voidtreckerexpress | A New Platform [Intro Post February]

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A New Platform [Intro Post February]

On the Train

Three days after the Voidtreckers return to the void after their adventures on the biosphere world, they are awoken by a familiar announcement.

"Good morning passengers, it is day Sixteen of the month of Jelly. Points have been updated on the system."

They have indeed, and everyone can spend the morning shopping. Those who have been on the train for a while will also be expecting the second announcement that comes a few hours later.

"Shortly arriving into a designated void platform. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one." A lurch and a jolt and the windows fill with the fog that means they are at a platform. The fog seems thicker than usual and as they step out onto the platform they will find it is cold, very cold. Icy fog sticks to their clothing, makes it hard to see very far; the atmosphere is dark and gloomy.

As usual the first to leave the train notice nothing as they walk silently, rucksacks on their backs, towards the barriers: Alexis Rhodes, Elfnein, Itsuki Myoudouin, Ken Ichijouji, MT, Neku Sakuraba, Nike Lemercier, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Rainbow Dash, Rei Saotome, Taichi Yagami, Tsubomi Hanasaki, Yuri Tsukikage and Zechs Merquise all pass through the platform, not looking back before they disappear through the barriers and into the fog beyond.

But on the platform itself there are new faces. Wearing hoodies in all four colours, in various states of confusion.

For New Passengers

At first all they can see is steam, billowing around them as they come to their senses. As their eyes adjust, they will see they are on a platform, glass and dark stone rising in sturdy arches around them. Behind them is a set of barriers, and in front of them is a single track extending both ways into thick fog.

They are standing, in clothes that are not their own and a style they might not even recognise. They are carrying a rucksack on their back. For a moment it seems to just be them, alone in the white haze; then the steam begins to fade and they realise they aren’t alone.

The platform is not large with sixteen figures scattered around, all facing the tracks, all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies. To both the left and right, tracks disappear into the mist. Then there is a roaring sound and out of the fog arrives a train. Jet black with gold writing on the side. The Voidtrecker Express. There is a hiss as the doors slide open and out step a strange assortment of people. Some are human, some are less so. Most are wearing the same hoodie in one of the four colours, red, orange, blue and purple, though some are sporting different clothes in a variety of styles.

The Train

After a short time, the doors hiss open again. Those from the train may encourage those on the platform to board. It’s not like there's anywhere else to go and even if there was, you feel a pull. A need to board, a feeling that staying on the platform would lead to something terrible. If that is not enough, there are plenty of people on the platform now, to encourage them onto the train.

Each ICP shows the same message and next to the screens there are stacks of leaflets written by those on the train, with further information (see
'Publications'). The store rooms have been restocked with fresh ingredients, including several crates of avocados, the ingredient of the month of Jelly, as well as all sundries.

For passengers that have bought items, these are also scattered around the luggage carriage in various suitcases and bags.

New passengers will find their ticket allows them into their cabins. They may need to negotiate for beds, especially if they want a top bunk!

Room is tight but there are storage cubbies at the head of each bed, beds fold up and the bottom bunks double as benches for the small table. There is storage under those benches full of spare blankets and pillows.

Departure

A second horn sounds to encourage any stragglers braving the freezing fog, and the doors slide shut. Veteran passengers know what will happen next, but they may wish to brief their new companions.

The train sets off, the fog obscuring the view again as it picks up speed.

"Welcome aboard, passengers of the Voidtrecker Express." A female-coded artificial sounding voice echoes throughout the train. "Please take the time to read the passenger information displayed on the Information and Communication points and familiarise yourself with the layout and emergency exits."

The train begins to tilt, leaving the ground and rising up into the fog-filled sky.

"Entrance into Voidspace imminent. New passengers are advised to remain seated. Entry into Voidspace in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

A shudder, a jolt, a lurch to the left. A flash of light, colourful and blinding. As quick as it happens it is done. The train seems to steady itself. The fog from the windows is gone now, replaced with a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours.

Welcome to the Void!

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"I didn't. Had a lot of people mess with my head before," they admit. "Didn't want something else messing with it, now. There was protection for people's bodies, outside, anyway. So I wasn't useless out there. The attacks weren't even that hard to fend off. The attackers weren't exactly programmed with tactics."

He doesn't say that he's not sure their heads aren't being messed with right now. Seems like it's somethin' they'd already got tickling around in the back of their brain, and if they don't got it then likely they don't need it there.

"Almost sounds like a vacation compared to what I'm used to."

The thought has crossed their mind, but they're not capable of living with that level of paranoia 24/7. There's enough anxiety buried under their calm demeanor without adding that on top of everything else.

Besides, they've had so many varying experiences with having their head messed with, it's likely they'd notice after two whole weeks.

"Yeah, it's better than what I'm used to, too," they agree, and lean over to steal a bite of the quiche, themselves, on the tip of a bone-bladed knife they produced from a hidden sheath. "Where are you from, sir?"

"Mean what planet I was born on?" He eyes the knife. It's interesting, but he doesn't ask about it. He might later though, it's a good make.

He guesses that it wouldn't hurt to try the quiche. He goes to grab a plate and a spoon. Maybe not the perfect choice of silverware, but spoons work on almost anything.

"Centauri. But I was real little when I left, so I barely remember. Mostly kept up 'cause there were other Centaurians owned by the same fleet. Been world-hopping for most of my life, especially after I got sprung."

He can't even say he's with the Ravagers anymore. His whole clan's dead, Stakar didn't want him anyway, so he'll leave that bit out. "What's this called again?" He sits down with the plate.

"It's called quiche. Weird name, I know. It's from one of the languages on Earth."

Soldat has lost any knowledge of stars they had before being turned into what they are now, so they can't even connect Centauri with the star system named that from Earth, so they can only nod a little to the name. "You were owned," is what they pluck out of that, instead, said soberly and without much surprise.

"Quiche? Alright, then."

He scoops some out, glancing up at Soldat, before settling in to eat.

"Yeah. My parents sold me off to the Kree. I was a lot younger than some of the kids on this train, but that doesn't mean I like it much better.

"Speaking of which if you hear about any Kree comin' onto this train I'd be much obliged if you warn me, I'd like to keep my distance."

Soldat nods, expressionless. "I will. Though if'd rather I can just stab them for you." They have very pointed feelings on people who would try to own others. "It won't stick, not here. But might make a point, at least."

"Unless that arm's got a lotta tricks? You'd probably have a rough time of it. I hate sayin' it. I've been bustin' up Kree settlements for years. But they're strong. Stronger than most races. The only way we stood a chance in their fleets was when they carved us up or jammed us full of some gene therapy or whatever the hell else they did."

Test runs to make their own improvements, he always suspected.

"Don't stab one unless you'd be 100% sure that shit took. You wouldn't want 'em comin' back."

Though he grimly adds. "But uh... thanks though. I only had one other person offer somethin' like that for me, the guy that loosed me."

At the casual description of that abuse, so much like their own experience, the Asset makes a rumbling growl in the back of their mind. Soldat themselves gives a small, maybe slightly darker smile. "I am designed and programmed for optimum performance in combat. But I'll keep that in mind." Any Kree on this train might be in for a surprise.

They do have to ask, though: "I don't know what a Kree looks like."

"Depends on how exposed to nitrogen they are. Sometimes they're blue like me. Sometimes they're Terran colored. Most of the time they'd outright say what they are. They don't think they have much reason to be ashamed."

And he seems to remember his food then, and scarfs some before it gets cold. The way that battlefield soldiers do.

But back to the topic at hand.

"How much of you is still flesh an' blood?"

They file that away. Easy enough to remember, if a Kree simply states their species. "Most of me. Left shoulder down is a machine, and my blood has. Some kind of enhancement serum in it. Makes me stronger and faster. And I heal more quickly." Programming is more... metaphorical than literal. Sort of. If you count brainwashing as metaphorical.

He taps his own head. "My people, we grow these fins? Except they needed a prototype for one of their projects. So they sliced mine off an' put this in. They never did none of the genetic manipulations to me, but I know those bastards got around. Leave people all messed up and take what they learned back home to make themselves stronger.

"A regular Kree soldier ain't as hard to rough up as a big boss. I can do a whole lot, but I never went against anyone in the high ranks. All the outposts I raided were just fringe locations. I only took on an Accusor once and that was with a solid fleet. But don't you worry, I've paid 'em back plenty already."

Sounds like HYDRA, too. Bad guys are the same everywhere, seems like. "Good." Soldat looks vaguely satisfied, at least. Yondu at least got to fight back. "I never got the chance, against mine. Glad someone else did."

"So who was yours. If you're offerin' me the favor, it ain't no skin off my nose to return it."

Because unless they're made out of the strongest metals possible, he's pretty sure his arrow could find their head. And maybe they've got some particulars in mind about who they dislike.

"An organization named HYDRA. They're a lot harder to spot," Soldat says, shaking their head a little, leaning a hip on the table and folding their arms. "All human, mostly white men, and they wouldn't exactly tell anyone they work with HYDRA. It was a secret organization, see. Wanted to own the world. I was their weapon. Assassinations, sabotages, materiel retrieval."

"Bet they thought they were real big for their britches and didn't even consider how small and bullshit they were in the whole cosmic picture of things."

That's not to take what happened to Soldat lightly, but he'll bask in their absolute unimportance in the face of the universe.

Wait.

"You know what, I ain't even introduced myself properly. I'm Yondu." He thumps his chest with his right fist lightly, bowing forward just a little in his chair, giving him a Ravager greeting.

That's a new one. Soldat cautiously copies the gesture and little half-bow, easier to do while still standing. Also, better than a handshake, because it requires absolutely no touching. Nice. "Soldat. It's good to have you." They pause. "There's a lot of people here who've been through things like you. And me. You'll be in good company."

"I'm assumin' there are whole universes of people like us, and as nice as the sentiment is, it's not really done me no good before. When I started my crew, I took in a lotta people like me." Or what he assumed was like him.

"Turned out to not be the best idea." The ones that were most loyal were dead now, likely the ones actually like him. The rest? Well they got to sit and stew until they were rotten and he should have taken care of them a whole lot sooner.

"But it'd be pretty easy for me to give a fella from Hydra a hard time. Even if they were lookin' for one, they wouldn't expect what they'd get."

You were hiring damaged people who wanted to be pirates, Yondu, not necessarily good-hearted people who needed to learn how not to be slaves. Not quite the same thing.

"Well, the ones here are good," they say, trying to have faith in the small handful of people they see bits of themselves in. "No HYDRA yet. And no Kree either, I suppose. So for now we just get used to the train, and wait for the next mission."

Yondu's never considered himself a good-hearted person. It's been so thoroughly drilled into him otherwise that he might not ever think of himself as any fashion of decent. In either case, the idea of getting close to people in any way shoots his walls up again. Like a protective barrier, 'cause he knows either he'll get hurt, or he'll see again how big and empty that pit inside him is.

"Important thing is they're good at what they do. Have most of the missions run pretty smooth yet?"

He veers off in that direction.

They clearly have such different views of people. Even when they don't trust, Soldat still accepts connection and affection. They're greedy for it.

"I've only been on the one, but it went well," Soldat says. "I've only heard of two total failures, and one was because a world-ending force caught up the the train and she had to collect everyone and flee. The other was apparently because of robots. I don't know how many missions there have been so far, though, so I can't say if that's a solid proportion of wins."

Edited 2021-02-12 20:50 (UTC)

He's terrified of it. The scars he wears on the inside are so much more sensitive than the ones he's covered with on the outside, raw wounds that he can't stand to have anyone graze by proximity.

"Robots I can handle." He says doubtlessly.

"I heard a little bit about that world ending force, though. I heard about some things similar in the past, but nothin' dead on that description."

"We had. Something that seems a lot like it, where I was before this," Soldat says, looking across the room and frowning a bit. "Not HYDRA, someplace else. It had been devastated by something called a World Eater. Very big, sucks up all the light and life of a world, travels between them to find more light and life. Stars were going out, because of them. Sound like they might be related."

"Actually, yeah. Somethin' like that is real near what I've heard of."

His brow twists up and he sits up a little more. "So you got that kinda vibe from hearin' about it too, huh?"

"Pretty much. I know they can be killed, we blew one up, but it's. Hard. A couple people died in the process. And many more were hurt. It makes you sick, makes you see things that aren't real, feel things that make you want to turn on your friends." They press their lips firmly together a moment. That's the worst, making it hard to tell friend from foe, and they hated it. "It's terrible. But they need to be stopped. I hope we can help the train stop these. Before more worlds die."

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