It's not the first time that the Meta has woken up disoriented. It happens more often than not. They spend their first moments of consciousness trying to piece together where they are and what's happened to them. Trying to make sense of the holes in their mind and the crushing sense of emptiness that pounds through their veins.
Even when they piece together who they are (what is left) and what they're missing (Alpha Delta Beta Omega Gamma Theta Eta Iota SIGMA), they still can't figure out why they're here. Where's the snow? Where's the purple medic? Where's Washington?
They don't know. And they don't understand why they're not wearing their armor.
The first thing they do is locate it. It's not far, thankfully, though they can't imagine why they were … what? Sleeping outside of it? Then they look more closely at the armor, and…
This isn't their armor. It was, once, before Agent Maine's injury. Before Sigma. Before they became the Meta. But this isn't their armor. This is a fucking relic.
It doesn't make sense. None of this does.
They put it on anyway. It makes their skin feel more like it belongs to them. Makes them feel marginally more complete — even if it doesn't quite fit the way it should. Then, with the Brute Shot in hand, they set off to try and figure out what the fuck is going on. ]
the meta | closed to plans
It's not the first time that the Meta has woken up disoriented. It happens more often than not. They spend their first moments of consciousness trying to piece together where they are and what's happened to them. Trying to make sense of the holes in their mind and the crushing sense of emptiness that pounds through their veins.
Even when they piece together who they are (what is left) and what they're missing (Alpha Delta Beta Omega Gamma Theta Eta Iota SIGMA), they still can't figure out why they're here. Where's the snow? Where's the purple medic? Where's Washington?
They don't know. And they don't understand why they're not wearing their armor.
The first thing they do is locate it. It's not far, thankfully, though they can't imagine why they were … what? Sleeping outside of it? Then they look more closely at the armor, and…
This isn't their armor. It was, once, before Agent Maine's injury. Before Sigma. Before they became the Meta. But this isn't their armor. This is a fucking relic.
It doesn't make sense. None of this does.
They put it on anyway. It makes their skin feel more like it belongs to them. Makes them feel marginally more complete — even if it doesn't quite fit the way it should. Then, with the Brute Shot in hand, they set off to try and figure out what the fuck is going on. ]