ARRIVAL LOG 019

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: March 22
WHAT: The nineteenth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at the end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #019

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see two people in front of you: one dressed in a thick set of armor, while the other wears medical garb. Out the windshield in front, there are many tall buildings—all reaching up beyond a normal city skyline, all entirely too close to the vehicle itself.

You realize there are others next to you: all dressed the same way as you, you'll come to realize: in jeans, with a t-shirt bearing some kind of sports team logo. To your left there's an armored interior door, two more people visible, and the movement of streets passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.

The vehicle lowers from its height and comes to a stop inside of an alley, with tall brick walls surrounding it. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle, and the air outside feels immediately warm and dry. "Careful with your step," the guard says, helping you out. The nurse helps the others out, checking over each passenger one by one.

Once outside, you'll be able to hear some noises in the distance, which after a few seconds will be recognizable as the hum of a large crowd. There will even be loud cheers here and there, as if they're spectating some kind of event.

The main guard turns to address your entire group, and something about her bearing makes it clear she's done this before. "Now, listen to me very carefully." Your body will come to attention, immediately homing in on the words that follow, as if compelled to hang on every word. "You're going to leave this alley, and then follow my directions exactly." From there, the guard will go through a list of directions, only about five steps (round the corner, turn right, etc.). "Once you've done all that, you'll see a sign: Red Wings. Go inside and you'll make some new friends. They can help with the rest."

The guard will hop back into the van, which will rise off of the ground and disappear as soon as it arrived. Once it's gone, you'll find your legs moving almost without your permission, guiding you to follow the stops the guard laid out.

And, as promised, you'll end up outside a bar called the Red Wings.

Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request – and that includes the message passed on from the mysterious patron.

> RED WINGS

The message from El comes the same as usual: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it.

Well, some of you are going to have a group of newbies to bartend. Our newest group just got directed to the Red Wings. If anyone else wants to swing by to help get them oriented and move them to the safehouse, I'm guessing the people who are on the clock will thank you.

The Red Wings bar is in a section of the large, futuristic city that houses a sports stadium, though not so close to it that the newcomers will have to deal with dodging crowds. Red Wings is tucked away on a side street, meaning that those stumbling in won't have to worry about attracting too much attention.

Why did they get directed to a sports bar, of all places? That will become clear as soon as they start to speak to the people inside. This arrival, as it turns out, is a little different from the ones that have come before.

◉ Aesthetically, Red Wings is a retro tribute to the lost city of Detroit. It's all red neon, cars and sports memorabilia, with all fittings and decor elements physical where possible as a nod to the era. There is also some artwork dedicated to Motown and its significance within the city, and there is a section of the digital sound system for Motown.

◉ The main area is spacious, with stools at the bar and plenty of room for booths and standing space. One area is reserved for the physical darts board and pool table, which are permanent installations.

◉ There is also a function room available for private bookings and smaller events, though this is currently not quite as nicely done up as the main space.

◉ The bar has multiple neural interface screens installed throughout to make sure there's always an easy view of the game, with one larger screen set up over the bar itself for Big Game days. Unfortunately, this won't be available to the newcomers as they don't have their neural implants set up yet, but they'll be able to gather that the other people here seem to be watching a screen they can't see.

◉ Drinks include a range of the finest craft beers, popular spirits and a basic cocktail menu, but newbies won't have any money to their name just yet, so they'll have to rely on the kindness of strangers if they want something to eat or drink.

◉ Naturally, there will be some people working at the bar and others who are just there to hang out, but either way the newcomers should have plenty of people on-hand to explain the situation. With more on the way, potentially.

Further details about Red Wings and the staff can be found at this post put together by our Stephen Strange player, as he's one of the owners of the bar! Most of the information above was borrowed from this post.

Once the new characters have been oriented and calmed down as needed, they'll all be escorted by one of the established Displaced back to the safehouse. This is done for security and safety reasons.

> NEW AMSTERDAM (AND BEYOND)

Once the new Displaced have endured their four days in the safehouse, they'll have their IDs set up and will be released in this strange new world. New Amsterdam will be theirs to explore, and if they manage to get the lowdown from another Displaced who's been here longer, they may learn that they can travel even further than that.

Probably better to not get ahead of themselves, right? New Amsterdam has plenty to offer!

◉ It's Opening Day for the New Amsterdam Koniki (New Amsterdam's baseball team)! Despite the signings of the aces Jim Bridges and Osamu Kawakami, the Opening Day starter is long-time Koniki, Connor Tseng. Tseng is a finesse pitcher who's been with the Koniki through good and bad (and for the past few seasons, it's been a lot of bad). Never overpowering batters with a crazy fastball, Tseng hits his spots and is the master of the off-speed pitch. There are a mess of articles on the sports blog circuit about what message the Koniki are sending in having Tseng start the 2512 season, but most agree that it's a message to Tseng that he's still the team's leader. Bridges and Kawakami are undoubtedly more explosive, but these signings are clearly meant to build a team around their long-time ace.

Tickets to get into the Koniki's first game will be difficult to come by, selling for five and ten times too much on reseller sites. The savvy baseball fan knows that the stadium will be sold out, however, and can grab a short-term, one-day-only job to help meet the demands of Opening Day. And for anyone who's curious about the game but doesn't want to work at the stadium, it will definitely be broadcasted at Red Wings and plenty of other sports bars around the city.

The game itself will be a pitcher's duel for the first five innings between Tseng and the New Venice Gecko's ace, Jayson Soto. During the bottom of the fifth inning, rookie slugger Jiri Kim will hit a three-run homer, putting the Koniki up. Rather dramatically, the Geckos will come back in the top of the sixth, tying up the game and running Tseng off the mound. Both the Geckos and the Koniki will try to shore up the game via their bullpens. Ultimately, the Koniki will win in the bottom of the 10th inning in a walk-off fashion, with Kim hitting another home run to call it. The defense throughout the game is a mess for the Koniki, showing signs that even their new aces may struggle with that defensive backdrop.

Finally: yes, there is a designated hitter to protect pitchers.

◉ St. Patrick's Day is here! While the typical aspects of the holiday still exist, such as drinking a lot (and yes, alcohol and other drinks will be dyed green!) and getting pinched if you don't wear green, this day is also a time to remember the country of Ireland that's now under the Atlantic Ocean. The primary focus for New Amsterdam citizens is remembering the parts of Europe that were lost to the effects of climate change and the disaster of World War III.

So while there's plenty of merrymaking at various pubs, there are also neighborhood memorials set up for remembrance. There will be plenty of media coverage about this too, giving anyone new to this world a very immediate idea of the state that it's in, with a good portion of western Europe underwater.

◉ It's spring, which oddly means that fertility symbols begin to spring up around the city. They can take the form of actual symbols etched or painted onto walls, though there are also carved figurines and phallic shapes scattered around as well. (Feel free to browse here if you need ideas.)

◉ While these can be found at random around the city, they will also be associated with the shrines dedicated to the Displaced which have existed in New Amsterdam for some time now. These shrines are continuously taken down and put back up in different parts of the city. The NAPD as well as private interests seem intent on removing them for profit or controlling vandalism. Despite continuous efforts on both of their behalfs, these shrines continue to rise in number. There seems to be a cluster of them that get closer and closer to Red Wings. Candles and small offerings (flowers, dressings, and hand-made jewelry from wood and plants) can occasionally be seen near them.

◉ There will also be small spring gatherings held in parks where people will be happy to share their food and enjoy the new plants that have sprung up throughout the city. (Assuming that your allergies aren't being set off, anyway!) The Displaced are welcome to attend!

◉ On a more somber and serious note, non-violent protests have begun to spring up around the city in response to the situation on Mars. The people working on the Mars colony have been mistreated and forced into horrible conditions, and it seems more and more likely that the government is trying to keep that quiet and act as if things are better when they're really not. The protests are kept small in number by design, mainly because the people involved don't want to get immediately shut down by the NAPD -- or worse, have the UNA step in. They mainly take the form of people standing outside of campaign offices, though instead of handwritten signs, they're able to project digital versions with their implants.

Some NPC members of Morningstar who recently relocated to New Amsterdam will be involved in these protests as well. Any characters who feel strongly about this issue, want to learn more if they're new and uninformed, or who are simply interested in getting to know other Morningstar members better should feel free to participate. (Note: While we won't be able to thread out NPC interactions, feel free to use the questions thread below to discuss with us how your character would be received by these NPCs if you're interested in that!)

> SAFEHOUSE

Located under an abandoned hover-bike garage, access to the safehouse is a hatch in the floor beside a rusted set of metal shelves that used to hold tools and supplies. The immediate area is similarly abandoned: full of rundown and dilapidated warehouses and forgotten businesses, where numerous people squat in hopes of having some stability because they can't afford a place themselves. Gaby will be around, ready to greet as many of the new arrivals as she can and get them settled in. Brusque and no-nonsense, she'll be open to questions, but will advise the newcomers to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. Newbies can also contact El through zeir inbox, if needed.

The safehouse is a large space with multiple rooms for storage, with the largest of the rooms filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum.

◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries.

◉ There is a mini-bar set up in the kitchen. The quality of the alcohol inside is akin to what someone might get from the well at a bar, but it's well-stocked. There will also be some dye set within reach of the mini-bar for anyone looking for some Irish cheer to add to their beverages. This is courtesy of Gaby, as per usual!

◉ While the kitchen has basic foods and necessities, anyone looking for a jolt of caffeine from coffee or tea will find themselves sorely lacking. The only tea present is herbal in nature, and caffeine appears to be almost nonexistent in most of the beverages lying around.

◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. Either she or El will explain that they've been given a modest stipend of credits to help them get by until they can find a job. This will be enough to cover their living expenses for about a month while they hang out in the safehouse, if they're careful with budgeting.

◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them.

◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet.

◉ New characters do not have access to the internet until their ID is setup. They only have limited access because they're present in the safehouse, but they can't surf the rest of the internet, check out Cooltalk, or watch the equivalent of Netflix until their ID is made.

◉ New characters cannot leave the safehouse at this time. The hatch is locked tight for them, making it impossible for them to get out for the next four days while they're locked inside. There won't be any immediately obvious ways to cut their way out through turning off the power.

◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until MARCH 26 ICLY (MARCH 23 OOCLY). These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until MARCH 26 ICLY (MARCH 23 OOCLY). At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up.

If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below.

Please check out our March calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

Something else to keep in mind is that on Monday, March 16th we'll be putting up a Metaplot Engagement Post, which will have a focus on how to integrate all players into the metaplot as well as take suggestions on future events and the direction you'd like the game to go. This will be open to everyone in-game, old players and new players alike, so please keep an eye out for it!

As we announced here, AC will be check-in only this month due to the state of the world right now. If you've taken a hiatus, this counts as your check-in, but otherwise please feel free to relax for the rest of the month. In addition, the HMD will be moved to next month. New players accepted in March will only have to submit 10 comments across 2-4 threads for the April 2020 AC (which goes up on May 1, 2020).

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[requiemshark]

[ Yeah, Ephemera can believe that. Jónsson's a big guy, but he knows how to move. How to hold himself. That doesn't come from nothing, and Ephemera's never met a Helljumper who couldn't take a hard blow and come back up swinging just as hard. Part of that's the training, but mostly the attitude. He left the UNSC but he didn't forget. Shit like that goes down to the marrow.

He nods at the question, pouring himself another shot. He's going to be good and drunk when this is done. ]

Didn't used to do close quarters stuff. But I'm good at it now. It's—satisfying. Proof I can take it.

[ Chica and Crow had been the squad's close quarter specialists. Ephemera had been the utility player, the one who did a little of everything. That had worked when he had a team to back him, when everyone took an overlapping role and their coordination had been fucking seamless. But he's alone now, and that style wouldn't have stood up against someone like Carolina. So he changed. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ The development of Maine's fighting style has been nearly the opposite. Close-quarters combat has always been his specialty, and it's where he shines. He's at his most deadly when he can get in someone's face and overpower them. Back in the Project, he'd honed in on that. He'd trained almost exclusively to increase his physical strength, knowing that his teammates would cover for his weaknesses.

That changed on the station. He'd had to learn how to fight on his own. Had to become faster, more agile, and more versatile. It's not something that happened overnight. Wouldn't have happened at all without a catalyst.

So Maine nods his agreement — it is satisfying. Then he asks, ]

What changed?

[ It's not a question he'd usually ask. But he's had just enough to drink that his tongue has become looser, giving voice to his curiosity. ]

[requiemshark]

I had a team. And then I didn't.

[ HIs jaw goes tight for a moment, then he lets it go. Throws the shot back and lets the alcohol do its thing. The anger has been years in the making and it doesn't leave easily, but that's really not the point of this. All his rage, his grief, has a tendency to spill out and hit the people around him. Can't do that anymore. The lines have been redrawn, consequences spelled out bloody.

So. He has to be better. He hasn't figured out how to stop being angry, but trying to focus on other things helps a bit. The texture of the glass in his hand, the sound of the crowd. Even talking to another person. Jónsson's not so bad. A little bit less than a stranger. They have a shared background, and something like an understanding.

It's fine. It could even be nice if he lets it. ]

Sarge and Crow, they handled the close in stuff. You should've seen 'em, they were goddamn monsters.

[ Crow, who had a similar build to Jónsson. Not quite as tall, no, but both of them held each other in similar ways. Quiet, but not stupid. The kind of men who considered each word before they spoke, Crow even more so than Jónsson. Crow rarely spoke at all, and even then it was usually only to the sarge. ]

Sarge, ah...

[ His expression softens momentarily. He misses the sarge so badly it hurts. She was the first one he ever called sister, the first and only person who ever protected him before the squad took him in. And it was because of her that the captain took him on, a debt Ephemera never managed to repay. ]

She trained me up, but I'll never be as good as she was. She killed a Zealot once with her knives. Gutted the fucker like it was nothing. Never seen anything like it.

[bloodbathing]

[ That's a familiar story, though not one to which Maine can completely relate. His lost ODST teammates — lost to him, not lost altogether — were soon replaced by Freelancers. Then he found himself in Lagunbiru, where he was never without a teammate … at least in name. In practice, he's had to learn how to function without a trusted ally at his back. Had to turn himself into someone who can survive alone.

Judging by the anger that tightens Ephemera's jaw, Maine doubts their stories are the same. How could they be, when time bullshit played such a prominent part in Maine's?

He looks away to pour himself another glass. Gives Ephemera a moment of privacy. Looks back just in time to catch the way Ephemera's expression softens at the mention of Sarge.

Close-knit team, he guesses. Losing them must've hurt. ]

Badass.

[ A single word, but his tone is appreciative. Takes a hell of a fighter to do something like that. ]

[requiemshark]

She really was.

[ Brutal, too. Even cruel sometimes. But she trained him up, protected him. She was family, the first he'd ever had. And she died in pain because he wasn't there to protect her.

He breathes out. Tries to let it go. He has the sudden urge to just tell Jónsson about her, try and make the man understand how important she was. But that's a lot to lay on someone he's just met, grief and rage the man has no context for. It won't help. It'll just make things hard again, and this doesn't have to be. ]

You gonna fight in the ring?

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine watches Ephemera breathe out. Doesn't press, push, or pry. Just waits. The alcohol takes off any potentially awkward edge to the pause — at least on his part. Not that Maine minds sitting in companionable silence; he just doesn't know Ephemera well enough for that yet.

At the question, Maine shrugs. He's considering it. There's just one potential problem. ]

Don't know power. [ Said with the slightest of indications towards his chest. ] Don't want it activating.

[ The guide had mentioned meditation and stressful situations as potential means to discover one's power. Maine highly doubts fighting in the ring would be stressful, but he's not sure it's worth the risk. ]

[requiemshark]

Ah.

[ A practical concern. That, and the empathy bond. Ephemera doesn't fight many of the other Displaced in the ring, but he always wears long sleeves and wraps on his hands just in case.

Ephemera rubs his thumb along the edge of the shot glass, considering if he wants another. He's going to get stupid drunk if he keeps going like this. ]

Get pissed off, if you want to figure it out. That worked for me.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine snorts and drops his gaze to his hands. Runs his fingertips over the freshest scars on his knuckles. "Get pissed off." He's good at that. Problem is that if he gives in to it — if he succumbs to the fury and grief boiling beneath the surface — he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.

It's been a while since he killed anyone, but that's not a credit to him. He tried a few times back in the station. Tried and was forcibly stopped by the only person who could stop him. And that person's not here.

Maine glances at the bottle. Wonders if he should call it a night. ]

Been trying to stay calm.

[ It's more than he'd usually reveal. Tongue still loose. ]

[requiemshark]

[ Ephemera snorts. Yeah. That's going around. Everyone trying to be reasonable and him left scrambling in the aftermath. He resents it sometimes, the fact that everything is so fucking complicated when he had the chance to end it violently.

But that wouldn't have been a real end, would it?

He rubs his thumb along the shot glass. Focuses on the texture. ]

Good luck with that. This place is a trip.

[ In more ways than one. ]

The people are all right, though. Most of them.

[bloodbathing]

[ People can make or break a place. Fuck knows Maine wouldn't have stayed on the station if it hadn't been for certain people. He cared. Promised he wouldn't leave. Promised it and meant it with every fiber of his being.

And now he's here. Alone.

His fingers twitch towards the bottle, but he doesn't reach. Restrains himself. He has to keep his shit together. But the thoughts are churning now, shoving their way to the forefront of his mind, and fuck, he hates this.

He pushes himself to his feet. Doesn't sway. Looks at Ephemera for a moment. ]

You seem fine.

[ That's something, he guesses. Then, with a slightly rueful twist to his lips, ]

Let's see if I glow.

[ It's impulsive. Potentially dangerous. Maine doesn't care. He just starts towards the ring. ]

[requiemshark]

[ Ephemera tips his head to the side, considering it.

Yeah, fuck it. Why not? ]

Cool.

[ He stands up slow, stretching, and then he follows. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ It's not difficult to get Maine in the ring. One look at him speaks to his qualifications, especially after he strips off his shirt. (A practical choice rather than an attempt to intimidate. He doesn't have many clothes, and he doesn't want his shirt to be torn.) The difficulty comes when Maine picks up his opponent and tosses them away from him like it's nothing. The crowd doesn't like it: they want to see a fight, and it's apparent that the match is horribly lopsided.

Maine agrees. Riles the crowd up, making a show of shaking his head and waving a dismissive hand at his opponent. He's learned a bit about showmanship in the past year. Whether that's because of the station's theatrical nature or because he sparred one-on-one with Carolina for nine months is up for debate.

In the end, they send in two other fighters. Three on one. Maine thinks of Texas. Thinks of fighting against a memory of her again and again and again while Church kept score.

He snarls and gets to work.

Ephemera might recognize the fighting style. Then again, he might not. Although Maine doesn't know it, he fights less like Maine now and far more like the Meta. He's brutal, and he's fast, and he doesn't appear fazed by the hits that penetrate his guard. He pays no attention to the crowd, keeping laser-focused on his opponents until they're just one left.

He cracks his knuckles. Cracks his neck. Gestures for them to come at him. And when he puts them in a headlock, and they tap out, he's … not sure how he feels. It was fun, he guesses. Enough of a challenge that it wasn't boring. But his chest never glowed, and he's not sure if he's disappointed or relieved.

One hand finds its way to the base of his skull. He rubs the port there almost idly, an unconscious sort of self-soothing, and looks around to find Ephemera. ]

[requiemshark]

[ Jónsson's got some style. Even knows how to play the crowd up, something Ephemera doesn't bother with. He fights to win and it gets him paid because he's brutal and hits hard, dishes out as good as he gets. A few of the other fighters have suggested he play it up a bit, lean into the scars and what not, but that's not the point for Ephemera and so he never has. But it makes for a good show when other people do it, even Ephemera admits that, and he's grinning as Jónsson fights.

Goddamn, the man's strong. Got a good center, knows how to it. Knows when to soak a blow and when to dodge, too. Keeps it up until there's only one opponent left and then he cracks his knuckles. Cracks his neck. Gestures his opponent forward. Ephemera's good eye goes wide and then very narrow.

The world goes a little sideways. It hurts to breathe.

No. No, no, no.

Ephemera reacts on instinct—his good eye on the ring, on Jónsson, on Agent fucking Maine—as he draws the knife up his sleeve. It's almost unconscious, training kicking in when he realizes the full extent of the threat in front of him

Get a weapon. Get a fucking weapon. Pistol would have been better, he could have made the shot from across the room before anyone realized. Knife means he'll have to get up close with the crowd pressing in on all sides and Maine already in fight mode. The fucker will be prepared, ready to counter. Adrenaline pushing through the alcohol when Ephemera's drunk enough to notice. Could try throwing it but it's a moving target and what if he fucking misses? He's not like the sarge, not like Chica, he can't do her tricks.

His breath is coming in hard and fast and it hurts, pain in his throat and chest, spreading down to the joints in his fingers. You stupid fucker, he thinks, furious at himself. You stupid motherfucker, look what you did.

It's like with Washington all over again. Same goddamn failure. He should have clocked the threat immediately—a soldier that big, from his home?—and he should have fucking dealt with it like he promised the others. Shouldn't have let his guard down. Shouldn't have tried to make friends.

The hurts most of all, the fact that he'd liked the man. An abject, awful betrayal of his family.

He's shaking all over. He realizes it when his grip slips on the blade and he nearly cuts himself. Stupid. Stupid. And there are so many people pressed in close around him, so many fucking bystanders, and he cannot.

He cannot do this here. He made promises.

Ephemera sheathes the knife and then he bolts, not caring who can see. Exit, exit, have to get out. Away from the crowd, from the noise, from the fuck who killed his sister. He manages to get out before he loses his shit complete and ducks into the nearest alley, clamping a hand over his mouth so he won't fucking scream.

Hah. This is perfect. This is fucking perfect.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine doesn't see Ephemera leave. The place is too crowded. Too many cheering faces looking at him, and not one of them familiar. He's puzzled by the absence. A little disappointed. He thought they were having a decent time.

Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Maybe something came up. Who knows?

Maine retrieves his shirt and retreats to the makeshift locker room. No Ephemera there, either. He cleans his hands and takes stock of his winnings. Calculates how much more he'll need until he can get a place of his own. He has no intention of staying at the safehouse any longer than necessary.

There's still no sign of Ephemera when Maine finishes cleaning up. He considers sending a message, but he decides against it for the time being. Thinks it might be weird. Still, he makes a note to check in later, just to make sure Ephemera is all right.

They're both former ODSTs. This isn't their universe, but that still means something. And as far as Maine knows, Ephemera is the closest thing to a teammate that he has. ]