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[WorkerDrone]

OOC: Besides this tiny line of OOC, used for the purpose of telling you this, there shall be no OOC in this thread. There is a different thread for that. Thank you. Oh, and heres the OOC link: http://www.bay12games.com/forum/index.php?topic=31851.0

Gaweir bumped his head into a pipe when he awoke to alarm sirens, and calls for battlestations. He had been trying to fix some pipework to the showers leading up and down through Engineering to the Living Quarters...that is until he decided to take a nap. He rubbed his head, and reached for his PDA.

You Have One Message

He cocked an eyebrow and pressed the data slate reading 'enter'.

Crewman-Orsidious report to Deck 1 Overseer Frederickson. The ship rumbled slightly, making him almost lose hold of his PDA. Gaweir glanced up through a jumble of pipes, and saw Crewmen rushing by, likely to report to the Overseer. "Why are we going into Battlestations..." Gaweir muttered under his breath as he crawled out of the pipework, but not before checking his holster for his side arm and pocketing his PDA.

He rushed past a pair of Marines, who turned around to watch a quick footed Crewman nearly slip and fall into someone. Gaweir said he was sorry to the bewildered scientist, offered to gather up her paperwork, and was off before she had any idea what had taken place.

The general clamor of the Engineering deck, maintaining the various systems aboard The Retribution that need constant care was even louder, if that were even possible, though Gaweir. The Overseer kept the crowd of Engineers and deckhands on task, sending them off to adjust equipment, or tend to computer systems. Before Gaweir could utter a single sentence, he was already ushered off to a set of autolift loaders, that apparently hadn't been in working order an entire service cycle. He cursed his superiors procrastination as he attempted to find out how to clear the machines jam.

A different Engineer took his place, and even walked him through the process, though Gaweir couldn't understand half of what he was being told. He noted what he could however. "You want me to what?"

"Clear the jam, by manual means. Look, just hook up your multitool to the system, and rerun the mechanisms. It should clear this 'loader up nice and easy." Gaweir looked disdainfully at the twitching machine, and got close enough to hook up his multitool. After messing with the machine for a minute he got it running. Grit spat up and nearly nailed him in the face, and would have if he hadn't been afraid enough of the machine to jump back at any sudden movements.

"Good work! I'll take it from here." Gaweir wondered if it was so easy, why couldn't this more experienced Engineer have taken care of it hours before? He would have reflected on this longer if he hadn't been jarred by the ship shaking slightly again.

Gaweir comtemplated staying in the Engineering Bay, but he knew he hadn't learned enough to be of any use here. He put away his multitool, and made for the entrance into Deck 2.

[Org]

Whats OOC?

[Dwarmin]

*BANG* “I wish I could be surprised” Duane said to no one in particular.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

He ceased hammering on the out of order vending machine. He though that while it was an excellent alternative to seeing a psychologist, it perhaps was not a very constructive use of his time. He had been called to fix a (in my opinion) an inconsequential error in the port tracking system display screens. One of the techs said he was seeing ghost images all over his screen. By the time he had gotten to the control room, though, the door was being gaurded by 2 marines-no admittance to non essential personnel (Like you, screw up). What was up with that? He had a few minutes to kill though, at least...

The machine had eaten his dollar first, before emanating a mocking clang and breaking down. He momentarily thought of breaking out his toolbox and taking it apart right here… but then he heard the alarms buzzing, as they were prone to do before…

Beep beep beep. PDA message.

Crewman-Duanec report to Deck 1 Overseer Frederickson

They always spelled his name wrong. “Probably another fracking inspec…” he was interrupted by the rocking of the ship, and the alarm claxons blaring like a thousand screaming demons from Hell-move to battle stations? As he gripped the wall for purchase, the machine nearly toppled over onto him! “Screw you too!” He said giving the machine a final thwock.

He began moving down the hall to the auto lifts. He was in no particular rush. Duane had to admit, he felt excited. This could be enemy contact. Those things…he had seen what everyone else had seen…a few blurry images (They looked like roaches to you yah?) and headlines on the networks… blaring in his mind in tune to the alarms.

WE ARE NOT ALONE! CONTACT LOST WITH SENSOR POST
MANKINDS WAR-MYSTERIOUS INVADERS SHOW NO MERCY
“WE’RE BEING SLAUGHTERED” LAST WORDS OF A DOOMED FREIGHTER!

…and no one knew what they looked like. He reminded himself that this wasn’t a game, but still…maybe they just ran into....

“Duane, hello? You going to catch the lift?” He looked up-it was one of his drinking buddies, worked in janitorial. He hurried to catch the lift with him. Frederickson was not a patient man. The elevator (plummeted down the shaft killing them all) jarred uncertainly and the lights went out...for a second or two. Then it started to move.

[SombreChapaeu]

*Grumble Grumble Grumble the Captain*

(Fuck the Captain, That son of a bitch gets me up 2 hours before normal after keeping my late serving the night crew and for what? because he had to have coffee for this special meeting.)

*coffee pouring, inside the fridge a glowing sandwich glows in a baggie.*

(IF I could figure out a way to get him to eat it, I'd feed his as that sandwich just to see what it does. but noooooooooooooo thats the guy above me who does sandwiches, I mean I'm not even trusted with the sandwiches WHAT GIVES?)

-ALERT ALERT ALERT-

"WHAT THE..."

LIGHTS GO OUT

"The hell?"

*SMASH, FALL, CRASH*

the lights come back on revealing him on the floor in a pool of coffee and blood, a nasty gash on his forehead, and a now stained cabinet above.

[Strife26]

At the call of general quarters, Strife dropped his tea on a nearby table and dashed off. The halls weren’t too busy, everyone had a different location to move to. Strife’s combat location was a minor sensor suite. It was located in the middle of deck three. The sensors themselves where scattered throughout the ship, each with its own small group of technicians (and gophers like Matthew). Strife found the spot easily enough.

There were a total of seven people for his station. Three were in charge of the actual sensors, one was senior technician, one was a bit more junior. There was also one lucky crewman like himself who had been selected to move up the ladder. Strife supposed that he had gotten good grades in basic chemistry to deserve such a thing. The other gopher (that’s what they referred to  themselves) Johnson was head and shoulders underneath one of the sensor places, probably replacing one of the fuses. Johnson wasn’t a bad sort, and Strife got along well with him. The Sergeant Markham was leaning against the bulkhead. He was the only one who was properly armed, having a shotgun in addition to his standard sidearm. He was the classic, tough, black Sarge. His personality grated on Strife a bit, but he was a professional at least.

Shortly after Strife arrived and reported in (he got a pointless “chillax for a bit), Johnson cam out.
“Okay sir, we’ve got all five primaries running again. It was a blown connector, easy enough to reset and reattach.”
“Sergeant.”
“Sorry Sergeant Markham.”
“Humph.”

Markham went back to polishing his weapon. Johnson turned to talk to Strife.
“Well, this is it, Strife. Our first action.”
“It is. Not much more to say, is there?”

No one wanted to wait with the techies. The bulkhead sealing their control room was about a foot thick, and the room itself protruded in the armor plating. Strife preferred to keep as much steel between him and the hostiles as possible. Armor was good. The trio didn’t exchange small talk. The ship was quiet here, just the normal throbbing of the drives, and the high-pitched whine of the sensors. After a while, their officer made an appearance.

2nd Lt Ballard was a tall Norseman. He was a likeable enough chap. About as green as they come, but he was understanding enough. His uniform was disheveled and he lacked his service coat. His hair was wet, but at least he had his comm. unit, a pullover helmet with a microphone. After a brief hello, he opened the door and went to confer with the techies. Johnson switched from staring at Markham to staring at Strife. Strife checked over his puny firearm. One clip in, safety on, nothing chambered. Three more clips in the holster. Strife wished that he’d had something else. Even a little boomstick like the Sarge.

Ballard came out and addressed the troops. “I’m not sure what is happening yet men, but our orders are to keep suite 3-H running. We seem to be engaging some number of smaller ships. The automatic feed is working fine, so we have no current problems. I don’t foresee use having any either. Staff Sergeant Markham, you’ll be inside the tomb, overseeing our techies. My helmet gets worse reception in there, so the crewmen and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ve already tapped into the intercom, so anything that I  say will get passed on.”

Markham moved off, and the big doors sealed tight. Ballard continued to talk. “It’ll be the first real combat for all three of us, eh Strife and Johnson? Don’t worry though. We’re just security guards for his operation. And if we have to do any ‘securing’ that means that the enemy has gotten through our fighters, our defenses, boarded us, and gone through our Marines. We shouldn’t see another soul.”
Strife could not resist warning, “Murphy sir.”
“That might be a problem, thinking about it. You’re both ordered to forget that I said anything.”

Nothing was happening by 3-H. The throbbing sped up, and the distant sound of one of the heavy rail guns could be heard, but nothing that affected Strife. A squad of marines, three with assault rifles and one with a battle rifle rushed by.

[WorkerDrone]

Gaweir dodged an unlucky nurse, and entered one of the Cryo Bays among Deck 2. All of them we're wide open and empty, as they had no need to enter cold sleep, not to mention the fact that there wern't enough of them at anyrate to house the entire crew. Several more aides we're helping various people out of the area. Such people usually had gotten themselves hurt during the usual ship repairs, either breaking a bone in one of the low gravity areas of the ship, and dropping a heavy crate on their feet in the Storage Deck. Gaweir had been one of the former during his early days on ship. He hadn't gotten the hang of Low Gravity very fast. Trial and error had taught him well however. With...various bumps and bruises every now and then.

Gaweir checked his weapon after entering an autolift. The holster at his hip carried four clips, one of which he took and loaded into his weapon, but not before giving a once over. After he was sure it was loaded, he switched on the safety and holstered his sidearm, just when he had reached deck 3.

Gaweir looked around before finding a dark corner away from rushing persons. He looked down at the blue screen and looked at his PDA's data slate. After looking through general information, and even using the communication system, though that hadn't gone well as it was mostly filled with angry chatter, or panic. He looked back at the top left corner of his screen and noticed he had gotten a new message.

Crewman-Orsidious, requested for repair of power distribution in Deck 3.

A direction panel opened up showing him where he needed to go. "Sensor suite...damn too many of them." Gaweir looked up at the trop of boots on metal as Marines rushed by. "Must be the local squad." Gaweir ran the opposite direction.

General alert. Incoming objects.

The ship shook again. "What the hell was that?" Gaweir had nearly fallen on his face, but had managed to steady himself on a wall. The ship shook again, this time the sound of High Velocity Cannons firing. Gaweir imagined people scrambling fighters in the hanger bays. "Combat. Fighting. That can't be good at all." Gaweir imagined himself facing enemies with a rather small sidearm.

He sped on.

[Pandarsenic]

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Kurtis Sewell, Crewman, panted as he ran down the corridor. He deftly ducked and dodged around (read: ran in wide arcs around) the other people in the cramped, claustrophobic passage. He could feel his feet hammering the deck in time to his heartbeat.

He checked his PDA.

Crewman-Kurtis Sewell to Deck 6, Flight Dock 2

He burst through the door into a veritable beehive of activity. In a reasonably well-rehearsed action, he made his way to his computer and began typing in verification codes. On a subscreen, the director of the Tower (a name which, like Air Control, was no longer accurate but stuck out of habit) messaged him, indicating that he was to assist in scrambling all of the fighters.

Oh shit. He began to type quickly, assigning staggered liftoff times to a chart of fighter-bombers.

[cowofdoom78963]

Ifrit leans back on the steel metal box next to the door that leads into his room on the small isolated orderly residential hallway in the sick bay. He was just standing in the hall reading his porn. It was just another quiet day on The Retribution.

But then he saw a figure running down the hall. "whats'a the good news?" said Ifrit calmly glancing away from his literature. The figure was silent.

The lights flashed once then were off. "What the..." Ifrit droped the magazine and quickly ran into his room. It is stragely quiet, like the whole sick bay was empty. *BASH* *KLUCK* *SMASH* It was bashing on the door. "Who are you?" There was no response. *BAMN* *BAMN* *bamn* *bamn* and it stops...

"Wait a minute..." Fingering his pistol Ifrit opens the door, the lights are on.
Everything seems fine, Ifrit picks up his magazine and walks into the main hall of the sick bay. A few bodys are strewn about, and it seems to be devoid of all life.

"Hello? Is'a any one there?" But there was no awnser. He Walks into the clinic, all thats there is doctor clutching a large scalpel. Cripled and lieing on the ground. "Damnit, that thing came through here. Got me, right in the gut... Take this, I dont need it where I'm going..." The doctor hands Ifrit the scalpel. Then caughs up blood and dies.

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* IFRIT TENGE report to Deck 3 The PDA flashed.

Ifrit climbed onto the elevator, upon reaching deck 3, he was greeted by chaos and the sounds of explosions just outside the ship. "Augh! What tha fuck is'a going around here?" A large man in armour comes up to Ifrit. "Ifrit right? I need you to take this crate up to the armoury" and puts the heavy crate in Ifrits hands. "Wait! You tell me what'sa happened to the sick bay!" "What? We were ordered to evacuate the sick bay for some reason, I dont know anything other then that. Now get to the armoury, Theres no time for chit chat!"

Ifrit boarded the elevator once again with the crate.

[rickvoid]

Jeremy Grevan's Electronic Grievance Log, Entry One: "I can't believe I signed up for this shit."

So... yeah. The Shrinks have been telling me for years that I should write stuff down in a journal. That it would make me "feel better", or some shit like that. Never tried it before, though. But, now that I've got this fancy-schmancy PDA, what the hell.

Grievance #1: Supply Procurement, Transportation, and Disbursement. That was the only description of my new job I was given when I volunteered for this shit. Do you know what that means, little PDA? No? Ok, I'll tell you!
Pick up this box (Procurement!) take it to this location (Transportation!) and leave it there! (Disbursement!)
Yeah, that's what I do all day. All, fracking, DAY. "Go to location A! Pick up box A! Move box A to location B! Take box C to location F! No, not F! Q! And bring boxes R, T, and D with you! Now go back to location B and bring box A back to location A!"

I swear, If I ever get off this giant floating coffin I'm going to find the fracking bastard who told me about this "SWEET GIG!" and pound his fuck0a-asjdfsdjjklkjk;had;hfs

Without warning, the entire ship seemed to buck beneath Jeremy, flinging him and his PDA off the bed and onto the floor of his bunk. The lights went out, and a siren began to wail from somewhere in the ship. Lying there, shocked by the unexpected turn of events, he found himself reminded of a particular red-haired beauty who'd done much the same thing before snorting out a particularly dirty laugh before joining him on the floor.

The emergency lights snapped on. Jeremy looked up, to find his whole room in disarray. That buck had been strong enough to not only fling him around the room, but most of his furniture as well. A shattered tumbler of whiskey, it's contents criminally wasted on the floor, glittered like blood in the red glow of the emergency lights. Belatedly, Jeremy realized his PDA was beeping at him. He hoped the damn thing hadn't broken in the fall. He could only image the mountain of paperwork it would require to get a new one. Glancing at the device, he selected the glowing image that looked like and old-style Earth letter.

Crewman-Grevan, report to Deck 3.
Overseer Frederickson.

"Well, aren't you just a vague bastard?"
Jeremy considered staying right the hell where he was for the duration of whatever the crisis was, but quickly changed his mind. If he didn't follow orders, they'd probably assign him some kind of worse duty as punishment. He couldn't think of one off the top of his head, but if there was one thing he'd learned from life, it was that there really was no bottom to the bull-shit scale.

Grabbing his 10 mil from the drawer that used to be by his bed, Jeremy slipped into the darkened hallway.

[WorkerDrone]

Gaweir slid to a stop at a bunker-like compartment that served to, in Gaweirs mind, service a sensor array. The lights went off after a few moments of staring at the door. "That...must have been what the power distribution problem was." Gaweir struggled to see through the dark, when a loud clattering sound startled him. Twenty or so metres ahead of him, a sound of slick foot steps could be heard coming toward him. "H-hey! Open up!" Gaweir called banging on the door.

He pulled out his 10mm Pistol, and shakily aimed it down the corridor, whilst banging on the door. "There something out here!" Gaweir turned off the safety. "Shit..." Gaweir muttered under his breath when he had gotten a whif of whatever was coming his way. "Stop! I'm warning you! Who goes there?" Gaweir banged on the door harder. He hadn't shot at anyone before. Just lifeless targets at the range sometimes.

"Hey guys! Open up already!"

[Emperor_Jonathan]

James was in the engineering deck. Reading his porn in the break room, laying across a few chairs. The engineering guys were pretty cool, down-to-earth guys, unlike the officers and shit. A beeping sounded. "Gah what the fuck now." James PDA went off, he picked it up and looked at it.

CREWMAN Tynan Report to Commuications

Communications, great, maybe he can spend his time making something useful. Like coffee. "Fuck it, I'm not going." Just as he said that the chairs he was laying in collapsed from under him and the whole ship shuddered. "Shit!" James scrambled up and started running, dodging some of the startled engineers, he took out his pistol. Four clips in his belt, he took one out checked it while he was running and jammed it into the gun. Three more in his belt. He looked up, marines were running to and fro, others were running around, scrambling to battle stations. Up ahead was the elevator, he jumped into it, marines and others were running out into the engineering level. "Deck 8 c'mon!" James kept tapping the button for Deck 8, until finally with a shudder the elevator started to slowly creep upwards.

[cowofdoom78963]

*BZZZT* The elevator stoped gently in the armoury and made a noise.

"Hey I a'heard you needed this package delivered!" Ifrit yelled over at a man in a labcoat. The only person in that compartment. But there was no response. Ifrit droped his box then walked over to him and nudged him on the elbow. The man flopped lazily to the ground.

"He'sa dead..." Ifrit said, But then the supposed corpse sprang to life! "MOTHER FUCKER I WAS TAKING A NAP!" he screamed at Ifrit. He was a pale bespecticled man. "AUUUAAUAUH! I THOUGHT YOU WERE'A DEAD!" Ifrit screamed flapping his arms.

"nonsense, as you can clearly see I was sleeping." The man pushes up his glasses.
"THIS IS'A NO TIME TO SLEEP! WERE UNDER ATTACK!"

"What? were under attack?! By what?"
"I dont know, I just have been told to bring you thisa box."

"Oh! Well what are you waiting for?! Open it up with that knife!" The man points to Ifrits scalpel.

They walk over to the box and Ifrit carefully cuts open the binding. "what isa that?"
The man pulls a small glass vial out the box. There was a black liquid inside.


"Black Cran..." said the man.
"Black Cran? What'sa that?"

"Its a deadly neurotoxic, I dont know how it got on this ship... Nor why they would send me this"
"A neurotoxic? What'sa that?" questioned Ifrit.
"Its a deadly poision, that affects the neuros. This one can kill a man in a matter of seconds!" the man replied. "I need to study this, go back to who called you here and ask him what he wants me to do with this. Also my names Paul, nice to meet you."

"Oh! And mine'sa Ifrit! I'll a be right back."

And Ifrit boards the elevator, headed back to storage.

[Emperor_Jonathan]

The elevator sped up till James reached communications, the doors slowly spread open, James came out running. Marines were scattering around, going to their various posts. Several people were going to Communications. A bang sounded, James gun accidentally fired, the bullet lodging into a nearby wall. Several people were giving him weird looks. "Sorry! Sorry! It accidentally went off!" James got the gun and out the safety on, then continued running to communications.

Communications was a fairly large room, there were monitors all over the walls, the monitors had various pictures on it. There were rows of workstations where people sat, monitors embedded in them, on a few were radar. Most had microphones on the desk. James walked to his immediate superior, Sergent Lister.

"Sir!" James saluted him.
"Ah, James. Finally you came you bum."
Ignoring this comment, "What's the situation? Sir!"

The sarge didn't answer, however a man could be heard saying, "Multiple alien vessels incoming. We need more pilots out!"

"James."
"Yes sir?"
"Get us some coffee."

Bitch.

[Strife26]

The trio stared down the halls, no one was in sight. Ballard was listening to the command channels.

The entire deck rocked.
"Shit! What was that Sir?"

"Something seems to have broken through our fire field and made contact with the ship. If it was a contact warhead, it would have been louder. What was it? I'll figure it out. You two, keep you eyes open. Strife, look that way, Johnson, the other. Weapons free."

Ballard went inside. Strife and Johnson looked at their respective areas. Strife didn't see anything, and Johnson didn't shoot. A tense minute latter, Ballard came out.

"What ever it was, it wasn't big. Maybe enough room inside for three human sized boarders, plus life support and a system for getting through our armor. A scouting mission. It hit close by."

The sound of a machine gun echoed throughout the ship. It was loud and close. Only a few rounds, but it sounded a lot louder than anything the marines carried . . .

"Fuck. There they are. Sarge, get out here NOW," Markham came out. "We've got to figure out what that it. 3-H, you are now on lockdown. You will have no support for the moment. Strife, Johnson, Markham, with me. There isn't anything friendly around here that command knows about. If I fire, open up on it. Let's move."

With his pistol drawn, Ballard moved off at a decent pace. The other three followed. Strife thought "Is moving safer or more dangerous than staying at Hotel?"

[WorkerDrone]

He watched the door slowly slide open. More of them would be near, he knew, but he was fast. Several of the beings before him bore their primitive weapons, aimed at himself. His Shock Cannon rocked again and again, and they we're all torn off their feet, bones broken, bodies limp. He advanced down the corridor. The shockwave set off from his pod had shut down the lights. He did not need them. His H.U.D provided him every possible visual need.

Down the corridor, he could see another one, much more weakly armed, shakily pointing his pistol blindly at him. He felt no satisfaction with aiming his Cannon at such a simple being, not worthy of combat with one such as himself. Then the door infront of the under-being opened, and more beings exited.  Excellent.


Gaweir rolled into a different hall way, narrowly avoiding a rushing force that sent a few men off their feet. He didn't stick around to find out whether or not they we're dead. He couldn't even see the bullets coming at him. He jumped to his feet and rushed down the hall way. When the footsteps got closer he fired blindly behind him, in hopes of hitting something. He wasn't used to firing weapons without earplugs. It jarred his head with the gun rocking wildly in his hands. He quickly weaved into a different corridor to avoid fire.

In front of him, he could see more crewman. In hopes of them being Marines, Gaweir rushed forward to meet them. "Hey! Look out! Somethings coming!"


"Persistant ones, these are." She pointed down at the near lifeless human at her armoured feet. "Oh yes. They squirm like worms, even if you take off their legs. Pull out their lungs, and they stop screaming." She thought such savagery was needless. She glared at her underling. "Such things are beyond us. You should be more like-" He growled. "Like Vextres? Always like Vex, I must be. Why does he draw your attention so much?" She was taken aback. He had never confronted her before. "Just because he's so perfect. Neither agressive nor passive. A perfect specimen." He advanced a pace. She took a step back, then growled herself. "And what if I do think as such? Perhaps you forget your place." He quickly looked down.

"We have no time for this. More are coming. And the rest of the Band is about to come aboard. We must clear the way." The two delved further into the ship. Above their heads, past a sign.

Sick Bay