MAY TDM.

[ximilian]

● ● ● T D M . 0 1

// PART I. waking up with a stranger  

So what do you say? What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?

These words ring in your ears when you wake with a gasp — perhaps the last thing you remember after hearing them is the sense of free-fall, or your throat constricting as tears threaten to fill your eyes. Whatever it is, you can’t shake the feel of dread — that whatever you’ve done in your dream has changed everything forever.

As the sense of dread fades and your heart slows into something resembling a normal tempo, you notice something you should have noticed immediately: you are not in your bed.

1.0   White walls, clinical yet clean, sparsely-furnished rooms. You may wake in one of three rooms: a room with only one bed, a room with two beds, or a room with four beds. Those waking up in rooms with more than one bed notice that they are not alone. Perhaps the other occupants of the room are still sleeping, only to wake up with their heart pounding… or perhaps they have been awake for longer, a spectator to everyone else’s dreaming.

What you do is entirely up to you: try and wake the others from their dream? Yell in surprise when you wake to someone staring at you? Or maybe you’ll try to sneak away before anyone else wakes...

After all, nothing binds the characters to the room they wake up in. If you find your bed comfortable, you may claim it as yours, or try to change rooms. However, there are only eight one-person rooms — so those who want solitude may have to fight for it.

2.0   Those with life-threatening injuries find themselves awakening in the infirmary, in a regular hospital bed. Most of their injuries have been treated, and any lingering illnesses or conditions will have designated medicine bottles on the table next to the bed.

White curtains surround the bed on both sides, giving an illusion of privacy. But is that a rustling sound you hear? Some footsteps? Perhaps you’re not the only one in need of some medical attention.

In fact, if you’re very badly off, you may want to hope for some company — you can’t stay in the infirmary forever, and will have to make your way through the hallways of the station to the living quarters, and claim a room and a bed there.

TOP

// PART II. the welcome wagon  

Suddenly, the soft hum of the station is replaced by loud static, like an old radio being turned on. Wherever you are on the station, it’s impossible to miss it — or the clear voice that follows.

// VIVECA.AI

Don’t freak out! I’m the AI of this station, name’s Viveca. Sorry, these old speakers are old tech and don’t get much use… anyway, the reason for that should be on your bedside table. There’s an earpiece. Put it on, and it’ll explain how to use the network that connects everyone here. You can also talk to me through it, if you want.

// VIVECA.AI

Now, we weren’t exactly ready for you to arrive just yet, so the station’s a bit... hm, well, I suggest you go and see for yourself. There’s lots to do here, and I recommend you familiarise yourself with where everything is. Go train, go test a mission on the simulator, check the lab… as long as you stay away from the Northern Wing. Trust me — not only will you not be able to enter, but I’ll know, and that’ll get you thrown off the station faster than you can say "freckles".

// VIVECA.AI

Oh, and get to know each other. The success of your missions depends on that.

With that, the speakers go silent — though if characters follow Viveca’s instructions, the earpiece will provide them with a chance to speak to her again.

True to her word, there is a lot to do and see on the station. When characters leave their rooms, they have the chance to explore all of the Southeastern and Southwestern Wings, and the Center of the station.

3.0   In the armory, characters can try to work the machine to make themselves some weapons to perhaps replace ones that didn’t come with them to the station, or to simply be prepared for future missions... but there aren’t many materials available, so the more the weapon requires, the more chance there is of the end result being less than satisfactory. A gun whose barrel is made out of recycled rings, a sword that’s just the blade and no handle, a knife made out of cheap aluminium — well, it’s better than nothing, right?

4.0   Eventually, when characters get hungry and want to eat, the kitchen and mess hall are ready for them… mostly. What food there is on the station seems to have been stocked for long-term storage: canned foods, dried meat and fruit, dried herbs and seasoning, condiments, some rather musty root vegetables and cartons of chicken stock. It’s certainly not impossible to make good dishes out of those, but it may require some skill.

5.0   The lab provides an interesting space for those who enjoy tinkering and technology — though the parts available are all in large boxes with no apparent method to their sorting. It may very well be that what you need for a hoverboard or a robot dog are in the boxes — it’s just a matter of finding it!

6.0   Meanwhile, those who want to train (or perhaps let off some steam by sparring with others) find the training room suitable for their needs. On top of the entire room existing for the express purpose of training, whether it’s martial arts, weapon skills or magic, anyone entering the room will see a message pop up on their network:

Complete these tasks for a boon:
a. Teach someone a new move or skill
b. Win a sparring match against someone
c. Learn to fight with a new weapon, style or skill

Should you take up this challenge, any time you complete any of the three, you’ll see that one turn light green — a mark of completion. Once all three are completed, you’ll see a new message:

Congratulations! You are now eligible for one (1) boon. Please check in later for submissions.

But when is later? What submissions? Even if you try to ask, no answer comes… all you can do is hope that you haven’t done all that work in vain.

7.0   A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds the characters can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion surrounds anyone who steps inside the room: characters will hear birds singing, feel a light breeze on their skin, as they walk through a grass field, a meadow and a small forest. In the middle of the room, a small brook runs the width of the room, and to cross it one must walk over a bridge — wooden, creaky, yet undeniably charming.

There are other things to do, of course… but the only room that requires a mandatory visit from everyone is the simulation room...

TOP

// PART III. ready steady go  

For those eager to get started, it might be best to do a little practice run first, huh? When you’ve successfully entered the simulation, you will immediately be provided with a supply satchel containing the following: a grapple hook, a long cord of rope, a flashlight, and a couple of snack bars (these will not actually feed you IRL). And your mission, if you choose to accept it (and you must, right? Otherwise what else are you doing here?) is as such:

There’s an orb buried deep in the Lodgen Mountain Mines — a series of winding underground tunnels long since abandoned now that any and all useful resources had been picked clean — and it’s causing a little bit of a problem down there, but the good news is that it’s yours to claim so long as you can get in and get out. You see, there’s been a cave-in and the culprit is the orb itself. Extracting this valuable object might take a little bit of doing, and if that’s not complicated enough, the orb’s presence appears to be the cause for the mines being in their current state of fragility.

Still: you’re resourceful, and more than that, you’re determined, and you can enter the mines in the following ways: going in from the top and climbing down through the mine shaft; going in from beneath the rubble where a narrow but perfectly safe-ish tunnel opening leads back into the mountain; finding an entry point from the mountain’s side by way of a refreshing dive into the lake that neighbours the mines.

8.0   If you decide to climb into the mine through the mine shaft, there’s a risk of the rocks you’re using as hand and footholds to crumble, or for the rocks to give way against your weight.

9.0   If you decide to go in through the tunnel, be careful you don’t take the wrong prong in the fork of paths. One will get you closer to the orb, but the other might lead you into the darkness where the first thing you’ll notice are several beady little specks of light reflecting off the beam of your flashlight, accompanied by the sharp chittering of large monster rats who haven’t had a decent meal in who-knows-how-long, and are eager to befriend you. It’s probably a good time for that weapon you have on you, or if that’s not an option, maybe there’s something you can MacGuyver from your supply bag?

10.0   Swimming is always an option, but like all unknown waters there’s the risk that you’re not alone, and we don’t just mean your fellow teammate swimming somewhere close by. (Though you might want to continue onwards together, Buddy System Style and all.) There are beautiful, haunting creatures that live in the depths who have the ability to draw their prey towards them through song — Sirens, some might call them. They call to you now, and oh boy, don’t you want to dive deeper? See what secrets they hold? Now would be a good time for your swimming partner to pull you back to your senses or be lost to the waters.

But okay! You’ve made it. Don’t forget that the mines are still in a very fragile state, so it’s best to tread carefully and avoid making sounds that could agitate the delicate infrastructure and risk the whole mission — and your simulated life. This is on you. This is about you.

Or is it?

When you’ve neared the location of the orb, you’ll find that it’s mostly quiet and you’re on your own, except … if you stand still for long enough, you can hear muffled cries for help behind a large wall of rock right by you, sounds that are clearly distressed and panicked. But before you can make any kind of snap decision, there’s a tiny blip of static in your earpiece and a matter-of-fact voice will state that you should probably get going — there’s an orb to recover and you’re nearly there. Anything else you attempt to do is outside of your mission, and time is ticking. Will you listen to the voice or will you try and save the trapped? You might be successful, but time is running against you and the longer you stall the more unstable the mines become.

● ● ●

N O T E:   During each mission, characters will be given one personal goal to complete. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re offering three goals to choose from and leaving it to players to pick one for their character and run with it:

A   Choose the most difficult or challenging path into the mountain.

B   Help a teammate during the mission.

C   Retrieve the orb at all costs, leaving any possible trapped individuals to fend for themselves.

TOP

F Y I

• TDM threads can be considered game canon so long as all parties involved agree to it.
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are currently open to those with invites. They will be open for everyone May 26.
• Apps open for those with invites May 26. They will open for everyone May 29.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.

▶ NAV

Comments

Natasha Romanoff | MCU

[nothinglasts]

1.0
She wakes up in a bed and for a moment she wonders if time travel hadn't been just one giant, cruel dream. Hope isn't something her dreams usually give her, but dangling it in front of her nose like that wouldn't be entirely out of place in her life.

It's just that if that hadn't been a dream--and it had felt so real--then she wouldn't have expected a bed any time in her future.

There's a moment where she's still, eyes just cracking open as she collects her thoughts and takes stock of what she remembers, but once she starts to see the room around her and someone else in another one of the beds there, she sits up lightning fast.

"Who are you?"

3.0
Natasha stares at the gun she's just made. It looks and feels like it might be made out of an orange traffic caution cone and she's contemplating how badly firing it might go for her. Maybe better she doesn't have to find out. She's not so sure she'd pull off the metal arm look.

She hears someone else enter and speaks without looking up from the gun.

"I think this thing makes booby traps in place of useful weapons."

8.0
Climbing seems like the most straight-forward way for Natasha's skills. She's small and light enough that she thinks she'll have an easier time not pulling rocks loose with her weight. She hopes, anyway. It's been a while since she had a mission like this, but she almost appreciates the physicality and simplicity of it all. Get the orb, don't help anyone. It's a simulation, anyway.

Easier said than done, because a few times when she lowers herself to feel for a new foothold, she nearly goes with the rocks she finds. Her body jerks with the gravity pulling against her every time and she just hopes no one is below her to get a rock in the face. Meanwhile, she's trying to keep a lookout above her for the same risks. If she's knocking out rocks, others might be doing the same.

[ Feel free to wildcard her around the ship or hit me up at blauren for plotting. ]

3.0

[cruelyethuman]

It's chaos in cardboard-boxes, and the Darkling trails his fingers through a pile of what looks like gun powder, only it's bright pink and clings to his fingertips like water. He makes his way deeper in to the room, standing still for a few minutes, just watching the young woman.

"A trap for traps."

His voice is deep and slow, "That is either a stroke of brilliance, or pure idiocy."

[nothinglasts]

"Well I like having 2 hands. You want to try it out?"

It's a joke and if he says yes, she isn't actually going to hand over what might be a hand-destroying trap. This is a strictly For Emergencies Only item, both because she's pretty sure there's a 50/50 chance it'll blow the hand off of the user and because she knows that space ships are better without holes in them.

[cruelyethuman]

"I have something much better than guns," the final word is a low hiss, and whatever bright contraption she's holding in the hands, it might still be a gun. A weapon that fires something. Despite the color. And the shape.

"That was a no, just in case I wasn't making myself very clear."

Maybe he looks out of place, in a heavy wool kefta on top of his shirt, vest and riding pants, maybe he doesn't. He stands still, hands folded behind his back, watching her with the gun-contraption.

"I'm Kirigan."

[nothinglasts]

"Well that's fancy of you." Her tone walks a fine line of balance between warm and almost unimpressed.

For a moment, she inspects the thing as if it's more interesting than he is. It isn't, but Natasha's not the girl to play all her cards at once.

"So what are you? A sorcerer? A super soldier? A god?" She smiles up at him. "Please say werewolf. I don't have that on my bingo card yet."

[cruelyethuman]

He watches her openly, how well she handles a weapon, the subtle accent to her voice. The red in hair, either a Tailor's work fading or a fashion statement. The rough, gravely quality to her voice. She sounds like a Ketterdam night-singer.

He smiles, "Now I kind of wish I knew what a werewolf was."

Her unimpressed glances and friendly, impersonal smile. "I'm from Ravka," it's a shot in the dark, to see if she'll even know what that is and he adds, "A Grisha."

"Do you know many gods?"

[nothinglasts]

She's not sure what a Grisha is, but she'll figure it out. For now, she puts him somewhere between a super soldier and a Hulk in terms of threat just to be safe.

"I've met two. One is a friend and the other has tried to enslave humanity once or twice, so I guess I'd say they're hit or miss overall." Though mentioning that she'd been involved in stopping it might tip her hand too quickly.

"I'm not familiar with Ravka. I'm from Russia originally."

1.0

[percipiency]

Sherlock bolts upright, a movement unnatural — no one simply sits up straight, out of bed. But the mattress is too soft, it's not an armchair, or on the desk, or the texture and firmnness he's accustomed to at home.

His head turns sharply to Natasha, moving up to down, seeming to scan her, and seeing nothing that explains why they are here. Nothing but those ringing words.

'Thinking.'

Which is the most honest and succinct answer he has. He gets out of bed at once, glancing under it, then under the pillow, and stripping it off the sheets. Nothing.

'Tell me something,' he says, almost absently, 'did you have a very peculiar dream last night?'

[nothinglasts]

The way he looks at her sets off alarm bells in her head. That's the sort of close observation that puts her on guard, but she smirks when he answers her. He's not trying to be funny, but then she also isn't seeing much of a joke in all of this, either.

She stands up, trying to get her own read on him as she looks for any tells she can get about military or espionage training.

"Maybe. Why, are you psychic?"

An actual question she would want answered if he is, but she's got a feeling that they had similar dreams if it's the one thing they have in common other than waking up here.

lmk if anything he notices is not okay by you

[percipiency]

His movements are as though there is some bare sliver of restraint, only a spider silk-veil stopping them from being explosive. He examines, in order, the front of the bed, the middle, and the end, and then starts on that corner of the room, working his way around. Sherlock trains enough to have muscle definition, but there is something hungrier than a soldier's bearing about him. He is a detective — on the worst days and the best ones, that makes him a hunter.

'Your calves,' he says, brusquely. (He'd only given her a casual glance, and not lingered on the legs.) 'Are you a ballet dancer?'

totally fine with me :>

[nothinglasts]

"So you're not telling me that you aren't psychic."

She crosses her arms. Her face was on the news years ago, but that's not in any of the files. Where she was trained is out there, but the dancing isn't. There are little details that never made it into her SHEILD file, some by design and others by negligence.

And then she smirks. "I might dabble."

c: c:

[percipiency]

'Dabble,' he repeats, as though this verb does not fit this particular observation of his. 'As I dabble in the science of deduction, I presume.' He stands, suddenly, turning to look at her. 'Madamoiselle, we have awoken in a strange room, after an equally strange dream, and what we have here is not a single clue as to how this came to transpire, practically speaking. As my last recollection is of sleeping very comfortably at my kitchen table. So! I must ask of you — what do you think has happened?'

[nothinglasts]

She resists the Scooby Doo joke on the tip of her tongue. Or maybe it's more apt to reference Chinatown. Either way, he's not wrong and she's thankfully lucky enough to have woken up with someone who might be helpful with all of this.

"Honestly? I'm kind of wondering if I didn't die." Maybe she just can't remember the last few minutes. It's hard to say how death works. "How likely is it that we both might be dead?"

1.0

[ultraviolents]

Elektra wakes with a start and a gasp, clutching her midsection instinctively. There's an ache there that's not nearly as acute as it feels like it should be, given what she'd been dreaming of.

Only, was it a dream? What she'd just awoken from feels much less like a dream than whatever this is. Sparse, white, clinical cleanness comes into view as her vision clears and focuses, and she's almost immediately aware of the other person sharing the room with her. Her hand reaches underneath her pillow, only to realize there's no weapon there, because why would there be if she's never been here before?

No matter. She's plenty dangerous on her own. She gets out of bed, only wavering slightly as she lands on her feet, immediately dropping into a defensive stance.

"You first."

[nothinglasts]

Natasha watches her closely. She'd reached for something under her pillow and now she looks ready to fight--no, not ready to fight exactly--ready to be attacked.

She raises her hands in mock-surrender as she gets to her feet, but she's still mindful of how she holds herself, feet firmly on the floor and hands close enough to her face to protect her head if she needs to.

"Natasha Romanoff." Her name's been on the news, so she's not sure if she's recognizable or not. It's been years since SHIELD fell and not everyone even pays attention, but Natasha had made a choice there.

"I'm not looking for a fight."

[ultraviolents]

Elektra watches the other woman carefully, observing her stance and how she reacts to hers. It's not until she introduces herself that it clicks who the woman is - the Avengers hadn't been on her radar too often, just whenever they were involved in the latest near-worldending event. She's a few years prior to the snap, but the leak of SHIELD's secrets had been something notable, especially the person who'd put everything online.

She doesn't quite drop out of the stance once she realizes she's not about to face a fight, but she does relax her stance, very slightly.

"I'm not either." In spite of her introduction. "As long as you don't have anything to do with this."

One can never be too sure.

[nothinglasts]

Natasha sees her relax, however minutely, and she figures they can at least have some kind of ceasefire while they figure all of this out.

"No. This is... very new territory for me."

It feels crazy to say that. Natasha's done a lot of crazy things in the last decade, but it seems that every few years things have to one-up themselves. It's always getting a little crazier and this is Natasha's new crazy. Time travel apparently just isn't enough.

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that you don't know any more than I do."

Wildcard - Just in some random station corridor

[unclesam]

There's a whirr. Familiar to Natasha most likely, if a bit lighter, a bit less noisy. A drone lazily trails through the corridor, zooming past her. And then it stops, hovering, before immediately doubling back on its own route with a soft electronic beep that sounds dangerously close to a chirp.

It doesn't look like the Redwing she knows - less dinged up, new and sleek in ways Redwing never was, the paintjob is silver with blue and white, the shape is much less rounded. A small camera set in its belly fixes on Natasha. Whatever she does next, Redwing's not leaving Natasha's side again.

Somewhere else on the station, Sam Wilson abandons what he was doing and breaks into a run that doesn't slow until he he finds them, Redwing feeding him the way into the goggles over his eyes.

Last he'd seen her, she was still blonde all the way back in Wakanda. Two years on the run together, only to feel his body fall to dust on a Wakandan breeze, with nothing but the distant roll of an oncoming storm in his ears; too fast to really process the sensation, but not nearly fast enough to not become aware of it.

Then returning to learn 5 years were gone, and Natasha was just not there anymore. Died on a far away planet to save them all, with no funeral or memorial the likes of which they'd put on for Stark, save for his private breakdown over losing her and Steve and 5 whole years in the lone darkness of a hotel room before he could return home to face his family.

He'd subsequently thrown himself into contracting with the Air Force again, throwing himself into the winds to dig a grave for those he lost and the deafening solitude he felt in their absence within his own chest. As a counselor, he knew that was a bad idea. But then, he wasn't ethically bound to counsel himself, and therefore had no one to judge him for it but something quiet shivering between his ribs.

It's not unusual to see a flash of red hair and think of Natasha. Sometimes he sees tall men with blonde hair and thinks of Steve, or dark blondes with freckles who bring Riley back to his mind. They never quite leave.

Except this time, it's not grief that puts her face into his mind. It's Redwing's direct feeds, and as far as Sam knows, the damned AI that haunts him in the shape of his own latest regret hasn't found a way to mess with Redwing's sensors - yet. He stops some distance from her when he reaches the corridor, and for a moment, Sam just stares until he finally finds himself crossing the distance. And when miraculously, her face remains the familiar one he's seen every day for the past two years and grieved for 6 months, well...

Natasha will have to forgive him, but Sam Wilson is going to press a choked "shit" into the silence, and then closes in to fold her into his arms, bending down to put his head on her shoulder. He'll let her go the moment she pulls back, but there's no version of this in which he'll be able not to hold her.

[nothinglasts]

Redwing? She stops in her tracks to stare at it.

No, it's not Redwing, exactly, but it sure is behaving like Redwing. Who else flies a drone into a spy's face and then just keeps it there?

Natasha moves closer, taps the little drone on the nose as if testing it.

"... Sam?"

She can't let herself hope. He's gone and they haven't brought him back yet and she and Steve have quite honestly been falling apart without him and everyone else who was taken. Her mission, trying to undo the snap? It's not just about her people, but she'd be lying to say that the memory of Sam's warm smile as he cracks a joke hasn't haunted her these last five years.

The drone doesn't answer her, of course, but it stays and Natasha stays with it. She almost wants to pet the stupid thing like it's some kind of pet.

But then Sam is there and before she can question if he's real or not, she's got an armful of him and he feels pretty solid so she's just going to wrap her arms around his back and hold on for a moment.

Hugging isn't a huge thing with her. It's not that she's averse to it necessarily, but she's not inclined to initiate and she tends to be surrounded by the kind of people who don't really go in for it, either. This is nice, though, and she can allow herself a moment to enjoy the warmth of one of the people she's missed most in the last five years.

Five years.

"You'd better be real."

Her voice is wet, but she manages to contain the tears.

[unclesam]

Sam makes a soft sound of amusement and tightens his hold for a moment. There's a wetness in his voice too, and he knows his eyes are swimming, which is precisely why he keeps his face tucked away. He just needs a moment. Normally he's not this kind of affectionate with many people - his sister's different, and hell, Sam's a cuddler, but in the line of work they're in, brief half hugs and shoulder clasps are much more common. Sam knows this isn't Natasha's usual speed either, but... fuck. He just can't help it. Can't help holding on.

"Only if you are."

It's only been 6 months. The trenches of his grief are still fresh and deep, bleeding readily and plenty.

Natasha's here, and that's near enough to pull his entire damn chest apart.

[nothinglasts]

She starts to pull away from the hug, but she doesn't try to go far and even as she pulls back, her hands touch Sam's arms briefly to make sure she can still feel him there and she isn't just seeing things. She wants to see Sam's face, but she still has to blink a few times to clear the wetness in her eyes.

"It's been a while on my end."

She's missed that face, the way he smiles and teases them all in his gentle way, the calm he radiates that offsets her own coolness with the sort of warmth even an expert liar can't quite fake and the way he'd always made her feel like a part of a family during those years on the run. They'd lost the Avengers, but they still had enough of a family to not feel alone again because they'd had each other.

"I haven't eaten a good meal in five years."

[unclesam]

"6 months."

And they've felt like the longest months of his life, safe perhaps the first couple of months back home after his second combat tour, where there had been weeks during which he couldn't make it out of bed.

Five years means she must be shortly from before...

God, he can't think of it. Sam tilts his head back, blinking furiously, then looks back at her, eyes not quite dry, but not on the verge of overflowing.

"Well... you in the mood for some soul food? You look like you could need it."

[nothinglasts]

She makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a dry sob. The relief she feels right now is so palpable that it hurts in her chest.

"I think that's the best offer I've heard in a long, long time."

There's a job of sorts to do here, but right now? Right now, Natasha's going to let herself have this for a moment.

3.0

[healthkit]

[ All things considered, it's taken Joel a hell of a lot longer than he would've liked to adjust to being on this ... ship. Waking up hadn't been easy, the visceral images in his dream still flickering flashes of colour and sound and emotion; something about what he'd said and what he'd done. And a part of him still isn't sure this whole place isn't just another part of that dream — except for the fact that he simply couldn't imagine any of this. His brain just ain't hardwired for it.

Honestly, that'd always been ... more Ellie's thing.

Speaking of which, the second he'd regained his consciousness, he'd been wandering the station with a one-track minded purpose — find Ellie and get the hell outta here. The fact that he's seen no sign of the girl or any real familiarities from home (home being a term he uses lightly) — well, it's got him feeling frustrated and more than a little skittish, and there's a tightness in his shoulders he can't ease out of.

The armory's the first room he's been into that gives him some sense of purpose. Here he can gather what few supplies might come in handy, get himself armed for whatever comes at them next. It's the usual routine, the only thing that feels normal, an action that feels like instinct at this point. That's where he finds Natasha crafting ... whatever it is she's crafting.

There's a drawl in the way he speaks, and it sounds easy enough even when he's ... eying the thing Natasha's created. Socializing with people doesn't come easy; you go through years of distrust and sticking to your own to survive, and it starts to feel like an awkward effort — but he's trying. ]

I reckon a booby trap's still gonna be more use than nothing.

[nothinglasts]

[ Upon hearing his response, there's something almost playful in the little smile that crosses her face. ]

You're not wrong. Makes you wonder about picking up an unfamiliar gun, doesn't it?

[ She looks over to him, holding up the bright orange tool that might kill an enemy or might just take off a hard. The problem is in the gamble. Hand it to an enemy and they might successfully shoot you. Shoot it yourself and risk a backfire of some sort. The best plan is to find a test subject, preferable some kind of robotic arm. Too bad she hasn't seen the guy who's got one attached to him since the snap. ]

You pick something up in the heat of the moment, you don't know if it's booby trapped or even just poorly maintained.