[ Before he opens his eye, he's overcome with a sense of wrong. There's a strange mechanical hum that shouldn't be present and his body doesn't feel like it's eating him from the inside out. In fact, he feels fine? Better rested than he's felt in what feels like ages. He lays on a pretty comfortable bed (first red flag) that smells clean enough but with the edge of dust (second red flag). Mulling over his thoughts, which feel like a jumbled tangle of thread, things are starting to come back as if emerging from a fog.
Taking a steadying breath, he opens his eye and has to shield his vision with his arm as he's assaulted with bright, fluorescent light. Wait. That's... not right. Like. Super not right.
Sitting up and getting a full picture of what he's dealing with, the breath leaves his chest like a physical blow. He knows this place. Hell, how could he forget the place he'd been sent to twice? Looking down at himself pretty much confirms it, his clothes clean and like new when they'd been anything but when he'd closed his eye last.
The Marsiva.. Now that he's more aware, he stands and looks around to gather his bearings. It's pretty much like he remembered. Carl runs a hand over a bit of paneling as he makes his way over to the large window overlooking the Fleet, tinny music crackling through the speakers above. Not as clear as it usually was, almost like a radio running out of batteries..
The view is still vast and endless, making him feel insignificant in the sea of stars. Out there floating in orbit is the Fleet- or what's left of it. That singular eye widens seeing what looks like half the ships torn apart as wreckage while the others chug along like nothing is out of the ordinary. He doesn't know how long he's been gone, but the way everything feels functional but in a state of neglect..
It feels too much like how things were back home when everything had gone to shit for a few months, making him uneasy. He doesn't know what day it is, there doesn't seem to be anything keeping track of the time or date. It's going to teleport him over to a ship automatically, right?
Right?!
He can feel the panic building in his chest, threatening to get caught in his throat. Carl catches sight of the broadcast system and makes for it on legs that feel a little more like jelly than he wants. His fingers are shaking when he presses the intercom button. ]
. . .-llo? H-hello? If anyone can hear-- -- plea--
@mortalcoil
Taking a steadying breath, he opens his eye and has to shield his vision with his arm as he's assaulted with bright, fluorescent light. Wait. That's... not right. Like. Super not right.
Sitting up and getting a full picture of what he's dealing with, the breath leaves his chest like a physical blow. He knows this place. Hell, how could he forget the place he'd been sent to twice? Looking down at himself pretty much confirms it, his clothes clean and like new when they'd been anything but when he'd closed his eye last.
The Marsiva.. Now that he's more aware, he stands and looks around to gather his bearings. It's pretty much like he remembered. Carl runs a hand over a bit of paneling as he makes his way over to the large window overlooking the Fleet, tinny music crackling through the speakers above. Not as clear as it usually was, almost like a radio running out of batteries..
The view is still vast and endless, making him feel insignificant in the sea of stars. Out there floating in orbit is the Fleet- or what's left of it. That singular eye widens seeing what looks like half the ships torn apart as wreckage while the others chug along like nothing is out of the ordinary. He doesn't know how long he's been gone, but the way everything feels functional but in a state of neglect..
It feels too much like how things were back home when everything had gone to shit for a few months, making him uneasy. He doesn't know what day it is, there doesn't seem to be anything keeping track of the time or date. It's going to teleport him over to a ship automatically, right?
Right?!
He can feel the panic building in his chest, threatening to get caught in his throat. Carl catches sight of the broadcast system and makes for it on legs that feel a little more like jelly than he wants. His fingers are shaking when he presses the intercom button. ]
. . .-llo? H-hello? If anyone can hear-- -- plea--