Nightmare becomes reality....

_{[roster: Leader - Iron Fist, Erwin, Goliath, Lash, Robert Donovan, Seeley Booth]}

Carol really didn't know what she was doing as she made the post to the com. Sure she had been sick and tired of all of them dancing around each other, grouping off, being just people rather than heroes from the same world. She'd noticed the other heroes forming a team, they got on so well it made her sick to think about her own world.

"God Steve, you'd be pulling your own hair out if you saw us all like this." She knew talking to the dead in the Sensoriums wasn't a good idea, but she couldn't help it. As she moved into the room, she looked around herself. Her first thought was to form the Avengers memorial garden, but the mutants on board wouldn't like that. She'd been at Xavier's plenty of times, but the Avengers weren't connected to that place.

"Central Park please. Add in the memorial garden from both the Avengers mansion and Xavier's." She didn't know if it'd work to help connect them all or not, but maybe it would. As she stared at the statues she moved to an empty section and stood, her Ms. Marvel costume appearing on her body as she stood at attention.

She wasn't Captain America, or even Captain Marvel. But she'd led the Avengers before, and damn it she'd do it again.

As per the Chief's message, it was training time. Everyone who signed up for training (or was signed up by someone else) was ordered to an open square in the City.

Yes, the City, instead of the sensoriums. That meant that any weapons used would be real. And every bit of damage that they dealt would be real. As would the injuries. Though there didn't seem to be any weapons around, and there were no targets set up.

Interesting, that.

Anyway, in the square was the Chief of Security, who was busy marking off names of people who arrived early or on time. Anyone who figured that they could skip out, though, there is now an unhappy seven foot fully armed and armored Spartan hunting you down.

((ooc: READ THIS BEFORE TAGGING. EDIT: But the first subthread "Early/on time arrivals" is now open for tagging. Training has now begun!))

After his most recent round of nightmares, Tim is really in no mood to try to sleep.  He sets himself up in the Sensorium with a program he's used before to try to relieve stress--which he's privately dubbed "No Man's Land."  The program isn't really what it was like, but there's the same feeling that it's just going to go on and on, and never end.

Of course, Tim programmed it that way, for nights (days?  It's hard to tell time on the ship) when he feels just like this--like he'd rather do anything but lie down and try to sleep.  Before, it was because he didn't want to think.  Now--he doesn't want to dream.

Still.  If he won't can't sleep, he might as well do something useful with his time.  Wave after wave of thugs and ninjas come at him, all trying to take him down.

Maybe eventually he'll get tired enough to sleep...

"Alright, boys. Fan out."

Meatship? Welcome to Gotham. Today the sensoriums echo with the clapping of rain on canvas. Eleven men in standard League of Assassins' field garp file slowly through an old, disused fairground. It's hard to believe people actually came here in the recent years before it was abandoned, let alone when it first opened during Gotham's heyday almost a century ago. It's hard to imagine one of the city's own police commissioners was once held hostage here. It's hard to imagine its last owners, the rather astutely named Circus of the Strange, actually had it refurbished to look like this. Like a David Lynch movie.

The ninja detachment spread out into the soaking morass of tarpaulin and amusement rides long since rusted under decades of rain like this.

"HUTT--!!"

That's the noise of one of them disappearing painfully. There's further groaning, albeit the groaning of old machines, and the ghost train rattles into life. When it spits the first cart out, the rest of the men can see their unconcious comrade bruised and broken, strewn ominously in the seat.

On the other side of the causeway, there are three quick thudding noises. One of the men edges his way over, only to find the coconut shy, the coconuts in question having been systematically knocked from their poles.

The second man cries just like the first as he's dragged into the stall.

The game plays on and the men are picked off one at a time. Only two of them are good enough to see him coming. A few of them go down without a sound, but most do so screaming. If they're lucky, some may walk again.

Meatship? Welcome to Gotham.

Tock, tock, tock, thud.

Danny stood in front of the wooden dummy, striking its arms with his own arms. Scarred, calloused, and hardened. He and the dummy were in a recreation of his work out room. The fake morning sun shined through the large windows, and outside was the New York City skyline.

Tock, thud, thud, tock-tock-thud.

Danny was going through one of the many Wing Chun sets he had learned, at a fairly quick speed. He did his best to keep his mind clear of thoughts, to keep himself in a state of focus without distraction.

Thud, tock, thud, tock, thud, thud, tock.

This is what it took to achieve great skill. To flow naturally with the universe and let each movement happen without force. Danny did not strike the dummy; his arms struck all by themselves.

( Tock, thud, thud, tock...tock...thud... )

After being released from stasis, having the slime removed from their bodies and clothed in the creepy, pulsing leaf-suit that everyone wore, and being taken to the Weapons & Possessions lockers to collect their belongings, the new arrivals would find themselves standing in the Observation Deck. Round windows lined the fleshy walls, revealing the bright display of lights that was inter-dimensional travel. They would also discover that there were people--members of the command staff and crew that had woken earlier--waiting for them.

Weeks of searching, more weeks of life on Stacy, and Zuko still hadn't found who he was looking for.

He was getting plenty sick of tunnel-crawling, too, and closer to a Punishment than was probably smart. And he hated to think of how much time "missions" were going to take away from his search . . . but whether he lacked time or not, he still needed to train.

The scarred prince ran through his katas in the Sensoriums, a breeze cooling the sweat on his back and blowing away the heat from his flames as he practiced in an open-air dojo. They were basic katas. His uncle would have been proud -

Except, no. He really wouldn't. Zuko faltered in his stance, remembering the last time he'd seen his uncle - the dim prison, the quiet disapproval in his voice, and Zuko's fireblast went wide as he stumbled.

Shit. At least nobody was there to see, right . . .?

Mia hummed to herself as she nocked up another arrow, sighting the target fifty yards away. Not a massive distance, but she wasn't shooting for that today. Right now she was more concerned with the three arrows stuck end to end, snaking out from the bullseye.  That was her record, before she ended up splitting one too far and they fell apart. Well, records were meant to be broken, weren't they?

She pulled back on the bow, letting everything around her disappear, including the extra sets of archery gear she'd had the sensorium whip up in case anyone wanted to join her.

Lafiel's discovered the sensorium. More specifically, the low gravity training program.

It's conjured up a smooth, reflective floor under a dome of stars. Primary shapes in primary colors hover equidistant from her, awaiting the countdown. A soft, female voice (and Lafiel briefly wonders why these voices are always female...) counts down.

5

4

3

2

1

Gravity is abruptly reduced to 5% and Lafiel pushes off of the balls of her feet, rising gracefully to the middle of the dome. Out of the corner of her vision, one of the shapes changes color and in a tenth of a second she has shot it with her simulated klanyu*. More shapes flash and they too are hit as she twists and turns in a ball, impelling herself into position by twisting herself in midair. When she reaches the invisible barrier at the top, she gently pushes off of it with her feet, describing a graceful arc that leaves three more targets turned.

She sheathes the klanyu and floats back to the floor, touching first palms then soles with her reflection. Great digital letters are floating in the air: Level 7 Completed.

She hasn't yet broken a sweat and she knows the weightlessness is an illusion, that she'll be back to feeling heavy and injuring herself when she leaves. But she's feeling a lot more relaxed anyway.

Interrupt her: Y/N?

*[laser pistol]

Part of the crew might be gone, but life on the ship goes on. In fact, new people have woken up and, eventually, they've been spat out into the mess hall.

Maybe it's better to introduce them to some of the worst aspects of ship life first, right?

Anyway, the word is out that there's new people, and someone should probably go say hello. Before the n00bs mistake the glop for crew.


[ooc: read before tagging, plz]