NationStates Jolt Archive

Hues of powder blue, canary yellow, and ice white radiated a kaleidoscope of color and passion, a canvass of life splashed upon a blank palette. Each splash a speck of vigor, each wisp a breath of animism that sparked action over passivity. The mixing vial of colors spread out forever, a rosy veil that invited viewers to take a closer look - to peer into the deep unknowns and use that imagination that had propelled every individual to unforeseen heights to reach a curious hand into that swirling amalgamate of life. An invitation of curiosity, the palette beckoned forth the investigative to see what lay within that spread of animism.

And yet, life was the element that remained bereft in that kaleidoscope, a dead zone of space and emotion.

The brilliant hues were nothing more than nature's cruel smack against artistic expression. One individual's masterpiece was nothing more than rock and ice, the shattered remnants of moons and comets long since having broken up under the stress of gravity and collision. The spread of color hurled out in a long band of danger and subversion, an invitation not to discovery but to an untimely demise amidst the innumerable chunks of rock that made up the planetary ring. Below the rapidly spinning swath of danger lay the brown and red sprawl below - the rocky, inhospitable planet known only as M43-6B. Heated by the red giant that formed the core of the star system, the rocky planetoid's thick, noxious atmosphere enswathed the silicon-studded surface of the space rock with a thick, wet, poisonous blanket that often drenched the dead landscape with fatal chemical rain. Below, temperatures regularly could rocket up to 80+ degrees Celsius during the day and remain dangerously high on the night side - heat trapped in by the oppressive greenhouse circulating only back to the surface with no route to escape into space.

And even with these horrible conditions, the curiosity of men would have no barrier. On such a godforsaken rock as this, men had spread their influence across the stars - touching, grasping, reaching for more. M43-6B was no habitat for life - but what it lacked in organics it made up in pure mineral wealth. The lifeless rock was a gold mine in outdated terms, a space-laden orb of riches untold that easily warranted the investment of trillions of dollars from the megacorporations that plied the economic planes of spacefaring society. Danger? Danger and revenue went hand in hand - and when presented with the chance to strike a critical blow against competitors, to grab an easy freebee to gain an advantage in an industry, the Solar Trade Foundation jumped at the opportunity.

ACV Vulcan was a titan, the Wal-Mart of spacefaring vessels. One of three hundred Hephaestus-class colonization vessels that plied the spacelanes of the Amazonian Dominion's civilian fleets, Vulcan was a colossus, a titanic thirty kilometers in length, eight kilometers in width at its widest, and at its tallest a full eleven kilometers high. The giant was adorned with a full military-grade defense system comprised of energy and mass defensive shields, gravity-beam tether projectors, and five dozen medium-grade plasma drivers to engage natural hazards and pirates. The vessel's armor was a full meter thick at sections, secured against radiation leaks and magnetically reinforced to resist particularly nasty strikes from nature...or opportunistic enemies.

Capable of carrying over a million civilians, workers, colonists, and crew, Vulcan was equipped to immediately begin utilizing the planet's bountiful riches. On this mission the leviathan was carrying a slightly limited 180,000 individuals and droids - about a 2:1 favor in terms of the organics - a light colonization force and extensive mining and terraforming units to begin making the planet in the image the Foundation desired. M43-6B would soon be under the reign of men, those curious men that always happened to let their imagination run the course and had let it propel them to these lofty heights of the stars...

But who was it who had said that curiousity killed the cat?

Three weeks into its mission, the Foundation lost communications availability with the Vulcan. Three droid probes all met untimely demises deemed due to systems failures, and a military security vessel - a light corvette, the ADV Hermes Lynx, was dispatched to quell Foundation fears and prove that all was well with Vulcan, that merely similar systems failure - maybe a communications array damaged - had dropped the contact grid. It was nothing new, planets with volatile atmospheres and ring bodies - of which M43-6B had both - were known to have electrical or magnetic anomolies associated with them that occasionaly had knocked out ship shield systems and disabled noncritical systems, such as communications or multi-system navigation. All that usually required was a simple repair team, either from the company itself or in dangerous situations when an engineering team from the Dominion Navy was dispatched, to rectify the situation.

Contact with the Lynx was lost twenty-six hours later.

Pirates was immediately ruled out. Lynx was a high-powered military vessel, equipped with military-grade deadly weaponry, a potent defensive grid and a capable crew. The vessel would have been able to dispatch a hyperprobe before a pirate fleet overwhelmed the ship that would have had quick arrival back to the nearest Dominion sentry post, which was a mere 10 hours away by hyperspace. Military intervention was another possibility overruled - perhaps there could have been a major enemy weapon stationed near the planet, but pre-entry probes from the Vulcan would have picked up a buildup, or at least presence, before jumping to the planet. At the least, it would have been able to send out emergency communication probes before a demise - the Vulcan was simply too big to be eradicated quickly by an enemy weapon without a serious space-time distortion that would have been picked up.

Something was amiss, and Dominion military was suspecting natural activity. Perhaps some sort of electromagnetic field was wreaking havoc with the ships, or something else not yet determined. Whatever it was, it warranted further investigation - and not just by the military of the Dominion, but by a smaller, better prepared group. A medium shuttle, the Phoenix, was refitted with additional gravity plating and magnetic seals, as well as a boosted shield suite, amplified sensor nodes, and three extra droid intelligences to individually handle specific ship systems with extra care and precision. The planning to find out what had happened to the Vulcan at M43-6B was almost complete - except for the crew to discover it.

Rather than simply turn to the best of the Dominion, Amazonian military decided to make it a bounty. Only the best were going to be able to figure this one out, to discover what had happened to the lost ship and whether it was still alive - along with the massive population aboard - and the Dominion was going to tempt them with reward.

Out across the spacelanes of communication went a hypermessage, instantly blazing out across the stars to reach every civilization that could pick up such a message. If they knew the stars, they could find it and instantly translate the piece - and the Dominion wanted their best.

The message was concise and to the point.



Addressed to the Spacefaring Galactic Society

Encryption: Null [None]

This previous week a major Amazonian colonization corporation - the Solar Trade Foundation - lost a major colony, mining, and terraforming vessel, the ACV Vulcan, carrying an organic complement of 120,000 individuals. Contact was lost two weeks ago with the vessel and follow-up contact methods have led to the loss of numerous probes and lost contact with a military corvette.

Rather than continue to sacrifice vessels to discover the source of this anomaly, the Dominion is offering twenty billion standard credits to each individual willing to partake in an investigation, repair (if applicable), and follow-up report of the fate of the Vulcan colony ship. A modified and defensively reinforced military transport, the Phoenix, has been prepared to carry whichever bold individuals are willing to partake in this task to the site of lost contact. If one is interested in partaking in this undertaking, all that is necessary is to fill out the following application and upon submit and acceptance, to report to the coordinates that will be provided in an acceptance return message.


Filing Form

Name:
Nationality:
Species:
Age:
Height:
Weight:
Gender:
Physical Description:
Occupation
Equipment:
Biography (Optional):


Along with standard soldiers/mercenaries/bounty hunters/operatives that are likely to apply, an engineer familiar with star vessels and a medic or physician are both requested to apply (one at the minimum of each would be requested, but more would be encouraged).

A commander for the operation and two Dominion warriors are already on hand for the operation to accompany the finest the universe has to offer on this mission of utmost priority to over a hundred thousand civilian lives. A small security force of twelve will also accompany the group.


~Dominion Interstellar Affairs



The Dominion was not usually so concerned with its civilian lives - or so involved with corporate affairs (the Amazonians preached lasseiz-faire policy in economics). However, this was a bit of a special case - this was 120,000 individuals, many of them very productive citizens, suddenly wiped off the map. This was serious business...and someone was going to uncover what had happened.


* * * * *


OOC: This is a "dynamic sign-up," something that's probably been used before in other RPs but I'm employing it for the first time in one of mine. In responding to the character application - the usual sign-up procedure - please try to stay IC, even if just for a sentence or two. I feel this is going to get this RP flowing considerably more in-depth and not have the usual jerky transition from OOC/Sign-up to IC, but instead promote the IC right from the start.

The main gist of this RP is a bit of a hybrid of a space opera, an adventure, and a sci-fi horror. The setting is a bit conned from Dead Space, but I'm taking inspiration from numerous science fiction sources to try and make this the best possible FT character RP that I've seen on these boards.

Go ahead and be flexible with your character(s) (you can have more than one, certainly, per person - but if you do have more than one, I'd be grateful if you allowed one or more of them to die (I'll always consult with you before I did something like that via TG or some form of communication). That'd make the RP all the more juicy. Also take note - I mention in the IC comm that the HQ organizing this is looking for more than just soldiers, it's looking for engineers and experienced members of ship crew and medics, etc. It's looking for a varied group of people and yea, while I have no problem with anyone making a super commando (my main characters in the group are warriors, after all - though most definitely far from perfect), feel free to diversify - maybe you want to make the sexy alien nurse who goes along for the ride :p Super-uber characters detract from the best plots, after all.

Most of all, I'm encouraging flexibility and open-endedness - be creative! Have fun with what you do here - limits only hurt things. I'm open to suggestions, ideas, propositions, etc. - always feel free to chime in or introduce one of your own ideas or plot twists.


Wall of text, I know...character list down here will be updated for each new character.


Characters

Name: Nathan Fletcher
Nationality: Amazonian
Species: Human
Age: 42
Height: 7'2"
Weight: 235 lb
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Muscular, Stocky, Caucasian, Brown Hair/Brown Eyes
Occupation: Dominion Shocktrooper
Equipment: Class XII Dominion Battle Armor (equipped with flexsteel battle armor, fifteen-minute refillable air unit, gravity boot clamps, atmosphere filter, wrist explosive dart launcher, built-in combat virtual intelligence, light individual field disruptor, personal energy shield matrix, 3 day ration packs, fusion cutter tool, hydrospanner tool, standard field soldier medical pack, ammunition and weapons belt), DC-23 ICWS Gun, LS-3 Plasma Pistol, 2 Fragmentation Grenades, 2 Plasma Grenades, 2 Incendiary Grenades
Biography: Fletcher has served with distinction in the Dominion military for some time, a veteran of twenty years who has moved up in the army to the special forces of the elite Shocktroopers. Fletcher has a personal stake as commander of the expedition.


Name: N'Kroth
Nationality: Amazonian
Species: Hish (See Sig V3)
Age: 2
Height: 9'9"
Weight: 420 lb
Gender: F
Physical Description: Black reptilian skin, Lightly built and flexible, Sinewy and Muscular, Slender
Occupation: Military Assassin
Equipment: Native War Suit (Compression organic armor, 3 day's rations, ammunition and magazine slots), twin LS-105 Needlers
Biography: N'Kroth is a standard, albeit short, member of her race - the Hish, elusive and quick bladed killing machines. N'Kroth is a younger mature member of the warrior caste of the race, integrated into Dominion society - leading N'Kroth into the path of a military operative and assassin. Her presence on the team is strictly if the Vulcan has met an inopportune fate and fighting ability is required.


Name: Tura V'tro
Nationality: Amazonian
Species: Sangheili
Age: 37
Height: 8'5"
Weight: 420 lb
Gender: M
Physical Description: Brown-skinned, Green-eyed, Muscular, Heavyset
Occupation: Combat logistics officer
Equipment: C-Grade Dominion Flex-Armor (equipped with molding flexsteel battle armor, three day's rations, fifteen minute air supply, internal virtual intelligence, plasma cutter tool, hydrospanner tool, industrial torch, gravity tool, magnetic accretion tool, electro-manipulation tool, ammunition and magazine belt, zero-g gravity boot clamps), Plasma Saber, UOM-1 Static Charge Launcher, LS-3 Plasma Pistol, 2 Plasma Grenades
Biography: Scrambled


Name: Kristen Keala
Nationality: Amazonian
Species: Human
Age: 21
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 112 lb
Gender: F
Physical Description: Tan skinned, Blue eyed, Dark brown hair, Caucasian, Slender built
Occupation: Medical Corps Emergency Response Medic
Equipment: Medical uniform (flexthread medical uniform, equipped utility belt, gravity-adhesive boots, built-in medical virtual intelligence), full medical equipment pack, hydrospanner tool, fusion cutter tool, DC-10 light energy pistol.
Biography: Keala is the lone civilian of the Amazonian primary crew assigned to the rescue mission. She has relative inexperience compared to the rest of the crew, but Kristen's years of medical school combined with already existing on-the-field medical experience left her to be a worthy candidate chosen to assist the mission and aid survivors or injuries and setbacks experienced by the rescue team, in case the situation presenting itself proved to be hostile...


Name: Titan
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'7''
Weight: 190 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Covered in black armor with red light pouring from lines in a crazy design that makes him look like a metallic version of the devil. He wears a mask to hide his features, scaring his opponent, and utilizing the advanced HUD in it.
[I]Occupation: Black Ops squad for the Corporation
Equipment: Titanium-Ceronium alloy SHADE armor, capable of handling most small arms fire and incredibly light, for a cyborg. Multiple weapons stored in an alternate dimension to be called back using the CICERO system, but prefers to use a shotgun, and two fully-automatic pistols, and has a single red bladed sword that utilizes an energy field to enhance cutting power and block energy weapons. Nanite-fabber system to make ammo when stored ammo runs out and to repair himself. Shared by the entire XERO team and bio mods.
Biography (Optional): Not much is known about Titan by much of the Corporation. The only thing known is he was one of four survivors of the top secret project XERO and is one of the most powerful assets the Corporation has. He is the leader of the squad, and he is sent along with his comrades on missions that even the legendary Exchani SpecOps can't handle or they want total secrecy on. Due to their existence and circumstances of their change, the XERO team is kept incredibly secret. He has come here, as the Corporation wishes to extend influence and trade into the Amazonian nation and doing so by helping one of their corporations is the perfect opportunity.


Name:Reaper
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 178 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Reaper wears a sleeker version of armor than the others do, but his armor is designed for speed and stealth, both of his skills which aid his mastery of close combat. It's a mixture of dark blue and silver, and made of the same materials as the others, giving him excellent small arms protection and when enhanced with the CICERO system, can block most weapons for a time, as can the others. He is commonly seen wielding two swords, one blue and one black, or a giant scythe and bio-mods.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation.
Equipment: Same SHADE armor as Titan, and same system that stores weapons, including ranged, but he prefers his two blades or his giant scythe. He also has the Nanite-Fabber device to heal himself and generate ammo if he runs low.
Biography (Optional): Another of the XERO team, Reaper is the silent killer of the four, capable of going into a stealth mode that befuddles most sensors and senses, enabling him to surprise and/or assassinate anyone he needs to. His skill in close combat makes him the go to for distracting foes or just ripping enemies apart.

Name: Watcher
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'8''
Weight: 179 lbs.
Gender: Female
Physical Description: Watcher has a fondness for a kind of dark yellow, that has such a way to make people be distracted by it, giving her time to hide or kill them. She wears a set of glasses that enable her to hack into devices and give her readouts on devices and situations. She has a helmet that comes with her armor, but she keeps it retracted inside her suit unless she needs to use it.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation
Equipment: Long range sniper rifle that uses explosive, armor-piercing rounds, and semi-automatic grenade launcher, along with her last resort double pistols. Although rare for her to use, she wields two medium-sized daggers that she uses like tonfas, only deadlier. Also equipped with the same SHADE armor and the Nanite-Fabber system and CICERO system, and extensive bio-mods.
Biography (Optional): The explosive/engineer/hacker of the group, Watcher specializes in blowing stuff up, killing things with said explosives, attacking from long range and hacking into things for the group. She is skilled with most weaponry but simply prefers to do things her way, which cause a lot of pretty explosions.



Name: Silence
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 167 lbs.
Gender: Female
Physical Description: A slender woman wrapped in dark green armor, with her face surrounded by her helmet with an invisible visor to see out of and protect her face. The armor is smooth but protective and enables her swift movement and protection at the same time.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation.
Equipment: Same CICERO system as the others, but likes to use retractable wristblades in combat, when not using the powers given by the CICERO system. Same SHADE armor as the others, and Nanite Fabber system, and bio-mods.
Biography (Optional): The most mysterious but powerful of the group, Silence has mastered the powers given to all of her fellows in the XERO team by the CICERO system. The system allows them to send out energy in the form of beams, waves, or even balls. They can erect shields, for a time, and even cloak themselves, though they cannot cloak as well as Reaper. They can enhance their speed, stamina, and even heal themselves with it, although this vastly weakens themselves and the charge the system has. They can do anything that their mind can imagine, if they have enough power within the system. However, since the system is also their power source, they are reluctant to use it overly much as they run the risk of shutting down mid-operation.


Name: Ben Shaw
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Human
Age: 35
Height: 5'7''
Weight: 168 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: A tall, fit soldier whom wears the functional and slightly bulky armor of the SHADE Mk. III armor, which is the class below the armor the XERO team wears. He is well-built and walks with the gait of a professional soldier.
Occupation: SpecOps commander for the Corporation and handler of the XERO team.
Equipment: Heavy pulse rifle, twin pistols, sonic grenades, rations for three days, medical packs for himself, advanced communication suite, and a deployable energy blade for close combat.
Biography (Optional): The commander put in charge of the XERO team, Ben Shaw is there to ensure the team does its job and also represents the Corporation. He is to be the public face of the operation. He technically has command of the team but he commonly shares it with Titan, whom often has saved his ass more then Ben has saved his. Ben is ruthless, focused on the mission and believes in the end justifies the means, which makes him perfect for the job since the XERO team focuses on objectives, and cares for little else. He is accompanied by four other SpecOps soldiers whom will aid him in the operation.


Name: Anya Kazimirez
Nationality: Kulikovian
Age: 33
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Shoulder length black
Eyes: Blue
Brief Bio: Anya graduated with top honors in Medicine and Psychology from the New Archangel University. She began work at the Kulikovian National Space Association, screening astronauts and evaluating their mental states. Anya has traveled much across the galaxy and was picked up for the recovery mission as a medical officer and psych officer for the crew. Her main objectives are to maintain the mental stability of the crew and upon reaching the missing vessel, evaluate the personnel and render aide if possible


Name: Jxero
Nationality: Chazakain
Species: Fiduses(just my F&D factbook for some information on them link in sig)
Age: 54
Height: 6 ft 4 inches
Weight: 201 kg(earth weight)
Gender: Male
Physical Description: One of the rare tan skinned fiduses, he wears a modified D&F Battle Armor, painted black.(helmet is not normally worn)
Occupation: General Scientist specializes in advance technology and faster than light travel.
Equipment: Various Scientific equipment.
Biography (Optional): Trained in the top schools of Prime III, Jxero finished 3rd in a class of 121. He quickly found jobs in various high level governmental work and after serving many years decided to go into the commercial production of...(rest is classified)


Name: Hera
Nationality: Chazakain
Species: Diuses
Age: 27
Height: 5 ft 5 inches
Weight: 105 kg(earth weight)
Gender: female
Physical Description: a tall(for her species), Hera commonly wears also wears a modified D&F Battle Armor, which normally takes the color of the environment, her fur is a common gray.
Occupation: Solider
Equipment: 3 Trinno grenades, an prototype plasma trinno powered plasma gun(size of a normal sized personal machine gun), standard issued combat knife, ammo for gun(s), pistol.
Biography (Optional): Trained in the arts of war from a young age, Hera excelled, she has been in a number of Prime III's various wars of conquest(grand total of 1) and several invasions(way more often), she was ordered by her government to protect Jxero from harm.


Name: Samson Anders
Nationality: The Democratic Republic of The American Privateer
Species: Human (Cybernetic Enhancements)
Age: 23 (2nd Incarnation)
Height: 6' 5"
Weight: 200 lbs
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Samson Anders looks like a standard humanoid, with some unusual features. His body hair and skin can change colors at will, which helps him to blend into the undergrowth of the area he is exploring/hunting in. He has two black boxes on either side of his head, dubbed Gunsights, which assist him in targeting, and which record everything he does for his Holonovels. He usually wears clothing whose color he can shift through mental commands, and a sturdy pair of Trinium Toed Boots.
Occupation: Samson Anders is a professional Adventurer and Hunter, who uses his Gunsights to allow him to record things as he sees them, and later edit them to be sold as Holonovels in the Republic.
Equipment: Gunsights on either side of the head, a Cyberbrain (with built in wireless SoulNet Jack, HUD, Psyker Mindscreens, and a card computer), Athosian Firestarter, Tollan Phase Device, Body Repair Weave, Pictor Torque, Personal Ressurection Chamber, Chest Mounted ID Chips, Stabilizer (located near the Heart, releases coagulant drugs upon contact with pure oxygen entering anywhere other than the lungs), Subcutaneous Body Armor, Anti-Flare Cornea Replacements, IR Retinal Enhancements, Shepherd chip built into the right Wrist, Splinter Guns, Cauterizing Laser, Home Manufacturing Printer, Portable Environment Generator, Bedroll. CR-25 Troop Transport (Modified), Warthog LAV, Flare-S Swoop, Road-Dirt Motorcycle.
Weapons: Vibrosword, M-2 Shaker Assault Rifle, Blastsword, Scrambler Baton, Soro-Suub S-5 Security Blaster, P-90 Sub-Machine Gun, 7.62mm Lever Action Rifle, Pulse Lance.
Biography (Optional): Born on Na Nex Sa, Samson Anders signed up for the Marine Corps the first chance he got during his first life. While there, he received his standard-issue enhancements for free, and served the rest of his tour on Na Nex Sa guarding a Research Station. One day while on Guard Duty, a Tyrannosaur came too close to the facility. Samson leveled his Shaker, and fired. The Beam tore through the dinosaur's head, and killed it instantly. He still wears the Tooth Necklace from it to this day. From then on, he began to go hunting whenever he could, and began to publish the stories he made on the job. After serving two tours (which entitles him to two free Ressurections on the Government Check), he became a professional adventurer. He lived to be 89 before his first death, and spent seven years as the Ghost Hunter, before taking a new body.

OOC: Darn you! I was planning on doing something like this myself. =P I'll join, tho. Let me get something up. I will be having five people, a special ops whom is in control of my special cyborg squad, along with four NPC soldiers whom will be slaughtered. I look forward to this.

Note: The bio-mods are basically modifications to their bodies to enhance their attributes and whatnot, strength, speed, healing, etc. The suits also enhance this, and also have energy shields.


Name: Titan
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'7''
Weight: 190 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Covered in black armor with red light pouring from lines in a crazy design that makes him look like a metallic version of the devil. He wears a mask to hide his features, scaring his opponent, and utilizing the advanced HUD in it.
Occupation: Black Ops squad for the Corporation
Equipment: Titanium-Ceronium alloy SHADE armor, capable of handling most small arms fire and incredibly light, for a cyborg. Multiple weapons stored in an alternate dimension to be called back using the CICERO system, but prefers to use a shotgun, and two fully-automatic pistols, and has a single red bladed sword that utilizes an energy field to enhance cutting power and block energy weapons. Nanite-fabber system to make ammo when stored ammo runs out and to repair himself. Shared by the entire XERO team and bio mods.

Biography (Optional): Not much is known about Titan by much of the Corporation. The only thing known is he was one of four survivors of the top secret project XERO and is one of the most powerful assets the Corporation has. He is the leader of the squad, and he is sent along with his comrades on missions that even the legendary Exchani SpecOps can't handle or they want total secrecy on. Due to their existence and circumstances of their change, the XERO team is kept incredibly secret. He has come here, as the Corporation wishes to extend influence and trade into the Amazonian nation and doing so by helping one of their corporations is the perfect opportunity.


Name:Reaper
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 178 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Reaper wears a sleeker version of armor than the others do, but his armor is designed for speed and stealth, both of his skills which aid his mastery of close combat. It's a mixture of dark blue and silver, and made of the same materials as the others, giving him excellent small arms protection and when enhanced with the CICERO system, can block most weapons for a time, as can the others. He is commonly seen wielding two swords, one blue and one black, or a giant scythe and bio-mods.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation.
Equipment: Same SHADE armor as Titan, and same system that stores weapons, including ranged, but he prefers his two blades or his giant scythe. He also has the Nanite-Fabber device to heal himself and generate ammo if he runs low.
Biography (Optional): Another of the XERO team, Reaper is the silent killer of the four, capable of going into a stealth mode that befuddles most sensors and senses, enabling him to surprise and/or assassinate anyone he needs to. His skill in close combat makes him the go to for distracting foes or just ripping enemies apart.

Name: Watcher
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'8''
Weight: 179 lbs.
Gender: Female
Physical Description: Watcher has a fondness for a kind of dark yellow, that has such a way to make people be distracted by it, giving her time to hide or kill them. She wears a set of glasses that enable her to hack into devices and give her readouts on devices and situations. She has a helmet that comes with her armor, but she keeps it retracted inside her suit unless she needs to use it.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation
Equipment: Long range sniper rifle that uses explosive, armor-piercing rounds, and semi-automatic grenade launcher, along with her last resort double pistols. Although rare for her to use, she wields two medium-sized daggers that she uses like tonfas, only deadlier. Also equipped with the same SHADE armor and the Nanite-Fabber system and CICERO system, and extensive bio-mods.
Biography (Optional): The explosive/engineer/hacker of the group, Watcher specializes in blowing stuff up, killing things with said explosives, attacking from long range and hacking into things for the group. She is skilled with most weaponry but simply prefers to do things her way, which cause a lot of pretty explosions.



Name: Silence
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Cyborg
Age: Unknown
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 167 lbs.
Gender: Female
Physical Description: A slender woman wrapped in dark green armor, with her face surrounded by her helmet with an invisible visor to see out of and protect her face. The armor is smooth but protective and enables her swift movement and protection at the same time.
Occupation: BlackOps Squad for the Corporation.
Equipment: Same CICERO system as the others, but likes to use retractable wristblades in combat, when not using the powers given by the CICERO system. Same SHADE armor as the others, and Nanite Fabber system, and bio-mods.
Biography (Optional): The most mysterious but powerful of the group, Silence has mastered the powers given to all of her fellows in the XERO team by the CICERO system. The system allows them to send out energy in the form of beams, waves, or even balls. They can erect shields, for a time, and even cloak themselves, though they cannot cloak as well as Reaper. They can enhance their speed, stamina, and even heal themselves with it, although this vastly weakens themselves and the charge the system has. They can do anything that their mind can imagine, if they have enough power within the system. However, since the system is also their power source, they are reluctant to use it overly much as they run the risk of shutting down mid-operation.


Name: Ben Shaw
Nationality: Exchani Corporation
Species: Human
Age: 35
Height: 5'7''
Weight: 168 lbs.
Gender: Male
Physical Description: A tall, fit soldier whom wears the functional and slightly bulky armor of the SHADE Mk. III armor, which is the class below the armor the XERO team wears. He is well-built and walks with the gait of a professional soldier.
Occupation: SpecOps commander for the Corporation and handler of the XERO team.
Equipment: Heavy pulse rifle, twin pistols, sonic grenades, rations for three days, medical packs for himself, advanced communication suite, and a deployable energy blade for close combat.
Biography (Optional): The commander put in charge of the XERO team, Ben Shaw is there to ensure the team does its job and also represents the Corporation. He is to be the public face of the operation. He technically has command of the team but he commonly shares it with Titan, whom often has saved his ass more then Ben has saved his. Ben is ruthless, focused on the mission and believes in the end justifies the means, which makes him perfect for the job since the XERO team focuses on objectives, and cares for little else. He is accompanied by four other SpecOps soldiers whom will aid him in the operation.

This sounds ambitious and grandeous, I'm in.

Name: Anya Kazimirez
Nationality: Kulikovian
Age: 33
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Shoulder length black
Eyes: Blue
Brief Bio: Anya graduated with top honors in Medicine and Psychology from the New Archangel University. She began work at the Kulikovian National Space Association, screening astronauts and evaluating their mental states. Anya has traveled much across the galaxy and was picked up for the recovery mission as a medical officer and psych officer for the crew. Her main objectives are to maintain the mental stability of the crew and upon reaching the missing vessel, evaluate the personnel and render aide if possible

The two communications plied the space lines, blasting back towards Dominion relay stations that quickly processed each of the applications via virtual intelligence and sent them through hyperconduits back towards their final destination. There, on the medium deep space station Nexus XVII, organic processors reviewed the applications, confirming each through both of the communications and passing word on to command that new blood was ready to join the expedition to find out what fate had befallen the Vulcan and its massive complement.

A single, brief communication was flashed back to each of the responding parties from Kulikovia and the Exchani Corporation, replying with merely the following:




Encryption = Null (none)

Coordinates have been dispatched along with this message to the deep space station Nexus XVII. Please depart as soon as possible for the station, where the crew for the mission will be briefed as soon as all have arrived and will depart later.

~Dominion Interstellar Affairs



OOC: Good to see you both on board.

Name: Jxero
Nationality: Chazakain
Species: Fiduses(just my F&D factbook for some information on them link in sig)
Age: 54
Height: 6 ft 4 inches
Weight: 201 kg(earth weight)
Gender: Male
Physical Description: One of the rare tan skinned fiduses, he wears a modified D&F Battle Armor, painted black.(helmet is not normally worn)
Occupation: General Scientist specializes in advance technology and faster than light travel.
Equipment: Various Scientific equipment.
Biography (Optional): Trained in the top schools of Prime III, Jxero finished 3rd in a class of 121. He quickly found jobs in various high level governmental work and after serving many years decided to go into the commercial production of...(rest is classified)


Name: Hera
Nationality: Chazakain
Species: Diuses
Age: 27
Height: 5 ft 5 inches
Weight: 105 kg(earth weight)
Gender: female
Physical Description: a tall(for her species), Hera commonly wears also wears a modified D&F Battle Armor, which normally takes the color of the environment, her fur is a common gray.
Occupation: Solider
Equipment: 3 Trinno grenades, an prototype plasma trinno powered plasma gun(size of a normal sized personal machine gun), standard issued combat knife, ammo for gun(s), pistol.
Biography (Optional): Trained in the arts of war from a young age, Hera excelled, she has been in a number of Prime III's various wars of conquest(grand total of 1) and several invasions(way more often), she was ordered by her government to protect Jxero from harm.

OOC: Accepted, Chazaka. Still hoping for more players!


IC:

Another communication flashed across the stars, another message of aid to the beleaguered who continued to search for clues. What had happened? Whatever had happened, something else was clear - people were responding for the requests for aid. Sentients were brothers in some ways, their collective intelligence transcending borders in a greater unity that made them the caretakers of space. It didn't matter the race, the species, the color of the skin or the characteristics that made up a creature or society - what mattered was that individuals were willing to step in to find the cause behind the mysterious disappearance of 120,000 formerly productive members of Dominion civilization. Curiosity truly was a blessing, the spark that drove imagination and dreams and the spirit that pushed every individual and civilization to higher and higher heights.

Or in this case, to unearth a mystery.

Another confirmation communication flashed back:


Addressed to the Chazakains

Attached are a set of coordinates to the Dominion deep space station Nexus XVII. Please arrive in a timely fashion, as briefing will begin once a suitable number of candidates are found, and mission dispatch will follow accordingly.

~Dominion Interstellar Affairs


* * * * *


Somewhere in Space

The blast door sealed behind Captain Ciron Cain as he flung his body to his back, the LS-10 plasma rifle swung towards the door. Nothing: just silence met the officer's action, merely a dark grey shut blast door that could hold out against fairly heavy weapons attacks. Cain's rifle wouldn't puncture that door - but neither would much else short of a plowing vehicle or a very determined individual with a lot of time on his hands and some heavy military weaponry available.

Cain exhaled sharply, slumping down with clear exhaustion written over the lines in his face. Lights were something that was a clear luxury in the communication console room he had just locked himself in, with two flickering electrical illuminators casting a very faint white glow down onto the cold durasteel floor. Two crates were torn open, durasteel ripped into gaping holes in each with their contents - medical supplies and liquids - strewn and pooling on the deck. Food packages littered the ground next to a series of standing lockers, each unlocked and with the door open - two hanging on by hinges. Violet swirls and red blotches - each blood, though from two different Dominion species - spattered the wall and the floor in sufficient enough quantities to infer something more than just a scrape.

Cain crawled to the nearest wall under the flickering lights, some horrible noise coming in through the vents - something between a howl and a snarl, yet "delightfully" in between. A computer terminal stood still somehow intact next to the wall, and even more remarkably, still functioning. The officer braced himself, slowly standing up with a pronounced grimace - revealing the long slash along his torso, a rib visible through the blood that had still not yet coagulated. The guy was a mess beyond that - sweat soaked his matted dark hair, dirt and multicolor blood spattered across his light armor body suit. Something hadn't gone well.

The captain punched several controls at the holomatrix of the computer, bringing up current schematics for the local grid. Power was knocked out across the board except for stations that had personal generators, such as the terminal with its virtual intelligence - the console couldn't get a reading anywhere, simply a holodisplay laced with static and no map available. Similar searches for status came up with similar results - nothing was working at the time and nothing seemed to be working for a while. Cain exhaled again - this one with frustration. The situation was getting worse, and the wet growl that came in from the vent - along with the feminine shriek (likely human) that accompanied it a split second later only worsened Cain's psychological condition.

The officer took a seat, looking to, if nothing else, catch his breath and get a moment off. The glowing lights flickered briefly twice, than blinked off entirely - casting the room into total darkness as the terminal switched off to conserve longevity. Cain was alone with his mind.

Dark was one thing that got into Cain's head - and the dark had been around for a while, too long, closing in on him! The officer shook his head, trying to shake out his own demons - closing his eyes for several seconds, shutting into his own darkness, before looking out to view the world again. Rather than total blackness though, instead Ciron saw a slight blue glow, as if there was something in the room with him. No telling what it was, but Cain's heart began pumping, his breath coming in shorter spurts as the back noise that had come from whatever else was out there suddenly cut. Silence cast into the glow-lit dark, broken only by the officer's breathing - and the racing of his own heartbeats.

"Ciron!"

Cain looked up, startled - he hadn't been expecting a human voice, not to mention one that sounded so much like...his deceased wife of three years. And yet, out of the darkness he could just discern what was her face peering towards him.

"Kacie! But-"

"It's closing, Ciron...it's closing."

"What, wait! Not everything's gone yet, there's still a chance we can find the others and save-"

"It's too late for that Ciron. It's too late, too late, far too late. They've found me Ciron, they've found the others."

"But...Kacie...you've been...dead...for...a while." Cain spoke the last words with a slight tremble in his voice.

"Make us whole, Ciron!"

"But, Kacie...wait!" Cain pleaded with her, attempting to hold on to the one thing that he had so thought was gone - and now could help him so in this time of instability and danger.

"They've found me Ciron. They've found the others, they've found everything...and now..."

Silence flooded the room as the last word slipped off her tongue, stinging Cain's ears with the echo. He squinted in the darkness, attempting to see her better.

"I can change this! We'll be alright!" the officer was desperate now, desperate for whatever good news he could discern.

The glow completely died now, the darkness returning along with the complete silence. Sensory deprivation washed over Cain as his spirits crashed after the momentary high, still peering into the maw that sprawled before his eyes. The glow momentarily returned, slightly smaller than before.

"Now...now they've found you."

The glow died again, Cain's heart racing even more than before. A deep, guttural growl came from behind him, and Cain turned - to see only blackness. He raised his weapon tentatively, peeking around the darkness - before a wet, curling object slammed into Cain's legs, taking the officer out and grabbing hold of his waist. Cain spun, the weapon raised - and stared right into four red pinpoints of light. A snarl and the red lights flashing brought the dark maw back once again, this time bringing Cain some peace.

OOC: Where can I jump in, can I alter my character and already be on the ship trying to survive?

OOC: Where can I jump in, can I alter my character and already be on the ship trying to survive?

OOC: If you'd rather be a member of the crew already there that's fine, just know that I'm revealing details at a snail pace to keep the plot tension high. Stuff's gonna be unclear at this time, at best, if not altogether impossible to perceive.

People who are on the rescue/investigation mission: if you could have your guys rendezvous at the station, (per the message), that'd be great. Same goes for any other interested people still looking to sign up (be glad to have you on board!)

After sending their resumes, Jxero and Hera waited. The response was quick after receiving the attached set of coordinates to the Dominion deep space station Nexus XVII. They Entered their provided ship and blasted off hoping that they would arrive before the debriefing.

2 months later(non light speed dilation)
2 weeks later(85% of light speed dilation)

Jxero pressed his face to the portview, he was also liked to seeing the amazing designs that other races could come up with.

Hera:"This is the Valrex requesting entry into the Nexus XVII holding bays"

Nexus XVII was a medium-grade deep space contact station, designed for local defense and fleet resupply and refueling. With roughly three hundred standard complement aboard, it housed very few - and hence, was only about 600 meters in diameter around the outer promenade ring. The station wasn't anything special, simply accommodating to soldiers and crew going to further reaches of exploration or campaigns. It wasn't designed for comfort or to house civilians for long periods of time; however, it did do the jobs it was supposed to, and it did them well.

The communication from the Chazakains came in clear over communications, prompting response from station facilities.

"Affirmative Valrex, guiding procedures will lead you in."

Gravity tractor projectors locked on to the Chazakain vessel, strong units that would draw the ship in to a safe and soft landing inside the expansive docking bay that hung from the belly of the station.

OOC: Interest bump

Space...

Anya's back fell against the wall. She held her arms close to her body, eyes welled with tears. Her body shook uncontrolably. This can't be happening! She slid down the wall, sobbing deeply. Streams of tears rolled down her cheeks. There was blood over her uniform, not hers though. Her hair was matted, a tear in her left sleeve, a bandage over a cut. The door opposite her began to shutter from something on the other side bashing against it. There was a low gutteral noise, a snarl, and the door vibrated again. It was relentless, unending. The noise continued, drolling on and on and on.

"STOP IT!!!!" Anya screamed, pleading with an unseen force that's sole purpose was death and tourment. Suddenly, the noise stopped, the dented steel door didn't shudder. Now, silence filled the void. Whatever was on the other side of the door, it was either gone or waiting.

Her mental state was crumbling moment by moment, having not slept for three days straight, having seen the most horriffic sights that no one should ever have to experience. Such horendous occurances, the tourment and death witnessed nearly turned her mad. People disappearing and their mutilated corpses being discovered, children's laughter down dark corridors, whatever was going on, it plagued upon people's fear. There had to be survivors somehwhere, but where exactly?

She was isolated ont he medical deck where she worked. Lights flickered, the power was somewhat restored in certain parts of the gigantic ship, but most places were stark darkness. In her hands was a bloodied knife, she set it down and struggled to her feet. Everything was quiet...eerily quiet.

Alone...

The feeling set in. Never before had this ever felt so surreal than this moment. To realize that you are facing your worst fears and certain death, alone and with no hope of rescue. No hand extended out, no words of comfort, nothing. Just her and the darkness. This force, its' origins, and why its' here are unknown. What was certain is its' unstoppable drive to consume everything and everyone it came in contact with.

Anya stood up and made her way to a mirror, looking back at herself. Dirt smudged on her face, bags under her eyes. Hell was putting it lightly. She composed herself and tried to think, but sleep deprivation took its' toll. How much longer can I make it? When will it come?

Samson Anders was bored. He had already hunted most of the creatures in The American Privateer, and to him, the Hive where of no concern. So when the message came in looking for daring explorers, he went from half-asleep to wide awake. He responded to it with an affirmative, and began to gather up his gear. A wicked smile across his face, now THIS would be an adventure worth telling.

His CR25 Lifted off, and Jumped to the designated Space Station, arriving outside the System's Oort Cloud half a second before he had left. A second later, his Kaufman Drive kicked in, and he would arrive at the station in only eight minutes.

"This is Samson Anders, Captain of the Hunter's Pride, requesting docking and permission to join the rescue mission."

Name: Samson Anders

Nationality: The Democratic Republic of The American Privateer

Species: Human (Cybernetic Enhancements)

Age: 23 (2nd Incarnation)

Height: 6' 5"

Weight: 200 lbs

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Samson Anders looks like a standard humanoid, with some unusual features. His body hair and skin can change colors at will, which helps him to blend into the undergrowth of the area he is exploring/hunting in. He has two black boxes on either side of his head, dubbed Gunsights, which assist him in targeting, and which record everything he does for his Holonovels. He usually wears clothing whose color he can shift through mental commands, and a sturdy pair of Trinium Toed Boots.

Occupation: Samson Anders is a professional Adventurer and Hunter, who uses his Gunsights to allow him to record things as he sees them, and later edit them to be sold as Holonovels in the Republic.

Equipment: Gunsights on either side of the head, a Cyberbrain (with built in wireless SoulNet Jack, HUD, Psyker Mindscreens, and a card computer), Athosian Firestarter, Tollan Phase Device, Body Repair Weave, Pictor Torque, Personal Ressurection Chamber, Chest Mounted ID Chips, Stabilizer (located near the Heart, releases coagulant drugs upon contact with pure oxygen entering anywhere other than the lungs), Subcutaneous Body Armor, Anti-Flare Cornea Replacements, IR Retinal Enhancements, Shepherd chip built into the right Wrist, Splinter Guns, Cauterizing Laser, Home Manufacturing Printer, Portable Environment Generator, Bedroll. CR-25 Troop Transport (Modified), Warthog LAV, Flare-S Swoop, Road-Dirt Motorcycle.

Weapons: Vibrosword, M-2 Shaker Assault Rifle, Blastsword, Scrambler Baton, Soro-Suub S-5 Security Blaster, P-90 Sub-Machine Gun, 7.62mm Lever Action Rifle, Pulse Lance.

Biography (Optional): Born on Na Nex Sa, Samson Anders signed up for the Marine Corps the first chance he got during his first life. While there, he received his standard-issue enhancements for free, and served the rest of his tour on Na Nex Sa guarding a Research Station. One day while on Guard Duty, a Tyrannosaur came too close to the facility. Samson leveled his Shaker, and fired. The Beam tore through the dinosaur's head, and killed it instantly. He still wears the Tooth Necklace from it to this day. From then on, he began to go hunting whenever he could, and began to publish the stories he made on the job. After serving two tours (which entitles him to two free Ressurections on the Government Check), he became a professional adventurer. He lived to be 89 before his first death, and spent seven years as the Ghost Hunter, before taking a new body.

Nexus picked up the Pride as it angled in towards docking procedures. Unexpected arrival, but it didn't exactly matter all that much in reality. What only mattered is that people would come for this bailout mission. Things were in sort of dire straights as of the moment, and that was not exactly a good thing.

"Hunter's Pride, you are cleared for arrival," Nexus port authorities responded, "gravity beams initiated to guide you in. Your meeting room will be in the central meeting suite."

The tractor devices locked on to the ship, sending it in the same way as the Chazakains had arrived to draw the vessel into a soft landing, tracked by security devices to ensure that everything went smoothly.

More would come, for sure.


* * * * *


ACV Vulcan

Medical Ward 3

Two yellow spots tracked Anya from a ceiling vent, barely distinguishable - due to their own dullness, not due to any ambient light - what ambient light still existed from the few flickering lights that actually slightly worked. Vulcan was a dark ship to begin with, its viewing ports that cast gazes into space to diminish claustrophobia - though generally only giving the glorious look into the dark starfields of deep space. The only natural light flowing in came from a few viewing ports scattered across the ship, and from the massive, football field-long observation deck - and the view was nothing stunning. Rather, dim orange light came in from an ugly view of the vertical-ringed dead planet, the ghostly ring casting its own spectral white glow into the ship's corridors and tight halls. These few and far between spaces of light were nothing less than creepy; at worst, they were terrifying.

The yellow spots did not alter - they were constant, almost as of they were positioned there - and yet, they weren't supposed to be there. What they were was a mystery, and a first look wouldn't define them as anything out of the ordinary - maybe security video. Yet, the second glance would find something funny about them - they seemed almost fluid, or at least semisolid. They weren't two electronic monitors, but seemingly something out of place - something that didn't seem to have been built, but rather grown, or bred. Something that nature would produce, not the synthetic man-made electronics that spotted this technical ship. For that matter, anything organic - besides the crew and the massive hydroponics bay that sustained them - seemed out of place with the large droid complement that had formerly inhabited the Vulcan (and where that population had gone was even more of a mystery).

The yellow spots did not move, but a sound echoed through the medical wards - past Anya, past a medical official's corpse in the next room, gruesomely eviscerated on a collapsed gurney, past medical imaging equipment and nanoprobing equipment and biobot injection devices. It was a hallowed cry, one that seemed to ask for help, to plead for assistance and aid - to plead for life. And yet, it was not human - it was very far from human, indeed. It was a call that chilled to the bone, as if nature was cutting deep into the sinews of intelligent life to call out a dark cry for something more sinister.

It was seconds after that that the yellow spots moved. A low growl echoed across Anya's area of the wards, something that was both far away and yet extremely close - as if both from another world entirely, and right next to her. The yellow dots shifted to right above Anya, fixed directly downward. Nothing occurred as silence reigned for several minutes, the yellow dots not moving a nanometer - simple constants in a world that had turned into an unknown.

The silence was shattered - a chuckle came through the vents. It was definitely human - something perhaps that a 7-year-old human male might do after upsetting a peer or delighting himself in mischief. It escalated almost into a laugh before silencing down, once against casting down the world of the medical wards to the scrabbling of unknown objects on metal and occasionally broken silence.

The silence was interrupted once again - not by any sound from normal means however, but by the impact of a falling object only a few meters away from Anya. It was a body - specifically, the body of a 12-year-old girl who had previously been the daughter of the assistant to the chief medical officer of the Vulcan. The yellow dots than moved again - disappearing from sight entirely now.

The child was clearly dead - a long, ragged slash ran across her neck - seemingly a wound likely at least 12 hours old, but still running with watery red blood. It was a gash not like the slash of a knife, but more seemingly the work of a semi-blunt instrument, such as a screwdriver. The vocal cords split out from the throat wound, the larynx revealed to the open air as blood slowly pooled out from the wound on to the cold durasteel floor, adding color to the dark room. The fatal wounds on the body weren't limited there - a large chunk of abdomen was missing, laying open internal organs and the body cavity to the dank atmosphere. Ribs were exposed, white testaments to a violent crime that had shattered a young life far earlier than it should have ended - and far more painfully than it should have ever experienced.

The body had fallen so the dead girl's head lay staring right at Anya, the mouth wide open and the eyes widened as if in shock. The eyes were the telling sign - still lifelike, reflecting two moist emerald irises that stared at...past...Anya, as if searching for a netherworld. The body was still, yet those eyes...they seemed as if they were slightly moving, searching, looking for something that was not there - or that Anya couldn't realize.

The same eyes that professed innocence to the crime that had ended a soul suddenly lit up bright, a yellow glean coming from the two orbs that defined that face. The head, the body - they did not move, yet those eyes had a sudden vigor to them that called for the restoration of life - as if some spirit had suddenly been infused into the body and was calling for aid.

Rather than cry for help, however, the girl's mouth slowly moved into a grimace...and those snapped vocal cords somehow mouthed a sound; low, dark, and masculine, as if something powerful was speaking from a twisted throne.

"Leave..."

The eyes flicked suddenly, two black dots in the midst of that bright yellow glow focusing directly into eye contact with Anya. It was only for a brief second as the head eerily spoke, then the glow died again - the girl was back to the dead corpse that she was. Whatever happened, it wasn't sticking around to explain itself to Anya...even though it was quite clear that there was no way to leave now. The hanger bays had been exposed to space, and the security systems had malfunctioned long ago - shutting off the escape pods to any chance of launch. Those on board were stuck there...for now...possibly forever.

As the body's sudden animism died, a shriek echoed across the vents - one that could be characterized with the dead girl, as if she was dying again - but far away through the ship's labyrinth of corridors and catwalks, a faraway fatality once again suffering a gruesome end to life.

As it happened, the grate to the vent fell to the ground slightly away from Anya, and an accompanying door - one that led to the hall that led to the central medical information promenade - slammed open. Silence reigned once more...

Medical Ward 3

Anya's hands covered those poor ears. This wasn't possible, it couldn't be happening! The mind failed to comprehend and churn out a rational explination of the past few days. It moved without remorse from one person to another, spreading almost like a virus. She studied the Spanish Flu Epidemic from 1918, how quickly it lept from continent to continent, killing millions. This...darkness moved in a similar fashion. It wasn't an airborn toxin though, it was something far more dangerous. She had overheard a security detail several days ago, before everything fell apart.

"We have to isolate this thing and fast!" The Guard Commander said, around a hologram table of the ship's layout. Gathered around were marines in their battle suits, plasma rifles hung from slings.

"But what about Sectors 5 through 32?" Another Officer asked, raising the question that plagued all their minds. That was the brutal reality. It was an impossible feet to relocate and evacuate over 60,000 people who worked and lived in those spaces.

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice, those sectors have to be secured. Somehow we've had major electrical failures and the backup generators aren't working. An engineering party went down to the main propulsion compartment but none of them returned...we're not battling someone, it's an entity itself" The Guard Commander continued, his face taught with grim realities, "The Escape Pods are out of commission"

An Ensign raised his hand, "Perhaps that's for the best"

The room went into an uproar. They began cursing him, dismissing the statement as crazy and foolish.

"No, hear me out" His face remained calm and cool, "Whatever it is, we can't let it leave"

"Why?" asked another officer

This whole time Anya was around the corner, a batch of medical files in her hand. It was a curious discussion. Rumors had spread about the true causes of the blackouts but this confirmed their worst fears. Something was aboard the ship. She listened quietly.

"It is spreading fast. It incapaciated three security details and the repair team. It caused these blackouts and knocked out most of the security countermeasures throughout the ship" He said, "If this thing got off the ship and leap frogged to a colony...the destruction could very well be far far worse than our siuation here..."

After that a security guard appeared from nowhere and ordered Anya away, barking orders at her to not repeat what was said at the meeting. He was a big bruiser with a loaded firearm, she wasn't going to argue...

Now, everything had gone awry. She was isolated and alone, just how this thing would want. Alone, she is weak, defenseless, and scared. Now, this force was closing in. It didn't come from one direction or in one form, but many of both. It took superhuman amounts of will to forge on, despite the horrors. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, it was miserably hot in the medical bay.

Then the laughter. It got her the worst. Was it her imagination? Was it that force? Was the sleep deprivation mixed with the horros seen be doing this? Too many questions and too little answers. It came from the air vents. She darted across the med lab but the laughter echoed and followed. On a table was a knife, she grabbed it and held it out. The lights continued to flicker, snapshot of her surroundings flashed on and off. As she spun around, a lump fell from the high ceilings and infront of her.

She screamed but no sound came out, mouth wide open, the knife fell to the ground. Those eyes...those innocent yet forboding eyes stared back up. She recognized the contorted and bloodied body. My God! a child!!! It was Dr.Brock's daughter, a sweet young girl with hopes and aspirations. The girl could be seen around the Main Medical Control from time to time, tugging at the white coat of her father, bothering him with questions.

Now...She was a corpse, torn and shredded like paper.

"Leave..."

Anya recolied in terror, fumbling upagainst a gurney, shrieking at the top of her lungs. It spoke, she spoke! It was a forboding whisper that crackled the silence. The world she knew evaporated.

The heavy security door slid open. She regained the knife and ran, refusing to look back. Not thinking that maybe this force wanted her to go that way. None of it mattered, death was a welcomed relief.

Nexus picked up the Pride as it angled in towards docking procedures. Unexpected arrival, but it didn't exactly matter all that much in reality. What only mattered is that people would come for this bailout mission. Things were in sort of dire straights as of the moment, and that was not exactly a good thing.

"Hunter's Pride, you are cleared for arrival," Nexus port authorities responded, "gravity beams initiated to guide you in. Your meeting room will be in the central meeting suite."

The tractor devices locked on to the ship, sending it in the same way as the Chazakains had arrived to draw the vessel into a soft landing, tracked by security devices to ensure that everything went smoothly.

More would come, for sure.

"Copy that Nexus, releasing control to your systems." With that, he flipped some switched to activate the autopilot, and stepped into the cabin he kept behind the bridge.

He had to get his arsenal into their flat space storage located in the wrist, with the exception of his Blastsword and SoroSuub Security S-5 Blaster Pistol, which he put in holsters on his belt.

He also grabbed an internally framed bag, and started to stuff his externally carried gear, including twelve changes of his rugged, color shifting clothes. It too was Flat-Space, but would appear to be holding a full load, and weigh as if it was stuffed with clothes.

A low beep alerted him it was time to settle down, so he returned to the cockpit and took control back from the autopilot to settle in.

Once down and locked, he made his way to the airlock, and called up the necessary permits and forms to get his vehicles transferred over to the carrier ship, in case his CR25 was disallowed.

Pausing, he grabbed a flat cap, knowing that some people would find his hair disconcerting. With it snug over his head, and his ears sticking out, he stepped into the station, braced in case any of his fans where onboard...

OOC: Still open for others if you want to join in, fyi.


IC:

Nexus XVII

A large, fairly imposing War Droid slid into position by the exit of the vessel to greet the newcomer. The hanger was fairly spartan at the moment - consisting only of the Chazakain vessel and three defense interceptors unloaded of missile weaponry. Not much else was really going on in the place - several fuel crews sitting around talking, and that was it. The droid approached Samson in a non-threatening matter...as best as it could. The machine was built for war, moving along on 8 spindly legs with a central body capped off in a globular head adored with weapons spikes and various sensors for optimum performance.

"Take the central elevator," the droid croaked in a low, electronic voice, "up to the 2nd level. From there any door to the inside of the circular promenade will lead into the conference center."

With that the droid scuttled away back towards a pile of replacement fighter parts, ignoring the mess and simply setting itself up as a sentry to nonexistent threats.


* * * * *


Medical Ward 3

The door slammed shut behind Anya as she ran through it, an inviting welcome to a world which knew no boundaries. The information promenade was not exactly a welcoming area - more of a data repository with three dozen shoulder-high rectangular boxes of computer connection and electronic databases. Several VI terminals spat sparks around the room as one central light still flickered, casting an evening shadow into the dark room. Deactivated or broken security ceiling terminals cast ghostly shadows across the room - where those from the terminals? - and an eerie silence, devoid of even the creeks of the quiet ship that echoed sporadically across the dead halls and graveyard-like openings of space.

There was someone in this room alive - a terrified technician named Brian Cunningham. He was 23, a young civilian on only his second deep space voyage. He disliked working behind the scenes primarily with VIs and computers, and now the whole incident had cast his area into an even worse spotlight. The total silence and darkened aura of the room had driven the shy technician to grab a fusion cutter and huddle in a corner of the room, eyes swinging wildly as his adrenaline slowly drained. For a day the man had sat here, food and water lacking as he ignored bodily needs in a completely terrified state of mind - and Anya's appearance restored a sense of calm Cunningham hadn't known in days. He didn't know Anya by name but working in the medical section had given him a few views of her before - at least it was someone alive and human, if nothing else.

"Oh my God," Cunningham breathed loudly, "I was afraid I was the only one still alive on this Godforsaken ship. We have to leave! We can't stay here!"

He laid down the fusion cutter on to a computer terminal's top, brushing a shaking hand through his dirty cut of hair.

"I don't know what's happening," he stumbled over his words, emotion wearing through, "I've been here for days, just wondering when th-"

He was cut short and a short, high-pitched gasp escaped his lips. The man's hazel eyes bulged in pained surprise, his mouth gaped in a look of misunderstanding. To anyone looking on, it was painfully clear what had happened to the young technician.

A sharp-looking barb was impaled through the man's throat, sticking roughly six inches out of the soft skin of the neck. The barb twisted momentarily, as if sniffing the air, and then withdrew quickly. Cunningham croaked as blood rushed from both the wound and his mouth, a red river erupting into a full-blown stream that was both quick and fatal. The man blinked in an agonized stupor at Anya before falling onto a terminal, his body slumping down...followed by the man's head falling into unconsciousness as blood loss shut down brain functions. The quick killer did not reveal itself; however, a gasping sound came from Anya's left. In the light from a cracked hole in the wall, a mouth emerged - a hideous maw about a foot in diameter ringed with vicious-looking fangs on the frontal body of something grotesquely looking like a worm. The mouth paused, croaked at Anya, and then quickly retracted into the wall - leaving behind no trace except for a slime trail where it had contacted the wall.

Cunningham's body quivered slightly - whether that was a death rattle or something more sinister was not apparent.

Medical Ward 3

It was disbelief, was it a cruel figment of her imagination, toying with the drained woman. Dangling a crumb of hope before her, only to lead it to a deadly mental trap of disappointment? A man, a young technician appeared from the shadows, in the same condition, both physical and mental as himself. His hands shook, eyes darted nervously about, sweeping the shadows. Anya at first failed to mouth a single word, falling short. Having not seen a live person in over two and a half days.

"Have you seen any others?" Anya asked, letting down her guard. Before the young man could answer...those aspirations for reconnecting with reality and something normal faded away with blood curtling screams and tearing flesh. She watched, helpless to intervene. It tore through the poor soul, stealing away his life.

Her shocked eyes went to the left and caught a short glimpse of a horrendous beast. It was a groutesque slug-like cretaure and as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared within the walls. Anya stood there, numb almost to the sight. It happened so quick. Before the man could say much, he was dead, a torn lifeless corpse on the ground. Anya's eyes wandered down to the body, she began sobbing silently, to herself. This thing was toying with her, like a curious young boy with the magnifying glass and the ant hill, pusing how much pain those poor ants can endure. Now, the focused beam was on her.

Originally Posted by Dominion Communications

Encryption = Null (none)

Coordinates have been dispatched along with this message to the deep space station Nexus XVII. Please depart as soon as possible for the station, where the crew for the mission will be briefed as soon as all have arrived and will depart later.

~Dominion Interstellar Affairs

The message was received and the coordinates taken and added to all archives throughout the Corporation. It wanted to keep this bit of information, just in case it was needed in the future. A single dropship was equipped with a Chaos drive. The dropship itself was modified so it had extra armor and shielding, along with stasis pods for the Commander and his four SpecOps soldiers. The XERO team didn't bother; not only were they too large for the stasis pods, but they could handle the stresses the FTL drive would put on the dropship. The squad of SpecOps and the XERO team stood at attention as Commander Ben Shaw stood before them, his blue eyes gazing at them with the cold but calculating gaze of an Exchani soldier.

"We have accepted a mission to aid the Amazonian Beasts government in investigating one of their colonization ships, when communication with it was lost. Our objectives are to aid their team and any others whom come to help them in finding out what has happened and get to the bottom of the situation. They say, while the situation is suspicious, we should be alright."

Titan shifted and spoke softly. "I call bullshit on that, sir."

Ben nodded. "Correct. We always expect the shit to hit the fan, that's how we operate. So I want everyone ready. Gather all the gear, weapons and ammo you need and meet here in an hour. I want to leave ASAP, dismissed."

The team assembled to go on this mission did what they always did before missions. They gathered their gear and anything else they needed, put it on the dropship and then proceeded to relax. For the SpecOps, it was smoking, getting some drinks and taking a nap. For the XERO team, it was more training, study of tactics and reviewing the briefing they were given for the mission. After the hour was up, they gathered at the dropship, helmets and suits on, and went inside. The dropship was given clearance to leave, unofficially since no one was to know about the XERO team or what they did, and it left the planet. It achieved the minimum safety distance away from the planet's gravity well and activated the Chaos drive. The tear in space opened and the dimension of Chaos awaited.

The trip, as expected, was brutal, but the normal humans were kept safe in their pods and the XERO team, while buffeted, was kept safe due to their modifications and cyborg bodies. Two days later, the ship appeared in dominion space and broadcasted a message to the station.

"Nexus XVII, this is dropship Terminal Velocity. We have arrived with the promised squad to aid your mission for the Vulcan. Requesting landing clearance and coordinates."

Mr. Dunn was listening. Sometimes it seemed to him that all he did these days was listen: people came in and told him their problems, and he had to give them solutions. It was like he was some kind of psychiatrist or something. If he’d had a couch in his office there would be people lying down on it.

Ms. Bent was talking. Mr. Dunn still thought of her as Miss Bent, back before it became politically incorrect to use that title, and sometimes wondered why she’d insisted on changing it. Maybe she was engaged to be married or something and wanted her business cards to reflect that. It struck Mr. Dunn for perhaps the third time this week that he knew very little about his staff.

“...the Families Guild of Ischia, which claims that the government has been, I quote, only hindering any attempts to repair the damaged water pipes, unquote. I’m sure you know, sir, how extensive the Guild’s influence is in Ischia -- over thirty per cent of Ischia’s independent voters are members. If they support this lawsuit as well it may well be the final nail in our electoral coffin, sir.”

Mr. Dunn allowed himself a small groan. “I’ll get Public Relations on it in a few minutes. Anything else?”

“This came in a few hours ago, sir. From the Foreign Ministry.”

Mr. Dunn accepted the sheet of paper and the note clipped to it, reading the latter first:
Larry -
Thought you'd appreciate this. For once, the doomsayers win out.
Wiring you those twenty quid.
JV
and then the message attached, scrolling down the sheet of paper with a thoughtful finger.

After a few moments he smiled. "Ms. Bent?"

"Yes?"

"Could you get me on the line with Matt Hollinger, please?"

After pleasantries were exchanged and Mr. Dunn had congratulated Mr. Hollinger on his son's graduation from secondary school, he said:

"Got word from JV. Some unfortunate folk found Abbadon."

"Well, damn," Mr. Hollinger said. He paused, knowing something more needed to be said (Mr. Hollinger was slightly genre-savvy and knew when to provide good plot exposition). "It was bound to happen eventually, I guess."

"We can't exactly just block off a whole star system," Mr. Dunn agreed.

"We can. We've done it before."

"Realistically, yes. But it's not politically feasible. The council would never agree to go to such an expense when we're not up to speed domestically."

"I can't say I see eye to eye with the council on that issue. It would be expensive, but Abbadon is a threat. We've always known it was a threat, it could threaten us if we don't contain it, but we keep our eyes tightly shut and try to pretend we're the only people in the galaxy."

Mr. Dunn paused and said diplomatically: "The council is more concerned with finance and economics than with science, of course."

"We lost five starships to Abbadon -- there's the finance. I've heard the stories from the people who came back, the ones who made it back sane that is. But the galaxy's full of people who can't or won't open their eyes and look the issues in the face."

"You know this thing best, Matt. They've asked for help. You think I should get the Marines?"

"Marines? I doubt it," said Mr. Hollinger. "What Abbadon needs is exorcists."

-----------------------------------------

In orbit around the earth,* L6 Station was a vast metal construct with starships plugged into it like cables into ports. At least in theory. Offworld travel was comparatively rare; although ships visited each offworld colony regularly, it was usually only at the rate of one or two a week, and ships departing or arriving in the system were even rarer. The troop transport White Gold was one of these, the eighty-seventh and newest military ship commissioned for the Space Navy, recently returned from a sojourn in the Tigeria system.

The Marine almost unconsciously touched his hand to the authentication pad and walked through the sliding doors into the briefing room. There was a captain and an enlisted woman in there; he saluted towards the captain, who gave him the "at ease" signal.

"Chaplain. Sufficiently rested after your last mission?" the captain asked.

"Sir, most definitely I should think, sir," the chaplain said, moving forward until he stood just behind the table across from the others.

"Good. We've been contacted by the Em Oh Dee; there's an ... interesting .... multinational operation going on that may require your special expertise." The captain paused, then half turned. "Oh, and this is Private Stern, of Doom** Squad. You may recognize her. You know Chaplain Druckman, don't you?"

Druckman looked at Private Stern. She was nervous. It was probably one of her first missions; perhaps it was her first multinational one. Then his mind took over and began absorbing information about her: her age, first name, memories of her career in the military and whatever else she was "broadcasting" at the moment. He also saw her react: it meant she could sense his abilities, which most people couldn't. Then he knew more or less exactly what was coming.

The captain continued: "The mission you've been selected for is going to be dangerous. You have to remember at all times that the entity you're going to be up against is not human -- it may not even be alive. It can't be reasoned with. It can't be killed, not by normal means. And it will not stop, until...." he paused again. "Why does it sound like I'm quoting some old-fashioned action holofilm? Just read the fucking briefing." He handed them NoteChips. "The world's called Abbadon, but I doubt you'll ever see its surface. Partly because it hasn't got one. Yes, Private?"

Private Stern spoke. Her voice was rather soft, as though she was not used to using it. "How will our supplies be arranged, sir?"

"A very good question. We have no idea how long this mission is going to last, and while some questions of supply could be taken care of by the Amazonian Beasts, they're aliens.... we have no idea whether their food is even compatible with human biological systems. Thus, we're providing plenty of supplies and equipment for any possible occasion. The packs should be easy to attach to your PA suits."

"Understood, sir. Er... how long do we have before departure? Sir?" she asked. Behind the words was a thought, unconsciously directed into the captain's brain, so that he received somewhat more than just the words in his mind. Druckman frowned. Evidently she'd never learned how to control it properly.

The captain answered the unspoken question. "You should have an hour or so to get everything in order. But be sure to report to the gear room by three."

---------------------------------

Greetings;

The world you catalogue as M43-6B is known to us as Abbadon after an unfortunate incident some twenty years ago, when a colonization ship, a science vessel and several escorts were lost to unknown forces in that region of space. While our information beyond that is scarcely more detailed than yours, reports from a handful of survivors have reached us, of which our deployment has been briefed. We are sending a pair of Marines to assist your team, as follows:

Name: Christoph Druckman (Chaplain, ranking officer) & Ingrid Stern (Pfc.)
Nationality: Vojvodina-Nihonian
Species: Human
Age: 38 (Ch. Druckman) & 22 (Pfc. Stern)
Height: 1.83m (Ch. Druckman) & 1.63m (Pfc. Stern), when outside PA suits
Weight: 82kg (Ch. Druckman) & 55kg (Pfc. Stern), when outside PA suits
Gender: Male (Ch. Druckman) & female (Pfc. Stern)
Physical Description: Eyes brown, hair black, build med, skin dark tan (Ch. Druckman) & eyes grey, hair lt. brown, build med, skin fair (Pfc. Stern)
Occupation: Federation Marines. Pfc. Stern has two years of work experience as an engineer; Ch. Druckman's occupation prior to joining the Marines is undisclosed.
Equipment: customized InTuitive™ Mark III suits, Moria-designed, from 4775 (Ch. Druckman) & 4769 (Pfc. Stern) both in good repair; plasma rifles; a recoilless cannon (Ch. Druckman) and a conventional (Pfc. Stern); sidearms; grenades; Beacons; lockpicks and an electronic override (Pfc. Stern); and Ch. Druckman's Bible is weaponized to an uncertain degree.
Biography (Optional): Both Ch. Druckman and Pfc. Stern have, at varying points in time since their enlistment, displayed definite psychic/psionic tendencies, including the apparent abilities to read minds and establish psychic "auras"; in addition, both are excellent fighters, although the Chaplain will only actually kill as a last resort. Finally, Pfc. Stern's aptitude with computers and machines and Ch. Druckman's usual role as morale officer/squad counselor may prove helpful to the team being assembled.

Cpt. R. Vanderaa
via authorization of Mr. Lawrence A. Dunn
Minister of Defence
the Holy Jingoistic Federation of Un-Aligned Nations of Vojvodina-Nihon

I'll write a follow-up post in a minute or two.

* Vojvodina-Nihon's home planet is Earth. It means "dirt" or "ground" because that's what it's made of, and is the fourth planet orbiting a yellow star in the Perseus Arm known as Santorini to the rest of the galaxy; thus, the Vojvodina-Nihonian homeworld is known to all but its inhabitants as "Santorini 4" and is not the Earth where humanity came to be, which is located in the Orion Arm and called "Sol 3". Just clearing that up.

** Phonetic alphabet: Axe Blood Chainsaw Doom Evil Fight Gore Hell Inferno Jet Kill Landmine Maim Napalm Oklahoma Pulverize Quiver Revile Strike Terror Undead Vaporize War Execute Yeeearggh Zap. Vojvodina-Nihonians are well known for their subtlety.

After the ship had finished docking Hera got up and started to head towards the exist when she turned back to Jxero, "You coming?" Jxero Glanced up from the datapad he was reading,"What?, Yes" Jxero turned back to the information on his datapad consisting of various mathematics proofs that went way over her head. Hera gave a sigh and pushed open the hatch, just in time to catch sight of a sentry droid that "Take the central elevator," the droid croaked in a low, electronic voice, "up to the 2nd level. From there any door to the inside of the circular promenade will lead into the conference center." "Doc we need to get to the conference room now, so get your tail in gear!" Hera made sure to double check her weapons, finding that they were all snugged, she turned and headed towards the center elevator. "Scientists..."

Jump Point D was about two days' travel from Earth. Druckman wasn't sure exactly why; it had something to do with Santorini, and its gravitic effect on the fabric of space-time, or something like that. He'd never really done the research and he didn't care to. The FTL shuttle they'd taken there was fairly cramped but full-service, like a hotel room with a kitchenette, as it had been designed to carry diplomats and admirals. Piloting it was Spaceman 2nd Class Yuri Baleev, a quiet young man who probably will not appear in this roleplay again, and who rarely said much.

So Druckman talked to Stern. Like the few other telepaths he'd met, she was remarkably easy to talk to; either because she attempted to project a pleasant aura, or because her unfocused mental energies made it possible to figure out what she was interested in talking about. They told stories of their civilian lives, exchanged quips and anecdotes about eccentric commanding officers, discussed the political situation in Geldar and the economic problems in Caledonia. And sometimes they reread the briefings, and realized how quiet the shuttle was, and how vast the empty void on its outside.

Druckman could still hear the excerpts from the interviews clearly. "It's like the nastiest virus you can catch, except it's sentient, and it hates you." "They were calling my name.... but they weren't my crew, and I wasn't sure it was my name." "It killed them all. But I lived. And when I begged for death it only laughed." One man could only repeat a few words over and over again: "Get to the engineering deck.... the engineering deck.... gotta get there...."

But the part of Druckman that was always detached from him wondered what had been on the engineering deck that the man needed to get to. Was it the heart of the infestation, and was he a soldier? Or was it a safe haven, where the civilians had gathered? The survivors had only made it back in a crippled shuttle, but the odd thing was that it seemed they themselves had damaged it: computers had been destroyed, the docking extension had been jettisoned, and there was something weird about the lights. All of that had been done with a few weapons found in the hands of the living. The shuttle had been scrapped shortly thereafter, and the survivors' names had never been released, but Druckman imagined that most of them had vanished into government mental illness treatment facilities.

Ssc. Baleev's voice came over the intercom. "We have reached the Jump Point. Prepare for hyperlight transit."

Then the shuttle accelerated. There was an infinitely long second stretched out to cover up a flagrant violation of the laws of physics for plot purposes, and then, with the sensation of surfacing from a pool of water, the shuttle was within view of the star. It was twenty minutes to the station.

"Shore leave ends now." A half-smile faded from Druckman's face as he stood up and began to assemble his PA suit and pack.

I can delete this if you decide not to accept me, I guess.

Medical Ward 3

Silence flooded the room once again as the technician's body cooled from its untimely extinguishing of life. As if to cheer up Anya a tad - or at least lessen the current tension in the room of horrors - one of the computer terminals appeared to spark to life, its top-mounted holoprojector coming online as if from divine intervention. From the imager projected a small avatar of a human male - to most of the crew he was Captain Nicolas van Wilden, captain of the Vulcan and overseer of the entire operation that would settle and extort the profitable planet. He was at the middle age of 70 - in Amazonian terms, past his prime but not yet hitting his golden years. The man was somewhat slender, not the muscular type of most soldiers (he lacked the genetic enhancements implanted to developing fetuses for bred soldiers, or the physical implants provided for volunteers and conscripts to the military born from "standard" procedures with only the standard level of genetic engineering to provide barrier against common disease and resistance against aging and bodily dysfunction. As a result he was a relatively short 6'5" - the discrepancy in height between males and females in the Dominion was dramatic - and weighed a mere 160 lbs. His hair had tips of grey permeating brown, and his forlorn-looking black eyes told of a lifetime of experience.

"To any crew still left in the exposed medical wards," his scratchy, dark voice cast a new sound amidst the pallor of silence that was the promenade, "surgical ward 2 has been isolated from outbreak from whatever contagion is upon us. If you are able, make your way to the ward - you'll be much safer off there, as long as you are able to avoid any exposed situation between your current location and there. Best of luck."

His avatar flicked off, and the last message rang through. Medical 3 and Surgical 2 were vertically three decks apart and length-wise a good 120 meters apart. Between the two spots was three residental corridors, the elevator tube that provided fastest connection, and after that an equipment bay before reaching the reception of Surgical 2. Based on Medical 3's condition, it was more than likely - virtually certain - that those areas were beyond dangerous. But refuge was refuge, after all.

A new voice came into the promenade...not van Wilden's, but one softer, higher pitched, almost soothing. It was like a life raft in the midst of a raging sea with no other safety around, the one device to save you...the voice as soft as a flower petal on a spring day, as sweet as fresh honey.

"He has no idea, Anya...he has no idea what lies between you and safety. There is no safety, there is only darkness - and safety only lies in with you escaping this ship, this space. You can't escape it by running to another ward crawling with death inexplicable - you are better off simply staying where you are. Why not close your eyes, sleep until the nightmare ends? Why keep trying, why keep running? Someone will come eventually, Anya. Don't listen to the pleas of the doomed, save yourself and listen to your own mind."

With that three emergency lights clicked on - a somewhat dim yellow-white glow cast around the room. From the wall directly across from Anya, a mysterious red liquid began to slowly run down the durasteel plate...mysteriously like human blood. It began to run more heavily, streams of the liquid running down and pooling on the floor into a small pond of the fluid.

"Stay safe, Anya."


* * * * *


Nexus XVII

The communication reply from the Jingoistic Federation rolled in to the military sensor array that stood like ugly antennae atop the relay station. It was processed and of course, accepted - all help was gladly accepted. A response was formulated quickly by an AI and quickly checked and sent out via comm VIs.


Affirmative Federation Ministry of Defense, coordinates are sent within this communication to reach Nexus Station where other collaborators are meeting to briefing on the mission.

~Nexus Communications



The primary station AI took the Terminal Velocity's request for clearance, quickly setting up gravity tractors to tow the ship in to a safe landing.

Approach cleared Terminal Velocity, your ship is locked on and acquired for docking procedure. In less than a minute you will be docked inside the bay.

Appropriate room was quickly made by droids to clear out some of the random junk lying around the mostly-unused hanger, unaccustomed to this much activity.

Inside the briefing room, Nathan Fletcher was quiet. He was technically the senior officer of the mission - an experienced hand, a Shock Trooper who had enough combat experience and enforcing duty to understand shaky situations. Enough trouble went down with the Dominion annually to test any of the high-grade warriors of the class he was in, and Fletcher was used to the thing. He was a standard soldier, volunteering from military school - and from such somewhat looked up in disdain by the carefully-crafted soldiers who had been fertilized, developed, and bred their entire lives for soldiering - and the type that made up the majority of the Shock Troopers. Standard humans or other of the Dominion's numerous alien species (the primary alien warriors other than the Humans - the Skrawl, Sangheili, and Jiralhanae, all had their own elite units) made up a mere 30% of the Shock Troopers or the two classes of soldiers higher than them - the Commandos and Sovereign Guard. Fletcher, in that sense, was somewhat unique.

At age 42, Fletcher was still, in Dominion terms, in the middle of his physical and mental prime. Actually, the late 30s to mid 40s was ideal age appropriately for mid-grade officers of the elite ranks, and Fletcher was no exception to [I]that rule. Anything past 55 and soldiers started to outlive their usefulness in anything past central command or logistics support (Humans, at least...other species had far varying maturity tables, many starting considerably younger into the warrior scene). He was a solid-built man, a roughly average - for a human male - 7'2". Numerous scars wore across both of the man's heavily tanned arms, reminders of numerous scuffles in urban zones and fighting situations alike. He had the experience and the fearlessness to take on this sort of mission, and with what Fletcher had gone through, it was nothing.

The other three primary members of the Dominion crew (excluding the dozen standard soldiers sent along as a security detail - hopefully they wouldn't have much usefulness other than watching the Phoenix as rescue ops checked out the ship (and conveniently were coming in via hyperspace with the vessel from inner Dominion systems, scheduled to arrive within the hour) were also in the conference room - all quiet.

Though Fletcher was familiar by now with all of them, he was most familiar with Tura V'tro - the only one of the Dominion group he had actually worked with prior. V'tro was a "combat logistics officer," a fancy term coined by the native military of his species, the Sangheili that was the equivalent of a combat engineer. V'tro served, like the other primary non-human warrior races, in both the primary Dominion military and his species's home defense corps in his role, and had been distinguished in both for strong and consistent service. He was smart and strong, making up for a general lack of an emotional side that wouldn't have exactly helped much in his profession anyway. V'tro was all about logic and reasoning, and could quickly calculate the most efficient way of doing things. He was a bit of a stickler for protocol but, like most members of his race, was more than willing to listen to Human intuition (though not so much to the bloodthirsty ideas of some of the other member races of the Dominion).

Kristen Keala was the other Human of the four, considerably younger (by comparison) to the other three at a mere 21. She was additionally the lone civilian, and the shortest of the four to boot (at a mere 5'6"...slightly less than average for the average Dominion human female, who were quite shorter than Dominion human males). Keala was exceptionally bright and had graduated from medical school considerably early to enter service with the Dominion-centralized Medical Corps - the group that reacted with aid to most civilian accidents to render assistance and assist wounded after the military had cleared out any "accidents" and disposed of those who knew too much. Her experience was little in that - 2 years worth - but she had seen enough to be picked out by the mission by Fletcher himself from a list of 50 suitable candidates. Part of the reason her name was even on the list was that, unbeknownst to her, her family had been summarily blasted into constituent atoms in a "field exercise" by the Dominion...and hence, was a suitable candidate to be thrown away.

N'Kroth was the other female of the group, but was definitely not human...and from the first look, didn't appear even sentient. Her race - the Hish - were animalistic killing machines, but were coldly intelligent and precise. They lacked the sheer brutality of the Skrawl and Jiralhanae and were often cast into the role of assassins, commandos, or operatives - much - wasting them as general field soldiers was a simple drop of resources for a race that didn't even make up 1% of the Dominion population, primarily dominated by humans and, to a lesser extent, Sangheili. N'Kroth was a standard female of the species - equipped with a natural set of weapons, a face that even gods couldn't adore, and a rather ruthless personality. She also rarely spoke with anyone that she didn't trust - the only one on the mission being Fletcher as her superior. N'Kroth's presence on the mission was for one reason only - if the entire operation of the Vulcan had gone horribly wrong.

Fletcher was busy reading reports of the briefing as Keala slept, curled on a chair. She was attractive, but Fletcher was beyond something like that - he had gone through enough of his own. V'tro was too busy shifting an armor plate on his battle suit as N'Kroth apparently just stared into blank space - or something else, to whoever was exactly sure. It was better to leave things unknown. Fletcher wasn't going to break the sense of forced calm that was over the quiet group at the moment until one of the other representative groups decided to show up - no reason to bother them all before casting them into the unknown...wherever they would end up.

Nexus XVII

A large, fairly imposing War Droid slid into position by the exit of the vessel to greet the newcomer. The hanger was fairly spartan at the moment - consisting only of the Chazakain vessel and three defense interceptors unloaded of missile weaponry. Not much else was really going on in the place - several fuel crews sitting around talking, and that was it. The droid approached Samson in a non-threatening matter...as best as it could. The machine was built for war, moving along on 8 spindly legs with a central body capped off in a globular head adored with weapons spikes and various sensors for optimum performance.

"Take the central elevator," the droid croaked in a low, electronic voice, "up to the 2nd level. From there any door to the inside of the circular promenade will lead into the conference center."

With that the droid scuttled away back towards a pile of replacement fighter parts, ignoring the mess and simply setting itself up as a sentry to nonexistent threats.

Samson whistled in appreciation. He had thought at first it had come to disarm him, but now it just around looking impressive. The sensors in his CyberBrain started to scan the thing when he spotted the Chazaka ship coming in.

He hadn't had much contact with the new Diplomatic Contacts of his people, and wanted to get to know them better here and now. So, with that, he stood around, waiting for the ship to dock.

After the ship had finished docking Hera got up and started to head towards the exist when she turned back to Jxero, "You coming?" Jxero Glanced up from the datapad he was reading,"What?, Yes" Jxero turned back to the information on his datapad consisting of various mathematics proofs that went way over her head. Hera gave a sigh and pushed open the hatch, just in time to catch sight of a sentry droid that "Doc we need to get to the conference room now, so get your tail in gear!" Hera made sure to double check her weapons, finding that they were all snugged, she turned and headed towards the center elevator. "Scientists..."

Samson strode up to them, hand extended. "Samson Anderson, Professional Adventurer. I understand from the markings of your vessel that you are from Chazaka. It is a pleasure to meet you."

There was something haunted in his grin and in his eyes, but for the most part he seemed like a man who just wanted to help people, while the set of his shoulders and the way he carried his body screamed professional armed forces history. He instantly pegged the Diuses as a soldier from the way she carried her self, while the Fiduses struck him as an academic.

"So, what are your names and what are you guys here for?" His tone was that of a genuinely curious interviewer, and he seemed to be angling his head so that the gunsights on either side of his head got good views of the two of them. "You know, for my show?"

"Entering docking bay," came Ssc. Baleev's voice from the front.

Druckman said out loud: "I wonder why it is that we encounter all these alien civilizations we've never contacted before, yet the docking equipment is always compatible. We never wind up having to crawl through a hole half our height and there's never any artificial gravity malfunction that causes the shuttle to get sucked back into space."

Stern shrugged. "It's one of those things. Like how even if the space station has been overrun by cosmic horrors from another dimension, the artificial gravity always stays on." There was a clank from outside as the shuttle maneuvered into position, then the sound of a vacuum rapidly (although not explosively rapidly) filling up with air.

"There are a lot of two-legged oxygen-breathers in the galaxy," Stern continued. "Most of them like their conditions the same way. So things get designed the same way. Call it lack of imagination, if you like."

The door in the shuttle swung open with a slight hiss and the pair of Marines stepped down onto the floor of the station, ducking their heads through the aperture. The PA suits added about a foot to a man's height. Conversation continued, although they weren't physically speaking anymore.

I'm not a scientist. But if I were, I'd be wondering why exactly so many galactic species look so similar. To say nothing of interspecies morality, and religion....

[Picture of a humanoid figure.] [Diagram indicating similar actual species stemming from this figure.] [Question mark.]

Well yeah, that's the only reasonable explanation. Druckman is sidetracked: some kind of robot was telling him which elevator to take. He cast his gaze across the bay to the elevators and located the central one; a few people were already getting in.

"Do you want me to run ahead and hold it, sir?"

"No, we can wait." They walked almost leisurely across the bay, or at least as leisurely as a human in a powered armour suit can walk. But if so, what happened to these precursors? Has any evidence of their existence actually been uncovered?

I have no idea.

Don't switch back and forth between words and pictures. It confuses me.

Sorry.

They had reached the elevator now, and were waiting for it to come back down.

[Won't have much time tomorrow. So when the meeting thing happens, just assume I'm already there and my dudes introduced themselves.]

Medical Ward 3

Hope...it was a distant glimmering light. Something thought unreachable but the flicker of van Wilden's image, the tall lanky figure of an older man. She had never met him personally, but remembered seeing him once. Several months ago when the Captain came to inspect Central Medical. He was of imposing height but not much else. She stood by her office, psychological evals for several dozen high priority cases were stacking up. Managing the Psychology Department for the ship was not an easy task. People had problems, that was pure and simple. People had troubled pasts, that was a given. Everyone had a shitty childhood and wanted to talk about it. There were not shortages of true cases though, people with real problem. Anya did her fair share of interviews and evaluations herself. Long days, long conferences, and endless training and interviews. It was a difficult job but needed to be done.

A message of hope being casted down on a relay loop she determined. How old was it? Was Surgical Bay 2 still safe? If not, then where? Too many questions perplexed her overloaded mind. Anya went over to a holoboard which still worked. She brought up the level that Surgical Bay 2 was on. There was a crack somewhere in the screen and the 3D image flickered. The elevator shaft was her best choice, it was the quickest and avoided the residental quarters. The Equipment Bay was another matter. As she pondered the best course of action, that sweet melencholy voice overturred overhead.

These torments were numerous, so much so that she had reached a level beyond fear, an eery calm in the face of horror. Numb is the best way to describe it, even that is vague. Her fingers tapped against the control panel, eyes shut, trying to tune it out.

"I am getting the Hell off this ship, that's for certain" Anya said aloud, almost a dare to whatever force hid in the shadows.

Her head snapped to the crack in the wall and witnessed the liquid pouring through. It became deeper in volume and spread, flooding a small section. She knew it was time to leave. She grabbed the knife from the table and decided it was best to leave. She hurried to a door. It was locked shut but she went to the override box and flipped the manual switch which allowed the door to be opened. Anya's muscles tightened as the heavy door slid out of the way, prying it open with her bare fingers. There was a small flashlight that she took and escaped into the hollowed darkness of the cooridor. AT the other end was the entrance to the elevator.

He hadn't had much contact with the new Diplomatic Contacts of his people, and wanted to get to know them better here and now. So, with that, he stood around, waiting for the ship to dock.

Samson strode up to them, hand extended. "Samson Anderson, Professional Adventurer. I understand from the markings of your vessel that you are from Chazaka. It is a pleasure to meet you."

There was something haunted in his grin and in his eyes, but for the most part he seemed like a man who just wanted to help people, while the set of his shoulders and the way he carried his body screamed professional armed forces history. He instantly pegged the Diuses as a soldier from the way she carried her self, while the Fiduses struck him as an academic.

"So, what are your names and what are you guys here for?" His tone was that of a genuinely curious interviewer, and he seemed to be angling his head so that the gunsights on either side of his head got good views of the two of them. "You know, for my show?"
occ: we got in first (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14179907&postcount=10):p

"I'm Hera, and this is Jxero of the Greater Chazakain Plains Clan, the 12th son of Zxero, the second born of his hatch....(you get the picture, just suppose it goes on for another 3 minutes or so)"
Deep Breath
"and we are here to help the Amazonian Beasts with their little problem, now if you don't mind i'd like to get to the meeting hall before they start so i know what we are doing here too"

"Understood, Control. Terminal Velocity, out."

The shuttle was soon caught by the tractor beam and was eased along its flight path to the hangar, where it deployed its landing gear and eased onto the deck. The pilot began to shut down the systems, and deployed the ramp. He keyed the comm and spoke. "Alright boys and girls, we're here. You can thaw out the commander and his men. I am forwarding the location of the meeting you're to go to. I'll be on call, in case you need me for anything."

Titan raised a hand to his helmet and activated the comm unit. "Understood. XERO Team out." He took the hand off the helmet and made a gesture. The other three, Reaper, Watcher, and Silence, removed their holding straps and began to reactivate the pods. Streams of gas hissed from the pods as they warmed up and began to thaw out the men inside. The men were quickly thawed out and adrenaline was pumped into their blood, quickly waking them up. They quickly dressed, put on their armor, and grabbed their gear. Ben walked up to Titan, whom saluted and began to speak.

"We have landed and have been given the location of the meeting, sir." He handed him the datapad, which Ben took a quick look at. Nodding, he handed it back.

"Thank you, Titan. Get your team ready to move out. Take all your gear off the dropship and get to the meeting room ASAP. I'll get my boys going and meet you there."

Titan nodded and began to grab the heavy bags as if they were toothpicks and began to move out. He was followed by the other three members of the team, carrying their own bags, whom proceeded to follow the four SpecOps soldiers and Commander Shaw towards the meeting room. The door pinged as they arrived and the Dominion squad would see all nine soldiers walk in, set their bags aside and take positions at a table, with Ben standing in front, gazing around carefully, seeming to look for a commanding officer.


OOC: Short and sucky, I know. Bleh.

occ: we got in first (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14179907&postcount=10):p

"I'm Hera, and this is Jxero of the Greater Chazakain Plains Clan, the 12th son of Zxero, the second born of his hatch....(you get the picture, just suppose it goes on for another 3 minutes or so)"
Deep Breath
"and we are here to help the Amazonian Beasts with their little problem, now if you don't mind i'd like to get to the meeting hall before they start so i know what we are doing here too"

"Of course, of course." And with that, the small LED's on either side of his head blinked out.

He sighed as they did so. "That personality is soo annoying. Sorry about that, it is the mask I have to put on whenever I am filming. Please, Hera, lead the way."

And with that, Samson fell into line behind the two Chazaka, his gunsight cameras ready to click on as soon as they reached the meeting hall.

OOC: Apologies for the delay, this week was either busy or I was drained...not to mention I'm behind on other threads I should probably get to.

IC:

Conference Center

N'Kroth hissed slightly as the others entered the room, but made no move - she was already briefed and had pretty much nothing to do but wait as the others were laid out their plans. As the most alien of the group, N'Kroth felt a bit of bias against her - but did not reveal it, per the usual traits of her carnivorous species. She was quiet; actions could speak louder than words, and nature had bestowed plenty of devices upon the Hish that could make a great deal of action. No point to stir up the foreigners however; that'd only bring trouble.

Fletcher cast his eyes forward, looking up from the central holopad that was currently deactivated as the teams strode in and took some of the 80 or so seats that ringed the central pad. N'Kroth and V'tro were seated in the furthest ring having knowledge of the plan already; Keala who had yet to be briefed along with all the outside help sat at the front with a recording stick out to catch the details of the plan. Hopefully it wouldn't have to be a particularly detailed plan or anything; it was supposed to be a simple mission of information and possible aid and repair. Nothing more. Hopefully.

"Alright," Fletcher exhaled, the holopad lighting up with a simple, dispersing glow of light. "I'm gonna try and make things short here 'cuz I don't want anything out of the ordinary. Y'all wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the fact that one of our corvettes disappeared around the planet - Dominion designation being M43-6B. Call it whatever you really want."

"Here's some specs on the planet," Fletcher went on, before anyone had a time for an opening salvo of questions. He wanted to get everything out of the way fast. "M43 - as I'm going to call it, screw the technicals - is the sixth remaining planet in a red giant system of a lot of orbitals. It's the first major planet after a lot of little rock shits, technically a desert world in our field manuals the nerds like to write up. It's got a hot rocky surface but hopefully we're not going to need to go down there. We think our lost vessel - the Vulcan - got lost somewhere in the vertical ring of interstellar shit that surrounds the planet," Fletcher spoke like a veteran soldier...with a lot of curse words and little description for technicalities.

"Vulcan is pretty fuckin' big - it's 30k long, bigger than anything in the Dominion's military naval arsenal besides mobile stations and superweapons and almost the largest thing in the Dominion spacelanes entirely. It's meant for full-scale colonization efforts and a whole range of terraforming operations blah blah blah, so basically it has a lot of people. It was carrying 120,000 living people on it before it lost contact so that's a lot of people - regardless of how many civilians we got across the Amazonian sectors. Men, women, children, you name it. Very few military on board, pretty much a small security detail and some defensive weapons and that was it. It could probably be lost to pirates or something, but it would take them forever to knock the thing's grid offline - and even longer to scour the entire ship."

"We deployed our corvette - the Lynx - pretty soon after we lost contact with Vulcan and some follow-up probes failed to return. She can hold her own against a whole contingent of pirates and blow the snot out of any half-ass spaceship. It's also got damn strong shields and a hull that can withstand a lot of crap - we doubt it was lost to any sentient intervention. It was more likely that whatever downed both these vessels was natural. At this point the Lynx is of secondary concern - it had a small contingent. The civilian vessel is of primary concern, to find at least what happened. We're assuming a technical failure, some sort of stellar storm that's afflicting the region that could hamper FTL travel and communications. Entirely possible, even a likely scenario in such a case. If that's the case, a vessel being supplied by the Dominion navy - a modified patrol attack craft, the Phoenix - has an upgraded FTL tunneling drive to make it through any sort of natural block and at least get word from the Vulcan and get that back to the fleet HQ."

"Now y'all are here for a different reason. There's a slight possibility - slight - that something extraordinarily bad happened to the ship. In that case, we're going to find the flight record of the vessel - located at the heart of the ship in the bridge, which is a solid 4 km from any exterior hull right smack in the fore-center, which is pretty much the most defended area of the vessel. It'll be fairly cushioned from any exterior threat we believe, but it's possible that some sort of contagion or unknown storm or force may have knocked out life support or something aboard the vessel. If that's the case we might be forced to the surface of the planet for survivors from life pods - if that's the case, we'll discuss that on-site. Hopefully this won't be a scenario we have to deal with, it's optimum that we just have to go in, see what's up, and come back. But optimal doesn't always happen."

As Fletcher had been talking, specs of the ship, the planet, the corvette, and various other figures had been appearing from the holopad, displayed in 3-D color to show vital information to the mission. Fletcher had done a fairly good job detailing things without going overboard on every little specification. Like he had mentioned, it was likely a simple failure. Nothing more.

Phoenix, the modified courier vessel for the mission, had showed up in local space and was now linking to the station via a connecting bridge. The vessel wasn't much special in terms of much of its abilities; it was a standard attack craft with a dedicated weapons suite and enough space on board for 100, though it technically had an optimum flight crew of 18. It was a solid vessel but its true strength lie in its flight abilities. It had been decked out earlier at fleet ops at Polus with its own special hyperdrive, a tunneling unit that would allow it to bore through interference to "blast" a hole into the dimension that allowed for FTL travel for the Dominion. It was fast and could easily blaze through the galaxy quickly and blaze to the point needed for this mission even faster. Besides that, Phoenix could do its job.

Fletcher stepped back from the holopad as the last visual - a diagram of the Vulcan's sectioning structure - remained up: "Any questions? If there are, make 'em quick - we book in 2 hours."


* * * * *

Vulcan - Medical Corridors

"Are you surrrrre you wanted to do that?"

The sweet, sing-song voice called out to Anya from the realms of the dark once more, a nectar in the hellish flickering white light.

"I'm certain you could choose a better option, Anya. Look within yourself...you'll find that you were much more content before."

The voice was playing with her, manipulating, pulling strings to see if it could find one to snap. It was the cross of a jealous ex-girlfriend and a small child welled up within the bowels of the ship, an essence that was not content with simply launching physical means of assassination - it had to play in the heads of those who walked as well.

The corridor was unlike the medical ward - besides the glow from Anya's flashlight, it was pitch black. One light was sparking, the occasional orange burst of fire shooting out - but the rest were completely knocked out, removed from service by god-knows what.

"Go to the elevator Anya...go to it. Find what mysterious awaits!"

As soon as the voice stopped the lift at the end of the corridor made a creaking noise. With a rumble, the lift car zoomed down the lift, flying far too rapidly to be someone's call - this was a death run as the mover shot down what would be another 5 kilometers before it reached the end - and would likely propel it out of the ship entirely. There were two more lift elevators at the end of the corridor along with the one that had just witnessed the fall of the car; both the others were still in use.

"Pick wisely Anya...you don't want to meet that fate, do you?"

Though there were technically backup lifts and sets of stairs for slower travel, they were either further away - thus making a longer trip through potential dangers still awaiting - or through areas that could cause quite a number of hazards.

"Fortune favors the bold...someone said that a long time ago. I wonder if it's true? Do you like games?"

Fletcher cast his eyes forward, looking up from the central holopad that was currently deactivated as the teams strode in and took some of the 80 or so seats that ringed the central pad. N'Kroth and V'tro were seated in the furthest ring having knowledge of the plan already; Keala who had yet to be briefed along with all the outside help sat at the front with a recording stick out to catch the details of the plan. Hopefully it wouldn't have to be a particularly detailed plan or anything; it was supposed to be a simple mission of information and possible aid and repair. Nothing more. Hopefully.

The lights on the black boxes on either side of Anders head lit up in red to indicate he was recording, and he allocated a separate file in his cyber brain to store the mission report. This would make a great background for the opening montage for his show. He did a slow pan as he entered, getting close ups of the large group of people who had volunteered, and wished they had Shepherd Chips so he could simply shake their hands to get their info.

Fletcher stepped back from the holopad as the last visual - a diagram of the Vulcan's sectioning structure - remained up: "Any questions? If there are, make 'em quick - we book in 2 hours."

Anders made a quick request for all the files they had, in a digital format of course, and then sat back to wait and watch. Though he was an actor when the cameras where on, and his demeanor at the moment revealed as much, he was still eager to get out there. Whatever had gotten that Corvette was probably spacial anomalies, but he could not shake a feeling that something wasn't right.

He chalked it up to his normal paranoia and over-active imagination stimulated by the mention of it being possibly something else, and began to scan the room, watching for people to ask other questions. He was glad for his Mindscreen then, and hoped that there where no Psykers in the room to read his fear.

The Kamai-class vessel Atalanta, armed reconnaissance vessel of the Indoan Alliance Navy 5th Fleet, coasted gracefully through the inky blackness, quietly watching for any signs of activity while her commanding officer dealt with a recent issue that had arisen as a result of an intercepted comm transmission.
“You’re certain you wish to offer your assistance?” he asked slowly.
“That is correct, Major. Both Subject Three-One-Two and I have expressed a desire to respond to the transmission we picked up during the operation,” replied the woman facing him.
“And you are aware that it could be months before another Indoan vessel is in the area to pick you up and return you to the Alliance?”
“Yes sir. Both of us are well aware of that fact.”
“Well, Templar, your request has been approved by High Command, so I shall send the message immediately.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed, Templar.” The woman saluted, turned and headed for the door. “Oh, and Templar?” The woman stopped by the door, turning to look back at the Major. “You would do well to remember that her name is Linda, not Three-One-Two,” he pointed out.
“Yes sir,” acknowledged the woman apologetically.

Five minutes later the vessel transmitted a reply in the direction of the relay that they had picked up the message from.

[Plain-text, M0]
x: INV Atalanta
o: Dominion Interstellar Affairs
{This is the INV Atalanta, long-range reconnaissance vessel of the Indoan Alliance Navy, responding to your request for volunteers to search for a missing vessel. Firstly, we apologise for the lateness of our response to your request. It took us some time to complete our current mission and obtain permission to assist you. While we believe you are fully capable of covering any purely military requirements the mission may require, we are currently carrying some passengers willing to help out who we believe may of some assistance to you. We can be at any required location within a ten-thousand light radial volume within two hours to transfer them. If your mission team has already departed, or already filled as many slots as you require, then we wish them the best of luck in their search, and we are only sorry we were not able to respond sooner. The details of our personnel are as follows:

Name: Templar 3rd Shiori Marino (Rank equiv.: Lieutenant)
Affiliation: Indoan (Toderan)
Species: Matrai
Age: 39 Toderan years (45 Earth years, Human equiv. age 27)
Height: 164cm / 5’5”
Weight: 60kg / 133lbs
Gender: Female
Appearance: good physical condition, small X-shaped scar on left cheek, short blond hair, grey-blue eyes
Occupation: Indoan Alliance Specials - Templar section (psionic-capable spec ops)
Equipment: Mk.V Mod.4 ABERA combat battlesuit, standard tactical kit, R-94M laser rifle, PS-21 pulse pistol, combat knife, field medical kit, demolitions kit, Sparrow recon drone, Personal HUD, neural thread
Bio: Mid-rank member of the Indoan Templars, the Alliance’s home for those who exhibit significantly greater psionic abilities than those present in the average matrai, who receive extensive training on how to control and use their abilities, as well as standard Alliance special forces training. In addition to her basic combat and field medical training, Templar 3rd Marino is also trained as a combat engineer and demolitions expert.

Name: Pyrrha-312 (Linda)
Affiliation: Indoan (Toderan)
Species: Matrai
Age: 17 Toderan years (19 Earth years, Human equiv. age 15-17)
Height: 156cm / 5’1”
Weight: 45kg / 99lbs
Gender: Female
Appearance: slender, lithe, midback-length black hair, vividly violet eyes
Occupation: Indoan Alliance Specials - Pyrrha section (super-soldier/assassin)
Equipment: Mk.XII ABERA combat battlesuit, R-26E4 pulse carbine, PS-21 pulse pistol, combat knife, plasma sword, Personal HUD, neural thread
Bio: The Pyrrha Project was the government-approved successor to the Pandora Project, an illegal privately-funded super-soldier program, training and altering children from birth to reach capabilities beyond that of any normal person. Pyrrha-312, otherwise known as Linda, is extremely skilled in both armed and unarmed combat, able to utilise virtually any Indoan infantry weapon to a high degree of competency, and is also a technopath, due to cybernetic implants.

Templar Marino and Pyrrha-312 are also accompanied by the avatar-level SI entity Calliope, which inhabits the enhanced memory bank of Marino’s modified battlesuit, and can physically represent itself via hologram emitters built into Marino’s suit.}

((OOC:
Species info: Matrai
Externally virtually identical to humans, matrai are an example of parallel evolution at work. The principle differences between the two species are the much paler, usually marble white skin of matrai, greater average physical strength and a mild precognitive ability. This is involuntary, and usually consists of brief flashes only a few seconds long, shortly before the event actually occurs, though longer flashes that are significantly before the event are not unknown. The net effect is roughly equivalent to extremely fast reflexes, though the capabilities vary from person to person. Internally, they have some noticable physiology differences, and suffer from a weak respiratory system that means most matrai commonly wear a filter mask to purify the air they breathe.

For the precognition, in simple terms read it as sporadic enhanced reflexes, unless you happen to want either of them to see something noticably in advance at some point. Any other questions, TG me.))

Druckman listened to the briefing in silence. The Amazonian soldier reminded him faintly of his commanding sergeant in his manner and bearing, except she tended to go into somewhat less detail in briefings, and had a darker sense of humour. He could practically hear her voice: "All right, boys and girls, I'd like you to spend the next few hours thinking about your families, your good times with your squadmates, the vacation you're gonna take when you get back to Earth. Not the enemy. Not the gibbering eldritch shapes of brick-shit nightmares what're gonna rip your throats out with poisoned claws. Not the screams of the dying and the realization that if you fail, a metric fuckton of baddies is going to wipe out all life on the surface...." She'd very nearly gotten disciplined for that speech after they'd made it through, too.

With a slight effort he returned to the room. Among the minds occupying it he recognized that one of them was attempting to get his attention. He focused his own mind into forming and directing words.

Yes, Private Stern?

He's saying it'll be a routine operation, the words returned. They were still fuzzy and overlaid with interference; evidently she could not yet focus entirely on word thought. But he doesn't really believe it will be. Nobody does.

Well observed, Private. But you could also have deduced that from listening to the words the soldier is speaking.

How so?

He says we have been called here on the "minute" chance that it is something dangerous. Everyone here, therefore, is trained to expect that it is in fact something dangerous. If he truly believed the problem to be a routine one, he would not have advertised for foreign mercenaries.

On the channel of his mind still devoted to listening, Druckman could hear: "Any questions? If there are, make 'em quick - we book in two hours."

Druckman said: "Assuming the ship's suffered a technical failure, of either main power or main computers, is there some kind of backup system that could be used to control the ship until their techs get around to repairing the main systems? And if so, is that also accessible from the bridge, or is it somewhere else in the starship?"

The message from the Indoans shot through the relay network quickly, buzzing to the Artificial Intelligence of Nexus who immediately fired back the automatic reply - at this point, with what was known...but of course not revealed...was going to require these people who were applying in for adventure, for glory, for civic duty...for whatever.



Your team is affirmed and coordinates are provided with the details of the message to rendevous with the assembling crew. A holorecording of the briefing has been provided so your team will be up to date upon arrival, which will proceed with quick deployment - the recovery team departing as one aboard the team vessel.

Please make haste, as the mission will be underway in just over 120 standard minutes.

-Dominion Interstellar Comms Relay Network


By this point the message had lost any semblance of niceties - it was simply informative and instructive, communicating what needed to happen and where and how it would happen. It was up to the others to show up, but every soul at this point was definitively needed.


* * * * *


Nexus XVII - Conference Room

As Fletcher was pinged by an inbound message, V'tro stood upon his reptilian build to take the question. He was more knowledgeable about official operations as it was and was certainly the better PR spokesperson around the issues - and had nothing to hide. The Sangheili race was one of order and collection, and V'tro showed nothing but the fact that he was, indeed, alive.

"The central engineering hub is located approximately 35 meters to the rear of the centralized bridge hub," V'tro began, "And inside of that hub is several backup fusion generating units to power basic systems such as life support, emergency maneuvering thrusters, and hull energization for basic defense against natural objects. There are three generators, each contributing to the systems as a whole - optimum power is achieved by all three being active for subsystems, but only one must be active for all emergency systems to function. Main systems can be activated by repairing control units in the command hubs for each systems, whether those be defensive weaponry, engine units, shield and hull energization, flight control, navigation, communications, or any number of the over 90 systems aboard each Hephaestus-class vessel."

"Even with a complete power loss in the ship, manual blast units will propel sealing units to cut off sections of the vessel in the event of a hull breach to contain minimum-necessary atmospheric levels for the least atmospheric-needy Dominion sentient lifeforms to exist to be able to communicate word of the disaster. Sealed-off sections are sacrificed to protect the greater need however, and those within such quarantined zones are listed as fatalities."

"In the event of main computer failure - which would be almost certain based on complete power failure - minor computer systems providing information regarding current ship status in localized areas along with ship statistics will be active in individually-powered terminals fueled by individual micro-antimatter reaction units. The main computer terminal is a 5m diameter core based 40 meters above the bridge, 3 decks up, but has a sprouting network of energy conduits that function as a nervous system connected through bio-electric connective nodes that relay and process information faster than traditional synthetic systems. Replacement bio nodes are located throughout the ship in various supply units but are only activated when plugged into a node terminal for activation."

Keala, as the lone civilian amongst the Dominion contingent, was barely more knowledgeable about the subject as the other foreign contingents were. She was providing a bit of a more convoluted question as Fletcher departed the room, however.

"Subcommander, what's your opinion on what we're going to be doing here?"

The question was stated awkwardly, but in its essence was asking for a status report of what exactly was happening - Keala was a smart girl, and had read Fletcher like a book as he described the situation. He was human, after all...and humans had emotions. He knew something.

V'tro knew something as well - almost as much as Fletcher - but the reptilian race was a master of keeping their thoughts to themselves. V'tro knew the mission brief as well as as much as Special Ops knew, along with the intelligence reports that his own race's internal affairs had passed along collected from Sangheili-operated relay stations that the Dominion allowed. The reptilian race was loyal enough - and not powerful enough - to be trusted after all. They had their own military units just as the Jiralhanae and Skrawl did, their own intelligence network, their own special teams - but they worked with the Dominion and the dominant humans anyway. It was social evolution - symbiotic relationships that cared for the smaller Sangheili population under the headstrong Amazonians, yet provided the race with enough autonomy to look out for its own without too much meddling.

"I know as much as you," V'tro blatantly lied without even moving another nerve, his deep voice reflecting something close to seriousness and honesty if anything else, "the area we are heading into has been tracked by Dominion hypersatellites and is known for its interstellar nebulous storms. It is more than 82% probable that a hypercell developed and has engulfed the entire system - potentially the entire region - in a destabilizing storm. Other possibilities exist, such as synthetic hindrances and debris fields that have emerged since recent checks of the system, but that is the most likely. We will simply be in to inspect damages and engage in conversation with the commanding officer of the vessel before departing and returning to another, larger deep-space installation to relay information and depart our separate ways. Useless speculation will gain virtually nothing but developing emotional panic."

With that, V'tro ended the young human female's question, and any hint that he would show was buried far beneath a shield of patience and collectivity.


* * * * *


Command Quarter

Fletcher by this point had departed the briefing room, allowing V'Tro to stick behind so the Sangheili subcommander could handle any additional questions by the foreign team. Fletcher's mission ops room was small and dominated by the viewscreen at the fore of the room - a three-dimensional holoprojector that was constantly receiving news and updates from all corners of the massive block of space that made up the Dominion and shipping them into live feed to update mission commanders, the station chief, or other important personnel on what they wanted to know. Often out at places like this it was just a news source, with only the occasional feed coming in when ships or fleets docked for resupply or refueling.

This time however Fletcher wasn't particularly happy by the view - rather than an AI or news droid projected into the void to update on happenings across the 282 sectors of Amazonian interstellar commons within its nebulous violent boundary cloud, a rather blank stare of a white helmet with red emblazoned down its side as a battle slash gazed back into the room. The figure behind the war helmet was Arcon Bacara - Fletcher's technical superior and overall chief of the Shock Troopers as a whole. The man was a modified clone - injected with the traits of every genetically enhanced human that made up the plurality of the Dominion, but built in massive vats in labs and factories and created and raised for the sole purpose of the fight. Bacara had been designated to command from inception and was serving that role perfectly - fairly emotionless and not at all averse to sacrificing those he led for the greater good. It was all about winning the game.

"Fletcher." Bacara's voice was stone cold as usual - simply reflecting the time he disliked wasting talking, rather than acting.

"Yyyup," Fletcher growled back, not at all happy with more meddling from a command that was clearly manipulating the mission.

"You know just as well as I and command do what's happened here," Bacara responded, "and we need what's on board that ship. I don't care how many of the others you lose - just bring back the Matrix. Burn any survivors down."

"Shit sir, is it really that critical? We've been in a period of stability for years since the government's transition, nothing's happening..."

"And in doing so...you're not in a place to question," Bacara fired back without displaying any change from his icy demeanor. It wasn't a retort, it was a fact. "Follow up your orders or we're going to have to permanently replace you in the lineup."

Bacara was dead serious when he meant this - Fletcher was a volunteer, a standard genetically-enhanced human without all the military genetic weavings that made humans such as Bacara and other clone soldiers that made up the minority, yet the majority of the elite, of the military. Finding volunteers was no trouble - and it cost the government zero cost to do. A no-lose proposition there...but replacing laboratory-built warriors took cost and an investment and even worse - time for the embryos and fetuses to develop.

"I'm not questioning, I'm submitting an opinion," Fletcher angrily quipped. "But if that's what we're doing I'll do it...I don't have a personal stake in this like civilian Keala does. What we need to do I'll carry out...what's on board isn't going to stop all of us, particularly not me."

"I would hope not, commander...and if it does, than you won't have deserved to remain in duty anyway. We only take the best and if you are no longer the best...than you can go prove it."

Bacara's face flickered off as the room returned to a cool dimness. Fletcher angrily fretted, departing the commanding chamber and returning to the conference room. He masked his emotions beneath an upbeat and cool demeanor but was still wondering how far the Shock Trooper commander - whose job it was to preside over SpecOps missions like this - would be willing to go to ensure the Dominion's black ops aims.

“Incoming transmission, sir,” announced the comms officer.
“Thank you, Baker,” there was a brief pause while the Major read the message. “Hmm, looks like you were just in time, Templar. They leave in two hours. Dunham, how long to get to that location?”
The pilot glanced at the readout on his display to check the computer had converted the coordinates to those used by the Indoans, then tapped a couple of symbols to plot a jump.
“Approximately thirty-nine minutes, sir.”
“Prepare the ship. Templar, they’ve sent us a recording of the mission briefing to get you up to speed. Will you…”
“Yes. We will review it during the jump,” Marino told him, pre-empting the question.
The Atalanta’s other passenger reached forward and gently touched her hand against the console between the two pilot stations for several seconds. After withdrawing it again, she looked at the Major.
“I have been briefed. I will prepare the equipment,” she told him quietly, then turned and left the bridge.
“Did she just do what I think she did?” asked the pilot, after the young woman was out of earshot.
“Take in all the data contained in that recording merely by touching the console? Yes she did,” replied the copilot.
“I knew they could do that, but I wasn’t prepared for actually seeing it,” mused the pilot.
“You think that’s weird. She could control the entire ship, probably more effectively than we can, just by doing that if she wanted,” pointed out the copilot.
“That’s a little scary.” A soft tone brought the pilot’s attention back to his display. “Ready to jump on your command, sir.”

A short distance in front of the Atalanta, the fabric of space distorted and ruptured as the vessel’s wormhole actuator opened up an extra-dimensional portal for them to travel through, and the vessel floated leisurely through, disappearing from real space.
***

The Atalanta reverted to real space several seconds out from the station, briefly remaining where it was before making a second jump closer in, re-emerging just one megametre from the station, upon which it continued it’s approach on standard propulsion. A brief message was flashed at the station to identify the ship; {INV Atalanta, arriving. Our passengers will be Displaced into your hangar bay shortly.}

The Major in command activated the vessel’s address system.
“Templar, we have arrived. Is your equipment ready?”
“It is. We are both suited up and ready to go,” came the reply. “We’re heading to the bridge now.”

“So, everything is prepared?” asked the Major, now standing beneath the main hatch with his two passengers. Both were wearing their battlesuits, helmets in hands, and the younger woman was carrying a laser rifle.
“Yes. We’ve mirrored Calliope into my suit’s core, loaded all our equipment into a container and tagged it for transfer. We’ve taken most of your small arms ammunition, I’m afraid,” Marino replied.
“Don’t worry about it. We won’t need it,” he assured her. “Are we in position yet?” he asked over the address system.
“Yes sir. Eighteen hundred metres from the station, as you ordered,” the pilot replied.
“Then you had best get going, Templar.” He looked at the other woman. “Linda, I want you to listen to Templar Marino’s instructions, she has more experience than you. Understood?”
“Yes,” was the simple, soft-spoken reply.
“And Templar, remember what I told you,” he added pointedly.
“I will.”
“Very well. Calliope, please transfer our passengers and their equipment over to the station,” ordered the Major.

Three silvery opaque ellipsoids expanded out of nothingness in an empty section of the Nexus XVII docking bay, held their size briefly, then shrank away again, leaving the two officers and the small cargo container behind.
“Templar, if I may,” began Linda, as Marino began looking around for someone to question. “What was it that Major Andrews told you?”
“It was a personal matter. Nothing of importance,” replied Marino. The two were speaking their native Indoan Common, not the English they expected to be speaking for the duration of the mission.
“My apologies.”

OOC: Bump for people to catch up

OOC: Bump

After the mission briefing Hera and Jxero had headed towards the evaluator shaft.
"I don't like it"
"Whats not to like, they gave a perfectly good explanation for why their ship was unable to contact much past a signal of their present location"
"Yeah and that the problem, if it had been just a (magnetic) storm they should have been able to deal with the problem on their own."
"True, but your dealing on the matter too much. We'll get paid and I'll get to learn about this dominion's tech its a win win situation for us both"
"Yeah and that also the problem" mumbled Hera as she stepped into the evaluator

Samson was sure of it now. The Amazonians where telling him a bald lie to his face. I should have brought a Psyker dammit, I definitely did NOT bring enough guns.

He made a last mental note to pack the Hunter's Pride into a Flatspace Cell and keep it and the vehicles with him at all times. If nothing else, he could use the Blastsword as a welding tool by hooking it up to the Engine in the Hunter's Pride in an emergency.

"So, when are we leaving, and will those of us with smaller vessels be allowed to bring our ships along for the ride?"

"I doubt it."

The faces would turn to see Titan, stepping forward. They had all been listening the entire time, carefully recording the information, and speaking along their computer links via their installed communication cyborg suites, which essentially equated itself to a very advanced instant messenger system. Crossing his arms over his black armor, he continued speaking. "If this operation is just to go in, find out the problem, fix it and speak to the commander, then leave, we'll hardly even need that thing that is going to be our ride. However...." His head turned to gaze at the door the two Dominion soldiers had left.

"....if any of you have any sense in your heads, than you know that idea is complete and total bullshit. Now, as many of you are probably thinking, which shows you are the people needed for this mission, then hell is probably going to go to hell in a hand basket. more ships would not help. It would spread us out, give access to whatever hit that ship in multiple exit routes, and several other ideas I'm sure you understand. It is true that the risk of being stranded while only one ship is at our disposal is high, it's a heavily armored and somewhat well-armed beast that will only be taken over if we die, I imagine." He pulled out a knife, did a couple of quick slices to check the balance and put it back. "And it would take something far worse than a simple electromagnetic storm to do that."

He walked back to his team, whom all simultaneously proceeded to message him:

(R= Reaper, S= Silence, W= Watcher and T= Titan)


R: Bullshit

S: Damn straight. That human knew more than he let on. And I bet that lizard did too.

W: As much as I love the idea of getting to blow stuff up, sir, I really do not like the feel of this.

T: Does it really matter? We've handled worse before. This is what we do, take the shittiest and worst jobs handed to the Corporation and finish them with our particular style. We are the black ops agents, even more than the soldiers Ben has with him. We expect shit to hit the fan and then wreck the fuck out of it. So, we merely prepare ourselves for the worst.

S:.....Let me guess. Ship destroyed, squads lost and stranded, commanders dead, and lots of hostiles on our asses?

T: I wasn't reminding you of the Ardai op, but yes, think like that and we'll get through.

R: What of the commander and his men? I don't doubt their skills but they'll hold us back.

W: No worries. He told us that they're all expendable, although he is not looking to become the latest in the long line of dead commanders we have.

T: True enough.

The four prepared themselves, while Ben stood by them, gazing at the door. Both human and cyborg knew there was more going on than what was being told to them. They only hoped that the others knew the same. If not...they were victims and would die soon enough. Perhaps they could slow the enemy down enough to give them time to analyze the enemy.

"And I am an Eagle Scout. One thing we had hammered into our heads was to always be prepared. I find the thought of being out there without a backup ship as abhorrent as being out there with out a gun, or my Blastsword. 'Never let them see you bleed, and always have an escape plan.' The Pride is coming with me, even if I have to store it in Flatspace."

They know there is more to this than what we are being told as well, he thought, so, the question is, he turned to look back to the front of the room, am I paranoid enough...

"Now that we're all suitably prepped for the mission," the Chaplain said, suddenly enough that the others might start at his appearance, "I've got absolutely shocking news for you all that you definitely won't believe. Amazingly, in spite of all the evidence, and counter to any preconceived notions you may have been harbouring.... we're not going to be up against just a simple systems malfunction!"

Private Stern gasped theatrically. "This cannot be!" she exclaimed. Then added, "And, team, if you need anyone to issue fate-tempting statements, I'm your woman."

"A few Vojvodina-Nihonian ships disappeared in the same area some years ago," Druckman continued. "Eventually we managed to recover a few of the survivors from crippled life-pods -- apparently, self-crippled life-pods. The ones that made it back sane and relatively unscathed had some interesting stories to tell us." He paused. "If you all harbor any doubts about your mental fortitude, now's the time to turn back."

Druckman swung down his pack, not seriously expecting anyone to turn back. They were trained soldiers and professionals, after all.

Part of his mind told him that it was Druckman himself who might be mistaken for a civilian. Outside his powered armour he looked decidedly nonthreatening, and even in the dark blue sub-suit it was hard to reconcile the traditional image of the Space Marine with the chaplain's smiling eyes, the cross at his throat, the physique that made him look as though he worked out maybe once a week. He opened the pack and began to rummage inside it.

"We've got a couple of hours," he said. "Anyone for chess?"