ᴊᴜᴅɢᴇ Cassandra Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wronganswer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
barrayar2019-12-22 10:35 am
wronganswer) wrote in barrayar2019-12-22 10:35 am
Entry tags:
it's all a deep end
Anderson's been in this place - this world? - for about a week when she finds someone else. By this time she's scavenged another weapon from a local hunting store, trying to conserve ammunition on her Lawgiver. She'd wasted a disgusting amount of ammo before realizing dispatch wasn't responding to her comms because she was on a different plane of existence. She knows she's a Psi-Judge, but this is ridiculous. She'd only heard the barest whispers of things like this happening, and that from within the Psi division, not even from citizens.
She can't put aside the thought that maybe someone will come to retrieve her, but it's more likely they'll write her off as a lost cause. She's valuable as a skilled psychic, but Anderson knows she's an incompetent Judge at best, and they're not going to go through that much work to get her back even if it's possible.
That means she's on her own. Not the first time that's happened. It's the rest of this that's new.
By the time she runs into Buffy, she's a grim-faced survivor who hasn't showered in a week, hair mussed and face marred by a couple scratches quickly scabbing over. Her Judge's uniform can handle all this, at least; it's scuffed but intact, and it's not like anyone's shooting at her.
It's also not a coincidence she finds the only other living human around: zombies are like a blank one-note mass, a tuning fork continually ringing the same note, and with Anderson actively scanning for survivors, it's only a matter of time before the complex music of another person comes into range. She doesn't necessarily trust that she's going to be a friendly, and keeps her pilfered shotgun aimed at the ground but cocked and ready.
"Hey," she greets in a terse, rough voice, entering the abandoned store with a confidence that indicates she'd known she'd be there. There's a complete lack of surprise, just quick, professional assessment in her look-over. "Any idea what the hell's going on?"
She can't put aside the thought that maybe someone will come to retrieve her, but it's more likely they'll write her off as a lost cause. She's valuable as a skilled psychic, but Anderson knows she's an incompetent Judge at best, and they're not going to go through that much work to get her back even if it's possible.
That means she's on her own. Not the first time that's happened. It's the rest of this that's new.
By the time she runs into Buffy, she's a grim-faced survivor who hasn't showered in a week, hair mussed and face marred by a couple scratches quickly scabbing over. Her Judge's uniform can handle all this, at least; it's scuffed but intact, and it's not like anyone's shooting at her.
It's also not a coincidence she finds the only other living human around: zombies are like a blank one-note mass, a tuning fork continually ringing the same note, and with Anderson actively scanning for survivors, it's only a matter of time before the complex music of another person comes into range. She doesn't necessarily trust that she's going to be a friendly, and keeps her pilfered shotgun aimed at the ground but cocked and ready.
"Hey," she greets in a terse, rough voice, entering the abandoned store with a confidence that indicates she'd known she'd be there. There's a complete lack of surprise, just quick, professional assessment in her look-over. "Any idea what the hell's going on?"