not because he thinks they'll say anything of real interest or relevance, but just because he needs the reminder that this isn't Newt, and that there's something tangible and real that's wrong with him, something that they can fix. ]

[aurable]

[ There had been a sense welling up inside of Drift since Scorpion's Bend that he had no words for, only a lingering doubt that persisted like a bad smell. An animal circling the edge of a clearing on the hunch of a hunch of predators hiding in the dark. Newt had been getting progressively more agitated but conversely quieter. Drift hadn't said anything but believed Newt to be acting like a man putting his affairs in order. That should have raised a parade of red flags, but there had never been enough time.

— There is never enough time in the universe. Drift knew this, but the lesson never sticks until the other boot drops.

When Drift finally appears, he arrives as a man, but not entirely. When he approaches the thing in Newt's body, a large silhouette fills the room from behind. 'Drift' entered while Drift stalked just outside — just in case. ]

So

[ He started evenly, smoothing the front of his button-down. ]

How will this go? I'm expecting either an unhinged speech about the 'rightful dominion of a higher species beyond my feeble comprehension,' or whatever roundabout and nonsensical humble bragging you types take for engaging repartee or some bullshit victory lap.

I'm older than the other one. I'm seldom surprised.

► THE PRECURSORS, REMOVED | (Wander through the ruins)

[groupiedrifter]

Well, it's time.

It takes very little effort to sedate Newton Geiszler's body, for Percy to help hold his shoulders steady as McCoy plunges the syringe into sensitive flesh at his collar.

"You think any of you have a chance against us? We're endless. But just try it," they say, sneering at the shadows of those who have entered the holding room. "We'll rip Newton to pieces, and when we're done with him, we'll make sure you're all a bunch of drooling corpses on the floor."

Peter collects the unconscious form into his arms and walks it a short distance to the infirmary, just before stepping away and standing quiet guard at the back of the room next to Kovacs; those who have volunteered to finish what the precursors had started shuffle into the space with single-filed somberness not long after. McCoy sets himself to work alongside Law, with placing the white rounded pads against Newton's temples and chest — methods to read vitals, in case complete failure leaves the lines on the screen falling flat. The Doctors stand firm with Clara, the sonic devices held with apprehensive preparedness in their hands, thumbs coasting the creations to their highest setting. It will hurt. Oh, will it hurt.

The question is, how much will it scatter the impossibly expansive tapestry that is the hivemind in Newton's head? The same one that circles like vultures in his mind, prepared to dive down and try to maul anyone who dare step foot into what they believe to be rightfully theirs. Xichen takes his place beside the three, his own weapon — cradled carefully in his fingers, a wind instrument that had once lulled the real Newton into a peaceful sleep — ready to aid in tormenting the creatures that hold the body captive.

Yzak gently aids Blue's body into the room last of all, a bed prepared for the mu to rest into; Finn's eyes lock with theirs where he stands, hands clasping at his sides and a determined furrow to his brow. Rey looks guarded where she takes up residence at Finn's left, arms folded, and on the other side of the medical bay bed, Sabriel, Eleven, and Kirigan stand firm; if Kovacs stares a displeased, paranoid hole into the back of the Darkling's head, nobody has to know, right?

(... Not that Drift hasn't been staring holes into the back of his head, too.)

As the room calms Sabriel takes a step forward, bell in hand, and breathes out. Shadows in the room wriggle, slide in soft waves as she exchanges glances with the Darkling.

Either they're pulling a man back from the depths of his own mind, or they'll be confirming a time of death soon, but regardless — the body will be returned to its rightful owner. And the creatures that writhe under the surface, too large for something so fragile as the human form, will be dealt with.

Sabriel raises Belgaer. "... Let's begin."

The shadows on the wall tremble, and then fall over them in one great breath.

**********

Before now, Newton had found small ways to reach out — first, to weakly blink his eyes, tap his finger... to send through these gestures the shortest messages in morse code. HELP. STILL ALIVE. and then, pained, SORRY. Once the morse code was too difficult, he had for a time figured out a way to reach his earpiece, but the messages sent were slow and garbled... and when the precursors discovered his attempts to reach his friends, they had cast him further down.

The place Newton's consciousness had been thrown into was an elaborate ditch, where he's crumpled across the wayside like spoiled trash they had thrown out. It feels like he'd fallen a long, long way... Sometimes it feels like he's still falling, though he knows he's not, couldn't possibly be, not with the glowing blue tendrils that have come out of the white, soft floor beneath him to wrap around his sprawled body. They're almost like a cocoon, he thinks. "The silk moth's one of the most important lepidopterans," he slurs, blinking at the blurry white sky. "They don't exist in the wild... Domesticated just to make silk fibres..."

The silk in the cocoon of the silk moth can be unraveled to harvest silk fibre which makes this moth the most economically important of all.

"The silk moth is the only completely domesticated lepidopteran and does not exist in the wild... People just made domestic silk moths for fancy clothes..." Wait, what's he talking about? His eyelids flutter, hands sinking further into the floor when he tries to lift them. The neon blue arteries tighten over his chest, his neck, his legs... He closes his eyes and almost sinks back into a deep sleep —

"Newton!" Distant, but familiar. When he opens his eyes again, Blue's red eyes are inches from his face.

"Pretty," Newt mumbles. His eyelids flutter back shut, just before something plunges into the soft underbelly of the floor and begins to cut through the veins that trap him where his body's splayed. Then his eyes snap open in shock to see Finn carefully cutting through what's keeping him held down. An arm free, a leg free — he can breathe again. "What—"

Somewhere, distantly, a bell begins to chime.

Then he feels it. The ground is quaking, some awful sound piercing through even the furthest reaches of his mind. As he clings to Finn and Blue, the white sky grows red and angry. Gnarled fingers descend downward, the sounds of the precursors howling in pain undeniable; the whirring noise of three sonic devices finally reach him, and he clamps his hands over his ears, crying out in pain. "We need to get out of here," Finn says, and as if he'd triggered it himself, a little blue police box easily skates around the precursor's long, reaching arms through the sky.

When it lands, two heads pop out of it: one with messy brown locks, the other with curled gray.

The Doctors. Newt stares where he stands between Blue and Finn, pale and flabbergasted.

Bouncing out from the door, the 11th Doctor makes his way to Newton, looking a touch relieved, just before he takes Newton's head in his hands and plants a messy kiss on each side of his baffled face.

"Well, come along now! No time to waste," he says, and then proceeds to drag him away by the hand.

And that is how Newton spends most of this fight: sitting in the middle of a police box that is much, much bigger on the inside, sitting so curled up that his knees are practically at his chest. A mental barrier, they call it; a place where they can keep Newton as far from the precursor's grip as they can, for as long as they can manage. The man looks like a little dog left out in the rain, quivering and startled. The 12th Doctor vanishes after a moment's thought, only to reappear and shove a bottle of liquor into the man's shaky hands. "There's a brandy bar down from the control panel, Newt. Help yourself. Don't tell daddy."

... Between the confused looks among those next to him, Newton clumsily opens the bottle and starts guzzling.


**********


At the same time as this daring rescue, the precursors are suddenly under seige.

Outside, the world doesn't grow dark so much as snaps into darkness.

The sounds of the sonic devices have left these tall, awful creatures to materialize and scramble across a great space plagued with Kirigan's darkness, as decrepit hands press against their inhuman features. They know just what that sound is... just like they know what the sound of Xichen's music is as it weaves around them, scattering their focus with just as much tenacity as one of the Doctor's little tools. Hissing between their uneven teeth, beady black eyes shift angrily, trying desperately to find the source of the mental attack. Sabriel's bell rings almost thunderously in the distance, a warning sound of something that grows bigger and bigger thanks to the Darkling and whoever else dare offer energy to Sabriel's magics. Newton's message to Yzak had been enough; distraught and distracted by the overwhelming attack on their neurological link, the precursors hadn't at all noticed anyone slipping in to take in knowledge from Newton's drift with them.

But Sabriel has acquired it: the make-up of their bond, the cohesion of the hivemind.

They can be dismantled.

The creatures scramble, first, toward the direction Finn and Blue had gone, determined to descend where they'd abandoned Newton so that they can use him as leverage, as a way to hold this psychic attack at bay. What they don't expect is the sudden rush of air, nor the lightsaber that cleaves through their outstretching arms, leaving the hacked limbs to vanish into nothingness. Rey stands vigilant, poised and ready to lash out again through this mental link. The look in her eyes dares them to try to move past her again.

"You're mad," they growl, "One little human woman won't hold us back."

The creature lunges forward, but then is suddenly smashed into the floor, pulled left and right, and then is tossed aside in a crumpled mess before melting away into a decaying spot on the spongy soil that makes up where they'd taken root in Newton's mind. Eleven's hand is held out with fingers splayed, and the girl's mouth moves into an unhappy sneer as she steps up beside Rey.

"You're not staying," she says. "Get. Out!"

And then begins to practice the art of oversized bug smashing.

But it's almost over, especially once Belgaer goes into its full effect. The hivemind lets out a horrible wailing scream as they're pulled and pushed and twisted like dough in Sabriel and the Darkling's grasps. The creatures clamor over each other in a place so infinite yet so small as a human's mind, hands scratching and clawing, the throes of pain from so many different directions (sounds like projectiles, burrowing into them through the drift they'd created-!). Newton's body is no doubt snapping taut and writhing in the hospital bed outside of this place, teeth clenching painfully, fingers snapping into the shape of desperate claws.

The minds in Newton's are corroding, twisting up. The precursors launch themselves at Rey, at Eleven — at Sabriel and Kirigan, and the other minds that have come into their domain — but the bell is doing what it has sought to do the moment it had been rung for them. Their voices have separated from each other, overlapping with panicked cries as Rey cuts them down, as Eleven tears them into pieces, as the darkness floods their throats and the bell tolls so crisply that it cleaves into their own consciousness like axes.

—how is this happening;
kill them!
take them over!
what is happening?
turn if off!
shut them out;
get out ;
impossible;
newton!

LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE—

They burst apart like the glass of a slowly crashing car, glittering for a moment in their individuality.

Then, just as empty in thought as a foaming ocean wave, they rescind from Newton's mind, sliding back as whimpering voices with little more than broken, incoherent thought.

Gone.

**********

Newton's eyes snap open with a gasp of new life, left in control of a quaking body that is all his own once more. The world around him is blurry as he lashes out with his hands. He smells blood when the remnants of the precursor's damage leaves just a drop of blood rolling down from his nostril, down his cheek and toward the shell of his ear. McCoy's voice is urgent but garbled behind the roar of blood in his head.

A hand suddenly snaps forward to cover his, and fingers lace between his own to squeeze. "You're alright," Kovacs' gruff voice says.

"Newt," Clara's voice calls out. Newton's hands still, and glossy green eyes blink against the lights above and the head of blurry brown hair that eclipses them. The arms of a pair of thick black glasses slide across his ears; blinking quickly, he watches Clara's strained smile pull into focus. She must see the confusion that clouds his face, and tells him, "Didn't I promise?"

Overwhelmed, his mouth trembles.

But the soft sounds of Xichen's music help with that. While he plays, Newton's body sinks back into the mattress beneath him.

He drinks up the deep sleep like water, dehydrated for it.

No need to be aware, not of McCoy and Law ushering people back. Nor of Rey's offer to help repair what damage she can to Newton's mind after the assault. He sleeps through the careful check-ups to each of those brought back into the present, and of their slow shuffle out of the infirmary when they're cleared and have had their fair share of relieved hugs and firm shoulder claps.

Now, it's just time that stands between them and knowing if the mission was a complete success.

Until then, Clara will sit and patiently wait for the moment they can know.

► Mostly Open (Get! up! coward!) | POST-PRECURSORS

[groupiedrifter]

I. we are free (the guiltiness is yours) | CLOSED TO CLARA

[Newton wakes up peacefully, as himself, for the first time in a while. It was pretty terrifying in the last few months to do that — because he always woke up feeling like the precursors had been a bad dream... only to lie in his bed like a man with a severed spine, hands and legs at the mercy of something else. But today... today his hands slide up from his stomach to his face, and he touches the stubble on his chin himself. With his own hands. Him.

It almost doesn't feel real. He remembers Finn and Blue, the TARDIS, remembers everyone's voices as Clara's face swam into focus...

He remembers the train, the explosions, the screams, the Doctor's blood on his knife — Alina's blood Peter's blood Daisy's blood —

The beeping of the heart monitor quickens, as he looks around the blurry room; his glasses must've been removed while he was sleeping so soundly, and his hand nearly moves to start scrabbling for them near any nightstand. But he also realizes there's a brown head of hair, a familiar little shape in a chair next to him, and his stomach lurches as his heart flutters. He remembers the way his muscles burned when he'd desperately clamored for control over the dagger in his hand; he remembers the tears pouring out of his eyes as the precursors tried to peel his quivering control from his body, remembers the feeling of being a weight on her where he'd pinned her to the train floor.

Stop, he pleads with himself. Stop thinking about it.

He reaches toward her with shaky fingers, unsure if she's awake or if she's just... quietly watching him, wondering if he's even Newton Geiszler anymore.

Swallowing hard, he expects the worst. Maybe it's good his glasses were placed aside, so he doesn't have to see the look she'll give him.]

We've g-gotta stop meeting like this.

[Some credit where it's due: there's an inkling of humor in there somewhere, under the struggle to get the words out.]

II. you must fix your heart! | CLOSED TO INFIRMARY WORKERS/PATIENTS*

[Newton asks that there be no visitors. Pleads, really.

The bedrest time in the clinic is just a precaution, just like the time he'd had a seizure and winded up in this same predicament. Left in this quiet little infirmary, the curtain drawn around him for 'privacy' that he doesn't particularly feel he deserves, he sits and stares at the hanging sheet in front of him mostly... He thinks about the little pamphlets he'd seen in the PPDC's infirmary before, the ones about common reactions to trauma, or whatever.

First, a relief to be alive. He definitely feels that. Even when Gwen had found him in Sedorum, he had — always wanted to live, and it makes him wonder if that's a super selfish thing of him, when something so dangerous had been in his head.

Second, the stress, fear, and anger. The not being able to stop thinking about what happened. Mmmyeah. That's strong. Strong feeling there.

Third, an alertness, being constantly on guard. Sharp reactions to sudden sounds or sights.

Considering he almost jumps out of his skin when someone who works in the infirmary draws back the curtain to look in, that is also a factor.

His hand goes over his heart with a gasp.]

C'mon, you gotta knock if you're visiting.

[There are blood tests, and brain scans. There's medications and all that.

Sometimes food shows up, and he picks at it with a frown, like a sullen child who won't eat their vegetables.]

... Maybe I should be in the holding room still. I mean, as a precaution, right? Like how people have to quarantine when they get the superflu. [He stabs weakly at what he's pretty sure is a slice of carrot.] Until all the scans are complete and we know for sure there's nothing left in there. I don't feel them but it's not like that always mattered, you know? They've always been there — maybe they'll always be there, like when you get mono and you'll always have that in your blood? Maybe the precursors are my Mononucleosis. Mononucleosis I got from drifting, and I can never get them out, and they'll just always have some foot in the door that I can't control...

[The poor carrot is just a mushy orange blob now.]

[OOC: *If your character is too stubborn and will sneak in anyway to check on him or question him, feel free to tag into this prompt anyway!]

III. and you must build an altar where it rests | OPEN / MULTIPLE LOCATIONS

[When he's finally cleared, it's with a refill of his antiepileptic medications (because his brain is still a shitshow with frayed edges). He gets to put his clothes on — clothes that were pushed somewhere neatly in a drawer that make him look like him. His jewelry, his glasses, they're all things that at least help him feel a little more like himself and not someone floating outside of their own body. Maybe everyone else shares the same hesitancy at letting him loose into the station, but... gotta start somewhere, right? He can't just live in the infirmary all his life, waiting for the day he snaps back into being 'okay'. His vitals are good, he can answer questions clearly, his head hasn't turned 360 degrees and he hasn't vomitted pea soup at any priests.

So... He's released from care. With the promise of checking in frequently for crucial follow-ups.

And now he's just.

Out. Free to wander in his own body, among people he'd tried to kill. (They'd tried to kill.)

Okay, obvious first decision: locking himself in his room for days. He does that very well, lays on his bed and watches Titanic and The Wizard of Oz and Jaws, like, twenty times. Then he puts his music on and turns it up so loud on his earphones that he might as well be dead to the world, or at the very least get his hearing checked after.

But that's really not a super great way to live, is it? And that's exactly what he's supposed to be doing. Living.

He's not really sure how he ends up here at some point, standing just outside the doorway that leads into the mess hall, but he does. It almost looks like some idiot middle schooler too scared to step out and perform for their talent show, but really, it's just some thirty-something year old man who should know how to do this. He can hear people talking in there, hear familiar voices laughing or grumbling or having easy conversation. The idea of stepping into that space and instantly souring the air makes him feel kind of sick. What kind of looks will he get? What kind of things will they think? He wrings his hands together, breathes out deep, and — ]

Iiii can't do this.

[— turns on his heel to try for a beeline to his bedroom.

Eventually — with some likely coaxing, though — he does.

Step into the mess hall.

And it very much feels like stepping onto a school stage, with all the lights pointed at you.]

IV. it comforts me much more | OPEN / KITCHENS

[Imagine: you're going to the kitchens to get a late night snack, and you here a pathetic little sniffling noise in the room.

Nobody around, but there's definitely a quiet little hiccup somewhere that sounds suspiciously melancholy.

A ghost? A haunting, in our Ximilia?

It's more likely than you think.

But upon investigation, if you're so bold, you'll find the source of the restrained bawling: Dr. Newton Geiszler, PHD PHD PHD PHD PHD PHD, curled up behind one of the counters with a carton of ice cream under one arm. Ah, the case is solved. Just a sad little man who is having a small mental breakdown while spooning rocky road into his mouth.]

V. we lay in the foundations | WILDCARD / OPEN STARTERS / ETC.

[Once he's gotten a little more comfortable with being out and about, he can be found in places like the sunlight room or the kitchen for thoughtful thousand yard stares at the walls, and most certainly his own room, though... he seems to be avoiding the labs currently. Maybe just a touch too difficult, going into a space he'd shared a lot with Hermann before things went to shit. Or maybe he just can't stomach seeing the perfectly tidy desk he used to work at. Maybe it's just a sick reminder that he's an idiot scientist who flew too close to the sun, no matter how desperate they were for what he'd learned all those months ago on Earth.

(God, there's a mission approaching soon, he thinks; he can't he can't he can't.)

Feel free to find him around the station, or message him, or whatever method you prefer. He doesn't really... start conversation currently, not like he used to, but it's a work in progress.

We'll get there. Just takes a little duct tape and time.]

IV

[blackfire]

（ odd hour of the night, or just the (frankly, insane) time he gets up for his morning routine? you decide.

but itachi is here regardless, and is making tea and a series of small side-dishes for the morning's meal. about the third time the Hiccup of Melancholy occurs, he opts to speak — ）

Would you like breakfast?

（ yes, newt, he knows it's you. you aren't subtle, you little weirdo. ）

ii

[firstroar]

They aren't there.

[no one's peeping behind the curtain - not the physical one, anyway. Blue's on the other side for his own needs, unmoving from the outside, but ever eager to see to this freshly-freed friend of his in this way he can.]

And if they were...I'd have the bite marks to prove it.

[like last time, you know?]

slams in here

[bossily]

[She's been guarding him ever since Kovacs told her what Kirigan had done. The thought of someone else trying to kill Newt fills her with dread. And so she sits by his bed, refusing to leave. She even sleeps in the chair at his bedside, which is exactly what she's doing when he wakes.

It's the rising sound of the heart meter that wakes her, and she gives a startled jump as she looks around. Her eyes fall on Newt, and she sees that he's awake. His words are heard but not necessarily processed, not until she's moving out of the chair and almost quite literally crawling into the bed with him to embrace him in the tightest hug she's ever given.

She's resting on her knees on the bed, her small frame easily able to tuck beside him. Curling over him protectively, she tries to will all of that doubt from his voice with the sheer force of her love and affection for him.]

Don't worry. [She's finally able to speak, voice heavy with emotion.] I'm never letting you out of my sight again.

[Which probably sounds more like a threat than a sweet promise. But he'll forgive her attempt at humor, since this is the first time she's genuinely laughed since returning to the station.]

iv

[farr]

[ rita is plenty of an eater herself, having the sort of body that needs all the substance she can get. which is why she comes to the kitchen at odd hours of the night (or — whenever it is, on account of being on a space station and losing all sense of what time even is). tightening the wrap around strap of her silk robe, hair up in curlers beneath a bandanna, she shuffles into the kitchen, attempting to keep her slippers quiet with each step.

but as quiet as she tries to be, clearly there's someone else who's causing a slight bit more noise despite all attempts to seemingly keep it to themselves.

she pauses in the middle of the room, peering around before tracking the sound of the noise, carefully making her way to peek behind the counter — and finding the sobbing body of the man whom she heard was previously carrying some sort of murderous parasite bent on killing everyone on the station.

oh ... goody, she thinks, teeth clenching a bit as she considers her options.

she could turn and leave, sure, pretend she didn't see anything at all, because yes, sometimes it's very good to mind one's own business! but — oh, why did she commit herself to being more of a hero these days? and heroes don't just abandon a crying person in need.

straightening herself up a bit, she takes a breath to boost her own confidence before she crouches down next to him, her voice quiet and sweet, with a kind smile. ]

I was wondering where that Rocky Road went.