Log:Memory Suppression

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Memory Suppression
Characters  •   The Hunter  •  The Capitalist  •
Location  •  The Capitalist's Room
Date  •  2018-10-03
Summary  •  The Hunter visits the Capitalist at his room while he tries to suppress his identity crisis.

Ever since his second awakening, The Capitalist's presence anywhere outside of his personal room has been very limited. He wandered out for a cup of coffee once, on the very first day, if to scope the place out and to take in faces new and old. He even noticed that the countdown on the television was gone, only to be replaced by Western flicks. It disturbs him enough that he can remember that there used to be a countdown on that wide-screen television and he remembers thinking that it was a waste of a good TV.

When alone, the Capitalist has been in quiet contemplation. The first evening, if it were the evening, in this place it's difficult to tell, he recalled smashing Conrad Wellson's watch, as he struggles with this identity crisis. There was some anger in the Capitalist, or in Driscoll, that he had other memories and this bit of destruction was just his way of lashing out in the hopes of doing away with the other persona.

The very next morning, as he should have expected, the watch was fully intact, looking as if nothing had happened to it at all. This is something that he's still coming to terms with, but the longer that he remains in this prison, the more his past memories and feelings begin to slowly take hold of him and for a time, that is something that the control-freak that was Driscoll had been willing to fight off.

So here he is, seated at the edge of his bed, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, the like-new watch held in his hand. It's almost as if he were contemplating on whether to destroy it again or not. He still hasn't decided.

A countdown that, in its final hours, both the Capitalist and the Hunter decided to ignore in lieu of spending time with one another. It was a time where she had been strangely happy. Or if not happy: content. They hadn't survived the island, no, but they had ended up somewhere together and had found a sort of balance. There were no answers in this place, but they'd made their decisions on who they were and what they were to each other. She'd struck up a friendship with Madison and begun growing closer to the woman. Things were all right.

Then they were bad. Being Thorne was not great! But somehow Thorne is stronger. The sense is stronger. The personality is stronger. She can almost understand why Rhys is so intense, why the hold is so strong. But it's worried her that she hasn't seen him... especially while the others have been out. Ones that weren't previously, like Loner and Defender.

That's what brings her to his door with a bottle of scotch. She knocks on it. Once, twice, and then reaches for the knob. "I'm coming in," the woman calls in an even tone. At least the Hunter's accent is close enough to Thorne's, though the cadence is slightly different.

Surviving the alien infestation on the Noc was something that should have been much clearer in The Capitalist's mind. He remembers everything leading up to his and Kinneson's arrival at the main core reactor. He remembers clearly the pain he was in, the shifting in and out of consciousness during the entire trip through the corridors. He remembers closing his eyes on realizing that Riordan had pulled off what he set out to do and he, like everyone else in the reactor room, could only pray and hope that the structure held or else they all would be vented into space. And it held! Driscoll recalled bleeding so badly that throughout all of that, he wasn't sure if he'd actually make it, but he did.

And now he was back here, when he should have been out there, putting his life and his company back together. That same sense of urgency which he felt as Conrad on his death, that need to be out there doing things, warning those on the island of Akala's man there. Hell, even getting vengeance on Akala, himself. These were the strong urges that the Capitalist felt even now, but this time he needed to meet potential clients and recruits, set up jobs and new smuggling lines. That's why being trapped here in this place again was not an option for the business-minded man. His more casual style of dress better reflects the real Driscoll as a person. Not the man in the suit. That was part of the image he was trying to conjure up for himself. This was who he really was.

Hearing the knock on the door and the voice following, he only half-turns to look in the direction of the door, not rising to stand, nor does he set the watch back down on the dresser. Instead as the Hunter enters the room, he's already securing the watch to his wrist. It's impressively expensive and though it's not in working condition, it was a sign of status. To her entrance, his gaze on the watch for a moment longer, he asks, "Anyone else show up?"

It wasn't often that Conrad dressed casually. Not like this. A sweater, perhaps, but not a t-shirt. The Hunter has to take him in for a moment before she closes the door behind her. She's in athletic shorts and a tanktop: both black. There's been a measure of need to ensure she can see her leg. That reminder that it's real and it's there. Crossing the room, she sets the bottle down on the table next to his bed; still capped and full.

"Wolfram," she answers initially. "Callum. Aaron. I saw the three of them last night." There's a glance to the bed next to him and a small tilt of her head as if asking permission to sit and join him. "I think Aaron prefers to go by Connor, though, for now." His name on the island. "Wolfram doesn't seem to mind that or Anton." And the Loner never gave his preference.

"I'd offer drinks, but I'm afraid I didn't squirrel any away since the last time I stepped foot outside." The Capitalist says, looking admiringly of the time piece on his wrist, before returning his attention back on The Hunter and only now realizing that she has brought a bottle of something on her own, "And it looks like someone was thinking ahead." He also notes the look she gives his bed. "Make yourself at home." The idea that she no longer had this robotic leg was, for his Driscoll state of mind anyway, somewhat disturbing. He's not shy to openly take in the woman's legs, both of them, and he even says, "Must feel so much better without the metal attached to you, huh? Believe me, the one thing I am glad for about being in this place again is that my memories, the pain of being impaled in the arm? Tha's fading."

He wasn't on duty anymore and for all he knew, he would never be on duty again unless they got out of here, so while there was the briefest bit of hesitation to actually taking in a drink, he seems more open to it now. Several of the names mentioned brings back memories, some more than others. Here, he even smiles a bit, but to no on in particular, just a thought that came to mind, "Kinneson and I had set up a meeting, he had an interest in joining ANVIL." Now that he thinks about it, Kinneson does look familiar and the name Anton brings back full memory of those moments on the island now. "I kinda feel sorry for that guy. If all he's set to do is save people every chance he gets." He has no memory that Anton had put him, no Conrad, on the rigged helicopter. Then there is Aaron. Though that was the closest person he's been to on the Hephaestus, he was used to calling him by his last name. "Hartmann's here too?" He's not sure if he remembers The Beast too much from his days on Island. There are vague memories, but perhaps it was not someone he was close to. Or someone not as important to Conrad. Callum is someone who he isn't sure whether he met or not, even if he may have heard the name thrown around here or there. "Everyone's still in the same boat then? But if they don't mind what name they are called by, they've given in to this idea that we've been all of these people. Which is crazy."

"Scotch seemed to fit the bill," the Hunter points out quietly with a small, quirked smile. She does take a seat, settling in next to him. There's a glance down to her leg, stretching both out in front of her. "It's..." There's a long exhale of a sigh. She leaves that for the moment, grabbing the bottle. She'll need time to process that tidbit.

"Hartmann, yeah. And like I said, he prefers Connor. Callum was uh... Andrew on the Island. That rockstar you- uh, Conrad had brought in to headline? Band was... something dragons. Callum was a... a synthetic with the Marshals. We-" She swallows, circling back around to what she'd needed a moment to deal with before. This leads to opening the bottle and taking a long drink. She hands it off to the Capitalist then.

"We died together. We were part of the group that went to the reactor to deal with the queen. I saw them tear him apart, just before one tore off my leg. I- I tried to hold it off." She gives a bitter sort of laugh, looking down at her lap. "Tried to fight an alien with my own fucking leg. But it ran me through."

"I'm not going to say no to scotch." The Capitalist says with a laugh, seemingly more relaxed than he's been since his awakening. Even in the moments prior to the Hunter's entrance, he was still in his dark place. When the Hunter continues to speak, reminding him that he does know this Callum, but by another name. That Slaying Dragons guy. "Oh. Him." While Driscoll has no memory of the rockstar, Conrad sometimes tries to forget! "I guess we can't pick and choose who ends up in his prison and who doesn't.

He looks thankful for the passed bottle and takes a long sip of it before saying anything more. "Right, synthetics. There were a few of them from the Noc, but..." His brow starts to furrow, "Now that I think about, they were people who I actually knew." From the Island, though he doesn't want to go out and confirm such. Listening to the tale of how Thorne died, he idly licks at his lips, savoring that flavor of scotch before taking in another, much smaller drink from the bottle before handing it off to the Hunter, "You may be needing this more than I do." He then comes out to say, whether The Hunter had figured it all out or not, "I survived the Noc. Barely. My shoulder was impaled by one of those bastards and if not for Kinneson, I'm not sure I would've made it to the safe zone, the primary core reactor. The place exploded, but we were safe in there. We were then picked up by Penumbra's people and the rest was history." There's a pause, "Some of us were thinking of coming together to remember those killed by the incident." Was that right? It's such a vague memory now. "But... with Weyland-Yutani having paid us off..." What used to be so vivid in his mind after his awakening, everything that's happened after he survived the Noc's destruction are just fragmented memories. "Coming together like that would have been dangerous."

The bottle is accepted back and the Hunter gives a small shake of her head. "There's some people I hope don't show up," she says darkly before she takes a drink. It's another long one and she swallows, closing her eyes as she braces against that burn. She listens to him talk, lips curling in a small sort of smile. "I'm glad you survived this time," she offers finally, in a quiet voice. "At least one of us did. No explosion. And I died before it happened... I think. I don't remember it if it did, at least. I just remember..." The other searing pain.

There's a slow breath that releases in a sigh. "It would have been dangerous, but since when did that stop you?" The woman that was Thorne glances up at him with a sort of grin, one both challenging and bemused. It fades quickly though, her gaze hardening. "She was there, with the queen. January. Just... standing by her side. She did betray us all. We still ended up here, but how many more might have not died so terribly if she hadn't? If... if Wolfram hadn't saved her? If I or William had gone through with killing her? If the Marshals hadn't let her go?"

"And yet, here I am." The Capitalist says in response, tilting his head to the side as he idly rubs at that space where his neck meets his shoulder. "But we knew that already. Even those who survived the Island ended up here. Not everyone. But a god damn lot of them." So to what the Hunter says next about January, someone's whose fate he assumed mimicked everyone else who wasn't at the Core, but Weyland-Yutani never went out to say so much about those who worked for them, he does have to consider this somewhat. "It didn't matter who lived or died. Even when we survived, it's not like we found ourselves out of here." There is some anger in his tone when he utters these words. "I'm sure this entire thing was traumatic for everyone, but it looks like in the end, live or die, our lives are still shit."

Here, he's trying to remember if he had seen Dr. Alexis January on the Island. Maybe she was one of those who you meet in these memories, but for some reason, they are the lucky ones who.... go to whatever place people who don't end up here go to. It's all rather confusing. "There's a lot of people who I don't remember from the island," He's only now opening up more about this fact that, yes, he knows that he was on the Island, though he almost hated to admit it before. "Most of the Hephaestus crew I do not recall seeing on the Island."

Then perhaps out of curiosity or even concern, his eyes flicker in The Hunter's direction when he asks, "Did it take long for you to recover from this transition between death and waking up in this place again?"

The bottle is passed back to the Capitalist as the Hunter watches him rub at his neck. Once her hand is free, she reaches up to replace his there. It may not be an actual knot or old wound, but psychosomatic injuries can be just as troubling a thing. It's a small offering she can provide as she listens. She twists a bit on the bed to do so, drawing one knee up to turn towards him. "I have no memory of Strickland, January, Sterling," she says listing off a few names quietly. "Thorson was Karl," she does provide. "And Wynne... she was that singer. The one I knocked out in here." There's a sort of pleased smile at that, one showing teeth. This pleases her, so very much, that she has hurt the damned bitch of a synth. Just... before she tried to kill her in that horror show moment in the lab.

When he looks her way, the Hunter leans back a bit, hands lowering. She purses her lips and drops her gaze to her lap. "I woke screaming," she admits quietly. "Kylie came to me and... I think that helped, but-" Her shoulders rise and fall slightly. "I still don't feel right. There's times I'm not even sure what I am, if that makes sense? I wonder... if we're even human. Some of us were robots, you know? Can a person even be that?" She looks back up to him. "We have no memory of who we were before here. Even my childhood as Maata is... vague. Like a dream. Just like Michel's. And in part... my biggest fear was that you wouldn't be here, which-" she grimaces. "I'm sorry. I should hope more that you'd be free of this."

At first, there is this wary look that the Capitalist gives her on noticing the Hunter reach out towards him, but even that little bit of distrust soon fades as he finds comfort in her touch there. The pain itself is one caused by tension, this stress of their predicament. He does offer her a subtle smile of appreciation as his hand lowers to rest against the mattress. While initially, Driscoll's personality, his memories wanted very little to do with the island, just being reminded of all of these things begins to bring amusement to him. "Karl? Shit that's right. I didn't recognize him with his head that bloated. But in a way, I can make out some sort of resemblance." Then Wynne is brought up and this is someone who he's known well enough on both the Island and the space station. "That's right. That synthetic bitch." Though knowing all of this now, he decides to say, "Forget January, imagine how people will react seeing Karl (That's who he best knows The Advisor as) and Wynne when they get here."

He quiets down to listen to her talk about her second awakening. His own, while only made traumatic due to the fact that he was back here in the facility, when he should have been freed... Thorne's death was something different entirely. The Capitalist barely remembers his own death, Conrad's death, back on the Island. When Kylie is mentioned, as if on instinct, he quickly says, "Madison." Though he'd like to dismiss Conrad and his time on the island, that part of the Wellson seems adamant to remember The Penitent as his sister. "And I don't like the idea that we're not... alive. That we're not people. That could be coming from recent memories of synthetics who were close to being people, but... Our memories. One day it's in the 2018, the next... it's like we stepped into a sci-fi movie."

Her revelation at the end gets him to quiet, The Capitalist's own gaze now dropping for short moment, before lifting to try to meet with hers now. He breathes in deeply, before stating, "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I know what you mean, but when I said that I was angry to have survived and been brought here all the same, I just meant..." He's not really sure what he meant in this regards, and so changes his train of thought, a hand not reaching to be placed over one of the Hunter's in a reassuring manner, "We have to find a way out."

"Andrew already wants to hurt her," Hunter says of Wynne with a sort of wry smile. She doesn't seem opposed to this. After all, the other woman's behavior in the Facility previously caused her to beat the shit out of her. After what she did as Wynne? She won't be surprised if others do as well! There's no protest to his insistence of the Penitent as Madison. She expected that. She even reminded the other woman of it. "It's just hard to think of being a person with no true memory of family. No memory of birthdays. Of... of life. I remember dying more than I remember being alive, Conrad."

The name she's used most, for him.

There's a look up when he sets his hand over hers and she lifts hers, turning it to wind her fingers into his. Hope flares a bit in her eyes. Barely, but it's there. Nothing can fully extinguish the Hunter's fire. "There's two new doors," she says softly. "Not like ours. Different. But they don't open. I... I haven't really tried much, admittedly, but..." The woman swallows. "Maybe they're a way out?"

Despite it being easy or natural for him to bring up Madison's name, for now it's still difficult for The Capitalist to think of himself as Conrad. The T-shirt that he's wearing, cost way more than what he'd normally pay for something similar. Same with the pair of jeans. Driscoll came from far more meager beginnings, as far he could remember anyway. But just as The Hunter says, their lives before these 'events', the Island, the Noc, all of that wasn't as clear or as vivid as they should be.

Sensing her fingers entwined with his own, his gaze lowers to their connected hands, before noticing Wellson's watch around his wrist. In a sense, Driscoll was working to become a man such as Conrad Wellson, so if there was some animosity between the two personalities, that would be one of the reasons. "Did anyone try to break the door open yet?" He wouldn't be surprised if they did. His gaze lifts to return to the Hunter again. "Might be something to do." He then adds as an afterhought, having remembered something during his brief stint out into the parlor earlier, "At least they're giving us quality programming this time around."

The clothes that the Hunter has are more ken to what Thorne might wear -- at least for workout attire -- than anything Maata ever tended towards. If anything, this suits the ex-marine far more. Yet... she was happier as Maata than Michel ever was. That she can recall, at least. Michel was an angry, bitter, and lonely woman. Maata was not. It's a duality she, herself, is struggling to come to terms with. But rather than internalize like the Capitalist is, she's externalizing. She's focusing on others.

Which is a mirroring of their last time here.

"I don't know if anyone has yet. I was just checking them out when I first found you here. I haven't tried again since." She minds the cut and cost of his clothing less this time. For Maata it was always a bit awkward. Two wholly separate worlds. Something she could never understand. Michel came from moderate roots herself, but the marines just made such things moot. She stopped caring. Rich, poor, material things didn't matter. Except the quality of her leg. She brushes a thumb against his hand.

There does come a bit of a smile as she meets his gaze; mildly amused. "The Westerns? Yes. I saw. I think that's all it plays, though. Not really my style, to be honest."