( april intro log )

[hownkai]

Who: Everyone
When: April 1st and on
Where: The Moira + Del Pascia
What: The crew finds themselves visiting the correctional facility of Del Pascia.
Warnings: Mentions of blood. Please label your content!

I N T R O L O G

slammed & counted "I feel liberated when I'm doing it, and I want other people to feel liberated through it." The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay. Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. This process consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters. With the combined efforts of the crew, the terror plaguing the ship has been successfully removed from the Moira. Yet, it doesn’t come without consequences. Aside from the overall state of those aboard the ship, the Moira itself has taken considerable damage across various sections. Overall functionality seems stable for now, but with necessary repairs to be made and few supplies to actually make them with, the Captains have set a course for any nearby planet with the hope of finding what they need. However, that is much closer than it appears. As new arrivals begin coming through the Ingress, a message is received by those in the Tower and broadcast to everyone: Please be advised. Your vessel is now entering Restricted Space. As per penal code 65208-A, only authorized personnel are to be admitted beyond this point. If necessary, further assistance will be provided once docked. As there is little choice, the Captains instruct Navigation to proceed with caution. All transporters will be required to assist in taking those who volunteer to the main hub. WELCOME TO CORRECTIONAL FACILITY DEL PASCIA Del Pascia is one of many facilities across the universe built to maintain and rehabilitate its inhabitants. With a combined populace of both prisoners and employed civilians, it functions as both prison and living quarters. The central section of Del Pascia is divided into multiple floors that branch out into subdivisions of the facility—clearly and precisely labeled. For those contracted to work in the prison, Del Pas Main is home. There are cafeterias, common areas for exercise and general downtime, divided residences, and work stations. Beyond this area, each remaining wing of Del Pascia separates into cell blocks A through F with similar facilities available to the inmates. Varying degrees of criminals are brought to Del Pascia, ranging from maximum security to juvenile offenders, and security differs depending on which block is visited. Yet, there is something peculiar about this prison upon further investigation: there are no living persons within Del Pascia. The AI, which runs and oversees all of Del Pascia, has made arrangements with the Moira so that those who wish may board and take what is needed to begin repairs. This program, while generally polite in nature, goes simply by the name D-E-L. ☄ ENJOY YOUR STAY ... IN PRISON Those who choose to go to Del Pascia will find themselves greeted by D-E-L. It has already agreed to terms with the Captains, allowing crew to strip nonessential supplies that aren’t needed since the station’s crew and prisoners were relocated due to funding cuts. The only condition placed upon this agreement is that any crew wishing to explore must undergo a mandatory decontamination before proceeding through the rest of Del Pascia. This process takes only minutes and is guaranteed to cause no physical side effects. Following this simple procedure, exploration is open with only warnings to be careful about damaging key systems. It is important to note that there are various security cameras located throughout the correctional facility, and it is not uncommon for D-E-L to comment or show concern for those exploring parts of Del Pascia. ☄ DEATH BECOMES YOU There is salvage to be found in all parts of the facility, including the cell blocks and infirmaries of the prison wings. However, there is something odd about these sectors, a strange charge in the air that follows you as you search for anything useful to bring back to the Moira. Perhaps it is the eyes of D-E-L watching? But then, after an indiscernible amount of time, it's like a switch is flipped. Suddenly, you are wearing your sins where anyone but you can see. For however much death you have wrought or committed, there will be blood on your hands—perhaps even further than that. This bizarre occurrence will appear as an almost digital skin and will not vanish until outside the cell blocks. If exploring the infirmaries for supplies, any and all health stats throughout your life will be visible and easy to read by anyone who happens to take an interest. For those who have killed once or twice, they might find a red stain on their hands, but the higher the kill count will result in larger proportions of blood covering their arms and, in extreme cases, perhaps their entire body. The blood will vanish once you have left the prison wing, though you may occasionally see a flicker of the image while anywhere on the station. The same goes for health stats viewed in infirmary sections of Del Pascia. ☄ WHAT WAS THAT SOUND? Del Pascia is a very large station and has been abandoned for quite some time. D-E-L will regretfully inform anyone who asks that some nonessential areas have fallen into disrepair. It will warn that exploring these areas can be risky as it has no knowledge of what damage these sections have taken. Regardless of that, if you venture in, you’ll find that these sections are in rather bad shape. Exposed wiring sparks in the walls, a great variety of broken tools are thrown about, and it seems that every camera has been purposely broken. Venturing in further will yield valuable components for salvage, and yet... as before, you suspect you aren’t alone. It isn’t often, but sometimes, you might hear a step falling moments after yours or a rattle coming from the vents. Every time you go to investigate... whatever made the noise is gone. Should the AI be queried about this, D-E-L will emphasize that all personnel and prisoners were removed and that there is no one on board except crew from the Moira. ( ooc; For questions, go here. All players, please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )

Comments

B

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus is in what has become his usual spot: the observation deck. He's alone so far today, and so he's taken to singing because it helps drown out the voices.

He's singing quietly - relatively - because he's been informed that it can be alarming otherwise, but anyone wandering nearby will hear the mechanically gutteral tones of Old Cybertronian.]

[sparkwhisperer]

[ By the time Tarn arrives outside the Observation Deck he's exhausted his patience for the crew and any organic species that he's come across. He's hoping for a bit of peace an quiet and perhaps a place to think and formulate of plan of attack, so to speak.

What he's not expecting is to hear the quiet tune of an old song, one that he hasn't heard in some time.

Upon entry he finds a mech who looks only vaguely familiar, although he can't quite place from where. Listening quietly for a few moments, Tarn appreciates the familiarity of old Cybertronian sung in a frankly beautiful voice.

Quietly he joins in in the song, moving to stand next to his fellow Cybertronian to gaze out at the vast expanse of space]

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus's song falters for a moment when another voice joins his own, but he quickly recovers and continues. You don't just stop an ode to Cybertron in the middle.

He holds the final note for a long moment before letting it trail away. Only then does he turn to look at his unexpected accompanist.

A Decepticon, clearly enough. Irrelevant to him except as a potential threat to those he cares about. He is a bit impressed however.]

Few enough even recognize Primal Vernacular these days, let alone know it's songs.

[sparkwhisperer]

It's a beautiful language. A shame that its been lost to most in the passage of time. [Tarn turns to look at Cyclonus. He's so familiar....] Songs in old cybertronian tend to have the most heart in my humble opionion.

[It will come to him with time, hes sure. But, for now, Tarn would very much like to get to know this cultured mech.]

It's good to know that there's someone aboard this ship with taste.

[tsunclonus]

Much has been lost to the passage of time. [Like his entire planet as he knew it. Can you hear the old man bitterness, Tarn.]

To sing in Primal Vernacular is to sing to god and Cybertron. [Raise your voice and let Primus know the ballads of great battles and here the praise of the shining jewel of their planet.

He gives Tarn a bit of a sidelong glance at the comment on taste.]

There are others who appreciate it.

[sparkwhisperer]

[Tarn gives Cyclonus a sidelong glance. So he's one of those. Disappointing, yet not entirely surprising. ]

Primus is nothing but a farcical god used to sooth the minds of weak mechs [He waves off Cyclonus' sentiment, determined to not let it ruin the moment.]'

Old Cybertronian does certainly illuminate a certain intellect which isn't often seen in mechs today.

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus gives Tarn a cool, slow look, the quiet tolerance of one who has dealt with nonbelievers since long before this youngster was even a glimmer on the surface of Cybertron.

He's silent for a moment, then speaks softly.]

You pride yourself on knowing Primus's tongue- [Because what does Tarn think Primal Vernacular means? The name it held before it was known as old and Neocybex became common.] -and yet you know nothing of the old faiths.

When you have worshiped in the shadow of Metrotitans; when you have set foot in Crystal City and spoken of legend with Omega Supreme; when you have known death and been replenished... then you may lecture me on Primus and the purpose of faith.

[He is saying you are a small baby and shouldn't talk about adult things like you know anything about them.]

[sparkwhisperer]

[Tarn listens, giving Cyclonus his full attention. Clearly this mech is far older than even himself, born and raised in the old ways.]

Perhaps you're right. Obviously I've never given religion much of a chance.

But, I must say that after millennia of vicious war...Primus is surely done with us sinners by now. Wouldn't you agree?

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus gives a slight roll of his shoulders, barely a shrug. He doesn't care whether or not Tarn gives religion a chance, he just doesn't approve of people telling him that his faith is a sign of weakness.]

No, not done. [He honestly can't see his revival by Vector Sigma and it's role in saving Tailgate's life as anything other than Primus utilizing him to correct a mistake.] But likely disappointed. Perhaps that is why the hotspots went dark.

[How could Primus not be displeased by the children who reduced the shining jewel than birthed them all to ruin?]

[sparkwhisperer]

Hm, perhaps. Or perhaps it was another reason entirely. One can never be sure with these signs of divinity.

[By now the familiarity of Cyclonus is nagging on him. He swears that he's seen him before, which does not bode well for the other purple mech. He doesn't particularly have a lot of time available for pleasure visits with people.]


You seem terribly familiar. Have we met?

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus gives another little shrug.] I don't claim to have the answers, I merely have my own thoughts and my own faith.

[He eyes Tarn.] Not that I'm aware of. I think I would remember someone so... Distinctive, unless you were without your mask then.

Perhaps you saw me in a historical recording.

[sparkwhisperer]

Hmm, no... I would have remembered if it was a historical documentation.

[It's unsurprising that Tarn doesn't remember. Buzzing with the effects of Nuke, he was not in a clear enough state of mind to remember every mech that he slaughtered on the Lost Light.]

I feel like we've met recently...

[tsunclonus]

Then you must have never watched the launch of the Ark.

[Way to be uncultured, Tarn.

He gives a little shrug. Sorry, Tarn, the Cyclonus you met wasn't this one.]

I have no memory of that.

[sparkwhisperer]

Hm...I'm sure it will come to me eventually.

What's your designation? It's good to know that there is at least someone aboard with a decent taste in music...

[He can perhaps ignore that troublesome devotion to Primus, for now.]

[tsunclonus]

[Cyclonus 'hm's right back. What does he care whether this stranger remembers him or not?]

Cyclonus. Cyclonus of Trixylix.

[Honestly, Tarn, like half the songs in Old Cybertronian were religious in nature.]

[sparkwhisperer]

[ Tarn extends his arm for a friendly handshake.]

Tarn of the Decepticon Justice Division.

[tsunclonus]

I've heard if you.

[Cyclonus returns the handshake firmly, and with perhaps a bit more claw than necessary.]

I hope you realize there is no Decepticon justice to be meted out of this ship.

[sparkwhisperer]

I wouldn't go that far.

[Tarn smoothly slips his hand away before Cyclonus's claws can scratch his paint. He isn't surprised that Cyclonus has heard of him. Most Cybertronians have.]

With Megatron roaming around unchecked, I would say that there is quite a bit of Decepticon Justice to tend.

[tsunclonus]

I would.

[His voice is firm and unyielding. While he's heard of Tarn, he's clearly not intimidated by him. The DJD may be extra, but they're not Dead Universe extra.]

Leave your grudges for the universe we came from.