thisavrou_log | February Event Log I: Breathing Space

February Event Log I: Breathing Space

Who: Anyone and Everyone
When: February 10-19
Where: Avagi
What: Life support fails, and a team sets out. Check out this ooc post for more.
Warnings: Label your content.

Synce their arrival, Avagi's residents have been plagued by minor system failures. Faulty taskbots and infested crawlspaces, supply shortages and the floods last month. For the most part, they've coped admirably, and quality of life aboard the station is substantially improved from what it was. But even as the damage in the lived-in space is scrubbed away, more dangerous poisons have been building underneath.

On February 10, the groaning from the walls will escalate to a harsh scraping, audible station-wide. Then silence falls as the filtration systems die completely: leaving all vents to begin spewing thick, black smoke.

	System Failures
	(February 10-19)

Acrid and hazardous, the cocktail of gases emerging from the vents are the result of three centuries' toxin storage spilling over. A shallow breath can cause a coughing fit, but individuals who draw in too much of the toxic air will find themselves becoming dizzy, passing out, or worse. While effects may vary based on individual biology, all beings who require breath will find their lungs burning and their vision blurred. An hour after the initial failure, the lighting goes out too. With it, all station power: to computers, doors, and any system not hooked up to its own supply.

Investigation:

The electrical failures can be sourced to an automated safety shutoff, override-able from Life Support's main controls. But the mechanism isn't in place without a reason. Generating station power produces more of the dark fumes, and without working filters, they will pump straight into the air.

Wait in the dark (and growing cold), or suffocate more quickly? Either way, your air troubles won't be resolved quickly. Over the next couple days, groups searching Sanitation can track down the vapors to their source. A small mob of taskbots run sad circles in the filtration hub: between the air processing units and a row of shelves along one wall. The label reads Purification Crystals, and a single empty container remains.

Survival (Home Team):

Without the crystals, there is no effective way of restoring the entire living space. It may, however, be possible to section off small areas. Able bodies will be required to seal off the fumes and guide those suffering from their effects to safety. Many may need medical assistance, and technical skills will be in even more desperate need: to equip these regions with oxygen and power, and insulate them against the cold that leeches in from the outside.

Some amount of work has already been done, and a few safe rooms are prepped across the station. As days progress toward weeks, however, their air and power reserves will run thin, and some larger sectors may warrant securing regardless. The Greenery contains young plants that are susceptible to the fumes, and those invested in the library's book collection may also want to take measures. The gas has acidic qualities in higher concentrations, enough to eat through paper... for a start.

Contain it? Remove it? Or just try to protect yourselves? One way or another, you'll need to hold out for a while.

	Travel (Away Team)
	(February 12-19)

When Avagi's current population first got here, it was clear that others had inhabited the space before. Recent developments have even proven that these others—or, perhaps, their descendants—might still exist elsewhere on the station now. With the crystals that might repair your home missing, diplomacy is no longer an optional consideration. It's time to meet the neighbors, and hope they come in peace.

Navigation:

Those volunteering to undertake this mission will be provided with a patchwork set of maps. However, these contain little to no information on the current state of the station—including which parts still exist. The explosion that tore apart the former Ingress Complex left wide gaps in the structure, many of which have been invaded by the storms outside.

Scanning tech will be required to assess what lies behind the sealed walls, and physical labor to cut through them. As no contiguous paths across the station remain, this process will need to be repeated numerous times. Where no adjoining regions can be verified intact, smaller scouting tools (or group members!) may be required to traverse crawlspaces for a view of nearby rooms.

Survival:

Behind the first wall lies a pressurized room with normal gravity—and contaminated air. This will not persist as the travelers continue. Some regions have power, but no gravity. Others contain pockets of unaffected, still-clean air. Few spaces will be fully online before the travelers get there, but local generators can be found that might allow for a night or two of "comfortable" camping. At least one juncture can only be crossed by floating through an empty docking bay. The area contains no power, air, or gravity, but spacesuits can be procured... inside the sealed vacuum of the bay. Creative thinking may be required.

Enveloping the station's outside, the roiling shadows of Avagi's storms have crept invasively into all unsealed regions of the interior. While the Observation Station may have accustomed some Avagians to the view, there's something much more immediate about the shadows pressing at the other side of these windows. The faint patterns of light that ripple through the clouds prompt a sense of malice and exhaustion, one that lingers even when you've turned away. Those who attempt more intense scrutiny may suffer more severe effects.

Certainly, it feels like something is watching back.

Discoveries:

As harrowing as the journey may be, it's not entirely without its gains. A few tools can be salvaged from some of the decks visited along the way, and while food is in much shorter supply, there are a few signs that it might not have been, long ago. Wrappers and empty cans turn up in strange places. A few glyphs can be found scratched into one wall: ones that your ACE's translators roughly interpret as prayers.

One sealed room has a large "X" scrawled across the walls despite the detectable presence of power, air, and gravity. Opening it produces a strange sight: two skeletal corpses pressed up against the still-active force field that cuts this room off from the storms. Both bodies show extensive burns to hands and faces, but don't appear to have died from that effect.

[For questions, signups, or plotting, check out the ooc post. For the duration of this log, characters may travel between teams to whatever extent they are capable. The event will escalate with a second log on February 20.]

Threaded | Flat

Bring it down, night Recon Mission: Start (Backdated to 2/5, closed to members of the recon team)

[ Erik pauses and looks around at the small group assembled. He's asking a lot. He knows this. Whatever they learn, when they return they will be met with even more suspicion and anger than the original announcement. He takes a breath before concluding his announcement and explanation. ]

We will not be confronting Mother on this mission, no matter what. The point of this is to get more information, so that when we share it with the others we can come up with a better plan of attack.

[ That's about all he wanted to say. ]

Does anybody have any questions before we depart?

black out the capital lights Recon Mission: End (backdated to 2/10, closed to members of the recon team)

[ Erik knew that traveling outside of the habitable areas of the station would prove difficult. But this level of tedious frustration and constant failure was unexpected. He rubs his forehead as he peers at the map on his A.C.E. band, complete with careful notations spelling out every single impenetrable barrier they've encountered. ]

It looks like... we still have a few corridors to the west we might try.

[ He tries to point them out to whoever is to his left, when the map disappears from view and is replaced by a red flashing URGENT alert, complete with siren. ]

What...

[ He looks up to see the others' A.C.E. bands flashing. ]

This place was never your home Investigation

[ The trip back does not take nearly as long, despite the worsening conditions. Erik finds himself glancing at Pietro often. Regretting ever taking him on this mission, even more than the others. He should never have attempted to lead them. It always ends in disaster.

When they get close enough, Erik breaks from the group and rushes to whoever looks like they might be able to answer his questions. ]

Do we know what's causing the fumes yet? It must be a blockage somewhere.

We're haunting the streets that you own Survival

[ Erik does what he can. Which, granted, is quite a bit. He is able to seal off the worst-hit areas, perfectly airtight. There isn't even a seam to tell where a door or a hall used to be. It's a stopgap. Everything they're doing is delaying the inevitable.

He has faith in Diana and Clara and the rest of the team. If it is possible, they will find a way to get what they need to solve this problem.

If it is possible.

In the meantime they just have to do what they can to keep everybody alive and more or less in one piece. And save what they can. The greenery is probably more important overall, but Erik knows they can keep surviving on protein cubes.

He goes to the library. The air irritates his skin as much as it does his throat. It's cold enough that his fingers are numb. But he has to save the books. Everything in the greenery can be replaced. The books can't. He looks up when he hears somebody else moving in the dim light. ]

Come to help?

Now we're gone Wildcard! Hit me up via PM, Discord, or Plurk if you want to do something else!

Wildcard: Reply here :) Feel free to hit me up at

pohutukaryl, Discord pohutukaryl#1055, or on my contact post if you want to plot. Nate is easily directable!

Wildcard: Reply here :) Feel free to hit me up at

pohutukaryl or on my contact post if you want to plot. She's wearing her black armor with the right arm stripe for all of this, but her hair's shorter than in her icons.

feb 10-11 | survival horror | ota
This way!

[The air has turned dark, and not even his arm is going to help light the way. This is different than just a few motes of mold in the air. This is bad. Whoever you are, he's calling out to you, waving you in his direction. There's clearer air over here.]

[But if it takes too long, or if you're suffering, you may suddenly find a helmet dropped over your head. Visor engaged and whatever wonder of alien technology the Paladin armors are made from pumping clean air into the helmet.]

Come on.

feb 12 on | adventure | away team
[He's glad he packed for this. Prepped for this. Wearing armor and helmet, carrying a first aid kit and water. He'll be the first to help anyone who stumbles, or needs support. Occasionally, he'll light the way down a corridor with his right hand.]

[The hand which ends up being useful to cut open doors. Members of the away team are free to catch him literally shoving his right hand into a metal barricade, purple light glowing from fingertips to wrist.]

[Later on, when faced with the flickering lights, whoever is nearest to him will be pulled backward, away from them. Out of reflex. Those are familiar. Something to keep away from.]

[Or, when faced with a sealed door and spacesuits on the other side, he'll engage his visor. And move to step into the room. His armor is sealed. I'll go get them.]

post 12th | respite | away team
[At last, resting in one of the more stable rooms, he's finally sitting down. Moved a little apart from the others of the party, leaning against a wall, eyes closed. Helmet held loosely between his hands. He might be dozing if it weren't Shiro, the perpetual insomnia sufferer.]

[He lifts his ACE device, after a time, flicking idly through old messages. Expression distant and closed. He doesn't know why this feels so final. But it doesn't help the sense of tension tugging at his bones.]

WILDCARD | ota
(( anything else??? hit him up ))

A: Choked Out (OTA, Feb 10th)

[Children should know better than to go wandering where the air grows thick and heavy. They should know better than to think the collar of a sweater held tight over their nose and mouth will do anything to save their lungs, burning with every breath. But they can hear a hacking of smaller lungs further into the smoggy darkness, and they've never been able to deny the call of anyone in need.]

[The tiny dinosaurs were not particularly grateful of their rescue--Frisk's arms are covered in scratches and deeper cuts from panicked swipes of claws, but the small nest of compys has been ferried to safer air and the little pack fled--but Frisk themself can't seem to find a straight path back out. They cough and wheeze, swaying heavily on their feet and leaning against the wall. The air isn't even that bad in this part of the halls, but they can barely seem to take a single step without the world turning topsy turvy...this might be bad.]

B: Tight Spaces (Away Team, Feb 12th)

[With supplies scarce already, Frisk knows that every little bit will count. Especially with this group travelling into unknown areas of the station they can't take the risk of leaving any stone unturned--metaphorical or otherwise. While most of the station is blocked off by rather impassable locks or twisted and fused metal, sometimes an area is found where there is an opening through--just not a very large one.]

[They crouch down and peer through the crevice, a jumble of half-crushed containers leaving a pathway that's just slightly too small for an adult to pass through. But for a child...] I think I can fit. Maybe some stuff behind didn't get smushed like th' rest of it?

C: Distance (Away Team, Feb 15th)

[The longer the trek goes on, the more Frisk starts to wander. They aren't unaware of how many adults view them as a liability, someone that has to be protected rather than trusted, and while under those watchful eyes they're held back from chances to actually do something. Exploring and looking around, they've found a few places for the others to look through, and if they happen to spend more and more time staring out viewports...well, the power of a storm like that is difficult to ignore, for all that it's fearful.]

[They think they hear someone up ahead. Maybe someone else that had the same idea to split off, but the voice carries a note of fear and alarm--Frisk sets off at a run, not thinking a thing of the licks of energy that peel across glass and metal, the cold pressure that squeezes them like a vice. They have to find them, have to help--]

[--have to--]

[--they're lost. They forget what turns they'd gone down, which way led back to the others. There's no sound but the storm outside and the faint groan of strained metal, lights flickering on and off...there's no one. No one around, no one near, no one to help them find a way out. Frisk shivers and looks around frantically, straining to listen for any sign of life.]

H-hello? 'S anyone--'s anyone there?

Edited 2018-02-14 06:41 (UTC)

when i pray for sun, it rains (the downfall)

[in the beginning, kurt never thought this sort of thing would happen. he'd figured they had everything under control, until the mold showed up. then, after the attempt of cleaning that up, it's the peculiar moaning in the walls (which sounds horrific on its own), and that cranks up to nightmare fuel before going completely silent. he hasn't a clue what's going on; the quietness is unnerving, and that's when it happens: the smog begins pouring from the vents, filling their living space with suffocating noxious gases.

not long after, the power goes out and in this moment, the teleporter is more than a little happy for his enhanced eyesight. he uses it to his advantage during the blackout, finding emergency lights to set up and doing what little he can to help with bringing electronics back online.

he's no hank, but being on avagi has given him plenty of free time for studying and if he can't be found doing that--]

i'm so sick of wasting time (guiding people and medical help)

[he'll be aiding people through the haze, a medical mask secured around his face to help lessen the intake of poison. his eyes are burning at this point, yet he keeps pushing through, even going so far as to bamf people into safe-zones that can't make it there himself.

if you happen to catch him doing this, he'll absolutely offer a ride should it be necessary or perhaps, he sees you from his peripheral-- whether you're actually injured or not won't come into question right away as he raises a hand and calls out,] Hey, are you okay?

nothings moving in my mind (collecting things)

[when he isn't helping people, he's gathering up plants, carefully taking them to shelter so they can at least get samples to save for future use and regrowth. sure, they can find other ways to protect them, but he isn't going to chance the crew's wellness just because his lungs are irritated.

aside from the foliage, he's got his pacdisc that's mostly empty, which means it works perfectly for moving bookcases and other large items they want to save from being disintegrated by spots where the gas has gathered in thicker clouds. they've been known to hold spaceships, so it should be no problem for him to gather up books and other necessary items the moirans will need while they figure out what else they'll be able to do about this mess.

kurt's sure he isn't the only one on edge at this point; it shouldn't be a surprise if he startles easily or happens to whip around on whoever approaches him during his hasty gathering. although, he's quick to slacken his stiff posture, especially if it's someone he's familiar with.] Sorry, I— [he stops, brow furrowing as he sets another book on a stack not far away.] I guess I'm a little fretful right now.

inspiration can't be found (sealing up)

[and then, regardless of the fact he's drained of energy — both mentally and physically — he can still be found patching areas up, using whatever sort of materials they have. cardboard boxes, rolls of plastic, tarp, clothes-- whatever can be used to block off the parts of avagi that are no longer accessible.

he's quiet and meticulous as he works, tearing and placing tape here or possibly nailing things up there, looking rather stretched thin himself. during this time, he might barely spare a glance up at you, but promptly turns his attention back to the task at hand, unable to keep himself from murmuring, despite his weary state.]

What do you think we should do?

i get up and fall (around the safehouses)

[this will be the time where he's finally taking a moment for himself. for the most part, anyway.

kurt sits on an old sleeping bag, fidgeting with his ACE for lack of anything better to focus on. patients have been handled, things are closed off, and there's little more that they can do right now besides wait. reading would be an option, yet his inability to concentrate doesn't make that an easy choice.

so, for now, he continues toying with the device, heaving a sigh once he can no longer stand simply sitting there. he raises both hands and rubs them over his face, dragging his fingers down marred cheeks before slumping forward, elbows on his knees, his head between them.

'tired' is an understatement. he's been so focused on making sure everyone is okay (miniature dinosaurs included), he hasn't taken time for a proper nights rest and the dark circles forming underneath his eyes are a blatant sign of that. to be fair, though, he has been making sure to eat-- just enough to keep his energy levels up in case someone must make use of the teleporting ability he possesses.

should someone approach him in this state, it might take him a few moments, but eventually, his head will lift and he does his best offering the slightest smile.] Funny how no matter where we go, we always end up backed into a corner.

but i'm alive! (wildcard)

[ooc: hit me with your best shot! pm me or hit up @

totalfruitcup]

Edited 2018-02-15 06:20 (UTC)

It was like an arc of light, bright and gold-tinted, comet-tailing into nothing. It swelled and died like a stilling flame, rapidly extinguished. Some part of them had registered, albeit distantly, that stepping into the roar of a storm that had so badly bitten them in the past is far from an ideal situation.

They hadn't cared. When they'd entered, every thought had been of him - of his smile, his uneven face with its bald patch over the eye, his laugh, his eagerness to draw myriad patterns with the bulkhead chalk, the way he could never truly disown them. Every thought had been of him - until it hadn't been.

They step back inside with a renewed, razored focus; no longer stricken with grief, no longer distracted to the point of utter and immediate self-destruction.

They crouch over the pair of bodies with a spare scrap of cloth wound tightly around the lower half of their face, in case there may be pathogens frequenting the air. They may seem rather burned, but clearly they'd not succumbed to their wounds immediately, as they saw fit to leave a little something behind.

It's not the Castle of Aaah, but it's just as pointless.

When they aren't picking over the corpses and their surroundings, they're moving through deck to deck with a brisk, sharp efficiency - opening doors, closing them, ripping open storage containers in search of that which might be the least bit useful.

Gone is the grief. Gone is the pall of mourning.

They have a task to accomplish, and they will see it done.

EXPLORING;
[This is mostly just lame. Just exploring empty corridors and seeing nothing for their efforts. It's not like he thought it would be. There's no glory or heroism here. Just a bunch of scared and uncertain people roaming hallways.]

[Eventually, he parts from the main group. Intending to explore on his own, by virtue of not needing air to breathe, and having built-in flashlights on his chest.]

... whoo. Big operation here. Sure was worth all the time and headaches!

[He kicks at a can. It bounces into a wall, and goes rattling away down a vent.]

Ten points for Sideswipe! The crowd goes wild!

[So of course, he kicks another. Which goes wide of the vent -- hopefully it doesn't smack into anyone he knows.]

NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM;
[It was just supposed to be a look. Just supposed to mean he proved himself as big of a hero as the others. See, he can look at the storm and walk away unharmed. He's cool too. Totally not afraid.]

[But, he looks.]

[And all that bravado falls out of the bottom of the world, vaporized just by staring into the eye of the storm. He doesn't say a word. Doesn't utter a sound. He just staggers away from the window. Staggers as far away as possible, before he huddles in the smallest corridor he can fit into.]

[Not making a single sound.]

wildcard;
(( hit him up with anything else! ))

CircumNavigation - 12-13

     Parts of maps were better than no maps, but on the whole they still leave too much to the unknown, and it's the unknown to beware of. With no real information to go by beyond the sector they'd inhabited, they were still going in blind. It's not the first time Alfor's gone into uncharted territory, but there's a lot at risk here, and failing in their mission would only further endanger those they'd left behind to safeguard the known, the familiar.

     Failure isn't an option.

     At the very least, the armor of the Paladins are well equipped for environments lacking gravity or breathable space, and there had been some definite improvements to the suits that Shiro and his friends wore than the one that Alfor had first donned. Wearing the armor of the Red Paladin as he's come to do by habit now, the Altean king's actions betray nothing of his royal title as he isn't afraid to get his hands dirty or to volunteer to do something or another for the benefit of the explorational group. But he's never been one to set such distinctions, especially not here in this place. They were all far from home, on equal footing.

     As his helmet's internal HUD goes off with readings for the atmosphere, it's but the first reminder of potential hardships to be faced. Not everyone shared such equipment, and not everyone is used to traveling in Zero-G. While there are certainly times that Alfor might wish that the team were all together, believing that they would be able to get through the worst of these spaces with ease, he still knows that the others are where they ultimately can do the best that they can. And so likewise...

I want to Thrive, not just Survive - 15
     It's that eerie presence of the storm outside of the station- and even inside, now, that constantly creeps into his thoughts. There's been no clear details given about the storm save that it brought about the destruction of the world they'd been called to. He had not experienced the warning dreamwalk of the now gone Savrii Intermediary, and even the things he'd heard about it were uncertain.

     While the roiling darkness is nothing he hasn't before observed behind the safety of shields and glass, there's undeniably something else to it as he looks upon it now, separated merely by the walls yet left in tact while it's invaded what it could of the damaged portions of the station. Perhaps it's actively seeking entry.

     They've once again stopped to rest, and while the weary feeling from travel hasn't yet faded, another brand of exhaustion has overlapped it. Alfor shivers, pulling his stare away from the flickering darkness outside, shaking his head. There's something there, he knows it. What do you want..? he thinks at it as he once again lifts his pale-eyed gaze, feeling as though he's trying to engage the thing in a staring contest. He makes notes, scant as they are, recordings and attempts to take readings through what's available of his armor's sensors. Eventually he finally turns away from the view of the storm, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. The weariness still lingers, but he it's been there from the start, hasn't it?

The Things We Find - 16-19
     Maybe it's the journey that's been slowly taking its toll. But with other strangeness occurring within the ranks of those who had volunteered to traverse to unknown parts of the station, maybe there's something more to it. Alfor has seemed more...distant, in a way. He seems to have little patience for dealing with others, always opting to push forward when at all possible. It doesn't seem like he's much inclined to relay any observations he makes, or it just doesn't cross his mind to do so.

     The findings of traces of inhabitants are something to pick up his spirits and probably those of others, for it means they're finally getting somewhere. While the strange prayer-like inscriptions are interesting, they're met with a faint snort once translated. "Lot of good it's done anyone," he mutters to himself, shaking his head.

     Naturally positive readings coming from an otherwise questionably marked door draws curiosity and thus the need for further investigation. The revelation of the room's contents are certainly disturbing, and while further proof that someone's been around this side of the station, it's still a bit of a drawback.

     "Well, that's unfortunate."

Saying Goodbye: Closed to Erik

[She's pretty sure that he doesn't want her to go. But she's also glad that so far, he hasn't asked or told her not to. While they generally spend a lot of nights together, both of their work is important to them and she's independent enough to want to be able to come and go as she needs. Right now, she knows that her duties and her desire for adventure take her with the team that's going to try and make contact with the others on the station.

Tensions are running high, and it's coming up on time for her to head out. So as she's packing up a knapsack of supplies to bring with her, she pauses in what she's doing and goes over to just wrap her arms around him.]

I'll be back, you know.

[She figures it's the right thing to say, even if she can't promise that.]

Away Team: Discoveries

[It feels like it's taken them forever to get to this point. Too many hours of working with a map and doing the best they can to get through each wall and area. Finally, their progress feels like they might reach a point of success. The remains of food they're finding don't seem to be that old, and some of the tools they've found don't have any evidence that they've been laying around all that long either.

The group's at a point now where they can split up reasonably safely, and Clara moves off in a direction with a couple of others. She sees and scans the glyphs that translate to what looks like prayers, but she keeps her concern as to why they'd be needed inside until they reach the door with the X. Scanning the area provides her with details that things are stable, but the sight she's greeted with upon opening the door causes her to take a step back in surprise. Her eyes scan over the remains that are pressed against the force field, and she looks over to whoever's with her.]

Right, so, potentially not a friendly group over on this end. Think we should alert the others?

Mission Prep
[Even if no-one else had been planning to head out towards the other occupied part of the station, Wash would have been considering it himself. Even so, he's sort of glad that more people are going. His last attempt at diplomacy had ended with a bunch of dead Sangheili and he thinks that probably isn't going to help them this time.

The air is thick with mould and smoke and eventually, just plain darkness. Wash is glad for the armour, the helmet with filters and internal life support.

He spends his time packing supplies, glad for what's squirrelled away, and trying to get people out of the worst of it. It's a depressingly small area.]

[Survival - Away team]
[It's been a long time since he worked as part of a team, and never really one as sprawling and disparate as this one, if it can even be called a team. A group of people with roughly the same goals is closer to the mark, but they hadn't exactly had time for introductions and briefings beyond being told what they needed to look out for.

He keeps a little distance, scouting ahead wherever he can so he can pass back information about what lies ahead before they hit it and get held up further. The grav-lock and seal of the armour allows him to get through places that might otherwise cause problems. For all they know, what they're searching for is floating around in the docking bay somewhere.

When they make camp, Wash stays at the edges of the group, alternating between napping for an hour at a time, and stalking the perimeter. There's something in the air, the storm. he can't help the feeling that they're being watched.

Discoveries

Well, that's an encouraging sight.

[He hovers at the entrance to the room. They probably need to get through if they want to continue rather than spend hours cutting through walls, but he can't say the sight of the corpses fills him with hope.

Something about it makes him uneasy. Bodies don't. He's seen enough of them that they don't faze him anymore. But these?]

Someone's gone to the trouble of warning people off this place.

[You don't waste time scrawling marks like that unless it's important.]

Edited 2018-02-17 15:11 (UTC)

The User world taught him quickly and well:

Nobody cares where you're from or what you were, unless it suits for settling grudges from home--and then they'll mostly avoid you, your own lights clear as a brand.

What matters is what you can do, and the chief rule is work. You must find your own usefulness. There are no directives here but the ones you make.

And he can endure anything--every indignity, any insult, all manner of terror and pain--if only he sufficiently narrows his focus.

Pragmatism is the great equalizer.

He is very strong, but he is not a combat routine, and his own taste for adventure, which to him still suggests chaos, disorder, and filth--is sharply limited.

The organic investments he's made in this system are entirely dependent on him: plants of all sorts are fragile and require regular maintenance even in ideal conditions. Under the circumstances, he makes the obvious choice: stay.

the message; ota (10-12)

The flooding last month made him realize that he's from the lower decks, the sanitation sector--essentially the station sewers. And so Clu is used to ominous low rumbling in the understory and assorted groaning squeaks in the night. That's just the pipes, settling, doing their disgusting but entirely mundane work.

Big deal. He's not sanitation; it's not like he knows how to reroute it. He is not about to put himself arms deep in solid waste without either some massive benefit or a clear and present hazard. He's already defeated this grey water once before. The walls can sing to themselves all they like.

Until they stop.

The lone vent in his apartment belches a billow of overwhelming smoke. There's a hard chug down under the panel, and more rolls out, oily industrial junk in swift steady gouts with a thick heartbeat rhythm.

The outer corridor is rapidly filling with the same substance.

...Not good.

There are no protocols here--no hazard management; no designated safety officials; no drills--but they'd certainly had them at home, and he knows what to do: if you can leave, evacuate immediately to designated sites. Again, there are none here, but the Greenery will do for him. It's his chief area of interest, and several of the flora there possess rudimentary filter capabilities.

The ACE text is curt and wide-band: he sends it not just to Rinzler, not only to the other Programs, but to every acquaintance he may ever have glimpsed in the halls:

!URGENT! Environmental Problem, Sadcat Sector, all units. Do not remain where you are. Secure your own safety before assisting others. Alert companions and seek higher ground.

What they do with the information is up to them.

bushwhacked; ota (14-16)

It's not just a problem in Sadcat Sector. The smoke is everywhere, tumbling gently from every open vent and prodding in thin acrid streams even through vents he's been able to shut or seal as he passed. So far as he knows, it's throughout the entire station: system failure. Its nature doesn't suggest a fire, which would have roared through the induction system and crippled the station by now. It can't be a fault in the circulators, either; the smoke is still moving, which suggests viable air pressure and intact ductwork sufficient to spread the problem.

Not his area. Not his analysis to bear. The Greenery is his chosen focus, and it's certainly large enough on its own.

His ferns will screen toxins from air and soil, mostly in the alkene chemical groups. Except that they're vulnerable when they're young, and fully half of them will burn under an assault like that, wasting their own leaves in chemical reaction.

Euclid is with him already. He'd repotted Julia recently, but her seedlings will go to waste in the heat--bolting all their seeds, inedible and fouled in the meantime. They'll have to wait for the next generation to eat--if any of them make it that far, another fat month in the distance.

The whole damned station may have fallen from the sky by then.

Clu can be found gathering every pot of the correct size amid a steady metronome patter of blistering Grid swears--"Glitched," "soldering," "faulted," and the occasional mathematician blurted in blasphemy--spading in dirt and bringing up roots.

If you're here to help, now would be the time.

serenity; ota (16-18)

All he does is what he can with what he has. As the days stretch forward and the fumes simply continue to pour in, this boils down to physical prevention--deadmanning doors, crushing the larger vents completely shut, sundry electrical work--and trying to tend companions who still need air.

Even minor activity done for them--bringing food, or equipment, or water--the last clean thing--spares brittle lungs and stammering hearts, and saves what air they have.

Though, as even that begins to dwindle, there may be nothing else to do but wait.

goodnight, travel well [closed to kevin flynn]

Alan has to admit, when he first told Flynn he’d be part of the Away Team, part of him had found it funny. He was apprehensive, sure, but the irony of the announcement after he’d gotten on Flynn’s case about the trip’s dangers had helped him keep a light tone. Now that it’s almost time to depart, he’s rather more serious. He feels safer knowing Rinzler will be there to watch his back, but even the promise of his program’s presence isn’t enough to completely stave off the awareness that he might not come back. And if there’s anything Alan has learned over the years, it’s that you don’t take that kind of risk without stopping to say goodbye. Plus, there’s one last favor he has to ask...

It’s a little bit tricky finding Flynn in the disorganized cluster of safe rooms, but Alan manages after a few minutes. At his side, he holds a pac-disk… and hovering over his left shoulder is a familiar blue shape.

“Looks like it’s about time for me to head out,” Alan says as he approaches, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. Despite everything, he smiles, glad that Flynn will at least have some semblance of safety in the meantime. “Do you have everything you need here?”

too old for this shit [away team]

[Alan doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the Away Team. He’s not a scout, not a fighter, not a diplomat, and honestly not even much of a long-distance hiker. He thus doesn’t mind when he’s relegated to the back of the party, ostensibly because it’s safer and more practically because he couldn’t keep up with those in the front.

That’s fine, though. Alan takes it with good humor and won’t even mind if anyone asks him why he’s come along. After all, if you’re asking him, it means you’ve fallen to the back of the party too and hopefully won't mind some (slightly winded) conversation. Aside from that, you can find him examining the maps on his ACE and warning any newcomers about staring at the storms—or, strangely, listening to them.]

all the love you won't forget [system failure]

[When the dizziness hits, Nill doesn't think much about it. Maybe she'd just stood up too fast, maybe she had gone too long between meals. It's easy enough to push through, even if it feels a little difficult to breathe. The oxygen levels had been known to fluctuate, and she tells herself they'll correct themselves soon.

She's on her way to the gardens, hoping some fresher air will make her feel better, when the lights die completely. Her next breath sends her into a fit of coughing, her entire body shaking with the force of it, and she knows something is wrong.

Nill draws her fingers across her A.C.E. to light it up, thankful for the small glow that helps her find her way. She keeps one hand on the wall, partially so she doesn't miss a turn and partially to steady herself. The corners of her vision are a little blurry, making her pick up her pace--but her breathing is labored, each step becoming more sluggish. She's so close to the gardens, she can see the door just ahead--

--Nill falls against it with a loud thump, scrabbling for the control to open the door.]

all these reckless nights you won't regret [rations]

[Somehow, Nill has ended up in charge of food distribution for the safe room she's in. There isn't much to go around, but she does what she can to stretch it and make it palatable. She hands out each portion with a hopeful smile, one that says she believes they'll be out of this predicament soon. Those who had traveled to find the purification crystals will return soon, and they'll all be able to go about their daily lives again. They might even be able to go home soon.

Nill has become quite accomplished at lying without ever saying a word.]

someday soon your whole life's gonna change [medical]

[There weren't many doctors in the Underground, so Nill had needed to learn how to take care of herself. Heine never needed his wounds tended, since he healed so quickly, but the rest of them didn't have the same luxury. Badou, Naoto, Yora--even Bishop needed a little medical attention now and then. And somehow, the job of nurse had always fallen to Nill. Maybe it was the way Bishop sometimes dressed her like a nun, all in black and white, or maybe it was because of her deep-seated nurturing ways. Regardless, she tends to those who need it, bringing water and food, clean bandages, or sometimes just quiet company. The toxins filling the station had affected everyone differently, but she does her best.]

you'll miss the magic of these good old days [wildcard]

[hit me up on plurk at

watchet or pm me if you wanna do something else!]

First floods in Sanitation, and now life support is almost nonfunctional. Yori's starting to take these disasters personally; why can't the things she feels responsible for just work?

In no need of oxygen, she spends most of her time outside the secure sections trying to force a workaround for the filters. But she also drops into the inhabited areas from time to time, asks if everyone is okay, and shoves bottles of water and square blocks of blue food at everyone who looks organic without eating any herself.

You could ask why she's running frantic errands and carrying tools about, but she might not have time to explain.

If anyone offers to help with maintenance, she's looking more than a little stressed; maybe she'll accept.

a constellation of tears on your lashes [system failure]

[The moment the station's constant groan turns into a harsh, grinding screech, Rey goes completely still over the taskbot she's been repairing. The silence that immediately follows is more terrifying to her than the grating of the station's systems--because that at least mean they were still working. BB-9 lets out a low, worried whistle from beside her.

A hiss comes from a vent nearby, and hazel eyes dart towards it. Thick black smoke has started pouring into the workshop.]

--Frag it all!

[Rey grabs the closest rag and wraps it around her nose and mouth. It might be dirty and covered in grease, but it's better than whatever this smog is. She gathers up her tools, shoving them into her bag and stuffing the taskbot under her arm. She starts towards the door, her droid rolling along beside her.]

BB, find us a clear route to the closest safe room.

[The droid whirrs and lets out a couple beeps as they exit the workshop, and Rey rolls her eyes as she breaks into a steady jog.]

Fine, the least likely to kill me, then.

[An affirmative beep is the only answer she gets before BB-9 rolls head to lead the way.]

burn everything you love then burn the ashes [sanitation]

[Even though sanitation isn't exactly in her wheelhouse, Rey knows a lot of the station's systems and figures an extra set of mechanically-inclined hands won't hurt. She's donned her full scavenger outfit, hoping it will offer at least some kind of protection from the toxic gases filling the station. The going is slow, and everyone has paired off for safety.

After a while of silence, she lets out a heavy sigh, and glances to her companion.]

Any idea where we are, exactly?

in the end everything collides [wildcard]

[as always, i can be reached via pm or on plurk at

watchet! rey will be staying close to the safe rooms, going between them and doing what she can to keep them airtight and heated.]

Navigation

[ The more she explores the former Ingress complex, the more Lena wonders how the structure is even functional after so long. The immediate problem is the air purification system, but seeing the storm up close is unsettling. It’s all-consuming, a force of unmitigated destruction.

And Mother had unleashed it.

Lena picks her way through the parts of the ruined complex that she can get to without a space suit. Luckily, she’s petite, which makes squeezing through tiny gaps much easier for her than for others.

Perhaps your character is walking along and sees Lena’s head poking out of a crawlspace. ]

I wouldn’t go that way. Door’s blocked.

[ Or perhaps she’s gesturing to them to come over and give her a boost up to an otherwise unreachable gap. ]

Mind givin’ me a boost?

Survival

[ Lena’s made of tough stuff, but she’s woefully underprepared for this kind of exploration. No space suit to be had, no grav-boots, and definitely no oxygen tank. It’s made her travels rather perilous, and she’s had more close calls than she’ll admit to.

In one instance, she enters a room with everything except gravity. Lena floats along as best as she can, but there aren’t many handholds to be found, so she’s struggling to gain any kind of momentum. And she most certainly struggles to control how she’s moving around-- hopefully she doesn’t crash into anyone. And hopefully nobody sees her less-than-graceful attempts to get across the room.

Eventually, the team finds a “safe” spot to camp and Lena rests, hiding her exhaustion worse and worse the longer they travel. Still, she tries to keep up appearances, offering to help some of the less fortunate travelers patch themselves up or help distribute any supplies. But, every so often, Lena can be seen with her back resting against the wall. She glances at the storm, her expression turning dark before her body sags slightly. Lena looks over at her companion with a tired smile. ]

Sure didn’t come here for the view, did we?

Edited 2018-02-18 03:44 (UTC)

A - Blackout - Feb. 10

When that smog started pouring into the station, it probably wouldn’t surprise most people who knew him to know that Ginko set right out in search of others who might need help - crew or otherwise.

In fact, one of his first stops was the animal nursery. The sheep that had been rescued from a dying planet way back when weren’t thrilled about being ushered into a pac-disc, but they’d been in one before… and Ginko was pretty insistent, since that would probably be safer than staying out in the potentially smog-filled open.

Now, though… one wrong turn, and another, and he’s made the mistake of wandering into one of the more fog-heavy halls of the station. Which is a problem, and he is trying to find his way out, but-- you know what, while he’s here, he might as well make sure nobody is worse off.

He’s pulled the hem of his shirt up over his mouth and nose, and it’s not doing a lot of good, but it’s… something, probably? He’s still definitely coughing and wheezing every few seconds - but he forces himself to call out, clutching his pac-disc close to his chest.

“Is-- is anyone in here?”

B - Navigation - Away Team

Ginko is like… 60% sure he can fit in this vent.

It’s not like it’s super tiny. But, then it’s not exactly huge either, and he’s grown a lot lately…

Very suddenly, he turns to a passer-by, looking up from where he’s crouching on the ground, and points at the hole in the wall in front of him. “D’you think I could fit in there?”

He looks very concerned with this question.

C - Wildcard

(( OOC: message me here or at

omixgirl10 if you want to figure something else out! ))

[ Investigation - System Failure ]

[The entire reason Pidge ended up staying is because her greatest strength is in the tech department. She'd known before Shiro even said anything that this is where she would find herself; suited up in her paladin armor, making her way through the station with the small group of people who'd also volunteered to investigate and repair whatever damage they could. The odds don't look great so far, and Pidge is lucky that her armor is mostly able to protect her from the fumes in the air. Who knows how long that'll last, though. So much about the armor is still a mystery, after all.

But that's a problem for another time. Pidge has her gauntlet out in front of her, scanning the area for whatever information she can while she hurries down the hallways. The power's been out for too long now, and getting through the station with everything on shut down is no easy task. It's all too tempting to use her bayard to simply cut through walls and sealed doors.]

There has to be something in Life Support that'll help. [The words are uttered half to herself and half to whoever she's with while she consults the holographic display from her gauntlet.] I really should've synced up with the station's main controls ages ago...

[ Investigation - Sanitation ]
[Her armor has definitely seen better days at this point. Pidge still isn't sure how much longer it will hold out, but now that they have intel about the source of the dark fumes, she can't just sit and ignore it. She's never been down in sanitation before, but that doesn't stop her from going down there.

As soon as she gets to the filtration hub, she attempts to use her gauntlet to scan the area, but it seems like the contaminated air is interfering with the readout. She'll have to do it the old-fashioned way, then....]

[ wildcard ]
(come at me, bro)

Edited 2018-02-18 07:12 (UTC)

if we sink we lift our love (have a half blind guide dog)

[he hadn't ever seen this kind of job in the cards. blackmailing someone for fucking a jackolantern, getting his ass thrown underground, no longer drinking pop? yes.

dragging some hapless fuck through clouds of smoke? priceless. for everything else, there's--]

SMOKEY THE BEAR WOULD BE APPALLED BY YOUR BULLSHIT!! Way to pick now for a field trip!

cause if this is the life this is the life this is the life then who'd argue? (regrouping in a safe room)

Got anything to eat that ain't astronaut food?

[says the long-legged lump laying across the floor, a scarf over his face. he's covered in dirt from running around, and there's a pile of what-looks-like-junk-but-is-probably-useful-somewhat beside him. if you're confused whether or not you're being addressed, Badou at least beacons you over with a flop of a hand]

Well?

2/12, GREENERY; CLOSED to Clu

He's coordinated with allies. Offered resources, and done what he can to guarantee a security presence on both sides. The only thing left for Clu's enforcer to do is to make himself useful.

Rinzler's talents were never in repair.

The Greenery is protected, but most routes to reach it are not. As an inorganic encased in an airtight suit, Rinzler is entirely unbothered by the smog he stalks through—but he will take care at the door to make sure all waste stays sealed out. The glow of gold across the space is easy to pick out, and if Clu isn't looking his way, his own sound is distinctive, to say the least.

Rinzler approaches to the default distance and waits to be acknowledged.

2/13-2/19, BARELY-CHARTED SPACE; OPEN

If Rinzler is a little late to join the rest of the away team, he doesn't waste much time in catching up. He stops to examine the corpses untombed by the force field, runs a tentative scan of the ancient wrappers (predictably, to no effect). When the users in the group settle down to rest, he lingers nearby, standing watch over the entryways. And when the group is moving... he finds a way to be of use.

A. Pathfinding

Advancing requires opening new sectors. Opening new sectors requires making sure they're safe. Being "scanning tech" himself, Rinzler finds himself naturally well-suited to assist... up to a point.

The room in question is on the small side: one of the abandoned offices that filled this sector. The program in question is currently crouched near its center, one hand flat along the ground. No footprints float up from the floor, however; Rinzler isn't scanning its surface. His focus is directed deeper in: toward a faint impression of energy the next floor down.

Undrained power means the storms haven't breached in yet. More, it might mean heat, or working systems—or at least a way around. Still, if Rinzler can pick up on energy, his talents are less well designed to detecting things not part of a computer system. Say, air.

The enforcer reaches back, undocking his disk—before turning to glance around the space. He needs something else to make this work.

B. We all float up here

A necessary juncture devoid of air or heat? See: normal operating conditions for the program. As soon as the problems with the docking bay are flagged, Rinzler volunteers to go ahead, passing through the airlock with whatever other volunteers are present. He lingers by the door for a moment, mapping vectors before he kicks off, a graceful arc into zero-gravity. Limbs curl in as he enters the gap, accelerating the slight spin—then uncoil as he closes on the spacesuits. A hand grabs one as he hits the wall, and Rinzler kicks off—

—rebounds—

—and slams back toward the wall as the hidden carabiner tethering the suit jerks back against his tug. A quick turn absorbs the impact, but his grip comes loose, leaving the enforcer floating... very slowly... back toward the wall where he'd come in.

Help? Laugh? Probably for the best that there's no sound in space. Not that Rinzler isn't glaring at you anyway.

feb 10; closed to wanda

The gases had come so suddenly that many were left to fend for themselves. Once he’d taken care to secure the specimens in the greenhouse and migrated them somewhere safe, with a little help from the experimental portable biome units he’d asked of Tony of course, he’d gone back out in search of others who might have gotten caught out in the fumes and couldn’t find their way to a nearby safe room. It’s on one of these excursions that he scouts the library and manages to find Wanda, unconscious and surrounded by a pile of books. What had likely started as a harmless rest had taken a sudden and unknown turn, and though the others he’s helped had all been conscious, he finds himself facing a particularly difficult obstacle now, needing to evacuate an unconscious individual.

He’d been relying on use of his shirt himself, tugging it over his nose and mouth, filtering out as much as he could through the fibers and the firm press of his palm. The serum in him does well enough to fight off the worst of it, allowing him to continue on despite the stinging in his chest, but with the lack of an arm, there isn’t any way to continue as he had before if he must also carry Wanda to safety. Without much choice and without much time to spare, it doesn’t take him long to settle on a plan.

Removing his shirt, he fashions it into a multilayered face mask about Wanda’s neck and mouth to keep her from continuing to inhale the toxic air. It’s then that he hoists her up from where she’d been seated, first positioning one of her arms over his bad shoulder before lifting her up by her thighs, his arm acting as a makeshift seat of sorts to support the lower half of her body. It’s likely not the most comfortable position for her, but he couldn’t heave her over his shoulder altogether: carrying her that way would only labor her breathing further, and at this point, she needs as much clean air as she can to clear out what she’s already taken it.

To his surprise, he manages quite well even without the shirt to cover his nose and mouth. At least before he begins to carry Wanda. With the added exertion, his lungs fight to compensate for the energy being expended, and inevitably, his breathing grows more labored than is safe to continue. But he can’t leave Wanda out here. He has to keep going. C’mon, Barnes. Just like a walk in the park.

They’re a few corridors away when his knees give in under his dwindling consciousness, try as he might to fight it off. He curses as his right knee strikes the floor hard, Wanda jostling free from where he’d balanced her and slipping to the floor. Trying to regain his bearings, he covers his mouth and nose with his hand again, but he’s taken in too much; it's useless. With the last of his fading coherence, he calls her name, shaking her shoulder in attempt to rouse her before he falls to the floor with a thud.

to goodness and grief Feb 12 - closed to Ram

[ Flynn has been making the rounds, ensuring the map and other supplies make their way among the away team. Two people in particular need to be spoken to, now that he's had a word with Shepard, but there's a third is also on the list: Ram, found here in one of the safe rooms, brightly lit under the low security lights. Crossing the space, dodging others readying to leave, Flynn claps a hand to his shoulder, all warm pride even in the middle of catastrophe. ]

I heard you're going. Interesting collection of folks. [ A beat. Lightly, with friendly concern, ] You gonna be all right?

[ with Rinzler on the team goes without saying. ]

Edited 2018-02-27 06:41 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Flies on the Sun

Nathan Drake | Uncharted + CRAU | staying

Nova Barnett née Clone Shepard | Mass Effect | away team

Shiro | OTA + away team