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True. Though I wouldn't say we got past safety on Maslow's hierarchy very often, [ Root responds dryly.
She's not ashamed of them being better off than the veritable hellscape Carver had come from, but she's not going to pretend they were living large, either. Root found it bearable in living conditions but constantly terrifying in possible consequences.
Root isn't too surprised he didn't respond to her obvious fishing, but since he didn't, her curiosity remains. ]
It's an adjustment being here for me, too. [ Maybe her frankness will lure out some honesty in return. ] I keep thinking there will be enemy agents around every corner. Even the missions don't sound that exciting.
She's not ashamed of them being better off than the veritable hellscape Carver had come from, but she's not going to pretend they were living large, either. Root found it bearable in living conditions but constantly terrifying in possible consequences.
Root isn't too surprised he didn't respond to her obvious fishing, but since he didn't, her curiosity remains. ]
It's an adjustment being here for me, too. [ Maybe her frankness will lure out some honesty in return. ] I keep thinking there will be enemy agents around every corner. Even the missions don't sound that exciting.
[ That gets a frown, Carver tilting his head at her, doglike. Is she being funny? ]
It'll go wrong. [ It always does. ] There are things worse than dead if you let your guard down.
It'll go wrong. [ It always does. ] There are things worse than dead if you let your guard down.
[ Talk about pessimism. Root isn't exactly an optimist but she does like to think she ascribes to staunch realism. Sometimes things do go well, even though the universe is a shithole that inevitably tends toward entropy. True randomness includes repeats, includes positives -- it can't all be bad all the time, relentlessly, always.
But that probably isn't a productive conversation to get into at the moment. ]
You worried about me? [ she teases instead with open amusement. ] Gonna be the one to watch my back -- or Shaw's back?
But that probably isn't a productive conversation to get into at the moment. ]
You worried about me? [ she teases instead with open amusement. ] Gonna be the one to watch my back -- or Shaw's back?
Doubt you need it.
[ Root seems all kinds of capable. She’ll be a rough enemy to face if it swings that way. But Carver’s practical, in the end. He knows his role in this game. ]
But I’ll watch your back, and hers, [ he adds. ] Like I agreed.
[ Root seems all kinds of capable. She’ll be a rough enemy to face if it swings that way. But Carver’s practical, in the end. He knows his role in this game. ]
But I’ll watch your back, and hers, [ he adds. ] Like I agreed.
[ Root's confident and capable, sure, but she's not an idiot. And she's already died once. ]
Everyone needs someone to watch their back, [ she informs him with a smile, like being comfortable with that hadn't taken her years of slow warm acceptance among the team. But by now she thoroughly understands loyalty. ]
As long as you're with us, I'll watch yours.
Everyone needs someone to watch their back, [ she informs him with a smile, like being comfortable with that hadn't taken her years of slow warm acceptance among the team. But by now she thoroughly understands loyalty. ]
As long as you're with us, I'll watch yours.
Root assumes she's dead at first. There's quite a few reasons to draw this conclusion: her clothes are bloody but the wounds under them are closed up, scarring nicely already; the sky is cascading colors across the night, not just an aurora but a whole spectacle of the universe; and she's stuck in a frozen hellscape with the wind whistling past her. She finds Bear just as her fingertips start to fully freeze and the two things together convince her she is not, in fact, dead, or at least not in any way that matters.
She spends the next few days getting to grips with her surroundings, thankful she has Bear to talk to as she keeps up an occasional murmured stream of chatter. Root is a city girl but she grew up in a small town and she knows at least a few things. She has a knife and that lovely tactical shotgun she'd stolen off the police officer ages ago, though she quickly realizes she's going to need to conserve ammo, bad.
There's a tiny cabin nearby that's structurally sound enough to provide protection from the weather, and Root makes that her temporary base of operations as she scrounges around the area for supplies. She gets some better clothing for herself -- looking fairly comical bundled up in all these men's layers, but it keeps her alive, four pairs of socks on to make her feet fit into the work boots she found -- and she used her knife to cut up a the outer shell of a half-destroyed parka. She took the strips and some duct tape and made little booties for Bear. She has to make new ones every couple days, but his poor little paws need protection from the snow and ice.
Her cochlear implant isn't working the whole time. More than once she's intensely grateful to have Bear, who has far more acute hearing than her even when both of her ears are working, and warns her of nearby threats. His presence seems to act as a decent deterrent to the wolves, too, at least for now. As the light show in the sky starts to settle, though, her implant crackles back to life, making her wince in surprise. Some quick math makes Root realize how much she needs to conserve its battery life even more than the ammo, so with some reluctance she turns it off shortly after it becomes active.
Eventually she feels well equipped enough to leave her temporary base, and she suits up herself and Bear -- who's wearing a child's tattered down vest as well as his makeshift booties -- as she heads out, shotgun at the ready. It's slow going through the snow, and she really has no idea where she's going or where there even is to go to, but she can't stay here forever. There's very little food, for one thing.
She can't believe she was grateful to find a can of beans yesterday.
Root muses on her devastatingly low current standards and the theological nature of purgatory as she tromps through the snow drifts, and then Bear starts to bark and she springs into alertness, lifting the gun cautiously.
She spends the next few days getting to grips with her surroundings, thankful she has Bear to talk to as she keeps up an occasional murmured stream of chatter. Root is a city girl but she grew up in a small town and she knows at least a few things. She has a knife and that lovely tactical shotgun she'd stolen off the police officer ages ago, though she quickly realizes she's going to need to conserve ammo, bad.
There's a tiny cabin nearby that's structurally sound enough to provide protection from the weather, and Root makes that her temporary base of operations as she scrounges around the area for supplies. She gets some better clothing for herself -- looking fairly comical bundled up in all these men's layers, but it keeps her alive, four pairs of socks on to make her feet fit into the work boots she found -- and she used her knife to cut up a the outer shell of a half-destroyed parka. She took the strips and some duct tape and made little booties for Bear. She has to make new ones every couple days, but his poor little paws need protection from the snow and ice.
Her cochlear implant isn't working the whole time. More than once she's intensely grateful to have Bear, who has far more acute hearing than her even when both of her ears are working, and warns her of nearby threats. His presence seems to act as a decent deterrent to the wolves, too, at least for now. As the light show in the sky starts to settle, though, her implant crackles back to life, making her wince in surprise. Some quick math makes Root realize how much she needs to conserve its battery life even more than the ammo, so with some reluctance she turns it off shortly after it becomes active.
Eventually she feels well equipped enough to leave her temporary base, and she suits up herself and Bear -- who's wearing a child's tattered down vest as well as his makeshift booties -- as she heads out, shotgun at the ready. It's slow going through the snow, and she really has no idea where she's going or where there even is to go to, but she can't stay here forever. There's very little food, for one thing.
She can't believe she was grateful to find a can of beans yesterday.
Root muses on her devastatingly low current standards and the theological nature of purgatory as she tromps through the snow drifts, and then Bear starts to bark and she springs into alertness, lifting the gun cautiously.
She knows that bark, and as soon as she hears it, she's sure that it's a trick of the woods - and though that suspicion isn't in any way dispelled by seeing him in the flesh just a few seconds after she hears him, that doesn't stop her from dropping to her knees and opening her arms, inviting him to bound right into them.
"Hey, buddy," she murmurs, rubbing his ears and nuzzling her frost-nipped nose into his fur. "Where'd you come from, huh?"
His saliva freezes to her face where he licks her cheek, and she does not fucking care. Bear.
More human-sized footsteps sound off in the woods to her left, boots crunching on snow and fallen branches, and she looks up - not immediately suspecting danger (it hadn't sounded nearly large enough to be the other bear), but alert regardless.
"Hey, who's out there?"
"Hey, buddy," she murmurs, rubbing his ears and nuzzling her frost-nipped nose into his fur. "Where'd you come from, huh?"
His saliva freezes to her face where he licks her cheek, and she does not fucking care. Bear.
More human-sized footsteps sound off in the woods to her left, boots crunching on snow and fallen branches, and she looks up - not immediately suspecting danger (it hadn't sounded nearly large enough to be the other bear), but alert regardless.
"Hey, who's out there?"
Root trusts that Bear would be acting a lot differently if it were a threat, so she lowers her gun and trudges her way through the snow and past some trees until she sees Shaw.
Oh. Of course Bear ran off.
"Sameen," she breathes, aware she looks like a minor disaster and not caring. She's all haphazard layers of moth-eaten men's clothes and her hair is messily pushed into a toque, she's stepping a little unsteadily in her borrowed shoes, and her face is flushed with cold sweat from the exertion. But her eyes are wide as the realization sinks in and then she starts to laugh in joyous incredulity.
The emotions are pushing up and crowding her, but Root passes them off with her usual flippancy.
"Maybe this is Dante's ninth circle of hell after all. With Bear here I thought it couldn't be, but seeing you, I'm starting to reconsider."
Oh. Of course Bear ran off.
"Sameen," she breathes, aware she looks like a minor disaster and not caring. She's all haphazard layers of moth-eaten men's clothes and her hair is messily pushed into a toque, she's stepping a little unsteadily in her borrowed shoes, and her face is flushed with cold sweat from the exertion. But her eyes are wide as the realization sinks in and then she starts to laugh in joyous incredulity.
The emotions are pushing up and crowding her, but Root passes them off with her usual flippancy.
"Maybe this is Dante's ninth circle of hell after all. With Bear here I thought it couldn't be, but seeing you, I'm starting to reconsider."
Of course Root has the capacity to make quippy little jokes right now. Shaw, on the other hand, has to settle for gaping in mute shock, fingers still curled in Bear's fur. She's of course known for a while that people from home popping up was a possibility, even if she's been conflicted on whether or not it's something to properly hope for. But Root, Root who'd died--
In a place filled with impossible possibilities, that's an entirely new layer to grapple with.
"You aren't real," she says, because after everything she's seen, of course she has to consider the idea (over and over and over again). But even as she says it, she's pulling herself to her feet and walking towards her.
In a place filled with impossible possibilities, that's an entirely new layer to grapple with.
"You aren't real," she says, because after everything she's seen, of course she has to consider the idea (over and over and over again). But even as she says it, she's pulling herself to her feet and walking towards her.
Her expression softens as she sees how affected Shaw is. Root knows she's still going through it in questioning things, and she does sincerely care about that, even if she shows it through exposition about speculative physics or quippy little jokes.
"Real enough."
It could be another quip, but it's not; it's reassurance. She takes a few steps forward to meet her halfway.
"Real enough."
It could be another quip, but it's not; it's reassurance. She takes a few steps forward to meet her halfway.
Shaw claps both gloved hands onto Root's shoulders - not the most tender of gestures, maybe, but it serves its purpose. Root is, at the very least, solid. She leaves her hands where they are, but her grip softens a bit, her palms resting on Root's shoulders rather than squeezing them.
"If you faked your death, Root, I swear to god."
"If you faked your death, Root, I swear to god."
Edited 2025-03-23 17:23 (UTC)
"I wouldn't fake anything with you, babe."
Okay, that one she couldn't resist, but she really is smiling helplessly at Shaw as the snow whips around them and Bear keeps watch. She can be practical, she can focus.
"I wasn't kidding, I was seriously considering the possibility that this is one of those ice versions of religious hell. You have any idea how we got here?" It's all weird enough that she's not discounting religious hell, is what she's saying; she's prepared to accept more or less anything Shaw tells her.
Okay, that one she couldn't resist, but she really is smiling helplessly at Shaw as the snow whips around them and Bear keeps watch. She can be practical, she can focus.
"I wasn't kidding, I was seriously considering the possibility that this is one of those ice versions of religious hell. You have any idea how we got here?" It's all weird enough that she's not discounting religious hell, is what she's saying; she's prepared to accept more or less anything Shaw tells her.
"No. All we know is that it wasn't supposed to happen."
And even that is intel from the Darkwalker, who doesn't exactly engender trust. Still, Shaw is inclined to believe it; she certainly doesn't feel like any of this is a part of nature's design.
"So, what, you think I died, too?" she asks, her tone as matter-of-fact as always. That initial period of shock may have passed quickly, but her hands are still on Root, and she hasn't looked away from her once. Bear is understanding of this, and contents himself with leaning against her legs.
And even that is intel from the Darkwalker, who doesn't exactly engender trust. Still, Shaw is inclined to believe it; she certainly doesn't feel like any of this is a part of nature's design.
"So, what, you think I died, too?" she asks, her tone as matter-of-fact as always. That initial period of shock may have passed quickly, but her hands are still on Root, and she hasn't looked away from her once. Bear is understanding of this, and contents himself with leaning against her legs.
"You have to die eventually," she says with attempted equanimity, but there's something tight around her eyes belying her real feelings. "It wasn't an unlikely outcome."
But it sounds like she hadn't. Like the Machine took care of her. Root reaches up and settles her own gloved hands on top of Shaw's on her shoulders, gently prompting without pressing her.
"Think we could catch up out of the wind? I don't like to keep Bear out here too long, and it's been a while already." Root will put up with whatever conditions she reasonably has to, but expecting that of their loving, loyal dog is another story.
But it sounds like she hadn't. Like the Machine took care of her. Root reaches up and settles her own gloved hands on top of Shaw's on her shoulders, gently prompting without pressing her.
"Think we could catch up out of the wind? I don't like to keep Bear out here too long, and it's been a while already." Root will put up with whatever conditions she reasonably has to, but expecting that of their loving, loyal dog is another story.
No, absolutely not, because hunting for shelter means tearing her eyes away from Root, and she absolutely does not want to do that.
She doesn't say that, of course. She doesn't even contemplate saying it: when it comes to making the practical choice, Shaw very rarely flinches. But finding it easy to make a particular choice isn't the same as wanting to make it.
"Sure," she says, letting go of Root's shoulders and dropping her hands back to her sides, giving Bear's ears another rub. "We're about a mile from town, and about a quarter-mile from the mines. Dealer's choice."
She doesn't say that, of course. She doesn't even contemplate saying it: when it comes to making the practical choice, Shaw very rarely flinches. But finding it easy to make a particular choice isn't the same as wanting to make it.
"Sure," she says, letting go of Root's shoulders and dropping her hands back to her sides, giving Bear's ears another rub. "We're about a mile from town, and about a quarter-mile from the mines. Dealer's choice."
"Mines," she says without hesitation.
Root wants the safety and space to have a proper reunion with Shaw, and out in this weather surrounded by potential predators isn't it, but she'll take whatever's quickest. Having Shaw here changes everything. She needs information and she needs to recalibrate toward whatever Shaw needs from her.
In the meantime, she can be as unerringly dedicated to her task as ever, which right now is seeking shelter. She's treating this as a potentially hostile situation.
But her gaze is fixed on Shaw, too. "Lead the way. I'm conserving battery on my implant, so I'm deaf on my right side."
Root wants the safety and space to have a proper reunion with Shaw, and out in this weather surrounded by potential predators isn't it, but she'll take whatever's quickest. Having Shaw here changes everything. She needs information and she needs to recalibrate toward whatever Shaw needs from her.
In the meantime, she can be as unerringly dedicated to her task as ever, which right now is seeking shelter. She's treating this as a potentially hostile situation.
But her gaze is fixed on Shaw, too. "Lead the way. I'm conserving battery on my implant, so I'm deaf on my right side."
Say no more: Shaw immediately moves to Root's left, flanking her bad ear.
"Has anybody told you about the Auroras yet?" she asks, her eyes forward as they walk. Sappy sustained eye contact can make its return later; for now, safety is her priority. "Electricity powers back up, but sometimes things go haywire; that might be dangerous for you."
"Has anybody told you about the Auroras yet?" she asks, her eyes forward as they walk. Sappy sustained eye contact can make its return later; for now, safety is her priority. "Electricity powers back up, but sometimes things go haywire; that might be dangerous for you."
Sappy sustained eye contact and/or saucy flirting, in Root's opinion. She's already waiting for the right moment to make the obvious joke about keeping warm together.
"The intermittent static shrieking wasn't fun," she agrees. "You're the first person I've seen. Who is 'anybody'?"
Root's potential scope of hypothetical possibilities for where she is and what's going on is vast, and there would be a strange kind of sense in it just being her and Shaw. Maybe this is a simulation. How would she differentiate her perceived reality from any other version and even know? To Root, that's not a rhetorical question; she's genuinely thinking about strategies to test it.
"The intermittent static shrieking wasn't fun," she agrees. "You're the first person I've seen. Who is 'anybody'?"
Root's potential scope of hypothetical possibilities for where she is and what's going on is vast, and there would be a strange kind of sense in it just being her and Shaw. Maybe this is a simulation. How would she differentiate her perceived reality from any other version and even know? To Root, that's not a rhetorical question; she's genuinely thinking about strategies to test it.
"It doesn't look like it, but there's a population here. Not a big one, but - thirty, forty people."
It's a low-ball guess; she's underestimating the number of people who live in buildings and settlements away from Milton's town center. This is a place where it's very easy to miss people.
"A real group of oddballs, if you ask me. But, uh-- I guess we're both used to that."
It's a low-ball guess; she's underestimating the number of people who live in buildings and settlements away from Milton's town center. This is a place where it's very easy to miss people.
"A real group of oddballs, if you ask me. But, uh-- I guess we're both used to that."
"That's more than I'd expect from what I've seen," Root comments with palpable interest. "You mean we might actually fit in? How long have you been here?"
If this isn't a simulation it's some inexplicable dimensional nonsense, which means in any case all bets about time as a dimension are off. Root wants to know everything about what Shaw's been up to more or less immediately.
If this isn't a simulation it's some inexplicable dimensional nonsense, which means in any case all bets about time as a dimension are off. Root wants to know everything about what Shaw's been up to more or less immediately.
"They're not our kind of oddballs," Shaw says wryly - or more accurately, they're not either of their kind of oddball, because as far as she's concerned, she and Root are two distinct oddball types that just happened to end up jiving well together. "Don't count on finding too many kindred spirits. Some of them are okay, though. I've been here for, uh..."
She has to pause to think; calendars aren't so much a thing, and she hasn't bothered keeping track manually. The length of the days is really the best time indicator, so--
"I got here in the fall. It's spring now."
She has to pause to think; calendars aren't so much a thing, and she hasn't bothered keeping track manually. The length of the days is really the best time indicator, so--
"I got here in the fall. It's spring now."
Root would agree; they're complementary but opposing, like two electrons orbiting the same proton but never making direct contact with one another. They're always facing the same direction but going a different way.
What Shaw says about the others makes her think that she's been fairly solitary. Root is prone to loneliness herself and she doesn't assume Shaw would be suffering from the same, but she notes it as something to consider. Especially with what else she says.
"You made it through winter here?" she asks, trudging through snow. "That must have been tough if this counts as spring."
What Shaw says about the others makes her think that she's been fairly solitary. Root is prone to loneliness herself and she doesn't assume Shaw would be suffering from the same, but she notes it as something to consider. Especially with what else she says.
"You made it through winter here?" she asks, trudging through snow. "That must have been tough if this counts as spring."
"You ever see that thriller movie where a flash freeze spreads across the east coast, turning everyone and everything in its path to ice? That happened here a couple months ago. Then the storm passed."
Which is to say that yes, it had been no mean feat, and the mundanity of wilderness survival has been the least of it.
"There's a bear that was an intangible ghost until it suddenly wasn't. I'll show you my scars sometime. Things that happen here don't make sense. I don't know how to prepare you for it. You just have to go along for the ride and see where it takes you."
There's an edge of frustration to her voice, though it's not directed at Root, or even at her own inadequacies at explaining the mind-bending situation. It's just that regardless of whether or not she believes that it's real, life here reminds her too much of being in Decima's hands: where opportunities to take control of her own life hadn't been entirely nonexistent, but had still been few and far between.
Which is to say that yes, it had been no mean feat, and the mundanity of wilderness survival has been the least of it.
"There's a bear that was an intangible ghost until it suddenly wasn't. I'll show you my scars sometime. Things that happen here don't make sense. I don't know how to prepare you for it. You just have to go along for the ride and see where it takes you."
There's an edge of frustration to her voice, though it's not directed at Root, or even at her own inadequacies at explaining the mind-bending situation. It's just that regardless of whether or not she believes that it's real, life here reminds her too much of being in Decima's hands: where opportunities to take control of her own life hadn't been entirely nonexistent, but had still been few and far between.
"I think you're going to have a harder time with that one than me, honey," Root says wryly.
She'd like answers, of course, but it isn't going to break her fundamental conception of reality to have things be kooky. She won't just passively accept whatever's going on -- she'll try to reach an explanation, try to understand -- but it won't slow her down any in the meantime.
"As long as you're here, I know where I'm going and what I'm doing."
She'd like answers, of course, but it isn't going to break her fundamental conception of reality to have things be kooky. She won't just passively accept whatever's going on -- she'll try to reach an explanation, try to understand -- but it won't slow her down any in the meantime.
"As long as you're here, I know where I'm going and what I'm doing."
"We should try to stick together. Come up with prearranged meeting places if we separate."
It's not their usual MO, but considering the circumstances - the extreme environment, the practical dangers of solo wilderness travel, the lack of communication options - it seems like the best choice available to them.
"I've got some friends in Lakeside - that's through the mines. You should meet them."
It's not their usual MO, but considering the circumstances - the extreme environment, the practical dangers of solo wilderness travel, the lack of communication options - it seems like the best choice available to them.
"I've got some friends in Lakeside - that's through the mines. You should meet them."
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