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RP Excuse Me, But Did You Just Say I Was in Cryogenic Stasis for More than Thirteen Years? Episode 1


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RP Date
New Year's Day, YE 42
RP Location
YSS Eucharis
Excuse Me, But Did You Just Say I Was in Cryogenic Stasis for More than Thirteen Years?

Life is hard for an NH-17. One moment you're being pulled out of a stasis pod, the next minute you're being pulled out of a vat of hemosynth.

Episode 1: Excuse Me, But Did You Just Say You're Swapping My Consciousness into a Different Physical Body?

YSS Eucharis, Medical Center
New Year's Day, YE42

After having slept for over a decade, Tachiko found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep once all of the prodding and probing was completed for the day. "...forty two." She kept repeating the new year to herself over and over, as if it were one of the Zen mantra that she had memorized as part of her training. It was apparently effective, as she soon drifted off. Surprisingly easy to fall asleep indeed, but keeping that sleep was a fitful, tossing, nightmarish, hard-fought battle of its own. Those things her conscious mind had forgotten, whether through self-defense mental protocols, simple brain trauma, or the effects of cryosleep, were no longer inaccessible to Tachiko as she slept unquietly, unbound and loosed on her psyche while the warden of her subconscious slept.

Dreams of screams echoing through the smoke and strobing emergency lights. Of tentacled horrors wrapping her up and her body succumbing to their noisome opiates. Of being pulled into a shuttle, half-conscious and covered in the ichor of the attackers until the blood of her allies was washed out by it. It smelled so much like the hemosynth of her own kind, she remembered thinking in her dream, conscious of what an odd thought it was while weapons flared and burst through the emergency-red-lit smoke filling the ships corridor. Of knowing there was something precious in her arms she couldnt' drop, no matter how weak and numb and distant her arms felt. Mere vignettes, more emotion than sense, played out in her mind like a fever dream. Into a shuttle. Taking fire. More screaming, more red lights, more smoke. Pushed into stasis. Still clutching her precious thing. Then, giving birth?

Tachiko sat straight up in bed, as awake as her injured mind allowed, trembling and feeling sick. Her damaged made her vision a bit blurry at the best of times, but now the room was spinning as if she were still in that out-of-control shuttle tumbling into the gravity well of an asteroid. Soon, the spinning blur resolved into a medical orderly drone of a sort she didn't recognize beyond its obvious purpose. She still didn't feel that rush of encountering new medtech, and was painfully cognizant of the fact. Tachiko's medical berth had its gravity lift engaged, and it floated down the corridor marshaled by the vaguely humanoid, sub-sentient anthroform drone, carrying her to the Soul Transfer and Hemosynthetic Reconstruction apparatus that promised her an upgrade.

Hei Orshira Izokia, the Eucharis's medical officer, smiled warmly as the orderly drone, along with fellow who was waiting in the ST bay, lifted her gently from her gurney-berth and just as gently laid her out on the table. "Any requests about your new form?" The Neko medic's dextrous, blue fingers danced over the touchscreen of the device, reviewing, tweaking, and finalizing settings with what should be exciting and satisfying bleeps to Tachiko, but weren't, eliciting a little frown from the patient.

"I think I want to keep my original service markings, but otherwise, the same appearance." Tachiko's involuntary poker face and exhausted monotone didn't seem as enthusiastic, perhaps, as most Nekovalkyrja were to get an upgrade. "By the time I finished training, Type-29's were already coming online. I've been obsolete since I was created. This is my original body."

Sensing Tachiko's hesitation, Izokia reminded her, "If you don't upgrade, you won't be able to return to duty. Remember, your mind is just inhabiting this body right now. You aren't dying, just moving." Of course, as a medic herself, Tachiko understood that. On an intellectual level, at least. On a visceral level? That was another thing entirely. "Remember that your brain isn't functioning correctly. What you're worried about is just your biocomputer misfiring." It was supposed to be reassuring, given Izokia's soft, gentle tone, but the implications were like a crash landing.

"Right. Well... having the extra finger will be nice, I guess. It's funny... I'm about to leap over the twenty-nines I was always so envious of..." Tachiko trails off, face going slack and eyes blanking as Izokia begins the process. Engaging Tachiko in conversation was an expedient, and effective, distraction.

"Five fingers, original NH-17 markings," Izokia says to herself as she begins initializing the reconstruction tube. "Medical log, One Ichigatsu, Yamatai Era Forty-two," the blue-skinned Neko dictates to KAMI, "Upgrade to Type-33 for subject Takeda Tachiko underway, reintegration therapy will commence when subject awakens."

The damaged Type-17 body on the table goes limp and empty as it is vacated of consciousness, and inside the Hemosynthetic Reconstruction Tube, Tachiko's fever-dream begins anew.
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