( april event log )

[hownkai]

Who: Everyone
When: April 14th and on
Where: The Moira + Del Pascia
What: The prison isn't all that contained after all.
Warnings: For the (sort of) undead, possible violence, and nudity. Please label your content!

E V E N T

revive the risk "Big things have small beginnings." Things have been going relatively well for the crew of the Moira thus far despite their current circumstances. With D-E-L’s help, many supplies have already been gathered, and those with the necessary components have begun making much needed repairs. Yet, things aren’t as peaceful on Del Pascia as they might have seemed. The resident facility AI has slowly started growing more and more unresponsive to questions, often answering in rather irritated tones and short, snippy answers. Still, no system glitches appear across the prison except for one minor detail: random doors and hallways suddenly lock and close for no reason and don’t open again for varying amounts of time—ranging from minutes to hours. Does this have anything to do with the unsettling feeling some crew members have experienced since stepping foot onto Del Pascia? Or is there a simple explanation that can be easily chalked up to as an accident? ☄ DECONTAMINATION #2 ( 04.14 - 04.17 ) On the Moira, crew come and go without much hassle. They take a transporter to planets and moons and back again without any fuss... Until today. All crew that try to reboard the Moira coming back from Del Pascia will be denied access, a warning flashing on their MID - Decontamination Required for Entry. It’s a protocol that hasn’t been enacted before, and the MID offers no explanation as to why it is now. The transporter will seal and then be permitted to dock in the Cargo Bay, where the procedure will begin. All crew on the transporter have to dispose of their clothing by placing it inside hazardous waste bags located in a compartment near the front of the craft. After all clothing is stored, a gas-like substance will fill the transporter, breathable yet tasteless, and once it dissipates, crew will be free to go. Other crew members will be waiting in the cargo bay with clothing and blankets, per the captain’s instruction, but no clear explanation will be given for this sudden new protocol aside from “potential health risks”. ☄ D.ON'T E.VER L.EAVE ( 04.18 - 04.23 ) After the decontamination procedures for the Moira go off, the captains issue a ship-wide alert to let the crew know that the ship is picking up on something inside each person that boarded the space station. It is speculated that the crew came in contact with an unknown biological contaminant either during the station’s decontamination procedure or sometime after. At this point, they aren’t aware of what will happen to those that are carrying the contaminant, and the captains ask for anybody with experience to head to the Medbay to begin testing. Crew don’t appear to be in any danger, so they are allowed to continue gathering materials and supplies on board the space station at their discretion. (Every time they come and go, they will be made to go through the procedure described above). Any crew remaining on Del Pascia will find that D-E-L is more vocal than ever before. It is answering questions, as well as trying to convince crew members to abandon the Moira and take up permanent residence aboard the space station. ☄ FEAR ME, LOVE ME, DO AS I SAY ( 04.24 - 04.28 ) Like most unfortunate things, it seems everything happens all at once.The noises you heard, a step falling moments after yours or a rattle coming from the vents, become louder. You can’t place where they are coming from at first. You turn, you follow, but the search yields no results. And then, without any warning, it’s crystal clear as “they” begin to creep and move from within the shadows and ruined sections of Del Pascia: the prisoners and workers said to have been relocated by D-E-L. Their voice is one, regardless of how many gather, and they tell you, “You can be happy here” and “I can make you better” shortly after. Worse than the way they speak in unison is the way they look. Mutated and deformed, their prison uniforms are in tatters and covered in various levels of the same blood that the crew has experienced during their time on Del Pascia while visiting the prison blocks. They don’t attack to kill; they only try to detain, to drag crew members further into the station and are methodical and precise in how they do this as if they’re being controlled by something greater and much smarter than them. To those that fight, D-E-L’s voice will call out, telling the Moiran not to struggle, to stay here and be safe, be better. The AI explains that life there on Del Pascia is easy, peaceful, and nobody will cause you pain. Suffering is a thing of the past and loneliness is something you’ll never know again. The prisoners follow the command of the AI, its voice falling from their lips. D-E-L claims they feel no pain, no hunger. They are united in one purpose and are therefore free of all strife. Wouldn’t it be nice to be free like that? As always, fearing for the safety of the crew (and despite the disrepair of the Moira from events prior), the captains ask for all those capable to assist with extracting those aboard Del Pascia as quickly as possible before D-E-L tries to lock them inside. Running, after all, is better than dying, and it’s certainly something everyone aboard the Moira has gotten quite good at.

Comments

cw: drug use

[ersatzeverything]

"You could just stand up, take a bow, call it done, and sit back down again."

Deacon didn't notice the mental intrusion. There really was a great deal of idle curiosity there in his mind. His job back home was to gather information on anything and anyone and report back to HQ. There was no one to report to on Moira, but the habits of decades didn't go away easily. He was always interested in people, in their stories. You never knew when even the gossip of an unassuming scavver might hold useful intel. So he'd always talked to everybody, and listened.

But underneath that are old, old memories of shooting up on a dirty mattress in a leaky shack, because he felt powerless and angry in an unfair and dangerous world and the drug made him feel powerful while the high lasted and made it easier for him to put violent action to the anger and give it expression.

[whatawaste]

Maya hadn't meant to delve that far into his mind. But she was untrained and untested. And, frankly, unapologetic. There wasn't enough time or energy in the galaxy--any galaxy--for shame.

Just a shrug.

"Too much effort," she said, twisting a piece of hair so tight around the tip of her finger that it turned white.

It was actually sort of nice to meet a kindred spirit, of sorts. She'd met a surprisingly large contingent of prisoners with her mental disability. Not as many who knew a kriffing thing about addiction. At least he knew what he was talking about.

"What was your drug of choice?"

why would you ever be sorry for this?

[ex_forcechoke292]

[Even had Anakin known the breadth and scope of Luke's internal struggle, he would find it difficult to walk away, to not try. He's aware of the hesitance, the need for space, and he understands that more than Luke likely knows. But those questions were thrown to the side long before reaching out.

Some things matter more than wondering why the son he's never known--who has never known him--is wary of him. Such as said son's well-being. It helps that Luke's first reaction is more affirming than he's come to expect.

It's not remarked on.

The only reaction is Anakin's hand closing around Luke's and pulling him forward and up. They're going to get out of this if he has to die trying.]

[ex_forcechoke292]

[Padmé isn't the only one who feels the heat of shame rise at the clinical order to disrobe. It isn't as much the idea of undressing in public, his own space has long been more a fantasy than anything given to him in reality, but in front of Padmé?

When she hasn't experienced this? Asked for it? The way he remembers it, this would hardly be cause for much fuss, but the way she remembers it, her hesitance rolls off of her in waves, and he almost feels guilty for remembering anything at all.

He's starting to turn red, creeping over his ears first, and he's doing his best to ignore it; the last thing he needs is to make an idiot of himself when he's not even entirely sure the one person who means more to him than anything else won't decide to leave.

There's only one way to deal with ignoring that annoyance.]

Can't even do a guy the favor of buying dinner first? What kind of sham is this?

[And yet, there go the boots and then the uniform zipper. If he's going to look like an idiot, it's going to be on his own terms.

[vengeance_driven]

"Yeah, staying in one place too long just sort of gets them more on the "on of us!" chant. And I am not so much enjoying that."

He moved to follow Scott, putting away his lighter and checking the clip on his gun. He was very low.

"I'm Niko, by the way. I am a Cargo Bay guy." In that if you've seen me around, that's probably where voice.

[vengeance_driven]

These fuckers have heads that grow back. [Nice language there, but he gestures around.] They are like sponges for bullets. You either have to pin them in or molotov them.

It is an exercise in frustration.

[But it doesn't seem to be stopping him. Not in the slightest. And he actually goes towards the next sound he hears.]

[ersatzeverything]

His eyes widened before he could stop himself, before he could remind himself that he wasn't wearing his sunglasses to hide it. He wondered how she knew. Maybe she recognized something in his voice like he recognized something in hers.

"Med-X," the lie came quickly. Med-X was an almost respectable drug; it was a drug with respectable, practical uses, with the downside of being habit-forming. Not like the shit he'd been on. There's nothing respectable about Psycho. "It's a painkiller. Got into too many skirmishes as a caravan guard, dipped into the medicine kit too many times after getting shot in the leg or a baseball bat to the chest..."

Nothing about that story was true, but it was a nicer story than the truth so he'll try to pass it off as truth.

[redshitlord]

[Okay, fine, it's his turn to blow raspberries at Riptide. Stupidly.]

... fine. I'll help.

[He has his sword back now, after all.]

[anarchos]

He watches the way she fights back, but he also watches for the attention turned on him. He's long since tuned out the AI's voice and realized the intelligence level of the creatures isn't as high as an actual person, even if they are very (and dangerously) goal oriented. It's better for conservation purposes if he prioritized using his knife over his gun, but when the numbers are this high, it feels stupid to risk it. Better to kill them quickly before he gets overwhelmed.

Even before Cassandra starts barking out her order, Bellamy's taking aim, shooting one of the nearest to him in the cheek. Two seconds later, he jerks the gun and shoots another that just about has it's grip on her. When she runs towards him, he steps forward almost as if to meet her halfway, shooting again to stop the next one from grabbing at either of them.

Three down, but it isn't like the numbers have been dropped significantly yet.

"Didn't you have a knife? What happened to it?"

[notpatsy]

Well, you're a man, and you're mine so...

[ She shrugs, and then laughs a little. ]

Though that kind of sounded more creepy than affectionate.

[deal]

The fact that he remembers she has a knife gets her to take pause and look up at him in near disbelief, but she's quickly nodding in response. "When they grabbed me, they managed to get it out of my hand. It shouldn't be too far from here."

Bringing her hand up to touch at his upper arm, she presses firmly to signal that they should get the hell out of there. There's not a chance he has enough rounds to bring all of the z's here down, and she's got nothing to fight with. It would be stupid for them to stay there. She knows they're going to have to fight their way out of this place, with how many undead prisoners are around, but if she can get her knife back it's a fair fight.

"Let's go."

She backs away, keeping her eye on the zombies, until she feels safe enough to turn and run. She's skilled at retracing footsteps so it's really not all that long before she's wrapping around a corner and rushing over to grab hold of her knife that's still laying discarded on the floor. Her fingers curl around the hilt in a death grip and as she takes to moving upright she notices a couple of z's in close. She swings her arm up as she rises up completely, the leverage enabling her to get her knife through its head at a good enough angle to bring it down quickly. It's not difficult to make quick work of shoving it back and into the ground, and she rushes forward past the other since she's well aware Bellamy has her back. She trusts him to take care of it.

It's clear they have two options here: fight a straight path out and make a beeline back to their ship or slip through the corridors quietly and hope they can slowly sneak their way out.

standing in the rain looking mildly confused

[beautifulspaceraptor]

"I don't know about that," Nihlus snorts as the plate covering his cowl loosens with a soft, mechanical hiss. "The atmosphere's much friendlier here."

Heck, Afterlife was friendlier than Chora's. He might be a little biased on that front though, between loathing Fist and his general avoidance of anything Shadow Broker related. There were better networks out there that didn't get you tangled up in an endless information bartering cycle. There's a reason the Broker didn't have anything on him.

"You ever been to Yanta's House? Upper Ward, a few blocks from Ilpok station." He hauls the cowl armor off his shoulders and tucks it under an arm, going to fetch a couple of the bags. "Cute little place run by an old Matriarch, one of Benezia's friends. The dancers and clientele are a lot more friendly and diverse."

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Nihlus very carefully pretends he didn't see Riptide hiding his hands behind his back. Just because he's seen a lot of gruesome things on the job doesn't mean he wants to see it anymore than necessary.

"If you're not combat trained, I would definitely suggest returning to the Moira as soon as you can," he says, flicking a scan out on his omni-tool to see if there were other Del Pascians nearby.

There's some irony in telling the giant robot to go back to safety, but a civilian was a civilian no matter how large or comparatively dangerous they were.

[trap_factory]

Prometheus looks up from where he was bashing in the skull of what might have been a guard once upon a time when he hears the sound of someone stuttering. Even halfway paying attention to the creatures pawing at him, his scanners keep him updated on the situation around them enough that he's capable of knocking the creatures down and away. He doesn't recognize the girl--

--The girl who's also not human, though her outward appearance doesn't show as much. He brings the broad side of his weapon down on another creature's vertebrae - hears a satisfying crack for his efforts - as he turns his attention to the girl.

"Don't bother; our dear host doesn't particularly care about our wants. Just what it thinks we want," he grins before gripping his weapon with both hands and spinning around to knock away another creature, this time hitting it in the jaw. Prometheus lets the momentum carry him back to his starting position.

"I can't say that I know who you are, but all things considered? No reason for me to not follow you back, is there? Lead the way."

D-E-L disagrees though. The united whispers around them grows when it hears Prometheus' words, telling them both that they would be welcomed here, promises of peace and freedom from what secrets they have from their pasts. It's a little distressing, especially when one considers how Prometheus is intermittently unrecognisable beneath a layer of artificial blood.

Now to encourage shitty behaviour...

[trap_factory]

[one of the mutated entities that Andrew throws abruptly bursts into flames. Then another, and another-]

Hahaha~!! Not bad!

[he's using Model W again. He hadn't expected to, but well... Here he was. And it was with no small amount of delight that he found out that these things were susceptible to fire. Yet imagine his surprise when he comes across a young boy breaking limbs with what looks like telekinesis. Though...]

But they'll just keep coming back if you only break their limbs. [he proceeds to slice one of the prisoners to pieces, kicking away the remains that are in his way] Their master's got a pretty decent regeneration ability... And I don't think D-E-L will let them or us go willingly.

... They're going to end up fighting.

[trap_factory]

Prometheus turns to regard the girl in front of him... And honestly? Her attitude reminds him a little of someone from home. Without Model W, Prometheus might have just shrugged it off and opted to ignore the girl (or chat her up a little; banter was a nice way to kill time until he could find Pandora again) but with the Biometal directly influencing him again? It's hard not to feel a twinge of disgust at the memory of that person. Useless--

He swings the scythe in his hands and mimics her stance. How cute! She wants a fight?

"It's not a matter of sounding cool," he explains, full of energy and sounding a little more manic than he normally did. "Now what's a little girl doing here in the middle of all this potential carnage? Did the crew send you down here to collect poor lost souls? Hahaha~!"

There's no Biometals aboard this station, no creation of Albert's to take his anger out on (... well, there was one...) and no reason for him to offer promises of power. Not empty ones, oh no. If they qualified, then it was Prometheus' directive to provide those useless playthings the power needed to participate in the Game of Destiny.

[hyperkinesia]

Sounds more silly than it does creepy, trust me.

[ His voice lilts in amusement, gaze warmer and tone a little softer and quieter as he adds. ]

I'm your man.

[notpatsy]

[ She rubs her cheek affectionately against his, singing softly: ]

If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to, and if you want another kind of love, I'll wear a mask for you...

[hyperkinesia]

[ It's probably ridiculous for a man in his mid-forties to get butterflies in his stomach because of a song, isn't it? Well. That's happening.

But he still picks up where she leaves off, his voice not nearly as melodic as hers, hands sliding up her back, fingers splayed and palms pressing warmly against her. ]

If you want a partner, take my hand, or if you want to strike me down in anger, here I stand...

[ He trails off, then chuckles a bit. ]

We're ridiculous.

[notpatsy]

Yeah, but you love it.

[ Said before she gently bites his earlobe. She refuses to be in any way apologetic for her feelings, and so what if they are acting like a couple of teenagers? This is just theirs, it can be whatever they want it to be, including ridiculous. ]

[cookshisgoose]

[All she wanted to do was make a cup of tea. Or whatever this fake Moira stuff was. Was that too much to ask?

Unfortunately, even with all her spy training, she's not exactly the best at using just her left hand. It's not like being left handed was very common in her time, anyone that favored it was simply taught to use their right hand like everyone else. That didn't mean she couldn't use it, but she was a bit clumsy with it still, as she was readjusting to primarily using it and only it. But this wasn't the first time she had to favor it, and she was determined to be able to use it like nothing was wrong.

Which meant refusing to ask anyone for help, when she so very obviously needed it.

When Scott approached, she was in the middle of fighting with the wrapper, but rather than offer it to him, she went the very unladylike way and used her teeth to rip it open.]

Thank you, but I think I can manage. [Peggy Carter can do many things with ease but asking for help is not one of them.]

[cookshisgoose]

[She heard the disk before she saw it. What it was, she had no idea, but when she saw Sam, Peggy couldn't help but be relieved.]

Brilliant timing, Sam.

[Another few seconds and she would've been toast. And now it's her turn to help him. Maybe using her right hand was out of the question, but that didn't limit what she could do with her feet.

She rushes to his aid, giving the prisoner that was after him a heavy kick to the face. Maybe it wouldn't stay down, but down for a moment was better than still having a hold on him.]

We need to get out of here, and fast. [This was worse than she feared. She hadn't liked the prison from the moment she had stepped on it, but she had no idea it would come to this. Now the question was, how in the world were they to save those trapped by these monsters?]

[hyperkinesia]

[ He gasps audibly when she nibbles on his ear, eyes closing as he tips his head, at the same time trying to lean away and offering more of his ear and neck to her. ]

That's true, I do.

[notpatsy]

[ Trish is having to remind herself that Bruce was hulked out not too long ago and is probably absolutely exhausted because the man is just a big damn temptation on legs.

But since he's offering, she is still going to let her lips slide down his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin. ]

It's okay to be happy, Bruce.

[0classhunter]

Armor only takes you so far, you have to have the skill to back it up.

[The grip on his steel pipe should tell Boss more than anything, especially with his soldier's background. It was trained; tight around the fingers and tense in the shoulder, but apart from that his arm was completely relaxed. It was like looking at a cobra that was perfectly tensed while it waited for the right opportunity to strike.]

Good idea. We'll make a mental perimeter starting with the outermost sections and work our way inwards, that way we can set up potential escape routes while covering our bases. Sound good to you?