A Ghost Ship
Moderators: VagueDurin, Nichalus
Man of Many Faces
A Ghost Ship
OOC this is the beginning of a new thread, the rp ooc thread can be found here:
http://www.starwars-exodus.com/forum/vi ... php?t=5827
It is open - and I will have a short explanation up on the ooc thread momentarily.
IC
The small modified TIE reconnaissance fighter swirled through hyperspace. The space inside was meant for one pilot to be comfortable for long periods of times in deep space. Two people could fit, but it would be very unconfortable. Valis and Consecro were far from friends, so the lack of space certainly didn't help things. The ship was tracking the Lorisian Frigate, that was heading towards somewhere, it wasn't Loris by their route likely a rendevous or staging point of some kind. Consecro sat in front of the controls, Valis right behind him, his stomach almost touching the mercenary's back.
"Any sign of the Lorisians decelerating out of hyperspace?" Valis asked again, for the third time, he was uncomfortable and impatient.
"No sign. Their destination looks like it's somewhere near Naboo... a strange destination..."
That's when the small fighter shook, and shook violently.
"The force was that?" Valis asked.
Consecro was on top of the controls now, trying to find the answer to that very question. I don't know, but we're coming out of hyperspace."
"Are the Lorisians?"
"Doesn't look that way." Consecro answered. "It says a gravitational force of some type is pulling us out. But it's impossible, the Lorisians just moved through this very space and were uneffected. And starmaps show no bodies capable of a field of this strength in this area. We're in the middle of nowhere. It could be an equipment malfunction of some kind."
"Dedamned." If they couldnt piggy back the frigate into Lorisian space the chance of getting in was impossible at best. But they were dropping into real space and there was nothing either could do about it. The ship shook even more violently now as the twirling blue light began to fade into black speckled with small white stars in far off galaxies.
Valis was expecting either an unchartered planet, or an interdictor cruiser or mine of some kind. He got something smaller than the former, but not by much. In fact what he saw he couldn't beleive. "It's the Cleansing."
Consecro looked down at his readout. "IFF transponder confirms. Activating sublight engines."
"Let me talk to them."
"Comm is open."
"Super Star Destroyer Cleansing, this is Major Valis Thorn, we require lowering of your gravity wells... [/i]when did the Cleansing get gravity wells...[/i] so we can continue pursuit of a Lorisian vessel. Code Beta-Tango-9-6-Break-4."
The only answer was prolonged static.
Consecro then said very slowly... "I'm not detecting a gravity field any longer. Whatever dragged us out of hyperspace is gone. I'm going to jump us back out."
Valis nodded, but then he noticed soemthing. "Wait, look at the ship. Look at the bridge... it's gone. There are fires on the starboard side just below the ion batteries. I think a couple engines are out as well."
Consecro looked now and nodded. "Portions of the ship even appear to be without power. Sensors show no hostiles in the area."
Valis nodded. "The ship ius horribly damaged, they have no communications, but no enemy to claim the prize. Maybe they are undergoing repairs.... yes that must be it. The Cleansing had a modification made, that idf the bridge was destroyed the ship could still be operated from other portions of the ship, including engineering. It must have seen battle, been damaged, and fled here for repairs..."
"With no escorts for protection?" Consecro asked.
A good question...
"I don't know..." Valis answered. "But this isn't our mission. Get us back into hyperspace, and send word to the Ardin about this."
The ship rattled again.... and all of a sudden their course had changed. They were moving straight for the Cleansing. Both men said the same thing at the same time.
"Tractor beam..."
"Not too badly damaged to target us from that distance." Consecro said.
Valis nodded. "Doesn't look like we have much of a choice. Their comm must be gone, and they think we are an enemy that would leave and bring whatever enemy back to them that did such damage to the ship."
"Our comm has been jammed. I don't beleive our transmission to the Ardin got through." Consecro said.
Valis nodded, another likely precaution. The fighter moved ever closer to the Cleansing, and was soon inside one of the auxiliary hangar bays. What they found there was at best disturbing. The hangar was completely abandoned, spare a handful of dead stormtroopers. Cargo containers were still there, but many were emptied and strewn about the area. A loud buzz, that would quickly become annoying was continuous over the ship intercomm. That would get annoying quickly.
"Where's the security detail?" Consecro asked, as they stepped out of the fighter.
"I don't know." Valis answered. "Standard procedures..."
"Seem to be out the window." Consecro finished.
Valis nodded. "Indeed."
ooc ok this is the opening post - this will be a suspense horror type thread. Consecro and I are in it for now, others thatw want in reference the ooc link above.
http://www.starwars-exodus.com/forum/vi ... php?t=5827
It is open - and I will have a short explanation up on the ooc thread momentarily.
IC
The small modified TIE reconnaissance fighter swirled through hyperspace. The space inside was meant for one pilot to be comfortable for long periods of times in deep space. Two people could fit, but it would be very unconfortable. Valis and Consecro were far from friends, so the lack of space certainly didn't help things. The ship was tracking the Lorisian Frigate, that was heading towards somewhere, it wasn't Loris by their route likely a rendevous or staging point of some kind. Consecro sat in front of the controls, Valis right behind him, his stomach almost touching the mercenary's back.
"Any sign of the Lorisians decelerating out of hyperspace?" Valis asked again, for the third time, he was uncomfortable and impatient.
"No sign. Their destination looks like it's somewhere near Naboo... a strange destination..."
That's when the small fighter shook, and shook violently.
"The force was that?" Valis asked.
Consecro was on top of the controls now, trying to find the answer to that very question. I don't know, but we're coming out of hyperspace."
"Are the Lorisians?"
"Doesn't look that way." Consecro answered. "It says a gravitational force of some type is pulling us out. But it's impossible, the Lorisians just moved through this very space and were uneffected. And starmaps show no bodies capable of a field of this strength in this area. We're in the middle of nowhere. It could be an equipment malfunction of some kind."
"Dedamned." If they couldnt piggy back the frigate into Lorisian space the chance of getting in was impossible at best. But they were dropping into real space and there was nothing either could do about it. The ship shook even more violently now as the twirling blue light began to fade into black speckled with small white stars in far off galaxies.
Valis was expecting either an unchartered planet, or an interdictor cruiser or mine of some kind. He got something smaller than the former, but not by much. In fact what he saw he couldn't beleive. "It's the Cleansing."
Consecro looked down at his readout. "IFF transponder confirms. Activating sublight engines."
"Let me talk to them."
"Comm is open."
"Super Star Destroyer Cleansing, this is Major Valis Thorn, we require lowering of your gravity wells... [/i]when did the Cleansing get gravity wells...[/i] so we can continue pursuit of a Lorisian vessel. Code Beta-Tango-9-6-Break-4."
The only answer was prolonged static.
Consecro then said very slowly... "I'm not detecting a gravity field any longer. Whatever dragged us out of hyperspace is gone. I'm going to jump us back out."
Valis nodded, but then he noticed soemthing. "Wait, look at the ship. Look at the bridge... it's gone. There are fires on the starboard side just below the ion batteries. I think a couple engines are out as well."
Consecro looked now and nodded. "Portions of the ship even appear to be without power. Sensors show no hostiles in the area."
Valis nodded. "The ship ius horribly damaged, they have no communications, but no enemy to claim the prize. Maybe they are undergoing repairs.... yes that must be it. The Cleansing had a modification made, that idf the bridge was destroyed the ship could still be operated from other portions of the ship, including engineering. It must have seen battle, been damaged, and fled here for repairs..."
"With no escorts for protection?" Consecro asked.
A good question...
"I don't know..." Valis answered. "But this isn't our mission. Get us back into hyperspace, and send word to the Ardin about this."
The ship rattled again.... and all of a sudden their course had changed. They were moving straight for the Cleansing. Both men said the same thing at the same time.
"Tractor beam..."
"Not too badly damaged to target us from that distance." Consecro said.
Valis nodded. "Doesn't look like we have much of a choice. Their comm must be gone, and they think we are an enemy that would leave and bring whatever enemy back to them that did such damage to the ship."
"Our comm has been jammed. I don't beleive our transmission to the Ardin got through." Consecro said.
Valis nodded, another likely precaution. The fighter moved ever closer to the Cleansing, and was soon inside one of the auxiliary hangar bays. What they found there was at best disturbing. The hangar was completely abandoned, spare a handful of dead stormtroopers. Cargo containers were still there, but many were emptied and strewn about the area. A loud buzz, that would quickly become annoying was continuous over the ship intercomm. That would get annoying quickly.
"Where's the security detail?" Consecro asked, as they stepped out of the fighter.
"I don't know." Valis answered. "Standard procedures..."
"Seem to be out the window." Consecro finished.
Valis nodded. "Indeed."
ooc ok this is the opening post - this will be a suspense horror type thread. Consecro and I are in it for now, others thatw want in reference the ooc link above.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Centurio
Consecro was uneasy, at best. Up until they had discovered the empty hangar, everything had seemed standard procedure for a damaged Imperial vessel. But no security detail to escort the personnel aboard an unidentified craft?
Perhaps they're short of hands, Consecro thought to himself, But if they tractored us in, it seems like they would have sent someone - anyone - to escort us to the command center. The Epicanthix stepped away from their meager scout ship and further into the hangar. Even the emergency lighting was unreliable, flaking in and out at times with a resounding bzzt that could barely be heard over the comm static. Apparently, whoever was in charge thought consoles and tractor beams more important than lighting; the door console was lit up like Coruscant. Consecro approached the small beacon of light, hoping to be able to use it for some informational purpose, but its only function was door operation.
Consecro cursed under his breath. There was a very strange air about the place; beneath the technical difficulties and the dead Stormtroopers, Consecro got the distinct feeling that the hangar - no, the entire ship - was death. Not dead, but death itself, as if it were the harbinger of some terrible doom to all aboard. Consecro shook the feeling off as he went to one of the corpses and removed its helmet; he retrieved the comm unit and placed it next to his ear, listening closely. "The static is coming over the troopers' comms, as well. I always thought that was a separate comm system than the ship's comm," he said to Valis.
He went back to the door console and tapped a few controls; the console replied with a negatory bleep. Consecro tapped the controls again, but the same bleep came back. "Is it normal for auxiliary hangar bays to be locked?" Consecro asked.
Something was definitely wrong on this ship. The adventurous hunter in Consecro wanted desperately to find out what, but the aging mercenary wanted nothing more than to get back in the scout ship and get the Nine Hells away from the ship and that impenetrable dread which seemed thick enough to cut with one of his own vibrodaggers. Ultimately, the hunter won out - the mercenary simply could not handle being such a coward in regard to a vague feeling.
Perhaps they're short of hands, Consecro thought to himself, But if they tractored us in, it seems like they would have sent someone - anyone - to escort us to the command center. The Epicanthix stepped away from their meager scout ship and further into the hangar. Even the emergency lighting was unreliable, flaking in and out at times with a resounding bzzt that could barely be heard over the comm static. Apparently, whoever was in charge thought consoles and tractor beams more important than lighting; the door console was lit up like Coruscant. Consecro approached the small beacon of light, hoping to be able to use it for some informational purpose, but its only function was door operation.
Consecro cursed under his breath. There was a very strange air about the place; beneath the technical difficulties and the dead Stormtroopers, Consecro got the distinct feeling that the hangar - no, the entire ship - was death. Not dead, but death itself, as if it were the harbinger of some terrible doom to all aboard. Consecro shook the feeling off as he went to one of the corpses and removed its helmet; he retrieved the comm unit and placed it next to his ear, listening closely. "The static is coming over the troopers' comms, as well. I always thought that was a separate comm system than the ship's comm," he said to Valis.
He went back to the door console and tapped a few controls; the console replied with a negatory bleep. Consecro tapped the controls again, but the same bleep came back. "Is it normal for auxiliary hangar bays to be locked?" Consecro asked.
Something was definitely wrong on this ship. The adventurous hunter in Consecro wanted desperately to find out what, but the aging mercenary wanted nothing more than to get back in the scout ship and get the Nine Hells away from the ship and that impenetrable dread which seemed thick enough to cut with one of his own vibrodaggers. Ultimately, the hunter won out - the mercenary simply could not handle being such a coward in regard to a vague feeling.
Man of Many Faces
"They are separate channels..." Valis muttered softly. Consecro was keeping his cool very well, but Valis could tell he was disturbed. Valis was quite sure he wasn't doing as well of a job. The beauty of being a Crimson Royal Guard was that with your helmet on you looked unflappable no matter what expression was on your face. Now, Valis had no such luck. "Something has been through here."
Valis kneeled next to one of the dead troopers, looking for the mark that caused his death. There was none. No cut, no burn, no hole, nothing. Valis carefully removed the helmet and almost screamed at what he saw. Then he almost threw up. He quickly shifted his sleeve over his mouth and called muffled over to Consecro.
The man's face was puffed up, like it had been in zero G. Blue veins were busting all over his cheeks. His teeth had exploded into his mouth, and blood leaked from his mouth, nose and ears. It's as though something on his inside had tried to punch its way out. "We need to get the Zero-G gear from the ship. There might be whatever did this to him still in the air."
Lucky for the two men there was a pilot helmet and a spare. It took only seconds to get them on, but the fear was certainly there that if the agent was still in the atmosphere it had already done enough damage. But Valis certainly felt fine, and the readers on the breathing units read the atmosphere as being clean. As Valis looked up from the readout he saw motion to his left, and spun drawing his blaster pistol. Nothing, just a bulkhead.
"I saw something over there." Valis knew he did. This wasn't his nerves, or whatever agent had killed those stormtroopers. Something was there... someone was walking. He looked behind the supply containers and parked transports, but nothing was there. Bedamned. "I swear I saw something." Valis shook his head and looked back towards Consecro. "If the tractor beam brought us here, it will catch us if we try and escape. We need to find alternative transport in a different hangar. Main hangar is the best bet. But first, we need to get through this door."
Valis kneeled next to one of the dead troopers, looking for the mark that caused his death. There was none. No cut, no burn, no hole, nothing. Valis carefully removed the helmet and almost screamed at what he saw. Then he almost threw up. He quickly shifted his sleeve over his mouth and called muffled over to Consecro.
The man's face was puffed up, like it had been in zero G. Blue veins were busting all over his cheeks. His teeth had exploded into his mouth, and blood leaked from his mouth, nose and ears. It's as though something on his inside had tried to punch its way out. "We need to get the Zero-G gear from the ship. There might be whatever did this to him still in the air."
Lucky for the two men there was a pilot helmet and a spare. It took only seconds to get them on, but the fear was certainly there that if the agent was still in the atmosphere it had already done enough damage. But Valis certainly felt fine, and the readers on the breathing units read the atmosphere as being clean. As Valis looked up from the readout he saw motion to his left, and spun drawing his blaster pistol. Nothing, just a bulkhead.
"I saw something over there." Valis knew he did. This wasn't his nerves, or whatever agent had killed those stormtroopers. Something was there... someone was walking. He looked behind the supply containers and parked transports, but nothing was there. Bedamned. "I swear I saw something." Valis shook his head and looked back towards Consecro. "If the tractor beam brought us here, it will catch us if we try and escape. We need to find alternative transport in a different hangar. Main hangar is the best bet. But first, we need to get through this door."
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Centurio
Consecro nodded. "Yeah, but it's not going to be easy, unless you think that code of yours - or some other old Imperial code - would work on this thing. I mean, yeah, it's sliceable, but I'm not a very skilled slicer, so it'd take me a pretty long time to get through the damn thing," he said skeptically.
Something caught the corner of his eye. Even in the Zero-G gear, he spun quickly enough to watch the rest of the motion - it went from one crate to another, hiding behind them, apparently. "You know ... " he continued, "I'm starting to believe you about seeing something." He carefully drew one of his trusty vibrodaggers - quietly thanking the gods that he had remembered to bring them - and walked slowly towards the crates. "Um ... why don't you take a crack at that door, Major?" he said as he approached the crates. He stepped around them quickly, vibrodagger at the ready, but he was greeted with empty bulkhead - just as Valis had been moments before. "Something's seriously not right about this place," Consecro said, his formerly solid nerve quivering slightly - but it held. He kept his cool as he walked back to the door and the ship creaked ominously.
Something caught the corner of his eye. Even in the Zero-G gear, he spun quickly enough to watch the rest of the motion - it went from one crate to another, hiding behind them, apparently. "You know ... " he continued, "I'm starting to believe you about seeing something." He carefully drew one of his trusty vibrodaggers - quietly thanking the gods that he had remembered to bring them - and walked slowly towards the crates. "Um ... why don't you take a crack at that door, Major?" he said as he approached the crates. He stepped around them quickly, vibrodagger at the ready, but he was greeted with empty bulkhead - just as Valis had been moments before. "Something's seriously not right about this place," Consecro said, his formerly solid nerve quivering slightly - but it held. He kept his cool as he walked back to the door and the ship creaked ominously.
Man of Many Faces
As Consecro walked away, Valsi examined the console. If Consecro was an unskilled slicer, he was already a lot better than Valis, who knew as much about systems as he did about baking. Nothing. Unless he could burn a hole in it with his blaster pistol or hack it open with his force pike he didn't have a way through the door. Valis turned, watching COnsecro, covering him with his pistol, until it was clear he wasn't in danger. When he began to return, Valis started his search. Not far from the doors was what he was looking for.
It was marked fuel cells. WHat would an auxiliary hangar be without spare parts for the ships that flew out of it. Consecro gave him a hand in dragging the large case against the front of the door. Something was wrong here. Both of them were seeing things... and perhaps it was whatever in the air killed those stormtroopers. That might mean that both of them would be dead soon, but suprisingly it might be better than the alternative. That something was seriously wrong with this ship, something beyond what either of them could understand. Valis had seen many strange things guarding the men in power of the Empire, from Ardin to Damascus to the strange men they met with. But spectre's, phantoms and ghosts were something else. Sure there were logical explanations for them... perhaps ship programed holograms and malfunctions, or hallucinagens in the atmosphere causing visions... but that didnt seem right. NOthing seemed right.
They were marooned here, one way or another. The shio worked but the Cleansing, and whoever was controlling it would not let them leave. they would have to do some convincing. Luckily for Valis, convincing was indeed something he was very good at. Looking at the mercenary he figured it was something he was good at as well. But something else all together was going on inside of Consecro. Part of him was actually enjoying this. The part that cherished what challenges an unexpected situation might bring.
"Take cover, these aren't blast doors, exploding these cells should take out the door."
"You're an engineer now?" Consecro asked.
"During my time as a royal guard it was my duty to learn what all types of entrances, doors and barricades could stand against. It was the only way we could make our strategies in protecting our charges. If these were blast doors we would be stuck in here for a long time. But these are your basic doors, low explosives will take them down. The fuel cells will be more than enough. Anyone on the other side will be incinerated as well. We'll know the way will be clear."
Consecro nodded, moving backwards behind a set of spare TIE engine parts. Valis followed, but stood behind them. Shielding his body the stack of boxes, but leaving his arm loose around them he targeted the center container, and fired. The blast was stronger than he thought and even behind the parts he was forced onto his back. BUt that wasn't the disturbing part. The explosion was loud, but not the loudest. There was a scream, a woman's scream. Valis could swear he had heard that scream once before... but it was so full of anguish Valis can't imagine he could have ever forgotten it.
The blast faded much sooner than the scream. Valis slowly stood up next to Consecro who was staring at the open doorway. There seemed to be nothing but a charred empty corridor on the other side and there was no sign of the woman. Valis whispered quietly to the mercenary.
"Please tell me you heard that...." Valsi trailed off.... "Or then again... maybe I should hope you didnt."
It was marked fuel cells. WHat would an auxiliary hangar be without spare parts for the ships that flew out of it. Consecro gave him a hand in dragging the large case against the front of the door. Something was wrong here. Both of them were seeing things... and perhaps it was whatever in the air killed those stormtroopers. That might mean that both of them would be dead soon, but suprisingly it might be better than the alternative. That something was seriously wrong with this ship, something beyond what either of them could understand. Valis had seen many strange things guarding the men in power of the Empire, from Ardin to Damascus to the strange men they met with. But spectre's, phantoms and ghosts were something else. Sure there were logical explanations for them... perhaps ship programed holograms and malfunctions, or hallucinagens in the atmosphere causing visions... but that didnt seem right. NOthing seemed right.
They were marooned here, one way or another. The shio worked but the Cleansing, and whoever was controlling it would not let them leave. they would have to do some convincing. Luckily for Valis, convincing was indeed something he was very good at. Looking at the mercenary he figured it was something he was good at as well. But something else all together was going on inside of Consecro. Part of him was actually enjoying this. The part that cherished what challenges an unexpected situation might bring.
"Take cover, these aren't blast doors, exploding these cells should take out the door."
"You're an engineer now?" Consecro asked.
"During my time as a royal guard it was my duty to learn what all types of entrances, doors and barricades could stand against. It was the only way we could make our strategies in protecting our charges. If these were blast doors we would be stuck in here for a long time. But these are your basic doors, low explosives will take them down. The fuel cells will be more than enough. Anyone on the other side will be incinerated as well. We'll know the way will be clear."
Consecro nodded, moving backwards behind a set of spare TIE engine parts. Valis followed, but stood behind them. Shielding his body the stack of boxes, but leaving his arm loose around them he targeted the center container, and fired. The blast was stronger than he thought and even behind the parts he was forced onto his back. BUt that wasn't the disturbing part. The explosion was loud, but not the loudest. There was a scream, a woman's scream. Valis could swear he had heard that scream once before... but it was so full of anguish Valis can't imagine he could have ever forgotten it.
The blast faded much sooner than the scream. Valis slowly stood up next to Consecro who was staring at the open doorway. There seemed to be nothing but a charred empty corridor on the other side and there was no sign of the woman. Valis whispered quietly to the mercenary.
"Please tell me you heard that...." Valsi trailed off.... "Or then again... maybe I should hope you didnt."
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Winston Freeman, ST-4201
[/i]“Freeman sure is an ironic name for an Imperial Stormtrooper, eh Winston?”[/i]
Winston slapped at his helmet-mounted commlink. “The frell is this shavvit?” He murmured. The commlink had been nothing but trouble since those screaming alien murderers boarded. For hours, it had done nothing but hiss with static; he hadn’t minded at first, the static meant no more barked orders, no more “Imperial Loyalty Briefings,” no more of that “loose lips space ships," friendly Imperial tips," bantha-shavvit that played every five non-combat minutes.
Then, it had become annoying. He’d fiddled with the frequencies, gotten a clear – usually – channel, and now, there wasn’t anyone left to talk to. Hell, he’d gone a little crazy himself there, at first. The Xen’Chi had boarded the Cleansing, and he’d just finished suiting up, just put on his helmet when some weird blue gas started streaming out of the vents. The other stormies, none of whom were in full suits, had started trying to space each other, screaming twisted shavvit as they did. They’d been frenzied, most of them hadn’t even bothered pulling out weapons, just pummeling each other, choking, gouging eyes, biting…
Winston had killed everyone in the barracks with a nerve gas detonator. Now he was looking for someone in charge, headed down the eerily empty durasteel corridors, towards the office of Captain Kezz. The Cap was a pretty good guy, a little haughty, and impossibly brainwashed by the learning pods. Winston figured that whatever had caused the insanity, Kezz would be unaffected, still under the sway of the hypno-lessons.
“…no don’t… one of…” A weak, tinny voice muttered over his commlink. Winston kept going. He’d been through too much shavvit to bite the big one here, while onboard the biggest, baddest ship in the Imperial fleet; it had seemed like the safest possible post any stormtrooper could ever ask for.
“Okay Kezz…” He punched the all-purpose low-level security code for the day. The door honked at him angrily. “Shavvit…”
He remembered watching Kezz open the door, tried to remember how his fingers had tapped the keypad.
”Okay… okay..” He sighed, tapping a series of numbers. Only short, electronic honks greeted each attempt.
An alarm began ringing throughout the hallway. “Security breach, deck 14, sector 77, quadrant 3 alpha. Security breach, deck 14…”
His position. “Great.” Winston growled. He pounded his armored fist on Kezz’s door. “Captain! Captain!”
Then the door slid open. Winston practically leapt inside, hand flinging to the door controls. The door closed, but he could still hear the alarm braying outside.
Darkness quickly engulfed him, broken only by the dim greenish light of a console glowing in a corner. It was a readout of the ship systems, a patchwork of critical red and orange zones, spotted with yellow and blue, and a disturbing lack of green “normal” zones.
Winston turned on the vision enhancement in his visor and peered around. Sure enough, in the corner, was Captain Kezz, his black officers’ tunic blending in perfectly with the darkness.
”Make yourself at home,Freeman.” The strong, chiding voice from before. Someone was frelling with the commlinks but good.
”Captain!” Winston shouted. “Captain, what the frell is going on, it’s me, uh, ST-4201, Winston Freeman. My barracks just went insane, sir – the men were fragging each other right and left, I don’t think the sarge made it out, couldn’t find our L.T, so I came here, couldn’t raise anyone on the…”
”Captain?” Winston had expected some sort of response from Kezz, the Captain couldn’t tolerate the speech of those beneath him in rank for more than a few seconds – seconds Winston had already used.
“..they’re… c…”
Winston peered at the captain, closer. He seemed to be listening to some small hand-held commlink, pressing it to his ear. Winston stepped back – chunks of hair were torn from Kezz’s head, dried blood in their place, deep gashes of fingernails showing through the clumps of hair. He reached out for the Captain, hand on his shoulder.
Kezz turned around, face and lips blue, looking all the world as though he was hypothermic – or suffocating. Winston could hear the commlink, it was the same voice playing in his helmet: ”Purge the ship. The Cleansing will impose dominion. The will of the…”
Then Kezz let out a shriek, a yell that began low-pitched but became high and shrill. “Not one! Not one! Not one!”
Winston took a step back. “Cap…” he trailed off, hearing the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
“Notone notone notone notonenotone!” The Captain wailed repeatedly. “Not one!”
Kezz drew his DC blaster pistol, but Winston was already aiming down the barrel of his E-11, he’d already set the selector to “auto.” The captain was acting just like the men in the barracks had, and Winston had, deep down, always wanted to blast him.
The rapid fire nearly cut him in half, nine shots across the waist. The limp body flopped to the ground, twitching, hissing.
“Not one… not…”
A tenth shot erased Kezzs’ face.
The tromp of boots was louder – they were the boots of stormtroopers, a familiar, usually welcome, noise. But they were.. wrong, clumsy and out-of-unison, a cacophony of steps, not the ordered marching that Stormtroopers assumed even when fleeing a fight.
“Security breach, deck 14…” the alarm continued.
“…too late… should…”
Trell slapped the side of his helmet. An indicator lit up – an active commlink.
”Oh frell yes.” He said, twisting his head to activate the link.
”This is Winston Freeman, ST-4201, PFC. Something’s gone wrong, I…”
”Not one.” Came the reply.
”Not one.” The hiss of static grew.
”Not one! Not one!”
“Oh shavvit!” Winston swore. He plucked a concussion grenade from his belt. The hallway was hardly three meters across – too close. He looked at the door – officers’ quarters had secure doors.
”Okay, simple maneuver, Winston. Just open the door, roll out the det, close it. Wait. Simple move. Done it a thousand times.”
With squadmates covering him. With the Imperial navy at his back, not at his neck. Still, the same maneuver.
He went to the door. The footsteps outside seemed to be milling about, unsure what to do. The static increased – most of the troopers outside must have left their helmet links tuned to the default settings.
Click – the timer set. Ding the door opened. The det rolled across the floor as Winston pressed the button to close the door.
It did not close. Laughter on the commlink. A chorus of laughter, spreading to the troopers outside. He jammed the button again.
One of the troopers, helmet on sideways, one sleeve missing from his armor, rushed the door. Winston cut him down, he fell, his helmet clattered across the floor, the commlink roaring with laughter.
”Betrayer! Betrayed!” The dying, blue-lipped trooper howled. Another trooper followed, tripped over his comrade, and there was a mad scramble for the door, a clutter of white armor and flailing limbs. “Enemy! Enemy! Not one! The other! The other! The mind of…”
Winston rolled away from the door, scrambled and slid across the floor, slid under the bunk of Captain Kezz.
Then the babbling ended, replaced by the roar of the detonator.
A helmet bounced on the floor, thick black smoke trailing from the empty neck.
“Betrayer. Murderer.” His helmet hissed, the static replaced by a dull, low whistle. ”Enemy of the Empire.”
Trell turned the tuner, through many channels of static, then ran a diagnostic, rebooted his communicator. It had worked before.
Nothing on the commlink. A low hiss, background static. And in the sea of noise, a whisper: ”Good job, soldier…”
Winston slapped at his helmet-mounted commlink. “The frell is this shavvit?” He murmured. The commlink had been nothing but trouble since those screaming alien murderers boarded. For hours, it had done nothing but hiss with static; he hadn’t minded at first, the static meant no more barked orders, no more “Imperial Loyalty Briefings,” no more of that “loose lips space ships," friendly Imperial tips," bantha-shavvit that played every five non-combat minutes.
Then, it had become annoying. He’d fiddled with the frequencies, gotten a clear – usually – channel, and now, there wasn’t anyone left to talk to. Hell, he’d gone a little crazy himself there, at first. The Xen’Chi had boarded the Cleansing, and he’d just finished suiting up, just put on his helmet when some weird blue gas started streaming out of the vents. The other stormies, none of whom were in full suits, had started trying to space each other, screaming twisted shavvit as they did. They’d been frenzied, most of them hadn’t even bothered pulling out weapons, just pummeling each other, choking, gouging eyes, biting…
Winston had killed everyone in the barracks with a nerve gas detonator. Now he was looking for someone in charge, headed down the eerily empty durasteel corridors, towards the office of Captain Kezz. The Cap was a pretty good guy, a little haughty, and impossibly brainwashed by the learning pods. Winston figured that whatever had caused the insanity, Kezz would be unaffected, still under the sway of the hypno-lessons.
“…no don’t… one of…” A weak, tinny voice muttered over his commlink. Winston kept going. He’d been through too much shavvit to bite the big one here, while onboard the biggest, baddest ship in the Imperial fleet; it had seemed like the safest possible post any stormtrooper could ever ask for.
“Okay Kezz…” He punched the all-purpose low-level security code for the day. The door honked at him angrily. “Shavvit…”
He remembered watching Kezz open the door, tried to remember how his fingers had tapped the keypad.
”Okay… okay..” He sighed, tapping a series of numbers. Only short, electronic honks greeted each attempt.
An alarm began ringing throughout the hallway. “Security breach, deck 14, sector 77, quadrant 3 alpha. Security breach, deck 14…”
His position. “Great.” Winston growled. He pounded his armored fist on Kezz’s door. “Captain! Captain!”
Then the door slid open. Winston practically leapt inside, hand flinging to the door controls. The door closed, but he could still hear the alarm braying outside.
Darkness quickly engulfed him, broken only by the dim greenish light of a console glowing in a corner. It was a readout of the ship systems, a patchwork of critical red and orange zones, spotted with yellow and blue, and a disturbing lack of green “normal” zones.
Winston turned on the vision enhancement in his visor and peered around. Sure enough, in the corner, was Captain Kezz, his black officers’ tunic blending in perfectly with the darkness.
”Make yourself at home,Freeman.” The strong, chiding voice from before. Someone was frelling with the commlinks but good.
”Captain!” Winston shouted. “Captain, what the frell is going on, it’s me, uh, ST-4201, Winston Freeman. My barracks just went insane, sir – the men were fragging each other right and left, I don’t think the sarge made it out, couldn’t find our L.T, so I came here, couldn’t raise anyone on the…”
”Captain?” Winston had expected some sort of response from Kezz, the Captain couldn’t tolerate the speech of those beneath him in rank for more than a few seconds – seconds Winston had already used.
“..they’re… c…”
Winston peered at the captain, closer. He seemed to be listening to some small hand-held commlink, pressing it to his ear. Winston stepped back – chunks of hair were torn from Kezz’s head, dried blood in their place, deep gashes of fingernails showing through the clumps of hair. He reached out for the Captain, hand on his shoulder.
Kezz turned around, face and lips blue, looking all the world as though he was hypothermic – or suffocating. Winston could hear the commlink, it was the same voice playing in his helmet: ”Purge the ship. The Cleansing will impose dominion. The will of the…”
Then Kezz let out a shriek, a yell that began low-pitched but became high and shrill. “Not one! Not one! Not one!”
Winston took a step back. “Cap…” he trailed off, hearing the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
“Notone notone notone notonenotone!” The Captain wailed repeatedly. “Not one!”
Kezz drew his DC blaster pistol, but Winston was already aiming down the barrel of his E-11, he’d already set the selector to “auto.” The captain was acting just like the men in the barracks had, and Winston had, deep down, always wanted to blast him.
The rapid fire nearly cut him in half, nine shots across the waist. The limp body flopped to the ground, twitching, hissing.
“Not one… not…”
A tenth shot erased Kezzs’ face.
The tromp of boots was louder – they were the boots of stormtroopers, a familiar, usually welcome, noise. But they were.. wrong, clumsy and out-of-unison, a cacophony of steps, not the ordered marching that Stormtroopers assumed even when fleeing a fight.
“Security breach, deck 14…” the alarm continued.
“…too late… should…”
Trell slapped the side of his helmet. An indicator lit up – an active commlink.
”Oh frell yes.” He said, twisting his head to activate the link.
”This is Winston Freeman, ST-4201, PFC. Something’s gone wrong, I…”
”Not one.” Came the reply.
”Not one.” The hiss of static grew.
”Not one! Not one!”
“Oh shavvit!” Winston swore. He plucked a concussion grenade from his belt. The hallway was hardly three meters across – too close. He looked at the door – officers’ quarters had secure doors.
”Okay, simple maneuver, Winston. Just open the door, roll out the det, close it. Wait. Simple move. Done it a thousand times.”
With squadmates covering him. With the Imperial navy at his back, not at his neck. Still, the same maneuver.
He went to the door. The footsteps outside seemed to be milling about, unsure what to do. The static increased – most of the troopers outside must have left their helmet links tuned to the default settings.
Click – the timer set. Ding the door opened. The det rolled across the floor as Winston pressed the button to close the door.
It did not close. Laughter on the commlink. A chorus of laughter, spreading to the troopers outside. He jammed the button again.
One of the troopers, helmet on sideways, one sleeve missing from his armor, rushed the door. Winston cut him down, he fell, his helmet clattered across the floor, the commlink roaring with laughter.
”Betrayer! Betrayed!” The dying, blue-lipped trooper howled. Another trooper followed, tripped over his comrade, and there was a mad scramble for the door, a clutter of white armor and flailing limbs. “Enemy! Enemy! Not one! The other! The other! The mind of…”
Winston rolled away from the door, scrambled and slid across the floor, slid under the bunk of Captain Kezz.
Then the babbling ended, replaced by the roar of the detonator.
A helmet bounced on the floor, thick black smoke trailing from the empty neck.
“Betrayer. Murderer.” His helmet hissed, the static replaced by a dull, low whistle. ”Enemy of the Empire.”
Trell turned the tuner, through many channels of static, then ran a diagnostic, rebooted his communicator. It had worked before.
Nothing on the commlink. A low hiss, background static. And in the sea of noise, a whisper: ”Good job, soldier…”
Man of Many Faces
Centurio
[OoC: I concur; well done, X. Sweetness.]
"Hear it? Hell, I coulda sworn it was me if not for my tradition of suppressing my womanly screams," Consecro said sarcastically as he examined the area around the door carefully. There was no way the scream could have come from anyone near the door. The scream had sounded vaguely familiar, but Consecro could not think of where he might have heard it before - but it was not only the scream that was familiar; the very aura of what had just occurred seemed almost like a déjà vu.
Consecro stood and looked both ways down the corridor; the vague sound of blaster fire came from both directions, coinciding with a droning, repetitive alarm, "Security breach, deck 14, sector 77, quadrant 3 alpha." Consecro said, "Your call, Major; you know this ship way better than I do."
Valis glanced both ways quickly, then pointed to the left. "We need to get in contact with whoever's in charge. This way to engineering; that's the most likely place they'll be controlling it from."
Consecro nodded his assent and took point, letting the former royal guard cover the rear. The blaster fire was becoming more sparse, less constant. Consecro could not figure out whether that was good or bad; he decided it was good, since it meant that he and Valis could not unintentionally walk into some unforseen crossfire. Of course, there was no telling who was shooting, so it might not matter either way.
Then something struck the mercenary which had not quite occurred to him before that moment. "Major ... who exactly would the soldiers be shooting at?"
The major would likely have answered with something in regard to New Republic activists or aliens from the Unknown Regions - Consecro had heard plenty about them during his travels through the Outer Rim - but he did not get the chance. The question was answered by blaster fire roaring over the crouched hunter's head. Consecro dropped from his crouch down to the floor, pulling his blaster pistol up to aim. He hesitated for only a moment before blasting a partially unarmored Stormtrooper right in his bluish forehead.
No more weapons fire was forthcoming. Consecro waited a moment before standing and looking at Valis questioningly. "Now I know procedure is out the airlock..." he muttered, looking back to the dead Stormtrooper. He re-holstered his blaster pistol, but drew both of his vibrodaggers. Death had guns and armor, and it was aiming at anything that moved.
"Hear it? Hell, I coulda sworn it was me if not for my tradition of suppressing my womanly screams," Consecro said sarcastically as he examined the area around the door carefully. There was no way the scream could have come from anyone near the door. The scream had sounded vaguely familiar, but Consecro could not think of where he might have heard it before - but it was not only the scream that was familiar; the very aura of what had just occurred seemed almost like a déjà vu.
Consecro stood and looked both ways down the corridor; the vague sound of blaster fire came from both directions, coinciding with a droning, repetitive alarm, "Security breach, deck 14, sector 77, quadrant 3 alpha." Consecro said, "Your call, Major; you know this ship way better than I do."
Valis glanced both ways quickly, then pointed to the left. "We need to get in contact with whoever's in charge. This way to engineering; that's the most likely place they'll be controlling it from."
Consecro nodded his assent and took point, letting the former royal guard cover the rear. The blaster fire was becoming more sparse, less constant. Consecro could not figure out whether that was good or bad; he decided it was good, since it meant that he and Valis could not unintentionally walk into some unforseen crossfire. Of course, there was no telling who was shooting, so it might not matter either way.
Then something struck the mercenary which had not quite occurred to him before that moment. "Major ... who exactly would the soldiers be shooting at?"
The major would likely have answered with something in regard to New Republic activists or aliens from the Unknown Regions - Consecro had heard plenty about them during his travels through the Outer Rim - but he did not get the chance. The question was answered by blaster fire roaring over the crouched hunter's head. Consecro dropped from his crouch down to the floor, pulling his blaster pistol up to aim. He hesitated for only a moment before blasting a partially unarmored Stormtrooper right in his bluish forehead.
No more weapons fire was forthcoming. Consecro waited a moment before standing and looking at Valis questioningly. "Now I know procedure is out the airlock..." he muttered, looking back to the dead Stormtrooper. He re-holstered his blaster pistol, but drew both of his vibrodaggers. Death had guns and armor, and it was aiming at anything that moved.
Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Smoke and Blood
OOC: Thanks guys. This one is... well, a little long.
Like six pages.
IC:
“Well now what?” Winston asked the still air around him. There was no reply. The smoke rose lazily from the bodies of the troopers around him, filling the air.
He was glad for his air filtration system. Again. Winston was the “tech support” trooper for the squad, the only long-time Stormtrooper in the group, and he knew the benefits of the best equipment the Imperial Navy had to offer. Stormtrooper armor wasn’t the best armor in the galaxy, he knew, but good insulation, environmental protection, survival gear, communications, vision enhancement and radiation shielding was well worth the time it took to learn the ropes of the stuff.
Most recruits, though, were more concerned with the not-so-subtle e-11 blaster rifle, an uncomplicated yet rewarding tool.
He walked back into the Captains’ quarters and picked up his blaster pistol. He turned it in his hands; it was a DC-17; powerful, accurate, and containing a self-charging energy clip. He holstered the weapon on his belt and plucked a couple of energy clips from the downed troopers in the hallway.
“All personnel report to the designated Wilco-series emergency rendezvous points.”
Kilometers away. Winston wondered when the fire alarms and suppression systems would begin.
He recalled the engineering readout of the Cleansing; the bridge had been ejected. Whoever was controlling the ship would have to be in the auxiliary command post in engineering. He considered sending a distress signal, but decided to leave that job to the automated systems onboard the Cleansing. First, and foremost, he knew, he had to figure out just what the frell was going on.
The lights went out.
“Frell.” He muttered, tapping at the visor of his helmet. The light amplification revealed nothing more than an empty corridor.
And at the farthest corner, beyond which light shined, a massive moving shadow. Something large, armored, armed. Winston moved the other way, farther into the darkness, hoping that whatever was at the other end couldn’t see in the dark.
He rounded another corner, and peered back down the hallway he’d just left.
The lights were on, and the only occupants were the smoldering troopers.
”The frell?”
Then, a heavy footstep directly behind him. A long, thin metal pole extended towards his neck, held by massive, armored arms coming from behind. He backed up, felt the tremendous bulk and threw his hands up to try and hold back the pole.
The creature squeezed hard, trying to choke him. Winstons rifle clattered to the ground as he pushed with all his strength.
To no avail. The pressure was intense, blinding him, cutting off his air even through the buffer his arms provided. He couldn’t win, not by strength, he only had one chance. He pushed hard, squeezed out one of his hands.
”I warned you to submit!” The voice, half in his head, half in the air.
The pressure built, it felt like it would crush his windpipe now, the armor on his wrist creaked and groaned as though it might snap. He reached the DC-17, yanked it from the holster, and as his arms gave up strength he switched off the safety. His throat compressed, he felt a sickening pressure as he pulled the trigger.
There was a roar, but not the expected release, only a slackening. He gasped for breath, shoved with any remaining strength, writhing to get free.
He fired again, another roar, and a shove that sent him sprawling, skidding across the floor. The pistol flew from his hands, spiraling down the hallway.
On his knees he took in a deep, ragged breath. He’d been thrown at least ten feet, but the hulking creature at the end of the hallway was hell-bent on covering that distance.
He dove for the pistol, but an armored foot lashed out, catching him in the face. He spun wildly, crashing into the wall.
”This is it.” He thought. ”Pretty good run for a Stormie. Twelve years. First of the non-clone troopers.” He wondered if there would be a bright white light, or just darkness. If anything awaited after the massive polearm raised high above his head crushed his skull. Would there be pain, lying broken on the floor? Or just peace.
Blaster fire rang out, there was the screech of heavy munitions, and the thing fell dead, brackish, green-blue blood pooling around the gaping hole in its back.
Winston struggled to his feet.
”Trooper, are you alright?” The voice at the end of the hallway cried.
”Yeah, I… I think so. What the frell is going on?”
”Thank Damascus! I thought you were one of… well, them.”
”They say I’m not!” Winston replied. ”Thank Damascus? The frell?”
He peered down the hallway as he picked up his weapons. The voice was coming from a trio of naval officers, dressed in work tunics. Technical crew, only lightly combat-trained – but when you’re using a Blastech A280, he knew, all you had to do was hit the target – anywhere.
“Finally, some heavy weapons. What’s going on?” He asked. Winston wasn’t used to being privy to any sort of extraneous information during combat.
”Looks like the Xen’Chi boarded us from the engineering deck, and somehow sliced the system to eject the bridge. Now they’ve introduced some sort of nerve gas into the troop garrisons – we didn’t think any of you stormies were left… normal…” The man with the A280 said. He was tall, with the typical spacey Naval gaze that always seemed to be staring through walls and out into space.
“I’m the only one out of my barracks who made it.” Winston said. “Looks like they hit the officers barracks as well. Maybe one of the garrisons on another deck has some survivors?”
”No survivors. None. No hope.”
Had the man in front of him said that? It seemed like it. Just as it had seemed as though an ambush had been waiting for him in the hallway before…
”We’re checking that out now, soldier.” The officer replied. “I’m Lieutenant Soreen. We’ve set up a temporary base near the medical bay on deck 17. Let’s get you there, get you one of these…” He hefted the A280 and clicked the safety on. “These Xen’Chi bastards are highly effective as marine boarding parties. They’re heavily armored, and appear to be using some sort of long-barreled blaster that doubles as a dangerous polearm. Nothing a squad of well-trained troops couldn’t handle, but, well, we don’t seem to be able to locate anyone via the comms. Only face-to-face.”
”What about emergency rendezvous points?” Winston asked. “Have you looked for anyone there?”
”Everyone who’s gone to one of the emergency points has been either killed by Xen’Chi, or turned into one of those… monsters.” Soreen replied. “Come on, trooper, we’ve got a few captured Prax Arms AXM-50s, with the microgrenade attachment. None of us know how to use it properly.”
”I do.” Winston said, smiling under his visor. “Lead the way to the heavy weapons.”
”Not to mention clean air.” One of the other naval officers said. A seedy smile passed through the trio.
Winston realized that none of them were wearing breathing gear. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed that their weapons were pointed at him.
For the first time, the sickening feeling of unease lifted from him – and his mind screamed caution.
“Come along, soldier. Let’s get you out of that armor, give you a good medical evaluation.”
”I’m fine.” Winston said, starting to walk with them.
“Nevertheless, better safe than sorry in a situation like this.”
”I’ve never been in a situation like this…” Winston grimaced. Two of the troopers were behind him, e-11 rifles pointed at his back. The third, with the bulky A280, led the way.
”Yes, finally, safety. Safety for you, Freeman.” The voice from before. Something sinister, something oddly familiar.
“Something’s coming!” The three replied in unison.
”Xen’Chi patrol!”
”How the frell do they know?!” Winston asked himself, readying his rifle.
”The benefits of my omniscience…”
A pair of burly Xen’Chi warriors rounded the corner. Lt. Soreen missed on his first shot, the blast from the A280 causing slag to spew from the wall. Winston was a better shot, landing a trio of bolts across the chestplate of the warrior.
It decapitated Lt. Soreen, then swung the weapon towards Winston. He jumped back just in time, fired higher, landed a bolt where the eyes should be.
The warrior fell as his companion showcased the other use of the Xen’Chi weaponry. The blast was powerful, though not accurate; it struck the navy man to Winstons’ right in the stomach, brutally bisecting him as Winston moved towards the wall, using the corner as cover. The remaining naval officer, ignorant of close-quarter tactics, stood his ground.
For a moment. The warrior charged him, sliced clean through the remaining officer, head to groin. Winston had set the e-11 to fully automatic, and held down the trigger. The first few shots did nothing, and then the Xen’Chi staggered a bit, wavered as pocks of carbon scoring began to mar his armor.
Finally, it fell. Winston slumped down against the wall, watching the pools of blood spread, trying to catch his breath. He thought about removing his helmet, reached for the seals.
”Yesssss…” A phantom hiss. He took his hands from his neck and took a deep breath.
Finally, he stood. The lights in the hallway began to flicker again. He picked up the A280, and took a glance at Lt. Soreens head, a look of surprise frozen on his face, as it sat there, a few feet from his body.
It smiled at him. Winston turned away, shaking his head, accidentally activating his commlink. ”Just imagining things, just imagining things, Freeman, get over it. Just… just get to engineering.”
”No, no, go to the medical bay. To safety.” The voice, crackling and cruel. It seemed to be coming half from the commlink, and half from his head.
”Don’t be a coward, soldier.” All in his head. Static on the commlink. He fiddled with the tuner, got a clear channel.
“Attention, security forces. Intruder alert. Intruder, lay down your weapons and surrender to the might of the Empire. Your struggle is pointless, it weakens you. You cannot stand against the Empire. You will surrender your will or you will be destroyed.”
Not in his head. Not on the commlink – it was coming from the ship. The PA system.
”The Empire and you!” His commlink began to buzz. “Remember that any Imperial personnel observing unauthorized console use, reading materials, or conversational topics is to report the infraction to the nearest Loyalty Officer without delay!”
”Oh frell.” Winston sighed. The loyalty briefings were back. He turned the tuner again, began heading for the turbolift.
”All hail the will…” Static again.
“…reborn into glory…”
“…supreme… Cleansing…”
“…submit…”
Winston tapped the turbolift controls. The doors opened, and he almost stepped in by habit – but they opened up to thousands of feet of space, not to a lift.
The lift was out. He cursed, and reached for his climbing gear.
“Remember to detail your time reports before returning them to your CO! Reported overtime can earn you extra credits, potential leave, and even promotion! Detailed time reports, including location and purpose, are the hallmark of Imperial efficiency! Turn yours in whenever possible!”
Winston smacked his helmet.
It was a long way down.
Like six pages.
IC:
“Well now what?” Winston asked the still air around him. There was no reply. The smoke rose lazily from the bodies of the troopers around him, filling the air.
He was glad for his air filtration system. Again. Winston was the “tech support” trooper for the squad, the only long-time Stormtrooper in the group, and he knew the benefits of the best equipment the Imperial Navy had to offer. Stormtrooper armor wasn’t the best armor in the galaxy, he knew, but good insulation, environmental protection, survival gear, communications, vision enhancement and radiation shielding was well worth the time it took to learn the ropes of the stuff.
Most recruits, though, were more concerned with the not-so-subtle e-11 blaster rifle, an uncomplicated yet rewarding tool.
He walked back into the Captains’ quarters and picked up his blaster pistol. He turned it in his hands; it was a DC-17; powerful, accurate, and containing a self-charging energy clip. He holstered the weapon on his belt and plucked a couple of energy clips from the downed troopers in the hallway.
“All personnel report to the designated Wilco-series emergency rendezvous points.”
Kilometers away. Winston wondered when the fire alarms and suppression systems would begin.
He recalled the engineering readout of the Cleansing; the bridge had been ejected. Whoever was controlling the ship would have to be in the auxiliary command post in engineering. He considered sending a distress signal, but decided to leave that job to the automated systems onboard the Cleansing. First, and foremost, he knew, he had to figure out just what the frell was going on.
The lights went out.
“Frell.” He muttered, tapping at the visor of his helmet. The light amplification revealed nothing more than an empty corridor.
And at the farthest corner, beyond which light shined, a massive moving shadow. Something large, armored, armed. Winston moved the other way, farther into the darkness, hoping that whatever was at the other end couldn’t see in the dark.
He rounded another corner, and peered back down the hallway he’d just left.
The lights were on, and the only occupants were the smoldering troopers.
”The frell?”
Then, a heavy footstep directly behind him. A long, thin metal pole extended towards his neck, held by massive, armored arms coming from behind. He backed up, felt the tremendous bulk and threw his hands up to try and hold back the pole.
The creature squeezed hard, trying to choke him. Winstons rifle clattered to the ground as he pushed with all his strength.
To no avail. The pressure was intense, blinding him, cutting off his air even through the buffer his arms provided. He couldn’t win, not by strength, he only had one chance. He pushed hard, squeezed out one of his hands.
”I warned you to submit!” The voice, half in his head, half in the air.
The pressure built, it felt like it would crush his windpipe now, the armor on his wrist creaked and groaned as though it might snap. He reached the DC-17, yanked it from the holster, and as his arms gave up strength he switched off the safety. His throat compressed, he felt a sickening pressure as he pulled the trigger.
There was a roar, but not the expected release, only a slackening. He gasped for breath, shoved with any remaining strength, writhing to get free.
He fired again, another roar, and a shove that sent him sprawling, skidding across the floor. The pistol flew from his hands, spiraling down the hallway.
On his knees he took in a deep, ragged breath. He’d been thrown at least ten feet, but the hulking creature at the end of the hallway was hell-bent on covering that distance.
He dove for the pistol, but an armored foot lashed out, catching him in the face. He spun wildly, crashing into the wall.
”This is it.” He thought. ”Pretty good run for a Stormie. Twelve years. First of the non-clone troopers.” He wondered if there would be a bright white light, or just darkness. If anything awaited after the massive polearm raised high above his head crushed his skull. Would there be pain, lying broken on the floor? Or just peace.
Blaster fire rang out, there was the screech of heavy munitions, and the thing fell dead, brackish, green-blue blood pooling around the gaping hole in its back.
Winston struggled to his feet.
”Trooper, are you alright?” The voice at the end of the hallway cried.
”Yeah, I… I think so. What the frell is going on?”
”Thank Damascus! I thought you were one of… well, them.”
”They say I’m not!” Winston replied. ”Thank Damascus? The frell?”
He peered down the hallway as he picked up his weapons. The voice was coming from a trio of naval officers, dressed in work tunics. Technical crew, only lightly combat-trained – but when you’re using a Blastech A280, he knew, all you had to do was hit the target – anywhere.
“Finally, some heavy weapons. What’s going on?” He asked. Winston wasn’t used to being privy to any sort of extraneous information during combat.
”Looks like the Xen’Chi boarded us from the engineering deck, and somehow sliced the system to eject the bridge. Now they’ve introduced some sort of nerve gas into the troop garrisons – we didn’t think any of you stormies were left… normal…” The man with the A280 said. He was tall, with the typical spacey Naval gaze that always seemed to be staring through walls and out into space.
“I’m the only one out of my barracks who made it.” Winston said. “Looks like they hit the officers barracks as well. Maybe one of the garrisons on another deck has some survivors?”
”No survivors. None. No hope.”
Had the man in front of him said that? It seemed like it. Just as it had seemed as though an ambush had been waiting for him in the hallway before…
”We’re checking that out now, soldier.” The officer replied. “I’m Lieutenant Soreen. We’ve set up a temporary base near the medical bay on deck 17. Let’s get you there, get you one of these…” He hefted the A280 and clicked the safety on. “These Xen’Chi bastards are highly effective as marine boarding parties. They’re heavily armored, and appear to be using some sort of long-barreled blaster that doubles as a dangerous polearm. Nothing a squad of well-trained troops couldn’t handle, but, well, we don’t seem to be able to locate anyone via the comms. Only face-to-face.”
”What about emergency rendezvous points?” Winston asked. “Have you looked for anyone there?”
”Everyone who’s gone to one of the emergency points has been either killed by Xen’Chi, or turned into one of those… monsters.” Soreen replied. “Come on, trooper, we’ve got a few captured Prax Arms AXM-50s, with the microgrenade attachment. None of us know how to use it properly.”
”I do.” Winston said, smiling under his visor. “Lead the way to the heavy weapons.”
”Not to mention clean air.” One of the other naval officers said. A seedy smile passed through the trio.
Winston realized that none of them were wearing breathing gear. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed that their weapons were pointed at him.
For the first time, the sickening feeling of unease lifted from him – and his mind screamed caution.
“Come along, soldier. Let’s get you out of that armor, give you a good medical evaluation.”
”I’m fine.” Winston said, starting to walk with them.
“Nevertheless, better safe than sorry in a situation like this.”
”I’ve never been in a situation like this…” Winston grimaced. Two of the troopers were behind him, e-11 rifles pointed at his back. The third, with the bulky A280, led the way.
”Yes, finally, safety. Safety for you, Freeman.” The voice from before. Something sinister, something oddly familiar.
“Something’s coming!” The three replied in unison.
”Xen’Chi patrol!”
”How the frell do they know?!” Winston asked himself, readying his rifle.
”The benefits of my omniscience…”
A pair of burly Xen’Chi warriors rounded the corner. Lt. Soreen missed on his first shot, the blast from the A280 causing slag to spew from the wall. Winston was a better shot, landing a trio of bolts across the chestplate of the warrior.
It decapitated Lt. Soreen, then swung the weapon towards Winston. He jumped back just in time, fired higher, landed a bolt where the eyes should be.
The warrior fell as his companion showcased the other use of the Xen’Chi weaponry. The blast was powerful, though not accurate; it struck the navy man to Winstons’ right in the stomach, brutally bisecting him as Winston moved towards the wall, using the corner as cover. The remaining naval officer, ignorant of close-quarter tactics, stood his ground.
For a moment. The warrior charged him, sliced clean through the remaining officer, head to groin. Winston had set the e-11 to fully automatic, and held down the trigger. The first few shots did nothing, and then the Xen’Chi staggered a bit, wavered as pocks of carbon scoring began to mar his armor.
Finally, it fell. Winston slumped down against the wall, watching the pools of blood spread, trying to catch his breath. He thought about removing his helmet, reached for the seals.
”Yesssss…” A phantom hiss. He took his hands from his neck and took a deep breath.
Finally, he stood. The lights in the hallway began to flicker again. He picked up the A280, and took a glance at Lt. Soreens head, a look of surprise frozen on his face, as it sat there, a few feet from his body.
It smiled at him. Winston turned away, shaking his head, accidentally activating his commlink. ”Just imagining things, just imagining things, Freeman, get over it. Just… just get to engineering.”
”No, no, go to the medical bay. To safety.” The voice, crackling and cruel. It seemed to be coming half from the commlink, and half from his head.
”Don’t be a coward, soldier.” All in his head. Static on the commlink. He fiddled with the tuner, got a clear channel.
“Attention, security forces. Intruder alert. Intruder, lay down your weapons and surrender to the might of the Empire. Your struggle is pointless, it weakens you. You cannot stand against the Empire. You will surrender your will or you will be destroyed.”
Not in his head. Not on the commlink – it was coming from the ship. The PA system.
”The Empire and you!” His commlink began to buzz. “Remember that any Imperial personnel observing unauthorized console use, reading materials, or conversational topics is to report the infraction to the nearest Loyalty Officer without delay!”
”Oh frell.” Winston sighed. The loyalty briefings were back. He turned the tuner again, began heading for the turbolift.
”All hail the will…” Static again.
“…reborn into glory…”
“…supreme… Cleansing…”
“…submit…”
Winston tapped the turbolift controls. The doors opened, and he almost stepped in by habit – but they opened up to thousands of feet of space, not to a lift.
The lift was out. He cursed, and reached for his climbing gear.
“Remember to detail your time reports before returning them to your CO! Reported overtime can earn you extra credits, potential leave, and even promotion! Detailed time reports, including location and purpose, are the hallmark of Imperial efficiency! Turn yours in whenever possible!”
Winston smacked his helmet.
It was a long way down.
Man of Many Faces
Absent-minded Wanderer
Posts: 475
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Location: Lost somewhere in the Etherwebs.
Spacetrooper MA-3758, Vel Groman, groaned as he slowly regained conciousness.
1: SE:AD:ED
He blinked; and tried focusing on the blurry, bright red shapes that hung in front of him.
T: +23:41:23
He felt like he had just been stepped on by a walker; the high pitched ring in his ears doing nothing to help his headache. He took a sip of his helmet's water pouch to clear the metallic aftertaste from his mouth, and pondered the numbers hanging before him.
They're important, somehow. The numbers seemed to tease him.
T: +23:43:36
Then, a string of words materialized in front of him, in response to his movements.
*Status Check - Breathable Atmospheric Gases Low*
"Aw, FRACK!" He staggered to his feet and activated his helmet's lowlight filters.
The bulkhead in front of his face was pealed inwards, exposing the stars beyond. The body of one of the two engineers that he was supposed to escort lay nearby, vacc suit punctured by the shards of broken armor-class durasteel. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the compartment's door.
Red light, no atmosphere in the corridor either.
He forced the door open and watched as a loose items puffed out towards the door, propelled by the little atmosphere that had been left. He looked out into the corridor and just saw a flash of motion go around the corner.
He darted over, moving effortlessly in the clumsy looking power-armor and glanced around the edge.
Nothing. It was a short hallway and although there was a hatch halfway down, he could see the glowing green light next to it that meant that it could only be overridden from the other side, the side containing a breathable atmosphere.
He tried his comm unit. "This is MA-3758, requesting anyone to open hatch PX785. I say again, this is MA-3758, requesting anyone to open hatch PX785."
He waited, a precious minute went by.
He activated his armor's plasma cutter and was about to break down the door, when it opened and a demonic looking skelton smashed him into the opposite wall of the corridor.
Vel gaped as he got a clear view of his attacker. It was one of ship's utility droids and its percussive hammer was threatenly raised. *Crackle* "Defiler!"
He brought up the plasma cutter in a guard position and eyed the droid warily. The percussion hammer, meant for working on the thick hull of the ship, could easily punch a hole through his armor.
The droid lunged, and he sidestepped, bringing the cutter down on the droid's head.
The droid crashed to the floor, its main controller damaged.
He deactivated the plasma cutter, and forced himself to breath slower. What had gotten into that droid?
Cautiously, he cycled himself through the overridden hatch.
OOC: Just awesome X. Those are a good six pages.
1: SE:AD:ED
He blinked; and tried focusing on the blurry, bright red shapes that hung in front of him.
T: +23:41:23
He felt like he had just been stepped on by a walker; the high pitched ring in his ears doing nothing to help his headache. He took a sip of his helmet's water pouch to clear the metallic aftertaste from his mouth, and pondered the numbers hanging before him.
They're important, somehow. The numbers seemed to tease him.
T: +23:43:36
Then, a string of words materialized in front of him, in response to his movements.
*Status Check - Breathable Atmospheric Gases Low*
"Aw, FRACK!" He staggered to his feet and activated his helmet's lowlight filters.
The bulkhead in front of his face was pealed inwards, exposing the stars beyond. The body of one of the two engineers that he was supposed to escort lay nearby, vacc suit punctured by the shards of broken armor-class durasteel. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the compartment's door.
Red light, no atmosphere in the corridor either.
He forced the door open and watched as a loose items puffed out towards the door, propelled by the little atmosphere that had been left. He looked out into the corridor and just saw a flash of motion go around the corner.
He darted over, moving effortlessly in the clumsy looking power-armor and glanced around the edge.
Nothing. It was a short hallway and although there was a hatch halfway down, he could see the glowing green light next to it that meant that it could only be overridden from the other side, the side containing a breathable atmosphere.
He tried his comm unit. "This is MA-3758, requesting anyone to open hatch PX785. I say again, this is MA-3758, requesting anyone to open hatch PX785."
He waited, a precious minute went by.
He activated his armor's plasma cutter and was about to break down the door, when it opened and a demonic looking skelton smashed him into the opposite wall of the corridor.
Vel gaped as he got a clear view of his attacker. It was one of ship's utility droids and its percussive hammer was threatenly raised. *Crackle* "Defiler!"
He brought up the plasma cutter in a guard position and eyed the droid warily. The percussion hammer, meant for working on the thick hull of the ship, could easily punch a hole through his armor.
The droid lunged, and he sidestepped, bringing the cutter down on the droid's head.
The droid crashed to the floor, its main controller damaged.
He deactivated the plasma cutter, and forced himself to breath slower. What had gotten into that droid?
Cautiously, he cycled himself through the overridden hatch.
OOC: Just awesome X. Those are a good six pages.
Man of Many Faces
Man of Many Faces
Valis nodded solemnly. "I think more than just procedure is out of the airlock. Engineering is where we have to go. I'm not sure anyone is controlling the ship in totality as this point, but that's where we'll be able to disable the tractor beams or comm jamming units so we can at least send a message out of here. This way."
Valis moved slowly down the hallway, blaster pistol up, now wondering if it would be enough for what they might find. His force pike was strapped to his back, and he had far more confident in his ability with that than the pistol. But in case they encountered any groups, the only way to keep them at bay for a time would be with their energy weapons. Of course Valis hoped they wouldn't encounter anything else that needed fighting. He knew that hope would be in vein.
The Cleansing was a monster of starship engineering, more than five times the size of a normal Star Destroyer, it was a virtual floating small planet. The trip to engineering would be a long one, and that was if a direct route was possible. COnsidering how much physical damage the ship had taken the chance of such a trip being possible was slim at best. Back to back the two warriors walked as quietly as they could through the halls. Along this corridor they would reach turbolift bank C-74. It was the fastest path to the lower decks, where the two could hopefully escape whatever was happening up here, and get to engineering unfettered.
Only static filled the ship intercomm PA systems, and the hum and crackle kept the sound of their footfalls to a minimum. From the looks of the security overheads and devices, they were inactive, so they were likely moving in complete stealth. That might be the only advantage they had, surprise. Then again, neither had any idea what would be past the next bend in the corridor, so it was against them as well. Three corridors and two bends brought them nothing but clean durasteel. When they reached the third turn, they heard something. Voices, but mechanical ones, almost like machines but not quite. They were filtered, and compressed. They were coming through Stormtrooper helmets. Valis crouched near the edge of the corner, and motioned Consecro to hold. Peaking around, he immediately saw the turbolifts, and a quartet of stormtroopers gathered in front of it.
Quickly retreating behind the steel wall Valis whispered to Consecro. “Four stormtroopers, one or two working on the turbolifts. I’m not sure what, the other two are on watch. They seem normal… not like the other one.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We’re going to need to use a turbolift, it would take countless hours to travel manually down the access shafts to engineering. If they are trying to disable this one for some reason we need to stop them. Or if they are trying to repair it, then….” Valis answered. “I’ll go out, cover me if things go poorly.”
Valis slowly got to his feet, raising his hands in the air. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the new corridor. It only took a moment for one of the stormtroopers on watch to spot him and level his blaster at him.
“Freeze!” Came the mechanical voice. “Don’t move and stay back.”
Valis answered the best way an Imperial would. “Major Valis Thorn, Imperial Special Services. I’m loyal.”
All four stormtroopers were looking at him now, surprised to see anyone in a zero-g suit walking around inside a ship. Three were not so surprised that their blaster rifles weren’t leveled at his chest. “Throw down your weapon, and prove it.” One of the other troopers said.
Thorn knew he had little choice. He removed his blaster pistol and slid it across the floor to the quartet. Quickly something was becoming apparent to him. If he told these men the truth about just being brought aboard, they wouldn’t believe him. In fact they would likely consider him a traitor and try to see him killed. Just from their body language it was clear these four were on edge, scared and panicked. “Whatever’s happened those of us still in our right minds must remain and work together. All I want is what you do, to stay alive. Is the turbolift disabled?”
“All of them are sir.” One trooper finally answered. “I am Corporal Ready, this is all that’s left of my squad. We were on patrol when whatever happened… happened. Our filtration systems managed to protect us from whatever effected the others on duty. All the officers we’ve found have been murdered, or turned into whatever it is those things are. How did you survive sir?”
“I was in an auxiliary hangar. It was sealed off after an emergency breach. The only reason we survived were these zero-g suits, and we haven’t dared take them off since.”
“We sir?” The blasters were at the high ready again, edgy indeed. How quickly training was forgotten.
“Seargent Consecro, come out.” He waited for his comrade to come out from behind the bulkhead before continuing. “We need to know you were alright before we showed our hand. You understand?”
One of the stormtroopers muttered something about the ISS, before Corporal Ready spoke again. “There were twelve of us, the others were either taken down by the blimmies, or the aliens.”
“Blimmies?”
“That’s what we call the infected sir, blue zombies.” He sounded almost embarrassed by such a thing.
Valis nodded, noting the alien part but not quite understanding it. Though it was something they likely should know being on the ship. It would be something they would have to discover later on. “All the turbolifts are shut down?”
“Yes sir, we’ve surveyed all but a dozen on this level, all are the same. They are remotely powered down, no way to activate them without a power source to directly connect to the unit. We’ve found nothing compatible with their power drives. We’re trying some fuel cells now. Get back to work.”
Valis nodded and accepted back his blaster pistol from the Corporal. “Have you heard anything from Command?”
“Nothing sir, all channels are receiving static. You are the highest ranking officer we’ve been able to speak with.” Ready answered. “We’re trying to make our way down to engineering, we believe that’s where whatever command crew there might be left is.”
Valis nodded. “Agreed. Proceed with the repair.” We’ll help cover you.”
Ready and his men had been almost done when Valis and Consecro arrived, so it only took them a few minutes longer to connect the power source. “I think I got it sir. If the power transfers we should be in business.”
“Good work Green, power it up.”
“Better you stand back sir.” Ready, Valis and the others listened.
Ready whispered quietly to the newcomers. “Green used to be in the engineering core, he’s the only reason we might have any shot at this at all.”
“Here’s goes nothing.” Green whispered.
At first the lift appeared to power up. The hum of flowing electrons overcame the constant static. But before the group could even celebrate there came a crackle from the console. Everything went dark in the corridor. Valis could see nothing… nothing until the blue electricity came. It sprang from the lift control panel like it was alive. It seized Green like a wave seizes a man, flowing all around him engulfing him in the electricity. A scream, not a mechanical one like Green’s… no it was the woman again. It didn’t some from the intercom…. Where? The former engineer was writhing in pain on the floor, his limbs and head violently rattling up and down and side to side. Spasms were overcoming his whole body.
After a few seconds he lay still, other than the occasional twitch caused by the remaining electrical energy in his system. Green was dead. All the lights in the corridor came back on, all the lights but the ones on the lift. Valis has never seen a device react that way before. It was almost as if the electricity was focused, alive almost, knowing Green tried to do something that was not wanted. Logic said it was an accident, Valis wasn’t quite so sure. He had seen lightning like that before.
“The force he’s dead! He’s dead!” One of the troopers screamed through his mask, before ripping it off. “Did you see that, did you! He’s dead. It’s killing us one by one! We’re all dead! All of us!”
His voice was echoing through the chambers now, anyone on the level would hear him, even above the static over the intercom. “But your mask back on trooper, and shut up, that’s an order!”
“The Emperor’s Black bones with you Corporal, I ain’t taking orders no more! You’re dead, I’m dead – the whole crew is dead! It’s over!” He turned and ran, dropping his rifle screaming hysterically down the corridor. The four remaining watched him go, and heard his screams slowly recede. Then they there was a crunch and they were suddenly gone. But silence didn’t follow. It was the crunch of boots on steel, a lot of them, and they were getting louder.”
“Something is coming, arm yourselves.” Valis said steadily. Ready knelt down and picked up the now two extra blaster rifles back to Valis and Consecro. “I think you’ll need those sir.” To the man’s credit, his voice was actually calm. He and his other trooper kneeled in front of Valis and Consecro, rifles cocked against their shoulder. Then they came, flowing around the corner like a flock of birds, a combination of white and black armor and blue bulging faces.
“Blimmies!” Ready said. “Take’em down!”
Then there was nothing but blaster fire…
Ooc just for your knowledge, Valis is not going to be hearing the things in his mind – I figure with his training as a Crimson Royal Guard his resistance to such basic message planting would be too high. I think it’ll make it more interesting for one of the people in the story to not hear them at all.
Valis moved slowly down the hallway, blaster pistol up, now wondering if it would be enough for what they might find. His force pike was strapped to his back, and he had far more confident in his ability with that than the pistol. But in case they encountered any groups, the only way to keep them at bay for a time would be with their energy weapons. Of course Valis hoped they wouldn't encounter anything else that needed fighting. He knew that hope would be in vein.
The Cleansing was a monster of starship engineering, more than five times the size of a normal Star Destroyer, it was a virtual floating small planet. The trip to engineering would be a long one, and that was if a direct route was possible. COnsidering how much physical damage the ship had taken the chance of such a trip being possible was slim at best. Back to back the two warriors walked as quietly as they could through the halls. Along this corridor they would reach turbolift bank C-74. It was the fastest path to the lower decks, where the two could hopefully escape whatever was happening up here, and get to engineering unfettered.
Only static filled the ship intercomm PA systems, and the hum and crackle kept the sound of their footfalls to a minimum. From the looks of the security overheads and devices, they were inactive, so they were likely moving in complete stealth. That might be the only advantage they had, surprise. Then again, neither had any idea what would be past the next bend in the corridor, so it was against them as well. Three corridors and two bends brought them nothing but clean durasteel. When they reached the third turn, they heard something. Voices, but mechanical ones, almost like machines but not quite. They were filtered, and compressed. They were coming through Stormtrooper helmets. Valis crouched near the edge of the corner, and motioned Consecro to hold. Peaking around, he immediately saw the turbolifts, and a quartet of stormtroopers gathered in front of it.
Quickly retreating behind the steel wall Valis whispered to Consecro. “Four stormtroopers, one or two working on the turbolifts. I’m not sure what, the other two are on watch. They seem normal… not like the other one.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We’re going to need to use a turbolift, it would take countless hours to travel manually down the access shafts to engineering. If they are trying to disable this one for some reason we need to stop them. Or if they are trying to repair it, then….” Valis answered. “I’ll go out, cover me if things go poorly.”
Valis slowly got to his feet, raising his hands in the air. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the new corridor. It only took a moment for one of the stormtroopers on watch to spot him and level his blaster at him.
“Freeze!” Came the mechanical voice. “Don’t move and stay back.”
Valis answered the best way an Imperial would. “Major Valis Thorn, Imperial Special Services. I’m loyal.”
All four stormtroopers were looking at him now, surprised to see anyone in a zero-g suit walking around inside a ship. Three were not so surprised that their blaster rifles weren’t leveled at his chest. “Throw down your weapon, and prove it.” One of the other troopers said.
Thorn knew he had little choice. He removed his blaster pistol and slid it across the floor to the quartet. Quickly something was becoming apparent to him. If he told these men the truth about just being brought aboard, they wouldn’t believe him. In fact they would likely consider him a traitor and try to see him killed. Just from their body language it was clear these four were on edge, scared and panicked. “Whatever’s happened those of us still in our right minds must remain and work together. All I want is what you do, to stay alive. Is the turbolift disabled?”
“All of them are sir.” One trooper finally answered. “I am Corporal Ready, this is all that’s left of my squad. We were on patrol when whatever happened… happened. Our filtration systems managed to protect us from whatever effected the others on duty. All the officers we’ve found have been murdered, or turned into whatever it is those things are. How did you survive sir?”
“I was in an auxiliary hangar. It was sealed off after an emergency breach. The only reason we survived were these zero-g suits, and we haven’t dared take them off since.”
“We sir?” The blasters were at the high ready again, edgy indeed. How quickly training was forgotten.
“Seargent Consecro, come out.” He waited for his comrade to come out from behind the bulkhead before continuing. “We need to know you were alright before we showed our hand. You understand?”
One of the stormtroopers muttered something about the ISS, before Corporal Ready spoke again. “There were twelve of us, the others were either taken down by the blimmies, or the aliens.”
“Blimmies?”
“That’s what we call the infected sir, blue zombies.” He sounded almost embarrassed by such a thing.
Valis nodded, noting the alien part but not quite understanding it. Though it was something they likely should know being on the ship. It would be something they would have to discover later on. “All the turbolifts are shut down?”
“Yes sir, we’ve surveyed all but a dozen on this level, all are the same. They are remotely powered down, no way to activate them without a power source to directly connect to the unit. We’ve found nothing compatible with their power drives. We’re trying some fuel cells now. Get back to work.”
Valis nodded and accepted back his blaster pistol from the Corporal. “Have you heard anything from Command?”
“Nothing sir, all channels are receiving static. You are the highest ranking officer we’ve been able to speak with.” Ready answered. “We’re trying to make our way down to engineering, we believe that’s where whatever command crew there might be left is.”
Valis nodded. “Agreed. Proceed with the repair.” We’ll help cover you.”
Ready and his men had been almost done when Valis and Consecro arrived, so it only took them a few minutes longer to connect the power source. “I think I got it sir. If the power transfers we should be in business.”
“Good work Green, power it up.”
“Better you stand back sir.” Ready, Valis and the others listened.
Ready whispered quietly to the newcomers. “Green used to be in the engineering core, he’s the only reason we might have any shot at this at all.”
“Here’s goes nothing.” Green whispered.
At first the lift appeared to power up. The hum of flowing electrons overcame the constant static. But before the group could even celebrate there came a crackle from the console. Everything went dark in the corridor. Valis could see nothing… nothing until the blue electricity came. It sprang from the lift control panel like it was alive. It seized Green like a wave seizes a man, flowing all around him engulfing him in the electricity. A scream, not a mechanical one like Green’s… no it was the woman again. It didn’t some from the intercom…. Where? The former engineer was writhing in pain on the floor, his limbs and head violently rattling up and down and side to side. Spasms were overcoming his whole body.
After a few seconds he lay still, other than the occasional twitch caused by the remaining electrical energy in his system. Green was dead. All the lights in the corridor came back on, all the lights but the ones on the lift. Valis has never seen a device react that way before. It was almost as if the electricity was focused, alive almost, knowing Green tried to do something that was not wanted. Logic said it was an accident, Valis wasn’t quite so sure. He had seen lightning like that before.
“The force he’s dead! He’s dead!” One of the troopers screamed through his mask, before ripping it off. “Did you see that, did you! He’s dead. It’s killing us one by one! We’re all dead! All of us!”
His voice was echoing through the chambers now, anyone on the level would hear him, even above the static over the intercom. “But your mask back on trooper, and shut up, that’s an order!”
“The Emperor’s Black bones with you Corporal, I ain’t taking orders no more! You’re dead, I’m dead – the whole crew is dead! It’s over!” He turned and ran, dropping his rifle screaming hysterically down the corridor. The four remaining watched him go, and heard his screams slowly recede. Then they there was a crunch and they were suddenly gone. But silence didn’t follow. It was the crunch of boots on steel, a lot of them, and they were getting louder.”
“Something is coming, arm yourselves.” Valis said steadily. Ready knelt down and picked up the now two extra blaster rifles back to Valis and Consecro. “I think you’ll need those sir.” To the man’s credit, his voice was actually calm. He and his other trooper kneeled in front of Valis and Consecro, rifles cocked against their shoulder. Then they came, flowing around the corner like a flock of birds, a combination of white and black armor and blue bulging faces.
“Blimmies!” Ready said. “Take’em down!”
Then there was nothing but blaster fire…
Ooc just for your knowledge, Valis is not going to be hearing the things in his mind – I figure with his training as a Crimson Royal Guard his resistance to such basic message planting would be too high. I think it’ll make it more interesting for one of the people in the story to not hear them at all.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Absent-minded Wanderer
Posts: 475
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Location: Lost somewhere in the Etherwebs.
Warning: Unknown Biological Contaminant Detected
Great, more good news. I need to find an emergency shelter.
Even a ship the size of Super Star Destroyer could never carry enough vacuum suits for the entire crew and still be able to be effective, so the designers settled on a compromise. Throughout the ship were emergency shelters, self-contained compartments that had their own independent life-support systems and food stores. There, Vel hoped to find some way of recharging his environmental systems and hopefully, some survivors as well. He checked his map.
Closest shelter is in Officer Country.
This deserted section of the ship, wasn't as badly damaged as the weapon subsystem section that he'd just left. Except for the emergency lighting, it looked just as pristine as normal. A familiar, yet still weird, feeling settled over him as he walked. Its just like a rad-bombed city.
"Emperor's might." he muttered.
"Emperor's might indeed." A wicked voice snickered.
Vel stopped. It sounded like it came over the commlink. "This is Trooper MA-3758. If anyone can hear me, please respond."
Nothing. Just the gentle hiss of the comm.
He was beginning to wish he hadn't left his weapons harness back in his equipment locker.
Up ahead in the corridor was a compartment on the left. He peered inside, it was a small office, sparsely decorated in normal Imperial fashion. A dead officer lay face-down on the floor; his gray uniform stained with his own blood.
Vel turned the body over. The officer's face was a complete mess. It looked like all the capillaries in his face had burst at once, leaving what was left a dark shade of blue. Though that wasn't what killed him. A neat blaster-wound was bored through the corpse's chest.
"Attention all off-duty personal." He jumped, then realized that it was just the ship's PA playing an automated message. "At Twenty-two hundred hours there will be a showing of The Last King in the recreation hall, all off-duty personal are encouraged to attend."
The Last King? Vel didn't remember ever hearing of a "patriotic" holomovie with that title.
+23:57:24
I have to get moving. He left the office and continued down the corridor.
Finally, he reached the bulkhead leading into the officers' quarters, and checked the door panel. Frell!. Locked. Wait, that dead officer I saw; he still had his code cylinder.
He rushed back to the office. The body was gone.
Great, more good news. I need to find an emergency shelter.
Even a ship the size of Super Star Destroyer could never carry enough vacuum suits for the entire crew and still be able to be effective, so the designers settled on a compromise. Throughout the ship were emergency shelters, self-contained compartments that had their own independent life-support systems and food stores. There, Vel hoped to find some way of recharging his environmental systems and hopefully, some survivors as well. He checked his map.
Closest shelter is in Officer Country.
This deserted section of the ship, wasn't as badly damaged as the weapon subsystem section that he'd just left. Except for the emergency lighting, it looked just as pristine as normal. A familiar, yet still weird, feeling settled over him as he walked. Its just like a rad-bombed city.
"Emperor's might." he muttered.
"Emperor's might indeed." A wicked voice snickered.
Vel stopped. It sounded like it came over the commlink. "This is Trooper MA-3758. If anyone can hear me, please respond."
Nothing. Just the gentle hiss of the comm.
He was beginning to wish he hadn't left his weapons harness back in his equipment locker.
Up ahead in the corridor was a compartment on the left. He peered inside, it was a small office, sparsely decorated in normal Imperial fashion. A dead officer lay face-down on the floor; his gray uniform stained with his own blood.
Vel turned the body over. The officer's face was a complete mess. It looked like all the capillaries in his face had burst at once, leaving what was left a dark shade of blue. Though that wasn't what killed him. A neat blaster-wound was bored through the corpse's chest.
"Attention all off-duty personal." He jumped, then realized that it was just the ship's PA playing an automated message. "At Twenty-two hundred hours there will be a showing of The Last King in the recreation hall, all off-duty personal are encouraged to attend."
The Last King? Vel didn't remember ever hearing of a "patriotic" holomovie with that title.
+23:57:24
I have to get moving. He left the office and continued down the corridor.
Finally, he reached the bulkhead leading into the officers' quarters, and checked the door panel. Frell!. Locked. Wait, that dead officer I saw; he still had his code cylinder.
He rushed back to the office. The body was gone.
Centurio
Consecro did not think much about the actions that followed; they simply flowed as smoothly as they had back when he was working for Ranox before the series of events that followed the destruction of the Second Death Star. He fired once, twice, three times, striking enemies - "blimmies" - with each shot, taking them down one by one. For former Stormtroopers, they had pretty bad aim, so there was no immediate threat to Consecro, Valis, and the what remained of the squad working with them.
Consecro did not think during these actions much at all; he only began cognitive processes again when a whisper - as if a secret were being told, just to him, and nobody else could ever know about it - echoed through his mind. It is an odd sensation, when one is surrounded by death, destruction, and blaster fire, to have it all silenced - even paused, for just a moment - while you listen to the soft voice of some superintelligent being.
"Your hunting skills will do you no good here," the whisper told him, "Neither will your fighting skills, or your strategic skills, or anything of that sort. You are alone on this ship, Nadeus, regardless of what Major Thorn does - you must look out for yourself."
A hint of recognition came across him - this was a Force-induced message. Old training kicked in, and Consecro took another moment of cognitive process to bring to the surface a memory he preferred to keep suppressed: the death of a young, beautiful woman, being killed by a pair of punks with blasters, just for a kick. He saw himself, standing at a distance, waving nonchalantly as he walked to meet with her at the restaurant of her choice. Then the whine of a weapon tore through his vision, taking with it all he had once held dear. The memory brought with it all the emotions he had felt at that moment - incredible pain, passion, anger, hatred: emotions which put up a ten-meter-thick wall of solid duracrete around his mind. The whisper was silenced, the sounds of the combat returned, and everything was as it had been mere moments before - automatic.
Consecro's energy pack ran empty. "Rifle's out," he declared calmly, dropping the rifle in favor of his blaster pistol; its whine took out four more blimmies before the "infected" troopers finally stopped coming. Consecro sighed lightly. "Spast," he cursed under his breath. "Speaking of empty energy packs, this blaster pistol's running pretty low, too. How many spares do you guys have?"
Ready turned to him; Consecro could only presume he was saying something - he could hear nothing - until he realized that he had dropped his emotional shield. He tried to put it back up, but it was too late.
Ready raised his blaster rifle; Consecro was about to shout some defense, some plea for help from the others, but then Valis turned on him with his own weapon, and the other trooper relieved him of his vibrodaggers and blaster pistol. "Back away slowly, Sergeant," Ready ordered. "Leave now, and we won't shoot you."
Consecro closed his eyes, trying not to believe what he saw. He opened them again, to see Ready standing there, looking at him - probably quizzically, beneath that helmet. "Sir," Ready said, "You okay?" The others were looking at him as well, with just as much curiosity and wariness as Ready.
Consecro shook it off, glancing at Valis, then back at Ready. "Yeah, fine," he replied; he thought it better not to mention the incident, at least not for the moment. He was about to ask the Corporal what they should do next, but then he realized that both he and the Major were "higher ranks" and (for the moment) members of the crew. His ignorance, both of protocol and of the ship herself, would become obvious with such a question. He turned to Valis, "What should we do now, Major?"
Consecro did not think during these actions much at all; he only began cognitive processes again when a whisper - as if a secret were being told, just to him, and nobody else could ever know about it - echoed through his mind. It is an odd sensation, when one is surrounded by death, destruction, and blaster fire, to have it all silenced - even paused, for just a moment - while you listen to the soft voice of some superintelligent being.
"Your hunting skills will do you no good here," the whisper told him, "Neither will your fighting skills, or your strategic skills, or anything of that sort. You are alone on this ship, Nadeus, regardless of what Major Thorn does - you must look out for yourself."
A hint of recognition came across him - this was a Force-induced message. Old training kicked in, and Consecro took another moment of cognitive process to bring to the surface a memory he preferred to keep suppressed: the death of a young, beautiful woman, being killed by a pair of punks with blasters, just for a kick. He saw himself, standing at a distance, waving nonchalantly as he walked to meet with her at the restaurant of her choice. Then the whine of a weapon tore through his vision, taking with it all he had once held dear. The memory brought with it all the emotions he had felt at that moment - incredible pain, passion, anger, hatred: emotions which put up a ten-meter-thick wall of solid duracrete around his mind. The whisper was silenced, the sounds of the combat returned, and everything was as it had been mere moments before - automatic.
Consecro's energy pack ran empty. "Rifle's out," he declared calmly, dropping the rifle in favor of his blaster pistol; its whine took out four more blimmies before the "infected" troopers finally stopped coming. Consecro sighed lightly. "Spast," he cursed under his breath. "Speaking of empty energy packs, this blaster pistol's running pretty low, too. How many spares do you guys have?"
Ready turned to him; Consecro could only presume he was saying something - he could hear nothing - until he realized that he had dropped his emotional shield. He tried to put it back up, but it was too late.
Ready raised his blaster rifle; Consecro was about to shout some defense, some plea for help from the others, but then Valis turned on him with his own weapon, and the other trooper relieved him of his vibrodaggers and blaster pistol. "Back away slowly, Sergeant," Ready ordered. "Leave now, and we won't shoot you."
Consecro closed his eyes, trying not to believe what he saw. He opened them again, to see Ready standing there, looking at him - probably quizzically, beneath that helmet. "Sir," Ready said, "You okay?" The others were looking at him as well, with just as much curiosity and wariness as Ready.
Consecro shook it off, glancing at Valis, then back at Ready. "Yeah, fine," he replied; he thought it better not to mention the incident, at least not for the moment. He was about to ask the Corporal what they should do next, but then he realized that both he and the Major were "higher ranks" and (for the moment) members of the crew. His ignorance, both of protocol and of the ship herself, would become obvious with such a question. He turned to Valis, "What should we do now, Major?"
Man of Many Faces
The blaster rifle seemed alien in Valis hand for only a few moments, it took him back to basic training when his only goal was to become a stormtrooper. Trhat was before trhey rwecognized his particular talent and assigned him elsewhere. After the first two bolts were away he realized that the blaster wasn’t configured properly. The lasers were lagging to the right. He adjusted for his subsequent shots and took down six of the blimmies. What concerned Valis the most with these things, was that after the first few were cut down the others did not hesitate a moment in their continuing charge. They showed no fear – which in most is the same as survival extinct – and kept coming. They were not human anymore, in fact they were even less than animals. Animals at least were concerned for their own well being. Whether or not they could ever be brought back to humanity, nor would Valis ever find out. They were using their only real option, shoot to kill.
After the last one went down all four men remained in their position for at least five seconds. When there were no more sounds, and all were confident they were all dead they pulled up and took council. Valis watched as Consecro threw down his dead rifle, and looked at the other two. He wished he could see Ready and his man’s face. At a time like this a man’s face told much. And when Valis turned to Consecro the same held true. Something had clouded over his eyes, and he was looking at something that seemed to frighten him. He was reacting to something that Valis either couldn’t see or wasn’t there at all. Valis reached for his force pike, still strapped to his back, just in case something went wrong. Maybe something was wrong with Consecro’s enviro-suit. Maybe something had gotten through…
“Sir, you okay?” Ready asked, and to his credit he saw the same thing that Valis did. Valis quickly looked back to the mercenary who blinked and was suddenly back with them. Whatever was there before was gone.
“Yeah, fine.” Consecro answered. “What should we do now, Major?” He turned to ask Valis.
It was a fine question, and for about twenty seconds the only sound Valis made was the hollow breathing leaking through his mask. “Corporal, you’ve searched the whole level?”
“All but about 20%.”
“Who is the deck officer?”
“Lieutenant Canty sir. He was the first we sought out after the… incident and people started acting strange. We found his office empty.”
Valis nodded. “He should have all the data coming from the ship’s core coming into his console. That should be our first destination.”
“No good sir, we tried accessing ship systems and data from there but we were locked out. I even tried to emergency access codes stowed in the protocols folder, but I think something at the intelligence core was changed preventing remote access. Shortly afterwards we were ambushed, we lost half our men.” His voice had changed somehow, like it was haunted.
Valis nodded. “Any sign of the Lieutenant on the deck dead or alive?”
“None sir, and by regulation during combat engagement he is required to stay on deck. My next guess was the hangar coordinating the ships heading in and out.” Ready’s mechanical voice replied.
Valis shook his head. “No good, that place is deserted. We came from there. That means, however, he got off this deck somehow. All the lifts you found were deactivated like this one?”
Ready nodded. “We searched all but maybe a half-dozen. All were the same, none getting power. I see no reason to believe the others would be any different sir.”
“Then he got off some other way, or he’s still on the level. My guess would be the engineering maintenance tunnels. But they’ll be too tight with these suits and your armor. And I for one am not willing to trust myself to the ship’s atmosphere.” The silence reply from the others told Valis they agreed with him. “There’s a med station on this level correct?”
”A rather large one sir. That is within the portion of the level we haven’t yet searched.” Ready answered.
“Then we need to head there, we might find something that can confirm we can take these suits off and get off this level. Perhaps if the docs are there they’ve already found a way to counteract it. And maybe Lieutenant Canty is there as well.” Valis answered. The logic seemed pretty solid, and he thought it was the right move.
“Sir.” Ready nodded, acknowledging and accepting the order. “I’ll take point. Rear guard private.”
The other remaining stormtrooper took his place in back of the line and they set off. Their hollow footsteps added nicely to the annoying buzz and hum still blaring over the ship’s intercom. “How many of them have you taken down Ready?”
“I’d say in all almost two dozen sir. The largest group we saw was the one we just encountered. There’s no organization.”
Valis nodded, but didn’t answer, only continued forward. About halfway to the northeast corner of the deck, the intercom went silent. The difference was so great all four of the quartet went down into combat position with their weapons drawn. There they stayed for almost a minute, waiting for something to happen. But no one came and nothing happened. A blast of feedback screamed over the speakers for a few seconds, making them all jump, before it stopped again. Silence, once more. Then the hiss returned, then the buzz. It was like nothing had happened at all. The four stood, looked at one another and continued on. All the other three were as unnerved by this as Valis was they were all going to be very jumpy for the foreseeable future.
The rest of the walk to the northeastern corner of the level was uneventful. As they reached the access corridor the med station Ready stopped and motioned for the others to do likewise. He flapped his fingers around mimicking a mouth talking. Valis stopped and listened, and indeed there was noise. There was someone talking but it was impossible to understand what he was saying. His voice was being drowned out not only by the hissing buzz, but also by music. No… not military music, something else entirely. Opera… it was opera. Valis knew as much about opera as he did about sewing, so what system it was from he had no idea.
“At least we know someone is alive in there.” Ready said in whisper through his mechanical mask.
Valis nodded, “Let’s go, keep your weapons ready but not up, we don’t want to frighten them into thinking we’re enemies.” Valis and Ready turned the corner and began walking. Bright light came from the end of the hall, like the small spotlights used during surgical procedures. Something was moving within the light, but there was too much glare to figure out who, and how many.
Then the blaster fire came, not from the brightly lit room at the end of the hall, but from above. A small auto-turret. The first blast caught Ready in the shoulder, the second would have vaporized Valis’ chest if he hadn’t dove out of the way. Unfortunately, he blocked the vision of the stormtrooper behind him, who got caught dead center in the chest. He hit the floor and Valis screamed out…. “Get back behind the corner…” Beyond, the opera still played.
After the last one went down all four men remained in their position for at least five seconds. When there were no more sounds, and all were confident they were all dead they pulled up and took council. Valis watched as Consecro threw down his dead rifle, and looked at the other two. He wished he could see Ready and his man’s face. At a time like this a man’s face told much. And when Valis turned to Consecro the same held true. Something had clouded over his eyes, and he was looking at something that seemed to frighten him. He was reacting to something that Valis either couldn’t see or wasn’t there at all. Valis reached for his force pike, still strapped to his back, just in case something went wrong. Maybe something was wrong with Consecro’s enviro-suit. Maybe something had gotten through…
“Sir, you okay?” Ready asked, and to his credit he saw the same thing that Valis did. Valis quickly looked back to the mercenary who blinked and was suddenly back with them. Whatever was there before was gone.
“Yeah, fine.” Consecro answered. “What should we do now, Major?” He turned to ask Valis.
It was a fine question, and for about twenty seconds the only sound Valis made was the hollow breathing leaking through his mask. “Corporal, you’ve searched the whole level?”
“All but about 20%.”
“Who is the deck officer?”
“Lieutenant Canty sir. He was the first we sought out after the… incident and people started acting strange. We found his office empty.”
Valis nodded. “He should have all the data coming from the ship’s core coming into his console. That should be our first destination.”
“No good sir, we tried accessing ship systems and data from there but we were locked out. I even tried to emergency access codes stowed in the protocols folder, but I think something at the intelligence core was changed preventing remote access. Shortly afterwards we were ambushed, we lost half our men.” His voice had changed somehow, like it was haunted.
Valis nodded. “Any sign of the Lieutenant on the deck dead or alive?”
“None sir, and by regulation during combat engagement he is required to stay on deck. My next guess was the hangar coordinating the ships heading in and out.” Ready’s mechanical voice replied.
Valis shook his head. “No good, that place is deserted. We came from there. That means, however, he got off this deck somehow. All the lifts you found were deactivated like this one?”
Ready nodded. “We searched all but maybe a half-dozen. All were the same, none getting power. I see no reason to believe the others would be any different sir.”
“Then he got off some other way, or he’s still on the level. My guess would be the engineering maintenance tunnels. But they’ll be too tight with these suits and your armor. And I for one am not willing to trust myself to the ship’s atmosphere.” The silence reply from the others told Valis they agreed with him. “There’s a med station on this level correct?”
”A rather large one sir. That is within the portion of the level we haven’t yet searched.” Ready answered.
“Then we need to head there, we might find something that can confirm we can take these suits off and get off this level. Perhaps if the docs are there they’ve already found a way to counteract it. And maybe Lieutenant Canty is there as well.” Valis answered. The logic seemed pretty solid, and he thought it was the right move.
“Sir.” Ready nodded, acknowledging and accepting the order. “I’ll take point. Rear guard private.”
The other remaining stormtrooper took his place in back of the line and they set off. Their hollow footsteps added nicely to the annoying buzz and hum still blaring over the ship’s intercom. “How many of them have you taken down Ready?”
“I’d say in all almost two dozen sir. The largest group we saw was the one we just encountered. There’s no organization.”
Valis nodded, but didn’t answer, only continued forward. About halfway to the northeast corner of the deck, the intercom went silent. The difference was so great all four of the quartet went down into combat position with their weapons drawn. There they stayed for almost a minute, waiting for something to happen. But no one came and nothing happened. A blast of feedback screamed over the speakers for a few seconds, making them all jump, before it stopped again. Silence, once more. Then the hiss returned, then the buzz. It was like nothing had happened at all. The four stood, looked at one another and continued on. All the other three were as unnerved by this as Valis was they were all going to be very jumpy for the foreseeable future.
The rest of the walk to the northeastern corner of the level was uneventful. As they reached the access corridor the med station Ready stopped and motioned for the others to do likewise. He flapped his fingers around mimicking a mouth talking. Valis stopped and listened, and indeed there was noise. There was someone talking but it was impossible to understand what he was saying. His voice was being drowned out not only by the hissing buzz, but also by music. No… not military music, something else entirely. Opera… it was opera. Valis knew as much about opera as he did about sewing, so what system it was from he had no idea.
“At least we know someone is alive in there.” Ready said in whisper through his mechanical mask.
Valis nodded, “Let’s go, keep your weapons ready but not up, we don’t want to frighten them into thinking we’re enemies.” Valis and Ready turned the corner and began walking. Bright light came from the end of the hall, like the small spotlights used during surgical procedures. Something was moving within the light, but there was too much glare to figure out who, and how many.
Then the blaster fire came, not from the brightly lit room at the end of the hall, but from above. A small auto-turret. The first blast caught Ready in the shoulder, the second would have vaporized Valis’ chest if he hadn’t dove out of the way. Unfortunately, he blocked the vision of the stormtrooper behind him, who got caught dead center in the chest. He hit the floor and Valis screamed out…. “Get back behind the corner…” Beyond, the opera still played.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Absent-minded Wanderer
Posts: 475
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Location: Lost somewhere in the Etherwebs.
Vel stood there staring at the empty office in surprise. By the seven stars, what is going on here?
He sighed, the sound distorted in his helmet. I should check the other corridor. If I don't find anything with ten minutes, I'll just burn through the hatch.
He queried his power supply.
+00:01:38
Remaining Power Output: 77%
It figures my power will outlast my life support.
He turned and head out the door, barely noticing the mouse droid that scurried out of his way.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nothing.
The other compartments he checked were empty. There were signs of fighting in some, mostly bloodstains and overturned furniture like it was mostly hand to hand. Though in one, he found a breached barricade and signs of blaster fire. Strangely, there were no bodies.
Vel turned to head back to the hatch. I'm just wasting my time.
Then he heard a flurry of movement, and had turned just enough in time to see a streak of blue and utility tan before it knocked him to the floor. The creature clawed and scratched at his armor, the intensity of the assault amazing. It took him a moment to realize that ... it was trying to undo his helmet seals!
Vel rolled, reversing position with the creature getting a good look at its face in the process. It was the other engineer that he was assigned to escort, his good humored face now cruelly twisted.
The creature took advantage of his momentary hesitation, and with its almost superhuman strength brought on by its fury, pushed Vel backward.
He used the gained distance to scrabble to his feet, activate the plasma cutter, and bring it up to a guard position.
The creature growled, wary of the glowing device, and it began to circle him.
Vel guessed it's strategy, and let his left side become exposed. It fell for the simple trick and rushed. He spun and reached through it's outstretched arms, and pierced the goul's throat.
It staggered drunkenly for a instant, tainted blood pouring all over the utility spacesuit it was wearing, then collapsed.
Vel forced his breathing to slow down, and reached down and pulled the datapad off its utility belt, trying to avoid the ghoul's blood. Hopefully it contained the override code he needed. He felt distant pity for the engineer, though mostly he was grateful that it wasn't him that had removed his helmet.
The PA system beeped. "Attention all personal. Unauthorized prizefighting events are strictly forbidden. All violators will be punished under Section 23C of the Imperial Military Code."
He grinned and went on.
He sighed, the sound distorted in his helmet. I should check the other corridor. If I don't find anything with ten minutes, I'll just burn through the hatch.
He queried his power supply.
+00:01:38
Remaining Power Output: 77%
It figures my power will outlast my life support.
He turned and head out the door, barely noticing the mouse droid that scurried out of his way.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nothing.
The other compartments he checked were empty. There were signs of fighting in some, mostly bloodstains and overturned furniture like it was mostly hand to hand. Though in one, he found a breached barricade and signs of blaster fire. Strangely, there were no bodies.
Vel turned to head back to the hatch. I'm just wasting my time.
Then he heard a flurry of movement, and had turned just enough in time to see a streak of blue and utility tan before it knocked him to the floor. The creature clawed and scratched at his armor, the intensity of the assault amazing. It took him a moment to realize that ... it was trying to undo his helmet seals!
Vel rolled, reversing position with the creature getting a good look at its face in the process. It was the other engineer that he was assigned to escort, his good humored face now cruelly twisted.
The creature took advantage of his momentary hesitation, and with its almost superhuman strength brought on by its fury, pushed Vel backward.
He used the gained distance to scrabble to his feet, activate the plasma cutter, and bring it up to a guard position.
The creature growled, wary of the glowing device, and it began to circle him.
Vel guessed it's strategy, and let his left side become exposed. It fell for the simple trick and rushed. He spun and reached through it's outstretched arms, and pierced the goul's throat.
It staggered drunkenly for a instant, tainted blood pouring all over the utility spacesuit it was wearing, then collapsed.
Vel forced his breathing to slow down, and reached down and pulled the datapad off its utility belt, trying to avoid the ghoul's blood. Hopefully it contained the override code he needed. He felt distant pity for the engineer, though mostly he was grateful that it wasn't him that had removed his helmet.
The PA system beeped. "Attention all personal. Unauthorized prizefighting events are strictly forbidden. All violators will be punished under Section 23C of the Imperial Military Code."
He grinned and went on.
Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
A Long Way Down
"Look at you, worm, squirming through my endless cooridors. Sweating, panting, that pathetic bag of meat you call a body betraying you at every step."
Winston gripped the rope tightly, wove it through the climbing belt, and continued down.
"Remember, Soldiers - Loose lips space ships! Do not discuss any matters dealing with the imperial navy to any civilian or non-authorized personel - your livlihood and your life depend on it!"
"I don't know which is worse, that chiding voice or the damned automated messages." Winston grumbled, clicking his snaps into place, descending another floor, farther and farther down the shaft.
"This is Imperial Navy Officer T.L. Fiennes, Sargeant First Class. Can anyone read me?"
Winton nearly let go of the tension cable in surprise. He clicked the release shut and snapped his hand to his helment.
"Sarge, this is Private Winston Freeman, ST-4201, where are you?"
"Trooper, I'm on deck 93, quadrant beta, sector seven. Can you reach me?"
Yesss, reach him, suffer the same fate as the others.
"Yes sir." Winston said. "I'm in the sector seven turbolift shaft."
"Excellent - I'm making my way towards the nearest emergency shelter, but I've run into a Xen'Chi patrol."
Static washed over the comms.
...ask yourself - why aren't the Xen'Chi infected like you humans...
Crackle to clarity.
Winston rappelled down another floor, then swung into the hallway, clattering to the floor. He unhitched the climbing gear and unslung his A280 rifle. With a click, he turned off the safety and began moving towards sector seven.
Then, a crash. Containers of pressurized air tumbled from a rack, rolling across the floor, followed by a rampaging Xen'Chi warrior.
Winston threw himself out of the way, heard a roar. Blaster bolts flew, ricocheting in the hallway. The Xen'Chi was being assaulted by a platoon of crazed ex-stormtroopers. Bodies were tossed right and left, blaster bolts showered the hallway, and Winston ran.
"Winston!" Someone shouted, ethereal and faint. He turned on his heel, raised the A280 - but nothing followed in the hallway.
Behind him, a door opened into darkness.
"Attention security forces. Attention security forces. Intruder on deck 93, quadrant beta, sector seven. Intruder alert."
"How the frell?!" Winston shouted above the din, and turned towards the door.
He stopped cold, the heavy barrel shaking slightly with his arm.
He advanced on the door, slowly, trying not to make any noise in the plasteel armor.
The whirr of a turrent focused his attention. Blaster fire jumped from the wall, impacting his side, knocking him against the wall.
He rolled to the floor, half from training, half from the strike, and scurried into the room, trailed by crimson bolts.
"Winston..." A voice, weak.
"He... hell..." Winston moaned, examining the blow to his side. It had left a serious carbon score on his side, a pock in his armor, and it felt like he was suffering minor burns beneath the crater.
"Winston!"
Winston looked about in the darkness, clicked on his low-light filter, and looked again.
"Winston. You... thank the Emporer. I tried to make it to the emergency shelter, but... code changed. Needed... cylinder... Xen'Chi almost got me... but we... ambushed by... the... the blimmies..."
"What?!" Winston asked, finally finding the source of the voice. The captain was sitting in his chair, back to the door, facing an emergency radio transmitter, holding the microphone in his quivering hand.
"We call 'em... blimmies... Don't know... Killed... platoon... Them... They're them now. Can't... I..."
Winston struggled to his feet, reached for the rifle.
The Sargent turned around in his chair. His face was gaunt, bluish, his eyes were red and wide, wild, darting about.
"I see him. Them. I see you. I see them." He said. His eyes seemed to focus on something invisible. "You're one of them."
"Give me the code cylinder. We've got to get to a medical bay, we've got to get out of here before the Xen'Chi return. They're in the hallway." Winston said. He took two solid steps towards the officer.
"They?" He asked. "They... them... us? I..."
"Sarge?" Winston asked, raising his rifle.
"You... You're... you... one of them. You!"
The sargent charged, but Winston was ready. He slung the butt of the rifle around, caught the man under the chin. The blow knocked him to the ground.
"Winston, please!" He cried, spasming on the floor. "We can't..."
Winston fired. The roar of the A280 shook the room. Smoke curled up from the corpse. Winston stepped over, picked up the code cylinder, and inserted it into the nearby plug. He turned it.
"Security alert terminated. All security forces return to your barracks for debriefing."
Winston stuck his head out the door. The turrent did not fire.
"...is... MA-5738... If... ple..." The commlink weakly buzzed.
Winston tuned the link, tried desperately to clarify the signal. MA-5738 - that was a personal ID number - someone still alive.
He hoped they were faring better than the last two survivors he had seen.
"MA-5738, this is ST-4201. Turn your comms to frequency 3444, pattern beta."
Winston gripped the rope tightly, wove it through the climbing belt, and continued down.
"Remember, Soldiers - Loose lips space ships! Do not discuss any matters dealing with the imperial navy to any civilian or non-authorized personel - your livlihood and your life depend on it!"
"I don't know which is worse, that chiding voice or the damned automated messages." Winston grumbled, clicking his snaps into place, descending another floor, farther and farther down the shaft.
"This is Imperial Navy Officer T.L. Fiennes, Sargeant First Class. Can anyone read me?"
Winton nearly let go of the tension cable in surprise. He clicked the release shut and snapped his hand to his helment.
"Sarge, this is Private Winston Freeman, ST-4201, where are you?"
"Trooper, I'm on deck 93, quadrant beta, sector seven. Can you reach me?"
Yesss, reach him, suffer the same fate as the others.
"Yes sir." Winston said. "I'm in the sector seven turbolift shaft."
"Excellent - I'm making my way towards the nearest emergency shelter, but I've run into a Xen'Chi patrol."
Static washed over the comms.
...ask yourself - why aren't the Xen'Chi infected like you humans...
Crackle to clarity.
Winston rappelled down another floor, then swung into the hallway, clattering to the floor. He unhitched the climbing gear and unslung his A280 rifle. With a click, he turned off the safety and began moving towards sector seven.
Then, a crash. Containers of pressurized air tumbled from a rack, rolling across the floor, followed by a rampaging Xen'Chi warrior.
Winston threw himself out of the way, heard a roar. Blaster bolts flew, ricocheting in the hallway. The Xen'Chi was being assaulted by a platoon of crazed ex-stormtroopers. Bodies were tossed right and left, blaster bolts showered the hallway, and Winston ran.
"Winston!" Someone shouted, ethereal and faint. He turned on his heel, raised the A280 - but nothing followed in the hallway.
Behind him, a door opened into darkness.
"Attention security forces. Attention security forces. Intruder on deck 93, quadrant beta, sector seven. Intruder alert."
"How the frell?!" Winston shouted above the din, and turned towards the door.
He stopped cold, the heavy barrel shaking slightly with his arm.
He advanced on the door, slowly, trying not to make any noise in the plasteel armor.
The whirr of a turrent focused his attention. Blaster fire jumped from the wall, impacting his side, knocking him against the wall.
He rolled to the floor, half from training, half from the strike, and scurried into the room, trailed by crimson bolts.
"Winston..." A voice, weak.
"He... hell..." Winston moaned, examining the blow to his side. It had left a serious carbon score on his side, a pock in his armor, and it felt like he was suffering minor burns beneath the crater.
"Winston!"
Winston looked about in the darkness, clicked on his low-light filter, and looked again.
"Winston. You... thank the Emporer. I tried to make it to the emergency shelter, but... code changed. Needed... cylinder... Xen'Chi almost got me... but we... ambushed by... the... the blimmies..."
"What?!" Winston asked, finally finding the source of the voice. The captain was sitting in his chair, back to the door, facing an emergency radio transmitter, holding the microphone in his quivering hand.
"We call 'em... blimmies... Don't know... Killed... platoon... Them... They're them now. Can't... I..."
Winston struggled to his feet, reached for the rifle.
The Sargent turned around in his chair. His face was gaunt, bluish, his eyes were red and wide, wild, darting about.
"I see him. Them. I see you. I see them." He said. His eyes seemed to focus on something invisible. "You're one of them."
"Give me the code cylinder. We've got to get to a medical bay, we've got to get out of here before the Xen'Chi return. They're in the hallway." Winston said. He took two solid steps towards the officer.
"They?" He asked. "They... them... us? I..."
"Sarge?" Winston asked, raising his rifle.
"You... You're... you... one of them. You!"
The sargent charged, but Winston was ready. He slung the butt of the rifle around, caught the man under the chin. The blow knocked him to the ground.
"Winston, please!" He cried, spasming on the floor. "We can't..."
Winston fired. The roar of the A280 shook the room. Smoke curled up from the corpse. Winston stepped over, picked up the code cylinder, and inserted it into the nearby plug. He turned it.
"Security alert terminated. All security forces return to your barracks for debriefing."
Winston stuck his head out the door. The turrent did not fire.
"...is... MA-5738... If... ple..." The commlink weakly buzzed.
Winston tuned the link, tried desperately to clarify the signal. MA-5738 - that was a personal ID number - someone still alive.
He hoped they were faring better than the last two survivors he had seen.
"MA-5738, this is ST-4201. Turn your comms to frequency 3444, pattern beta."
Man of Many Faces
ooc good to see everyone back in the saddle - this one will be a little shorter - looks like neuge might be picking up the xen chi in this thread - very exciting, I know.
IC
Ready's last remaining comrade was dead. The three managed to scramble back and around the corner before the turret could kill anyone else.
"On the bright side, sir, likely whomever is on the other end of that turret is coherent enough to set up a perimeter. I haven't seen the blimmies show any ability close to that." Ready said, shouldering his rifle.
Valis nodded and looked over to Consecro who was silent looking at a light burn on his leg. Apparently there was a nearer miss than Valis noticed. What he did notice, however, was that there were two cannons mounted in staggered intervals on the right and left sides of the ceiling. It wouldn't have been hard to take out one, but two was something different.
"Pulse grenades?" Valis verbalized his first idea, but was quickly dissapointed when both his comrades indicated they had none. "I would suggest screaming for whomever is behind there to shut down the defense system, but that damned music is too loud."
Ready nodded. "Can either of you slice into the cpu system and shut them down remotely?"
Valis knew he couldn't and Consecro's head motion told him he didn't either. He sighed. "Then we do it the hard way. We need to pull your trooper back behind here, I have an idea."
Luckily they hadnt gotten far out of the intersection when the firing started so pulling the dead stormtrooper back wasn't hard. Valis and his two comrades pulled the armor pieces off one by one. The two largest, the chest plate and leggings would be exactly what they would need. If the turrets moved in the typical defensive fire formation, when one turret found a target the other would stay on the source of danger waiting for further movement. Meaning, they needed two decoys, one for each turret.
The chest plate came flying out into the intersection first, and Delth heard the turrret swivel to fire on it. Then Ready threw the legging. The first blast came, and the low buzz of the second turret tracking. Valis would have one shot, and a split second to make it. He swiveled on his knee around the corner and found the turret that vaporized the chest plate. It was already turning to face him. He fired his rifle as the second turret vaporized the armor legging. The first turret exploded into sparks, and shrapel. Ready came out next aiming for the second turret. He found the mark as well, and both turrets were gone.
Once all the shrapnel went pitter-patter on the ground silence once again ruled the corridors... except for the deep base of the opera... coming from the ultra bright room at the end of the hall. They walked towards it...
ooc ok - ill continue this tomorrow or the next day - i have an idea of what ill find there..... hope everyone had a good thanksgiving.

IC
Ready's last remaining comrade was dead. The three managed to scramble back and around the corner before the turret could kill anyone else.
"On the bright side, sir, likely whomever is on the other end of that turret is coherent enough to set up a perimeter. I haven't seen the blimmies show any ability close to that." Ready said, shouldering his rifle.
Valis nodded and looked over to Consecro who was silent looking at a light burn on his leg. Apparently there was a nearer miss than Valis noticed. What he did notice, however, was that there were two cannons mounted in staggered intervals on the right and left sides of the ceiling. It wouldn't have been hard to take out one, but two was something different.
"Pulse grenades?" Valis verbalized his first idea, but was quickly dissapointed when both his comrades indicated they had none. "I would suggest screaming for whomever is behind there to shut down the defense system, but that damned music is too loud."
Ready nodded. "Can either of you slice into the cpu system and shut them down remotely?"
Valis knew he couldn't and Consecro's head motion told him he didn't either. He sighed. "Then we do it the hard way. We need to pull your trooper back behind here, I have an idea."
Luckily they hadnt gotten far out of the intersection when the firing started so pulling the dead stormtrooper back wasn't hard. Valis and his two comrades pulled the armor pieces off one by one. The two largest, the chest plate and leggings would be exactly what they would need. If the turrets moved in the typical defensive fire formation, when one turret found a target the other would stay on the source of danger waiting for further movement. Meaning, they needed two decoys, one for each turret.
The chest plate came flying out into the intersection first, and Delth heard the turrret swivel to fire on it. Then Ready threw the legging. The first blast came, and the low buzz of the second turret tracking. Valis would have one shot, and a split second to make it. He swiveled on his knee around the corner and found the turret that vaporized the chest plate. It was already turning to face him. He fired his rifle as the second turret vaporized the armor legging. The first turret exploded into sparks, and shrapel. Ready came out next aiming for the second turret. He found the mark as well, and both turrets were gone.
Once all the shrapnel went pitter-patter on the ground silence once again ruled the corridors... except for the deep base of the opera... coming from the ultra bright room at the end of the hall. They walked towards it...
ooc ok - ill continue this tomorrow or the next day - i have an idea of what ill find there..... hope everyone had a good thanksgiving.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Man of Many Faces
ooc - guys - a heads up - Im up for a pretty big promotion at work, which would take me off nights and weekends, and into a 8am-4pm scenario. It is going to require a 7-10 day trial period in which Ill have to do some extra hard work.
So my posting may very well be sporadic - Ill do my best but I really need to challenge myself and do a good job on this trial run. Take my mind and imagination and put it into some real-life stuff.
I will certainly try to make the next post in this thread some time tonight.
Wish me luck - and carry on with the threads as best you can without me - feel free to email me with any ideas or questions so I can help you.
So my posting may very well be sporadic - Ill do my best but I really need to challenge myself and do a good job on this trial run. Take my mind and imagination and put it into some real-life stuff.
I will certainly try to make the next post in this thread some time tonight.
Wish me luck - and carry on with the threads as best you can without me - feel free to email me with any ideas or questions so I can help you.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Man of Many Faces
It was one of the few times in the past few months that Valis had missed his crimson armor and helmet. He could have used their light filters at the moment, and their noise filters. The bright light was putting a strain on his eyes and starting a headache that the deep pounding bass of the Chandrilan opera was only making worse. Squinting his eyes, Valis moved closer quicker, not too concerned about being heard approaching. That would be impossible, even if they were dragging an AT-St behind them. Ready was at point, comfortable in the trooper uniform Consecro last as rear guard.
All three were happy that when they finally emerged into the ultra light room, no one with guns or any other weapon was waiting for them. In fact, the entire ward was devoid of life, spare one. A lone doctor stood at the far end of the ward over two adjacent operating tables. He was in full doctor regalia, apparently working on both men at the same time. He was at the epicenter of the light, maybe ten spots illuminating his work. Valis looked at Consecro, and twirled his finger around. The order was simple, make sure on one else was in here, especially hostiles, and then try and find what they needed. Mainly a scanner to make sure the air was clean, and if it wasn't something that might supress whatever was in the ship's atmosphere.
Meanwhile Valis approached the lone surgeon, Ready just behind him in full cover formation. The doctor hadn't heard any of them enter, and was still utterly enthralled in his music and focused on his gory work. As they approached the doctor corspes littered the room. Many were dead blimmies, with blaster marks on their chest and head, likely taken down by the doctor's automated defenses. Many of those dead were missing limbs, and other extremities. All of them had the bulging blue veins and puffed faces, which seemed to be the calling sign of whatever had infected part of the crew. It was like a medic station during some sick biological war, and it was not easy for Valis to keep his breakfast where it belonged.
Another thing came clear to Valis as he approached the surgeon. No one in the ward, on the tables was awake.... but none were sleeping either. ALl of them, every single one appeared to be dead. Killed by blaster or by the plague. EIther the plague was far deadlier than Valis feared, or this was the worst doctor ever trained by the Empire. Corporal Ready kept his gun held high, swishing it back and forth as he followed Valis who stopped ten feet before the surgeon. Still no reaction, his focus was singular, on his work. As Valis went to take another step there was finally a voice, a horrible sickening voice. It came from the surgeon.
"Ah... more takers for the treatment, take your seats boys, and I will get to you."
Valis stopped dead short, and let his hand drift to his force pike, untying it from his back. "What treatment?"
"Cure for the plague of course..." The surgeon trailed off... his voice was like something you would hear from a dying old man - except with the nastiness of an already dead spirit seeking revenge. Like death itself.
"Looks like you've done a fine job here..." Valis said, voice flat unsure what to do.
"Ah yes, my great works are inside." His head moved to the side, but didnt rise an inch, towards a curain hanging behind the tables. Valis motioned to ready to check it out. He kept his eyes on the surgeon.
"What's the plague? Can you be inoculated from it?"
About ten second passed, in which the doctor continued to cut and pull. Then he finally answered. "No... need a transplant."
Valis took a few steps forward and got closer to the tables and the surgeon. That's when Ready mechanical voice came from the behind the curtain. Terror, would be the best description of what his tone was filled with. "Sir... you need to see this."
Valis looked down at the bodies the doctor was working and almost vomited. Instead he coughed, and hacked and wheezed. The surgeon continued his cutting. Valis found himself and looked up, and the surgeon stopped, finally. He looked up to Valis and smiled... one of the worst smiles any man had ever seen. The man, maybe had three teeth left, no nose and huge scars where his eyes used to be. They had been burned or clawed out by something... maybe himself. But unbelievably his patients looked worse. Once human, loyal men of the EMpire, those on the tables were barely half of their former selves. Legs, heads... arms were missing replaced by parts of strange creatures... grey skinned with war scars and tattoos - the true mish-mosh of a mad scientist.
"Monster..." Valis whispered... he could hear ready wretching from the other side of the curtain. The surgeon smiled again and went back to work. Valis twisted force pike in his hands and swubg it across and in front of him in a wide arc. It would be his last operation... and Valis hoped it would be strangest thing he would see on this ship. UNfortunately, something was telling him that would not be the case...
All three were happy that when they finally emerged into the ultra light room, no one with guns or any other weapon was waiting for them. In fact, the entire ward was devoid of life, spare one. A lone doctor stood at the far end of the ward over two adjacent operating tables. He was in full doctor regalia, apparently working on both men at the same time. He was at the epicenter of the light, maybe ten spots illuminating his work. Valis looked at Consecro, and twirled his finger around. The order was simple, make sure on one else was in here, especially hostiles, and then try and find what they needed. Mainly a scanner to make sure the air was clean, and if it wasn't something that might supress whatever was in the ship's atmosphere.
Meanwhile Valis approached the lone surgeon, Ready just behind him in full cover formation. The doctor hadn't heard any of them enter, and was still utterly enthralled in his music and focused on his gory work. As they approached the doctor corspes littered the room. Many were dead blimmies, with blaster marks on their chest and head, likely taken down by the doctor's automated defenses. Many of those dead were missing limbs, and other extremities. All of them had the bulging blue veins and puffed faces, which seemed to be the calling sign of whatever had infected part of the crew. It was like a medic station during some sick biological war, and it was not easy for Valis to keep his breakfast where it belonged.
Another thing came clear to Valis as he approached the surgeon. No one in the ward, on the tables was awake.... but none were sleeping either. ALl of them, every single one appeared to be dead. Killed by blaster or by the plague. EIther the plague was far deadlier than Valis feared, or this was the worst doctor ever trained by the Empire. Corporal Ready kept his gun held high, swishing it back and forth as he followed Valis who stopped ten feet before the surgeon. Still no reaction, his focus was singular, on his work. As Valis went to take another step there was finally a voice, a horrible sickening voice. It came from the surgeon.
"Ah... more takers for the treatment, take your seats boys, and I will get to you."
Valis stopped dead short, and let his hand drift to his force pike, untying it from his back. "What treatment?"
"Cure for the plague of course..." The surgeon trailed off... his voice was like something you would hear from a dying old man - except with the nastiness of an already dead spirit seeking revenge. Like death itself.
"Looks like you've done a fine job here..." Valis said, voice flat unsure what to do.
"Ah yes, my great works are inside." His head moved to the side, but didnt rise an inch, towards a curain hanging behind the tables. Valis motioned to ready to check it out. He kept his eyes on the surgeon.
"What's the plague? Can you be inoculated from it?"
About ten second passed, in which the doctor continued to cut and pull. Then he finally answered. "No... need a transplant."
Valis took a few steps forward and got closer to the tables and the surgeon. That's when Ready mechanical voice came from the behind the curtain. Terror, would be the best description of what his tone was filled with. "Sir... you need to see this."
Valis looked down at the bodies the doctor was working and almost vomited. Instead he coughed, and hacked and wheezed. The surgeon continued his cutting. Valis found himself and looked up, and the surgeon stopped, finally. He looked up to Valis and smiled... one of the worst smiles any man had ever seen. The man, maybe had three teeth left, no nose and huge scars where his eyes used to be. They had been burned or clawed out by something... maybe himself. But unbelievably his patients looked worse. Once human, loyal men of the EMpire, those on the tables were barely half of their former selves. Legs, heads... arms were missing replaced by parts of strange creatures... grey skinned with war scars and tattoos - the true mish-mosh of a mad scientist.
"Monster..." Valis whispered... he could hear ready wretching from the other side of the curtain. The surgeon smiled again and went back to work. Valis twisted force pike in his hands and swubg it across and in front of him in a wide arc. It would be his last operation... and Valis hoped it would be strangest thing he would see on this ship. UNfortunately, something was telling him that would not be the case...
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Regroup
Winston wasn't entirely sure what was happening now. The blue-faced, swollen tech crew had obviously been exposed to vacuum, but were still... alive.
Sort of.
He was watching them through a one-way glass in a security station he had recently barricaded himself into.
The station was small. There was a weapon locker, some supplies, a heavy metal desk, and the one way glass. He wasn't sure why there was a security station this close to the medical bay; he didn't have clearance to be in the section of the Ship he was in.
But the Cleansing was bigger than most cities. There were a lot of things - especially here in Officer's Quarters, that he'd never seen.
And in the other room, a Two-One-bee had gone nuts. A neatly sutured half of a Corporal's corpse was there, with scaled blue legs - the legs of those alien bastards - crudely attached. Three of them. And some vent, a bit of wiring, a power conduit perhaps, was shoved into the middle.
The two-one-bee was now just a smoking husk. The brain-dead maniacs had smashed it. But not before it had sliced one's head in half with a laser and given another one enough sedative to knock down a rancor.
And now there were three of them, milling about, occassionally mulling over the streaks of blood across the one-way glass. They were like simple robots, roving, running into things, backing up, trying again.
He turned away from the glass and fumbled through the supply locker. The A280 was running low on ammo - he'd run into a wounded Xen'Chi boarder earlier, and used too much ammo finishing him off.
Still, the chance to watch the stumbling dead was too much of a bonus. He was fascinated by them.
"Okay, so if I..." He tuned the transciever in the security desk to the same channel filter he was tuning his headset. Suddenly, he had power.
"Oh shavvit!" He said, and the phrased echoed throughout the corridors.
"Uh, if anyone can hear me..." He began. And stopped short, remembering the Navy troops that had nearly bushwhacked him earlier. He needed a code. Something easy to figure out, if you were in command of all your faculties. Not like the freaks, not like those soulless "human" creeps, either.
The three in the medical bay were certainly reacting at the sound of his voice, though. They started shrieking, high-pitched excited hoots.
"Oh shavvit." Winston grumbled. He looked at the contents of the desk, hoping to find some method of encoding a message that wasn't an imperial mainstay.
And he found it. A program for editing the security breifings that played every ten minutes over the intercom and every five minutes over the helmet sets. They were soft, low-key, and almost anyone who had spent time onboard a Star Destroyer would tune them out.
Unless their senses were on edge. Unless they were fighting for their lives against unknowable foes.
He played the next message on the datapad.
Security and you: Your choices mean your safety. Please report any unsafe or unregulated behavior to your superiors. Following orders as quickly as possible is the way to ensure security.
Okay. He added a second part, trying hard to imitate the soft-voiced androgenous purr that spouted off every other security briefing, imperial reminder, and loyalty announcement.
"So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
He set it to play, and locked the last clip into the A280, which he pointed at the door.
For the first time since the chaos had begun, he simply waited.
Sort of.
He was watching them through a one-way glass in a security station he had recently barricaded himself into.
The station was small. There was a weapon locker, some supplies, a heavy metal desk, and the one way glass. He wasn't sure why there was a security station this close to the medical bay; he didn't have clearance to be in the section of the Ship he was in.
But the Cleansing was bigger than most cities. There were a lot of things - especially here in Officer's Quarters, that he'd never seen.
And in the other room, a Two-One-bee had gone nuts. A neatly sutured half of a Corporal's corpse was there, with scaled blue legs - the legs of those alien bastards - crudely attached. Three of them. And some vent, a bit of wiring, a power conduit perhaps, was shoved into the middle.
The two-one-bee was now just a smoking husk. The brain-dead maniacs had smashed it. But not before it had sliced one's head in half with a laser and given another one enough sedative to knock down a rancor.
And now there were three of them, milling about, occassionally mulling over the streaks of blood across the one-way glass. They were like simple robots, roving, running into things, backing up, trying again.
He turned away from the glass and fumbled through the supply locker. The A280 was running low on ammo - he'd run into a wounded Xen'Chi boarder earlier, and used too much ammo finishing him off.
Still, the chance to watch the stumbling dead was too much of a bonus. He was fascinated by them.
"Okay, so if I..." He tuned the transciever in the security desk to the same channel filter he was tuning his headset. Suddenly, he had power.
"Oh shavvit!" He said, and the phrased echoed throughout the corridors.
"Uh, if anyone can hear me..." He began. And stopped short, remembering the Navy troops that had nearly bushwhacked him earlier. He needed a code. Something easy to figure out, if you were in command of all your faculties. Not like the freaks, not like those soulless "human" creeps, either.
The three in the medical bay were certainly reacting at the sound of his voice, though. They started shrieking, high-pitched excited hoots.
"Oh shavvit." Winston grumbled. He looked at the contents of the desk, hoping to find some method of encoding a message that wasn't an imperial mainstay.
And he found it. A program for editing the security breifings that played every ten minutes over the intercom and every five minutes over the helmet sets. They were soft, low-key, and almost anyone who had spent time onboard a Star Destroyer would tune them out.
Unless their senses were on edge. Unless they were fighting for their lives against unknowable foes.
He played the next message on the datapad.
Security and you: Your choices mean your safety. Please report any unsafe or unregulated behavior to your superiors. Following orders as quickly as possible is the way to ensure security.
Okay. He added a second part, trying hard to imitate the soft-voiced androgenous purr that spouted off every other security briefing, imperial reminder, and loyalty announcement.
"So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
He set it to play, and locked the last clip into the A280, which he pointed at the door.
For the first time since the chaos had begun, he simply waited.
Centurio
Consecro suppressed the urge to retch. The scene was extremely unpleasant, by any estimation: the bodies alone would have made a weak stomach send its contents back up into the throat, and coupled with that was the appearance of the doctor himself. Consecro was almost happy when Valis struck the man down.
He walked around the bodies, looking at the alien corpses. "What do you make of this species, Major? I can't say I've ever seen them before..." Ready concurred, and Consecro knelt by one body, more intact than the others, and examined it more closely. It was grey, scarred and tattooed - some might say mutilated compared to its original complexion and color. Regardless, Consecro found nothing in the epidermis that he recognized from anywhere throughout his travels in the Galaxy.
He walked around the bodies, looking at the alien corpses. "What do you make of this species, Major? I can't say I've ever seen them before..." Ready concurred, and Consecro knelt by one body, more intact than the others, and examined it more closely. It was grey, scarred and tattooed - some might say mutilated compared to its original complexion and color. Regardless, Consecro found nothing in the epidermis that he recognized from anywhere throughout his travels in the Galaxy.
Man of Many Faces
"Ive never seen anything like it..." Valis muttered, circling around to the other side of the table.
After a few seconds of silence, Ready's mechanical voice filled the room. "What do you mean you don't recognize them? These are the aliens that boarded the ship during the battle over Ord Mantell... the Xen'Chi." An intensity was in his voice now, anger and fear. "If you were on the ship, you would have known that."
Valis turned to find Ready's blaster pointed at him, positioning his body so neither Valis nor Consecro were behind him. "Relax Major, it's nothing insidious."
"Then why lie... Major, if you even hold a rank..."
Valis looked to Consecro motioning him to relax and standown. "We found the Cleansing marooned in the middle of dead space. It tractored our fighter in, we didn't know your intentions or state of mind when we found you. My rank is Major. I'm Valis Thorn, I'm assigned to the Strike Cruiser Ardin under Captain Hastos and Commander Delth Ardin. This man's name is Consecro, contracted independently by those men for our mission in the Core. We were charged with tracking a Lorisian vessel, that's when were pulled out of hyperspace near the Cleansing."
Ready was silent, but kept his blaster raised. All three men remained frozen in place for a few moments before Ready finally lowered his weapon. "Then you have a hyperspace capable ship that can get us out of here."
Valis nodded. "We do, but we can't get out while the tractor beams are active. We also know the ships location, as long as it doesn't jump and we can find a way to broadcast over the holonet or hyperlink we can have the Imperial NAvy here in hours. BUt we need to get to engineering to turn off the beams, or stop the comm jamming."
Before Ready could answer, a metal whoosh echoed from behind the curtain where the surgeon was working. All three turned with their weapons raised and approached the noise. It sounded like a turbolift, but there was no noise indicating anyone was walking out of it. Valis knew the from ship blueprints there was no turbolift in this room... unless it had changed somehow. Nothing would suprise him the ways things were going.
Ready pulled away the curtain and in a supply lift was another dead Imperial. Attatched was a note written in a language Delth had never seen before. "Someone feeding him bodies."
"Who?" Ready asked.
"I don't know anything about the Xen'Chi, but unless their race is certifiably insane, they would never give anyone their dead to desecrate like this. It must be some of the afflicted with whatever plague has come over the crew. Ready, use your helmet interface and see where this lift leads. Consecro, did you find anything that will allow us to get out of these damned anti-grav suits?"
Both went about their duty as Valis dragged the body out of the transport lift. As soon as it was removed the lift closed again and zoomed back down. SOmeone was down there... likely somewhere near the quartermaster's area, this was used for medical supply transport in normal times. Whoever was down there had access to the ship's stores, which also meant they were precious more levels closer to engineering.
"All the readings on every piece of equipment reads the atmosphere is safe Valis." Consecro said, "But there's no way..."
Valis removed his helmet anyway and began to unzip his suit. "Im willing to take that chance. I need to get out of this suit."
Consecro nodded... "Well..."
"Wait a second." Valis interrupted. "Listen to the new broadcast... the end is different."
"So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
He went to his comm-unit and keyed in the frequency.
"ONly an officer would have access to change that message." Ready said. "And someone who is healthy."
"Or trying to fool us somehow." Consecro said.
"Ill take that chance." Valis said, moving his comm unit to his mouth. "This is Major Valis Thorn, please respond."
After a few seconds of silence, Ready's mechanical voice filled the room. "What do you mean you don't recognize them? These are the aliens that boarded the ship during the battle over Ord Mantell... the Xen'Chi." An intensity was in his voice now, anger and fear. "If you were on the ship, you would have known that."
Valis turned to find Ready's blaster pointed at him, positioning his body so neither Valis nor Consecro were behind him. "Relax Major, it's nothing insidious."
"Then why lie... Major, if you even hold a rank..."
Valis looked to Consecro motioning him to relax and standown. "We found the Cleansing marooned in the middle of dead space. It tractored our fighter in, we didn't know your intentions or state of mind when we found you. My rank is Major. I'm Valis Thorn, I'm assigned to the Strike Cruiser Ardin under Captain Hastos and Commander Delth Ardin. This man's name is Consecro, contracted independently by those men for our mission in the Core. We were charged with tracking a Lorisian vessel, that's when were pulled out of hyperspace near the Cleansing."
Ready was silent, but kept his blaster raised. All three men remained frozen in place for a few moments before Ready finally lowered his weapon. "Then you have a hyperspace capable ship that can get us out of here."
Valis nodded. "We do, but we can't get out while the tractor beams are active. We also know the ships location, as long as it doesn't jump and we can find a way to broadcast over the holonet or hyperlink we can have the Imperial NAvy here in hours. BUt we need to get to engineering to turn off the beams, or stop the comm jamming."
Before Ready could answer, a metal whoosh echoed from behind the curtain where the surgeon was working. All three turned with their weapons raised and approached the noise. It sounded like a turbolift, but there was no noise indicating anyone was walking out of it. Valis knew the from ship blueprints there was no turbolift in this room... unless it had changed somehow. Nothing would suprise him the ways things were going.
Ready pulled away the curtain and in a supply lift was another dead Imperial. Attatched was a note written in a language Delth had never seen before. "Someone feeding him bodies."
"Who?" Ready asked.
"I don't know anything about the Xen'Chi, but unless their race is certifiably insane, they would never give anyone their dead to desecrate like this. It must be some of the afflicted with whatever plague has come over the crew. Ready, use your helmet interface and see where this lift leads. Consecro, did you find anything that will allow us to get out of these damned anti-grav suits?"
Both went about their duty as Valis dragged the body out of the transport lift. As soon as it was removed the lift closed again and zoomed back down. SOmeone was down there... likely somewhere near the quartermaster's area, this was used for medical supply transport in normal times. Whoever was down there had access to the ship's stores, which also meant they were precious more levels closer to engineering.
"All the readings on every piece of equipment reads the atmosphere is safe Valis." Consecro said, "But there's no way..."
Valis removed his helmet anyway and began to unzip his suit. "Im willing to take that chance. I need to get out of this suit."
Consecro nodded... "Well..."
"Wait a second." Valis interrupted. "Listen to the new broadcast... the end is different."
"So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
He went to his comm-unit and keyed in the frequency.
"ONly an officer would have access to change that message." Ready said. "And someone who is healthy."
"Or trying to fool us somehow." Consecro said.
"Ill take that chance." Valis said, moving his comm unit to his mouth. "This is Major Valis Thorn, please respond."
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Worked
The brain-dead, blue-skinned walking dead still stumbled about in the next room, like metal-mites in slow motion, trapped in a box.
"Dolts." Winston grumbled.
"This is Major Valis Thorn, please respond."
Winston gasped. He hadn't expected the trick to work.
"Uh, Major, uh, Thorn, this is Winston Freeman, PFC."
"What's going on, private?" The other man asked, a strange tension in his voice.
"Hell if I know, sir. We were suiting up to repel the Xen'Chi boarders when a weird gas vented into the barracks, turned everyone into raving psychos. I had my breather on, or I'd be like... them. I'm trying to contact anyone, but, sir - this place is like a ghost ship - nothing's right. The dead aren't staying down, the living are all nuts." winston sighed, looked up at the one-way glass. The milling-about officers were gone, leaving a trail of blood to the door.
"Where are you?"
"Near an auxillary medical bay in the Officers Quadrant. It's some sort of research station - I've never seen anything like it. It's very secure, but I managed to gain access to a security station, and I'm holding it down pretty tight."
"Have you seen anyone else?" Valis asked.
"That's the thing." Winston said. He shivered. "Not everyone got hit with a full dose - some of them are still... okay. Some aren't THAT normal - I've seen some pretty paranoid folks here, the machines are all haywire, and they're talking about... about..."
He didn't want to say it, but he did.
"They're talking about Damascus, acting like nothing else is wrong."
"Dolts." Winston grumbled.
"This is Major Valis Thorn, please respond."
Winston gasped. He hadn't expected the trick to work.
"Uh, Major, uh, Thorn, this is Winston Freeman, PFC."
"What's going on, private?" The other man asked, a strange tension in his voice.
"Hell if I know, sir. We were suiting up to repel the Xen'Chi boarders when a weird gas vented into the barracks, turned everyone into raving psychos. I had my breather on, or I'd be like... them. I'm trying to contact anyone, but, sir - this place is like a ghost ship - nothing's right. The dead aren't staying down, the living are all nuts." winston sighed, looked up at the one-way glass. The milling-about officers were gone, leaving a trail of blood to the door.
"Where are you?"
"Near an auxillary medical bay in the Officers Quadrant. It's some sort of research station - I've never seen anything like it. It's very secure, but I managed to gain access to a security station, and I'm holding it down pretty tight."
"Have you seen anyone else?" Valis asked.
"That's the thing." Winston said. He shivered. "Not everyone got hit with a full dose - some of them are still... okay. Some aren't THAT normal - I've seen some pretty paranoid folks here, the machines are all haywire, and they're talking about... about..."
He didn't want to say it, but he did.
"They're talking about Damascus, acting like nothing else is wrong."
Man of Many Faces
Damascus...
The man finished his sentence but that is what stuck.
Something IS seriously wrong here...
Valis locked eyes with Consecro a moment, then looked over to Ready before speaking back. "What level are you on Private?"
"Deck 93..."
"We're above you but all the turbolifts on this level are deactivated, and we're locked out."
Valis clicked off his communicator and looked to Ready. "Where does this supply lift take us?"
"Deck 66 sir."
Valis nodded, and turned the comm unit back on.
"You'll need to activate one on your level and send it up to us. Can you do that?"
"I'll have no cover and have my back turned to the corridor when I fix it sir..." The muffled voice came back.
"Well, then you better fix it fast Private. You name the turbolift shaft, whichever provides you the most cover." Valis answered.
"The one in the security station, I can try and jam the door... TL shaft 19."
"Nineteen." Valis repeated. "Five minutes, we'll be waiting. And beware any unusual electric activity, we had some difficulties up here trying to run maintenence to one of the lifts."
"Difficulties sir?" Came back the Private.
"You don't want to know private."
"Gotcha sir, I'll get to it."
"Reconnect when it's done." Thorn out. Valis turned off the comm unit and looked at his two comrades. "Looks like we have a way off this floor. But be careful, and remember 66. We'll have to hit that level eventually, and there will be resistance."
Ready nodded. "Sir how do you know the same thing wont happen to him that happened to Simons when he tried to fix the lift?"
"I don't Sargeant, but what I do know is that he's our only way off this level, unless you want to go into the teeth of our enemy with three blaster rifles."
Ready helmeted head moved up and down.
"Consecro, search the room, take any medical supplies you think we might need, and anything else you can get your hands on."
Ready interrupted. "Sir, we shouldn't leave these bodies here like this, it isn't right."
Valis turned and looked... and slowly nodded. "You're right, you're right. Pack some incendiary charges and gather the bodies near each other. We'll burn them well enough before the fire systems engage."
Ready nodded and went to work, as Consecro pocketed supplies from the shelves in the room's corner. Valis took the time to reflect on what the Private had told him about Damascus. Why would they be talking about a dead Emperor? And he was dead, Valis saw him breath his last breath. Could it have to do with the gas somehow? But if the Xen'chi were behind a biological attack why would it have that effect? Perhaps and unintentional consequence of some burnt out synapses. It didn't matter, but what did is that there was still a chance that some semi-intelligent beings were still on this ship, perhaps even some fully intact. They would have to find them and rally them and get to engineering. Valis already assumed the Xen'Chi had control down there. It would one helluva fight. His thoughts were interrupted by Consecro.
"I have more than enough, some stims, some pain killers, disenfectant and something we can use as a firebomb." Consecro said. "I also grabbed some poison control, maybe we can use it on some survivors..."
Valis nodded. "I wouldn't even know where to start." He looked over to Ready who was placing the last of his charges. "Let's move out." The trio walked from the smelly, depressing room and turned the corner. Ready unleashed his incendiaries and the odor of burnt flesh moved with the heat of the fire. WIthin moments the fire systems reset and foam spray rained from the sprinklers above in the room they left behind.
"WHoever is down there will know we torched their lab." Consecro said.
Valis nodded. "Im counting on it. If they come looking for us, maybe we'll get some answers."
_________________
When they got the to the turbolift they still hadn't heard back from the private. However, there was no silence. Footsteps echoed through the silent level, and they were coming closer. It was amazing how sound traveled when everything was steel, and there was nothing else competing with it. WHen the creatures turned the corner Valis recognized them immediately from the bodies in the medcenter. They were the Xen Chi. And as soon as they saw, they came.
The three filled the corridor with red blaster fire, but they dodged many, and their armor absorbed the few blasts that made contact. They fired back with some kind of weird plasma... and whatever it was at this range was not difficult to dodge. Valis could hear and smell the sizzle of it as it hit the steel behind him. They approached with their staff like weapons hel out in front of them. Ready continued to fire, Valis pulled out his force pike. The hall was just wide enough for him to use it effectively. The tattooed creature almost smiled as his weapon was blockd aside by Valis.
No matter the race, and the fighting style, the key to being a good warrior with hand to hand weapons was pretty consistent. Power, speed, precision and balance. HIs opponent displayed all four, Valis was taught in them as well. And even though neither had ever seen the other fight, they fell into a dance like to wookies who had been married for centuries. The force pike spun and twirled matching the gray skinned man's every twitch. He was good, especially for someone who appeared to be nothing more than a footmen on patrol. Nothing on him distinguished him as an officer. If only the Empire's stormtroopers were so well trained. UNfortunately for the alien, Valis was no stormtrooper.
He had his own job. ANd for a decade it was to be so good with the force pike, even a Jedi armed with a lightsaber would have difficulty besting him. Valis had never tested himself against a force user... until the end with Damascus, but that was with his blaster. But if they were faster than this warrior, he would have had his hands full, because at the moment, they were full here. But finally the alien overcommited, and Valis was able to sweep the tip of his pike through the alien's ankles, knocking him to the floor. HIs next move put the pike through its throat. Valis turned... looking to help his comrades... all the while this communicator was ringing... the turbolift was coming.
ooc im in Jersey tomorrow. I know, yuck.
The man finished his sentence but that is what stuck.
Something IS seriously wrong here...
Valis locked eyes with Consecro a moment, then looked over to Ready before speaking back. "What level are you on Private?"
"Deck 93..."
"We're above you but all the turbolifts on this level are deactivated, and we're locked out."
Valis clicked off his communicator and looked to Ready. "Where does this supply lift take us?"
"Deck 66 sir."
Valis nodded, and turned the comm unit back on.
"You'll need to activate one on your level and send it up to us. Can you do that?"
"I'll have no cover and have my back turned to the corridor when I fix it sir..." The muffled voice came back.
"Well, then you better fix it fast Private. You name the turbolift shaft, whichever provides you the most cover." Valis answered.
"The one in the security station, I can try and jam the door... TL shaft 19."
"Nineteen." Valis repeated. "Five minutes, we'll be waiting. And beware any unusual electric activity, we had some difficulties up here trying to run maintenence to one of the lifts."
"Difficulties sir?" Came back the Private.
"You don't want to know private."
"Gotcha sir, I'll get to it."
"Reconnect when it's done." Thorn out. Valis turned off the comm unit and looked at his two comrades. "Looks like we have a way off this floor. But be careful, and remember 66. We'll have to hit that level eventually, and there will be resistance."
Ready nodded. "Sir how do you know the same thing wont happen to him that happened to Simons when he tried to fix the lift?"
"I don't Sargeant, but what I do know is that he's our only way off this level, unless you want to go into the teeth of our enemy with three blaster rifles."
Ready helmeted head moved up and down.
"Consecro, search the room, take any medical supplies you think we might need, and anything else you can get your hands on."
Ready interrupted. "Sir, we shouldn't leave these bodies here like this, it isn't right."
Valis turned and looked... and slowly nodded. "You're right, you're right. Pack some incendiary charges and gather the bodies near each other. We'll burn them well enough before the fire systems engage."
Ready nodded and went to work, as Consecro pocketed supplies from the shelves in the room's corner. Valis took the time to reflect on what the Private had told him about Damascus. Why would they be talking about a dead Emperor? And he was dead, Valis saw him breath his last breath. Could it have to do with the gas somehow? But if the Xen'chi were behind a biological attack why would it have that effect? Perhaps and unintentional consequence of some burnt out synapses. It didn't matter, but what did is that there was still a chance that some semi-intelligent beings were still on this ship, perhaps even some fully intact. They would have to find them and rally them and get to engineering. Valis already assumed the Xen'Chi had control down there. It would one helluva fight. His thoughts were interrupted by Consecro.
"I have more than enough, some stims, some pain killers, disenfectant and something we can use as a firebomb." Consecro said. "I also grabbed some poison control, maybe we can use it on some survivors..."
Valis nodded. "I wouldn't even know where to start." He looked over to Ready who was placing the last of his charges. "Let's move out." The trio walked from the smelly, depressing room and turned the corner. Ready unleashed his incendiaries and the odor of burnt flesh moved with the heat of the fire. WIthin moments the fire systems reset and foam spray rained from the sprinklers above in the room they left behind.
"WHoever is down there will know we torched their lab." Consecro said.
Valis nodded. "Im counting on it. If they come looking for us, maybe we'll get some answers."
_________________
When they got the to the turbolift they still hadn't heard back from the private. However, there was no silence. Footsteps echoed through the silent level, and they were coming closer. It was amazing how sound traveled when everything was steel, and there was nothing else competing with it. WHen the creatures turned the corner Valis recognized them immediately from the bodies in the medcenter. They were the Xen Chi. And as soon as they saw, they came.
The three filled the corridor with red blaster fire, but they dodged many, and their armor absorbed the few blasts that made contact. They fired back with some kind of weird plasma... and whatever it was at this range was not difficult to dodge. Valis could hear and smell the sizzle of it as it hit the steel behind him. They approached with their staff like weapons hel out in front of them. Ready continued to fire, Valis pulled out his force pike. The hall was just wide enough for him to use it effectively. The tattooed creature almost smiled as his weapon was blockd aside by Valis.
No matter the race, and the fighting style, the key to being a good warrior with hand to hand weapons was pretty consistent. Power, speed, precision and balance. HIs opponent displayed all four, Valis was taught in them as well. And even though neither had ever seen the other fight, they fell into a dance like to wookies who had been married for centuries. The force pike spun and twirled matching the gray skinned man's every twitch. He was good, especially for someone who appeared to be nothing more than a footmen on patrol. Nothing on him distinguished him as an officer. If only the Empire's stormtroopers were so well trained. UNfortunately for the alien, Valis was no stormtrooper.
He had his own job. ANd for a decade it was to be so good with the force pike, even a Jedi armed with a lightsaber would have difficulty besting him. Valis had never tested himself against a force user... until the end with Damascus, but that was with his blaster. But if they were faster than this warrior, he would have had his hands full, because at the moment, they were full here. But finally the alien overcommited, and Valis was able to sweep the tip of his pike through the alien's ankles, knocking him to the floor. HIs next move put the pike through its throat. Valis turned... looking to help his comrades... all the while this communicator was ringing... the turbolift was coming.
ooc im in Jersey tomorrow. I know, yuck.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Turbolift
Winston clicked off the commlink and stared at the blood-spattered room beyond for a few mindless moments.
Thoughts collected, he stood, checked his weapon and supplies, and keyed the door.
Nothing in the hallway.
"Get down to the supply lift, activate it, do this, do that. Don't want to hear about the problems, private. Frelling Major. Major pain in the ass, more like it. I just happen to like knowing about potential, life-ending problems.
He sighed. The flurry of negative thoughts was getting him nowhere but closer to dead.
"No, he's the one that wants you dead - wants all of us dead. Valis Thorn is a cold-blooded killer.
"Great." Winston sighed under his breath. He listened to the halls.
"Traitor."
"Murderer."
He found the supply lift - it seemed to be in working order.
"Pardon me, sir. Are you having a nice day?"
Winston looked up, saw a clanking, silver-skinned protocol droid heading towards him, hand raised in a friendly wave.
"No." Winston swore under his breath.
"Allow us to help you. I am protocol unit 238 alpha, at your service."
"Get lost." Winston said. "Frelling protocol droids! Gonna give my position away."
"Remember to report any unusual circumstances to your immediate superior." The droid said.
"I'm on my way, actua..." Winston began, sarcastically.
There was a roar, and the droid exploded, sending a shower of silver shards over the hallway. The blast threw Winston against a wall, and he scrambled to his feet.
"The frell!" He shouted. The smoking legs fell backwards onto the scorched floor.
"I am coming to facilitate communications." A voice far down the hallway said.
Another protocol droid with skin the same color as it's tongue.
"Oh shavvit." Winton said, realizing that there were dozens of such droids clattering down the hallway.
"Have a nice day! Allow us to help you navigate the Cleansing, sir."
Winston jammed at the buttons - nothing happened. He grabbed a multi-tool from his belt and pried the control console open.
"Okay, okay, just gotta connect this with..."
"Sir, you are defacing the property of the Galactic Empire, a class one crime. Please desist or we will sound a general security alarm."
Winston snaked one of the wires from the conduit, using the power supply in the multitool to form a brief connection, then solder it in place. The metal clank-clank-clank grew closer.
"Have you been helped, sir? I am Protocol Droid 34 delta, at your service. I hope you enjoy your stay onboard the Cleansing."
"How may we assist you?"
"Have a nice day."
"Yes, have a nice day, petty little traitor."
Winston shouted as the droids drew closer, their haltering gaits never changing, the whine of servos filling the hallway amidst the monotone greetings.
Then, the lift moved, rapidly, throwing Winston to the ground. Air rushed by as the open lift roared through the shaft.
TL shaft 19 was heading towards the others - and Winston was onboard.
"Fleeing a horde of murderous protocol droids. They're never gonna believe this."
Thoughts collected, he stood, checked his weapon and supplies, and keyed the door.
Nothing in the hallway.
"Get down to the supply lift, activate it, do this, do that. Don't want to hear about the problems, private. Frelling Major. Major pain in the ass, more like it. I just happen to like knowing about potential, life-ending problems.
He sighed. The flurry of negative thoughts was getting him nowhere but closer to dead.
"No, he's the one that wants you dead - wants all of us dead. Valis Thorn is a cold-blooded killer.
"Great." Winston sighed under his breath. He listened to the halls.
"Traitor."
"Murderer."
He found the supply lift - it seemed to be in working order.
"Pardon me, sir. Are you having a nice day?"
Winston looked up, saw a clanking, silver-skinned protocol droid heading towards him, hand raised in a friendly wave.
"No." Winston swore under his breath.
"Allow us to help you. I am protocol unit 238 alpha, at your service."
"Get lost." Winston said. "Frelling protocol droids! Gonna give my position away."
"Remember to report any unusual circumstances to your immediate superior." The droid said.
"I'm on my way, actua..." Winston began, sarcastically.
There was a roar, and the droid exploded, sending a shower of silver shards over the hallway. The blast threw Winston against a wall, and he scrambled to his feet.
"The frell!" He shouted. The smoking legs fell backwards onto the scorched floor.
"I am coming to facilitate communications." A voice far down the hallway said.
Another protocol droid with skin the same color as it's tongue.
"Oh shavvit." Winton said, realizing that there were dozens of such droids clattering down the hallway.
"Have a nice day! Allow us to help you navigate the Cleansing, sir."
Winston jammed at the buttons - nothing happened. He grabbed a multi-tool from his belt and pried the control console open.
"Okay, okay, just gotta connect this with..."
"Sir, you are defacing the property of the Galactic Empire, a class one crime. Please desist or we will sound a general security alarm."
Winston snaked one of the wires from the conduit, using the power supply in the multitool to form a brief connection, then solder it in place. The metal clank-clank-clank grew closer.
"Have you been helped, sir? I am Protocol Droid 34 delta, at your service. I hope you enjoy your stay onboard the Cleansing."
"How may we assist you?"
"Have a nice day."
"Yes, have a nice day, petty little traitor."
Winston shouted as the droids drew closer, their haltering gaits never changing, the whine of servos filling the hallway amidst the monotone greetings.
Then, the lift moved, rapidly, throwing Winston to the ground. Air rushed by as the open lift roared through the shaft.
TL shaft 19 was heading towards the others - and Winston was onboard.
"Fleeing a horde of murderous protocol droids. They're never gonna believe this."
Man of Many Faces
Centurio
Consecro opened fire with the other two, trying to find some cover in the empty hallway before simply giving up on the futile venture. The enemy - the Xen'Chi, Ready had called them - advanced with confidence, wielding some sort of staves. Consecro stopped bothering with the blaster - at the current rate, it would have taken a few days of emptying blaster fire into that armor before it buckled, or so it seemed - and pulled out his vibrodaggers. He held them at the ready as the warrior grinned (so Consecro presumed) with anticipation.
Consecro stayed defensive for the time-being; there was no sense is overconfidently getting oneself killed, especially since Valis, out of the corner of Consecro's eye, seemed to be having difficulty fighting his own opponent. The warrior probably was not thinking the same thing, given that a staff has considerably longer reach than a pair of vibrodaggers - assuming, of course, the weapon stays in the wielder's hand at all times. Consecro bent his knees, almost kneeling, in defense. He knew he would not do well trying to block the staff, and would have to dodge it; he was tested in this ability now as the Xen'Chi warrior swung at his feet, trying to floor him. Consecro leapt, not towards his enemy, but straight up, doing no more than dodging and arriving once more at a defensive position. The warrior was taking it slowly for the moment, not overextending himself lest Consecro get a blade in edgewise.
The warrior lunged again, this time in a high, thrusting feint which was then brought down towards Consecro's head as he knelt to dodge the attack; Consecro barely saw it coming in time to move to one side. The dodge left him off-balance for a moment; a moment which the opposing warrior took advantage of, swiping once more towards Consecro's feet. The strike was solid, taking the aging Epicanthix off his feet and landing him heavily on the durasteel flooring. The Xen'Chi, confident now, swung his staff in an arc down towards Consecro, but the weapon never made contact. The warrior had become too focused on his objective and never saw Valis' force pike before it struck him down from behind.
Valis helped Consecro to his feet. "Thanks," Consecro said softly.
"No prob--" Valis began; Consecro's hand flew up, throwing his vibrodagger with deadly accuracy into the Xen'Chi warrior formerly standing behind the soldier. "--lem," Valis finished after a surprised pause, then both men went back to the task at hand. There were more Xen'Chi to take care of, and they would doubtlessly not be so easy to kill as the first three. Consecro retrieved his vibrodagger and readied himself, murmuring to Valis, "Same to you."
Consecro stayed defensive for the time-being; there was no sense is overconfidently getting oneself killed, especially since Valis, out of the corner of Consecro's eye, seemed to be having difficulty fighting his own opponent. The warrior probably was not thinking the same thing, given that a staff has considerably longer reach than a pair of vibrodaggers - assuming, of course, the weapon stays in the wielder's hand at all times. Consecro bent his knees, almost kneeling, in defense. He knew he would not do well trying to block the staff, and would have to dodge it; he was tested in this ability now as the Xen'Chi warrior swung at his feet, trying to floor him. Consecro leapt, not towards his enemy, but straight up, doing no more than dodging and arriving once more at a defensive position. The warrior was taking it slowly for the moment, not overextending himself lest Consecro get a blade in edgewise.
The warrior lunged again, this time in a high, thrusting feint which was then brought down towards Consecro's head as he knelt to dodge the attack; Consecro barely saw it coming in time to move to one side. The dodge left him off-balance for a moment; a moment which the opposing warrior took advantage of, swiping once more towards Consecro's feet. The strike was solid, taking the aging Epicanthix off his feet and landing him heavily on the durasteel flooring. The Xen'Chi, confident now, swung his staff in an arc down towards Consecro, but the weapon never made contact. The warrior had become too focused on his objective and never saw Valis' force pike before it struck him down from behind.
Valis helped Consecro to his feet. "Thanks," Consecro said softly.
"No prob--" Valis began; Consecro's hand flew up, throwing his vibrodagger with deadly accuracy into the Xen'Chi warrior formerly standing behind the soldier. "--lem," Valis finished after a surprised pause, then both men went back to the task at hand. There were more Xen'Chi to take care of, and they would doubtlessly not be so easy to kill as the first three. Consecro retrieved his vibrodagger and readied himself, murmuring to Valis, "Same to you."
Absent-minded Wanderer
Posts: 475
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Joined: Mon Feb 17, 2003 1:17 am
Location: Lost somewhere in the Etherwebs.
Close Encounters
Power cables hung from the ceiling and ran haphazardly in thousand different directions to points beyond the range of Vel's light intensifier. Glowpanels, some still functioning, hung from their conduits. Thick wall panels where ripped from the walls and were carelessly tossed into a pile in the middle of the corridor. Even the partitions that separated some of the officers' bunk rooms had been torn down, and personal effects were scattered all over.
It looks like this section of the ship is being re-purposed. But why?
He pulled the connectors from the door panel, and wrapped them around the engineer's datapad, which he casually stuffed in one of his utility pockets. Cautiously, he entered and the heavy bulkhead door slid shut behind him.
He popped his map back up on his HUD, and took the left corridor, toward the emergency shelter.
* * * * * * *
A dead end? He had just rounded a corner and was face to face with a thick plasteel barrier. He checked his map. This was a new addition by the mysterious workers.
He backtracked to the gallery; now taking the time to look through the individual quarters. He found more signs of fighting, but still no bodies. Weapons were also strangely missing. He only found a blaster pistol under a collapsed partition.
He took a moment to remove the trigger guard, so he could fire it with his armored gloves on, and checked it's powercell. Only 42 shots left. Better than nothing.
He also found another maintenance hatch welded shut. Somebody doesn't want people getting in. Or out.
It looked like if he wanted to get anywhere, he had to go down the right corridor, toward the center of the sector. He could probably get to the shelter through one of the other quadrants.
* * * * * * *
A tiny flicker of moment in one of the transparesteel windows made Vel pause. It looked like a protocol droid. Maybe it can tell me what the frell is going on here.
He found the door, and let himself in. It was one of the officers' rec rooms. A gravball table was in the middle of the room, and several computer terminals were along the wall. A large window looked out into space. He found the droid huddled in the back corner.
"Droid, what happened to the crew?" He asked, leveling the pistol at the M-3P0 unit.
"Terrible, sir. It was absolutely terrible, sir. They started screaming, and attacked one another." The droid uncovered its head and began to stand.
"They went mad, completely mad. Tearing each other apart like savages, sir. Quite ghastly, I-"
Vel barely caught the low whine that the droid was trying to hid under its babbling and dived under the table. The explosion blew apart all the terminal displays, and he could hear the transparesteel windows facing the corridor shatter.
There was little left to the droid when he climbed back to his feet. Whatever agent was affecting the crew seemed to have a droid counterpart.
"Oh shavvit!" The phrase reverberated through the amazingly still working room intercom. Someone's still alive!
"Uh, if anyone can hear me..." The voice cut off suddenly. Vel's hopes crashed and he started for the door.
Then the loudspeaker chimed, signaling the start of a prerecorded message. "Security and you: Your choices mean your safety. Please report any unsafe or unregulated behavior to your superiors. Following orders as quickly as possible is the way to ensure security. So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
Vel frowned. The last part... the voice was off. It wasn't Andro Andy.
He set his commlink to the announced frequency, and tried to transmit.
Malfunction: Comms System
"Frell!" Just my blasted luck! First the Radtroopers, then being stationed on Cyclthos, and now this!
* * * * * * *
Vel cautiously approached the core of the sector; walking as softly as possible. It was a good thing too, about half a dozen protocol droids were clustered around a turbolift in the northern corridor. He crept across the opening to the other side, fearing that one of the droids would hear. None did.
He relaxed slightly once he was out of earshot and picked up the pace.
It looks like this section of the ship is being re-purposed. But why?
He pulled the connectors from the door panel, and wrapped them around the engineer's datapad, which he casually stuffed in one of his utility pockets. Cautiously, he entered and the heavy bulkhead door slid shut behind him.
He popped his map back up on his HUD, and took the left corridor, toward the emergency shelter.
* * * * * * *
A dead end? He had just rounded a corner and was face to face with a thick plasteel barrier. He checked his map. This was a new addition by the mysterious workers.
He backtracked to the gallery; now taking the time to look through the individual quarters. He found more signs of fighting, but still no bodies. Weapons were also strangely missing. He only found a blaster pistol under a collapsed partition.
He took a moment to remove the trigger guard, so he could fire it with his armored gloves on, and checked it's powercell. Only 42 shots left. Better than nothing.
He also found another maintenance hatch welded shut. Somebody doesn't want people getting in. Or out.
It looked like if he wanted to get anywhere, he had to go down the right corridor, toward the center of the sector. He could probably get to the shelter through one of the other quadrants.
* * * * * * *
A tiny flicker of moment in one of the transparesteel windows made Vel pause. It looked like a protocol droid. Maybe it can tell me what the frell is going on here.
He found the door, and let himself in. It was one of the officers' rec rooms. A gravball table was in the middle of the room, and several computer terminals were along the wall. A large window looked out into space. He found the droid huddled in the back corner.
"Droid, what happened to the crew?" He asked, leveling the pistol at the M-3P0 unit.
"Terrible, sir. It was absolutely terrible, sir. They started screaming, and attacked one another." The droid uncovered its head and began to stand.
"They went mad, completely mad. Tearing each other apart like savages, sir. Quite ghastly, I-"
Vel barely caught the low whine that the droid was trying to hid under its babbling and dived under the table. The explosion blew apart all the terminal displays, and he could hear the transparesteel windows facing the corridor shatter.
There was little left to the droid when he climbed back to his feet. Whatever agent was affecting the crew seemed to have a droid counterpart.
"Oh shavvit!" The phrase reverberated through the amazingly still working room intercom. Someone's still alive!
"Uh, if anyone can hear me..." The voice cut off suddenly. Vel's hopes crashed and he started for the door.
Then the loudspeaker chimed, signaling the start of a prerecorded message. "Security and you: Your choices mean your safety. Please report any unsafe or unregulated behavior to your superiors. Following orders as quickly as possible is the way to ensure security. So contact frequency Alpha Hotel Foxtrot, gamma filter today."
Vel frowned. The last part... the voice was off. It wasn't Andro Andy.
He set his commlink to the announced frequency, and tried to transmit.
Malfunction: Comms System
"Frell!" Just my blasted luck! First the Radtroopers, then being stationed on Cyclthos, and now this!
* * * * * * *
Vel cautiously approached the core of the sector; walking as softly as possible. It was a good thing too, about half a dozen protocol droids were clustered around a turbolift in the northern corridor. He crept across the opening to the other side, fearing that one of the droids would hear. None did.
He relaxed slightly once he was out of earshot and picked up the pace.
Man of Many Faces
Man of Many Faces
Valis turned to find what he feared. If the third Xen'Chi warrior was coming after him that meant Ready was down. At least from the looks of it he wasnt dead but his right arm was gone, whatever substance that the staff released had melted through his armor, and down to the bone. A small decaying stump was all that was left of it. Valis bent and took of Ready's helmet. He was breathing, but most likely in shock.
"Bastards." Valis said, turning back towards Consecro and the turbolift which had finally come to rest on their level. It opened and a trooper came toppling out. BY the time he got his footing and began to stand both Valis' and Consecro's blasters were trained on him.
"Private Freeman I presume."
The look of recognition, but also fear on his face confirmed to Valis he was sane. "The Xen'Chi have breached the level, we have a man wounded. Get back on the lift, we need to go down." Valis turned back towards the corridor and the sound of more approaching footsteps. "Now." Valis bent down and grabbed Ready by the back of his collar and pulled him into the lift.
The doors slid closed and Valis looked to the Private. "Pick a level Freeman, and make it a good one."
"Bastards." Valis said, turning back towards Consecro and the turbolift which had finally come to rest on their level. It opened and a trooper came toppling out. BY the time he got his footing and began to stand both Valis' and Consecro's blasters were trained on him.
"Private Freeman I presume."
The look of recognition, but also fear on his face confirmed to Valis he was sane. "The Xen'Chi have breached the level, we have a man wounded. Get back on the lift, we need to go down." Valis turned back towards the corridor and the sound of more approaching footsteps. "Now." Valis bent down and grabbed Ready by the back of his collar and pulled him into the lift.
The doors slid closed and Valis looked to the Private. "Pick a level Freeman, and make it a good one."
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Centurio
Consecro swallowed as they entered the turbolift; Private Freeman looked frightened. Ready was terrified, not to mention in agony. Even Valis, who Consecro had gauged as a formidable warrior, seemed on edge. Consecro knew that there was something in the place, something intrinsic in the very durasteel which gave one a sense of wrongness. That tiny part of himself that had been enjoying the challenge when he and Valis had first arrived was now gone, replaced by an inescapable sense of loss.
But this sense was not lonely for long. In the action, Consecro had forgotten about the quiet voice that whispered dark secets through the stress. "Don't go with them," it suggested now, "They're trying to kill you. Just kill them first, and you'll be okay."
The last thing Consecro wanted to do was worry the others that he might not be able to handle it; he made no physical movement to eradicate the whisper. His thoughts forced it away, shut it out, but it was overpowering. "Trying to get me out? No such luck. I'm in charge of this place, and I possess powers you could not possibly comprehend."
Consecro closed his eyes a moment, focusing on the voice, forcing it out. It seemed to acquiesce, then flickered, then disappeared altogether. Consecro knew it was not his own will that had forced it away; it had chosen to leave, and it would be back. It worried Consecro deeply, because it seemed to know him as well as he did, perhaps better. It spoke to him in just the way that would entice him, and made every suggestion seem like his only chance for survival. That somehow, survival was something tangible, that could be grasped through the blood of the soldiers with him.
He knew it to be wrong, but it was a very tempting idea. He would be fine for the moment, but he had no idea if he would be able to repel the consciousness next time.
But this sense was not lonely for long. In the action, Consecro had forgotten about the quiet voice that whispered dark secets through the stress. "Don't go with them," it suggested now, "They're trying to kill you. Just kill them first, and you'll be okay."
The last thing Consecro wanted to do was worry the others that he might not be able to handle it; he made no physical movement to eradicate the whisper. His thoughts forced it away, shut it out, but it was overpowering. "Trying to get me out? No such luck. I'm in charge of this place, and I possess powers you could not possibly comprehend."
Consecro closed his eyes a moment, focusing on the voice, forcing it out. It seemed to acquiesce, then flickered, then disappeared altogether. Consecro knew it was not his own will that had forced it away; it had chosen to leave, and it would be back. It worried Consecro deeply, because it seemed to know him as well as he did, perhaps better. It spoke to him in just the way that would entice him, and made every suggestion seem like his only chance for survival. That somehow, survival was something tangible, that could be grasped through the blood of the soldiers with him.
He knew it to be wrong, but it was a very tempting idea. He would be fine for the moment, but he had no idea if he would be able to repel the consciousness next time.
Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
Contact:
Maidens of Despair
”Pick a level and make it a good one!” Winston mulled the line over and over in his head as the turbolift zipped towards their destination – an auxillary midship hangar. It was, presumably, unoccupied.
Presumable. Not much was, at this point. Except that officers were still going to treat him like shavvit.
Life’s little ironies still counted for something.
Ready babbled something. “Ae ai oa aah ewww ehhh.”
“He’s in shock.” Consecro said.
“Okay, this is going to take us to an auxillary cargo hangar. There are a thousand exits from that hangar, so we might just be able to get somewhere.” Winston said.
“Earlier, you said you ran into some troops talking about… Damascus.” Valis said.
“Yeah.” Winston replied. “Like he wasn’t even dead or anything. Like he was frelling here.”
He knelt down next to Ready. “He looks bad. Hand me that medikit.”
The wound was odd – a strange combination of burns, as though his flesh had been hit by extremely hot acid, burning and shriveling their way through.
“He… baha ae ahhh ouuu… heal me. He can… aba gagh ba ahhh.”
Winston unrolled a packet marked “burn treatment” and another marked “Danger: Shock treatment only.” He wondered why it was dangerous.
A bang echoed through the lift shaft, and the lift shook slightly.
“Oh great.” Consecro said.
“Who can heal you?” Valis asked Ready. He looked to Winston. “Is he talking to you, Freeman?”
I can heal him. I can make him whole again. It is not beyond my power.
Winston shook his head, to clear his thoughts and answer Valis’ question.
“Are you guys getting weird transmissions on your commlinks?” Winston asked.
The two looked at each other, said nothing.
“I’m not wearing a commlink.” Consecro answered. Winston raised an eyebrow, an invisible motion to those in the turbolift.
He hears you too. Only Valis does not. Only HE is so weak. You, you and the other. You are touched by me, by my omnipotence.
Who ARE you?! Winston asked himself, opening the tube of burn gel.
A good question. The other voice. It crackled brief on the commlink – the familiar voice. Winston recognized it somehow.
A series of clanging noises began echoing through the lift. It grew to a loud clatter, rising in intensity. It sounded as though the turbolift was falling through a cup and plate factory.
And in the chaotic rumbles, something could be heard.
I am the Cleansing.
“Did you…” Consecro asked, pointlessly.
“Look.” Valis said. He pointed at the door of the turbolift, which rocked violently.
Winston wrapped the shock cushion around the stump of Ready’s arm, and turned to look.
Blood dripped down the crack of the door. He heard it patter onto his back, and on the floor.
“This thing is bleeding!” Valis shouted.
It hit Winston – the turbolift hadn’t been falling through ceramics, it had been falling through bodies.
The lift stopped with a sickening crunch. Blood pulsed into the chamber, thick and dark.
Winston moved fast, put his A280 across Readys chest and dragged the stormtrooper out into the hangar. Blood poured down, into the hangar. Winston looked away from the turbolift shaft.
And saw an Imperial Lambda class shuttle. The ramp was down. A pile of transparisteel canisters was there, beside them, filled with a phosphorescent blue gel.
The same color as the gas that had maddened them all. A laugh grew, echoed in the cavernous hangar.
“It’s him. Bah glah van han naaaa.” Ready moaned.
It IS me, Freeman. Everything on this SHIP is me. You work towards your own MURDER, Freeman.
“He grows, he grows.” Ready moaned.
Winston turned towards Ready and the others. They grew monstrous in a heartbeat, demonic visages twisted their faces into murderous forms, foam dripped from their mouths and their eyes turned red.
He closed his eyes, opened them. Valis and Consecro were staring, perfectly normal, mouths agape, at something behind him. He stood up, and turned around.
“He grows!” Ready shouted.
Winston didn’t hear him. The lithe form of a naked woman stood in front of him. She was taut, petite, beautiful, with long auburn hair, pale skin, and thin, waif-like limbs.
And she was drenched in blood. It ran down her arms, up her calves, across her neck, dripped from her hair down her back, in a channel between her pert breasts.
“He grows.” She said, softly, and bent down to pick up one of the cylinders. She turned towards the ship and began to walk, with the tube, towards it.
Another nude woman appeared from the shuttle, descended the ramp. Blonde, short haired, perfect in every way – except for the blood drenching her.
“We are his concubines. We move him towards even greater power.” The blonde said, and bent down to pick up the cylinder. She did so, turned around, and walked back towards the shuttle, following a trail of small, bloody footprints.
Another woman came from the shuttle, clothed only in blood. Her ice-blue eyes looked over the four men.
“You three are welcome among us, to delve into the pleasure with us, experience his glory.” She stepped forward, between the stunned Winston Freeman and the others.
“You are NOT welcome. You are the murderer, the betrayer of all life.” She pointed at Valis. “You are nothing here but doom for these brave men.” She turned away, picked up a cylinder, and headed towards the shuttle.
“In a way, I like this.” Winston admitted. “But this is not good.”
“You mean the blood, or the ‘betrayer of all life,’ here.” Consecro asked.
“No. They… they’re loading up that gas – the gas that drove us all frelling nuts! They’re loading it onto that shuttle!”
“Ready!” Valis shouted. The man had suddenly risen to his feet, stumbled towards the pile of cylinders.
“Become one of us! Join us in his glory!” Ready screamed. Winston reached for his DC-17, and in horror realized that Ready had the weapon, and with his one attached hand, had pointed it at the glass cylinder.
Presumable. Not much was, at this point. Except that officers were still going to treat him like shavvit.
Life’s little ironies still counted for something.
Ready babbled something. “Ae ai oa aah ewww ehhh.”
“He’s in shock.” Consecro said.
“Okay, this is going to take us to an auxillary cargo hangar. There are a thousand exits from that hangar, so we might just be able to get somewhere.” Winston said.
“Earlier, you said you ran into some troops talking about… Damascus.” Valis said.
“Yeah.” Winston replied. “Like he wasn’t even dead or anything. Like he was frelling here.”
He knelt down next to Ready. “He looks bad. Hand me that medikit.”
The wound was odd – a strange combination of burns, as though his flesh had been hit by extremely hot acid, burning and shriveling their way through.
“He… baha ae ahhh ouuu… heal me. He can… aba gagh ba ahhh.”
Winston unrolled a packet marked “burn treatment” and another marked “Danger: Shock treatment only.” He wondered why it was dangerous.
A bang echoed through the lift shaft, and the lift shook slightly.
“Oh great.” Consecro said.
“Who can heal you?” Valis asked Ready. He looked to Winston. “Is he talking to you, Freeman?”
I can heal him. I can make him whole again. It is not beyond my power.
Winston shook his head, to clear his thoughts and answer Valis’ question.
“Are you guys getting weird transmissions on your commlinks?” Winston asked.
The two looked at each other, said nothing.
“I’m not wearing a commlink.” Consecro answered. Winston raised an eyebrow, an invisible motion to those in the turbolift.
He hears you too. Only Valis does not. Only HE is so weak. You, you and the other. You are touched by me, by my omnipotence.
Who ARE you?! Winston asked himself, opening the tube of burn gel.
A good question. The other voice. It crackled brief on the commlink – the familiar voice. Winston recognized it somehow.
A series of clanging noises began echoing through the lift. It grew to a loud clatter, rising in intensity. It sounded as though the turbolift was falling through a cup and plate factory.
And in the chaotic rumbles, something could be heard.
I am the Cleansing.
“Did you…” Consecro asked, pointlessly.
“Look.” Valis said. He pointed at the door of the turbolift, which rocked violently.
Winston wrapped the shock cushion around the stump of Ready’s arm, and turned to look.
Blood dripped down the crack of the door. He heard it patter onto his back, and on the floor.
“This thing is bleeding!” Valis shouted.
It hit Winston – the turbolift hadn’t been falling through ceramics, it had been falling through bodies.
The lift stopped with a sickening crunch. Blood pulsed into the chamber, thick and dark.
Winston moved fast, put his A280 across Readys chest and dragged the stormtrooper out into the hangar. Blood poured down, into the hangar. Winston looked away from the turbolift shaft.
And saw an Imperial Lambda class shuttle. The ramp was down. A pile of transparisteel canisters was there, beside them, filled with a phosphorescent blue gel.
The same color as the gas that had maddened them all. A laugh grew, echoed in the cavernous hangar.
“It’s him. Bah glah van han naaaa.” Ready moaned.
It IS me, Freeman. Everything on this SHIP is me. You work towards your own MURDER, Freeman.
“He grows, he grows.” Ready moaned.
Winston turned towards Ready and the others. They grew monstrous in a heartbeat, demonic visages twisted their faces into murderous forms, foam dripped from their mouths and their eyes turned red.
He closed his eyes, opened them. Valis and Consecro were staring, perfectly normal, mouths agape, at something behind him. He stood up, and turned around.
“He grows!” Ready shouted.
Winston didn’t hear him. The lithe form of a naked woman stood in front of him. She was taut, petite, beautiful, with long auburn hair, pale skin, and thin, waif-like limbs.
And she was drenched in blood. It ran down her arms, up her calves, across her neck, dripped from her hair down her back, in a channel between her pert breasts.
“He grows.” She said, softly, and bent down to pick up one of the cylinders. She turned towards the ship and began to walk, with the tube, towards it.
Another nude woman appeared from the shuttle, descended the ramp. Blonde, short haired, perfect in every way – except for the blood drenching her.
“We are his concubines. We move him towards even greater power.” The blonde said, and bent down to pick up the cylinder. She did so, turned around, and walked back towards the shuttle, following a trail of small, bloody footprints.
Another woman came from the shuttle, clothed only in blood. Her ice-blue eyes looked over the four men.
“You three are welcome among us, to delve into the pleasure with us, experience his glory.” She stepped forward, between the stunned Winston Freeman and the others.
“You are NOT welcome. You are the murderer, the betrayer of all life.” She pointed at Valis. “You are nothing here but doom for these brave men.” She turned away, picked up a cylinder, and headed towards the shuttle.
“In a way, I like this.” Winston admitted. “But this is not good.”
“You mean the blood, or the ‘betrayer of all life,’ here.” Consecro asked.
“No. They… they’re loading up that gas – the gas that drove us all frelling nuts! They’re loading it onto that shuttle!”
“Ready!” Valis shouted. The man had suddenly risen to his feet, stumbled towards the pile of cylinders.
“Become one of us! Join us in his glory!” Ready screamed. Winston reached for his DC-17, and in horror realized that Ready had the weapon, and with his one attached hand, had pointed it at the glass cylinder.
Man of Many Faces
Centurio
Man of Many Faces
ooc im pretty tired/hungover/worn out today - but I am attempting a post, hopefully it is up to snuff.
The force pike moved with speed and precision. It struck Ready's good arm only a moment before he fired, but early enough to make his shot miss. The wound must have become infected with whatever had turned the crew mad, for that was the only possible description of REady's actions. Absolute insanity. The bolt hit the durasteel floor and dissipated when it ricocheted into the magnetic field keeping the vaccuum of space at bay. Valis stepped forward and kicked the rifle out of the Corporal's hand, the edge of his force pike still pinning his arm to the floor.
I'm missing something here.... im not sure what, but Im missing something..."You are the murderer, the betrayer of all life..." ...the Sith are they talking about...
"No, no, no, no, no... I need to.... I HAVE to!" Ready moaned, trying to free himself. ANd then suddenly he had a burst of strength dislodging the force pike, and then sweeping his leg in Valis. It almosy brought the forner guardsman down, but it wasnt quite forceful enough and all he did was stumble. Even so, it bought Ready enough time to pull his standard issue sidearm from his holster and again level it at the cansiters.
A blaster fired, and the back of Ready's head exploded with blood, chunks of skull and brain spraying everywhere. Smoke rose slowly from the muzzle of Valis' blaster pistol, hanging in the air, stil pointed at the target. "Bedamned!" Valis yelled and turned towards the shuttle where the women were loading the canisters. "It's your fault."
Turning on his heel Valis moved towards them, blaster pistol still raised. "You are not bringing these cannisters off the ship."
"You are the destroyer of life. We do not serve you!" The one with the blue eyes spat, pointing at Valis. "Our only service is to see you destroyed!"
"Who's the one with the gun sister?" Valis smiled.
By the force, is part of you actually enjoying this... remember these were Imperial officers once...But NOT anymore.
"You have many lessons to learn murderer."
For what they were designed for the blasters mounted on a Lambda class shuttle were very weak, only able to fend off the smallest snubfighters. However, in a hangar against human opponents they were exceedingly powerful. Valis heard them quickly power up before firing, it was the only reason that he had a chance to take a couple sidesteps and dive behind a small group of durasteel cannisters. When the blasts hit the panels he could hear the sizzle of heat, and feel the vibration of power as it shook the floor itself. But he was effectively pinned down.
You should have taken them down when you had the chance...
'Could use some help!" Valis yelled looking over to his comrades who had wisely scattered, and moved away from the transparasteel cannisters with the gas. The last thing they needed was the shuttle cannnons releasing the gas with them in the hangar. Valis leaned out from behind the containers and watched as the naked women continued to carry the cannisters onboard. He had a shot for a moment, and considered taking it but she was carrying a cannister. WHo knew how fragile they were?
Tnen the firing started again and he was pinned behind the cannisters again. In the very least they weren't targeting his comrades... but was that a good thing? Clearly they were also effected by what was happening here... hearing things Valis wasn't. Were they being slowly effected by the gas like Ready.. and would turn on him? Quite possibly. And what was this about Damascus. The old man was dead, on this ship. Valis had seen Delth shatter his heart with his own two eyes. He was dead... or at least his body was.
One thing was clear, Valis was starting to beleive he couldnt trust anyone... the shame of it was if he didnt get the help he needed now, he was as good as dead.
The force pike moved with speed and precision. It struck Ready's good arm only a moment before he fired, but early enough to make his shot miss. The wound must have become infected with whatever had turned the crew mad, for that was the only possible description of REady's actions. Absolute insanity. The bolt hit the durasteel floor and dissipated when it ricocheted into the magnetic field keeping the vaccuum of space at bay. Valis stepped forward and kicked the rifle out of the Corporal's hand, the edge of his force pike still pinning his arm to the floor.
I'm missing something here.... im not sure what, but Im missing something..."You are the murderer, the betrayer of all life..." ...the Sith are they talking about...
"No, no, no, no, no... I need to.... I HAVE to!" Ready moaned, trying to free himself. ANd then suddenly he had a burst of strength dislodging the force pike, and then sweeping his leg in Valis. It almosy brought the forner guardsman down, but it wasnt quite forceful enough and all he did was stumble. Even so, it bought Ready enough time to pull his standard issue sidearm from his holster and again level it at the cansiters.
A blaster fired, and the back of Ready's head exploded with blood, chunks of skull and brain spraying everywhere. Smoke rose slowly from the muzzle of Valis' blaster pistol, hanging in the air, stil pointed at the target. "Bedamned!" Valis yelled and turned towards the shuttle where the women were loading the canisters. "It's your fault."
Turning on his heel Valis moved towards them, blaster pistol still raised. "You are not bringing these cannisters off the ship."
"You are the destroyer of life. We do not serve you!" The one with the blue eyes spat, pointing at Valis. "Our only service is to see you destroyed!"
"Who's the one with the gun sister?" Valis smiled.
By the force, is part of you actually enjoying this... remember these were Imperial officers once...But NOT anymore.
"You have many lessons to learn murderer."
For what they were designed for the blasters mounted on a Lambda class shuttle were very weak, only able to fend off the smallest snubfighters. However, in a hangar against human opponents they were exceedingly powerful. Valis heard them quickly power up before firing, it was the only reason that he had a chance to take a couple sidesteps and dive behind a small group of durasteel cannisters. When the blasts hit the panels he could hear the sizzle of heat, and feel the vibration of power as it shook the floor itself. But he was effectively pinned down.
You should have taken them down when you had the chance...
'Could use some help!" Valis yelled looking over to his comrades who had wisely scattered, and moved away from the transparasteel cannisters with the gas. The last thing they needed was the shuttle cannnons releasing the gas with them in the hangar. Valis leaned out from behind the containers and watched as the naked women continued to carry the cannisters onboard. He had a shot for a moment, and considered taking it but she was carrying a cannister. WHo knew how fragile they were?
Tnen the firing started again and he was pinned behind the cannisters again. In the very least they weren't targeting his comrades... but was that a good thing? Clearly they were also effected by what was happening here... hearing things Valis wasn't. Were they being slowly effected by the gas like Ready.. and would turn on him? Quite possibly. And what was this about Damascus. The old man was dead, on this ship. Valis had seen Delth shatter his heart with his own two eyes. He was dead... or at least his body was.
One thing was clear, Valis was starting to beleive he couldnt trust anyone... the shame of it was if he didnt get the help he needed now, he was as good as dead.
"The goal of war is not to die for your country, it's to make the other bastard die for his." General George S. Patton


Centurio
When Valis kicked the rifle away from the Corporal, Consecro picked it up; he had left his own blaster pistol back at the battle with the Xen'Chi, and he did not think that his vibrodaggers would be much use against anything of particular strength. It never occurred to him that it belonged to Private Freeman, but when the shuttle's blaster began opening up on Valis, Consecro no longer cared who the blaster belonged to.
A moment passed, but it was not as long as it felt. Shoot Valis. He's easy to hit from your position. It's just one shot. Just one, tiny shot. Easy.
No. He's a trained soldier. He's sane. He's one of the few that is going to help us get out of this mess.
What mess? I'm here to help you.
I'm not accepting your help. I'd take Valis' over yours any day.
But I know all about you. Valis can never know you like I do. He's just a fool that follows orders without thinking. A buffoon.
But he has honor.
What is honor if you get yourself killed for something you don't believe in?
What if he does believe in it?
You know better than that. He's just a tool for the Empire to accomplish a goal. You're not like him. You believe in something. You don't have to be a slave to that foolishness. Join me.
Until that moment, the entire ordeal had seemed very tempting to Consecro. And as soon as the thought was passed, the other being knew it was the wrong thing to say. I'd much sooner be a slave to that than to you! Consecro stuck his head over the crates behind which he hid and let fly against the turret. With the ship unshielded, the turret had enough time to bear down on his position before a bolt struck its power coils and shorted it out. The concubines screeched in anger.
Consecro glanced at Freeman; he had never known the man before, and he knew for a fact that he could not trust him if the trooper was hearing what Consecro was hearing. He stood and held the weapon towards the women. Despite their anger, they were still carrying canisters onto the shuttle. Consecro had never known it before, but he really did not like women covered in blood, regardless of a lack of clothing otherwise. He raised the weapon, preparing to open fire on them, but realized that he could not risk hitting the canisters - even if he killed the women, he and Valis and Freeman would be around to carry the rest of the canisters aboard after going insane. So instead, he kept the weapon leveled at them and shouted, "Stop!"
They hissed in response. They did not stop. Consecro had not expected them to. But it told Freeman and Valis that he was not hesitating through lapse in judgment, but for tactical reasons - and it told them that he was still on their side.
A moment passed, but it was not as long as it felt. Shoot Valis. He's easy to hit from your position. It's just one shot. Just one, tiny shot. Easy.
No. He's a trained soldier. He's sane. He's one of the few that is going to help us get out of this mess.
What mess? I'm here to help you.
I'm not accepting your help. I'd take Valis' over yours any day.
But I know all about you. Valis can never know you like I do. He's just a fool that follows orders without thinking. A buffoon.
But he has honor.
What is honor if you get yourself killed for something you don't believe in?
What if he does believe in it?
You know better than that. He's just a tool for the Empire to accomplish a goal. You're not like him. You believe in something. You don't have to be a slave to that foolishness. Join me.
Until that moment, the entire ordeal had seemed very tempting to Consecro. And as soon as the thought was passed, the other being knew it was the wrong thing to say. I'd much sooner be a slave to that than to you! Consecro stuck his head over the crates behind which he hid and let fly against the turret. With the ship unshielded, the turret had enough time to bear down on his position before a bolt struck its power coils and shorted it out. The concubines screeched in anger.
Consecro glanced at Freeman; he had never known the man before, and he knew for a fact that he could not trust him if the trooper was hearing what Consecro was hearing. He stood and held the weapon towards the women. Despite their anger, they were still carrying canisters onto the shuttle. Consecro had never known it before, but he really did not like women covered in blood, regardless of a lack of clothing otherwise. He raised the weapon, preparing to open fire on them, but realized that he could not risk hitting the canisters - even if he killed the women, he and Valis and Freeman would be around to carry the rest of the canisters aboard after going insane. So instead, he kept the weapon leveled at them and shouted, "Stop!"
They hissed in response. They did not stop. Consecro had not expected them to. But it told Freeman and Valis that he was not hesitating through lapse in judgment, but for tactical reasons - and it told them that he was still on their side.
Gonzo Bodhisattva
Posts: 2657
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Joined: Tue Feb 18, 2003 1:32 pm
Location: Hiding under my desk
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Stormtrooper
But I know all about you. Valis can never know you like I do. He's just a fool that follows orders without thinking. A buffoon.
Freeman could hear the voice taunting Consecro, heard it in his own mind. It sounded like a hiss, atmosphere escaping, forming words.
By now, he had learned to ignore it, to tune it out. From behind the shipping container he looked for his rifle.
”He has it. He’s going to kill YOU with it, because he won’t kill Valis.”
“Sure he is.” Winston muttered to himself.
”You’re the only one who can help me here, soldier.” The voice, ghostly, faint on the comms.
The other voice, he knew, was different. It seemed soothing, truthful, but – something filled him with dread when he heard it. Something else – not the voice itself. He shook his head. This was not the time to listen to voices.
Especially voices in his head.
There was a roar as the turret erupted in a shower of shrapnel.
“Good shot!” He called out, crawling on hands and knees from his cover – a shipping container.
“Stop!” Consecro shouted at the woman now loading the transparisteel containers.
They did not.
Freeman drew his DC-17, checked the charge. It was good. He walked up to the ramp.
“Are you coming to join us?” The woman asked.
“Wait, don’t…” Consecro began.
“Two things I should tell you.” Freeman growled. “First off – that’s MY frelling rifle. A280. Real nice shavvit. You saw how it blew through that turret, right?”
The blonde woman walked past, carrying another phosphorescent container.
“Second – you know what these containers are frelling MADE of? It’s called ‘transparisteel,’ and it’s just like frelling metal, okay?”
He clicked the safety off, pointed the DC-17 at the woman as she ascended the ramp, took a careful aim, and fired a shot into the back of her skull. It exploded neatly, and the heavy canister tumbled to the ground with a heavy metallic thud. It rolled down the ramp. Winston stopped it with his foot.
“Just don’t hit it with a stray shot.” He said. The other woman, on the ground near the pile of containers, dropped her cargo, and, for the first time, seemed to respond with something other than unearthly calm.
“Murderer! Murderer!” She shrieked. “Our revenge will destroy your soul.”
“Sorry lady. I’m a frelling stormtrooper. Killing people is what I do.” Winston said, and blasted her.
He pointed at Valis and Consecro. “You two get on the other side of a secure airlock – there’s one over there, exit 4Q.”
“What are you going to do, private?” Valis asked.
“The hell do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to kill these harpies, plant a thorium charge onboard this shuttle, leave the hangar, and blow this whole chunk of the ship out into vacuum.”
Without any further discussion, Valis and Consecro moved for airlock 4Q and Winston Freeman walked into the shuttle.
***
Freeman exited the airlock, which closed with a gentle hiss.
He was carrying an E-11 blaster. He handed several energy clips for the A280 over to Consecro.
“Thanks.” The mercenary muttered, distracted.
“You’re welcome. Careful with that thing, it’s hell in close quarters. Clumsy if you’re not careful.
He held up the detonator, opened the safety hatch, grinned an unseen grin behind his black visor, and pressed the little red button.
Pressing the little red button was one of his favorite things about being a stormtrooper. There was a roar, the hallway shook, and then, everything was quiet. Winston looked around, took in the blood-spattered walls, and realized just what had happened with Valis and Consecro while he had been planting the charges.
OOC: Yeah, figured I’d let you guys do a little twisted stuff yourselves.
Freeman could hear the voice taunting Consecro, heard it in his own mind. It sounded like a hiss, atmosphere escaping, forming words.
By now, he had learned to ignore it, to tune it out. From behind the shipping container he looked for his rifle.
”He has it. He’s going to kill YOU with it, because he won’t kill Valis.”
“Sure he is.” Winston muttered to himself.
”You’re the only one who can help me here, soldier.” The voice, ghostly, faint on the comms.
The other voice, he knew, was different. It seemed soothing, truthful, but – something filled him with dread when he heard it. Something else – not the voice itself. He shook his head. This was not the time to listen to voices.
Especially voices in his head.
There was a roar as the turret erupted in a shower of shrapnel.
“Good shot!” He called out, crawling on hands and knees from his cover – a shipping container.
“Stop!” Consecro shouted at the woman now loading the transparisteel containers.
They did not.
Freeman drew his DC-17, checked the charge. It was good. He walked up to the ramp.
“Are you coming to join us?” The woman asked.
“Wait, don’t…” Consecro began.
“Two things I should tell you.” Freeman growled. “First off – that’s MY frelling rifle. A280. Real nice shavvit. You saw how it blew through that turret, right?”
The blonde woman walked past, carrying another phosphorescent container.
“Second – you know what these containers are frelling MADE of? It’s called ‘transparisteel,’ and it’s just like frelling metal, okay?”
He clicked the safety off, pointed the DC-17 at the woman as she ascended the ramp, took a careful aim, and fired a shot into the back of her skull. It exploded neatly, and the heavy canister tumbled to the ground with a heavy metallic thud. It rolled down the ramp. Winston stopped it with his foot.
“Just don’t hit it with a stray shot.” He said. The other woman, on the ground near the pile of containers, dropped her cargo, and, for the first time, seemed to respond with something other than unearthly calm.
“Murderer! Murderer!” She shrieked. “Our revenge will destroy your soul.”
“Sorry lady. I’m a frelling stormtrooper. Killing people is what I do.” Winston said, and blasted her.
He pointed at Valis and Consecro. “You two get on the other side of a secure airlock – there’s one over there, exit 4Q.”
“What are you going to do, private?” Valis asked.
“The hell do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to kill these harpies, plant a thorium charge onboard this shuttle, leave the hangar, and blow this whole chunk of the ship out into vacuum.”
Without any further discussion, Valis and Consecro moved for airlock 4Q and Winston Freeman walked into the shuttle.
***
Freeman exited the airlock, which closed with a gentle hiss.
He was carrying an E-11 blaster. He handed several energy clips for the A280 over to Consecro.
“Thanks.” The mercenary muttered, distracted.
“You’re welcome. Careful with that thing, it’s hell in close quarters. Clumsy if you’re not careful.
He held up the detonator, opened the safety hatch, grinned an unseen grin behind his black visor, and pressed the little red button.
Pressing the little red button was one of his favorite things about being a stormtrooper. There was a roar, the hallway shook, and then, everything was quiet. Winston looked around, took in the blood-spattered walls, and realized just what had happened with Valis and Consecro while he had been planting the charges.
OOC: Yeah, figured I’d let you guys do a little twisted stuff yourselves.
Man of Many Faces
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