• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Futuristic π™Ώπšπ™Ύπ™Ήπ™΄π™²πšƒ πšƒπ™°πšπšƒπ™°πšπš„πš‚ β€” ic

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here
Other
Here

idalie

α΄€ΚŸΚŸ ᴏꜰ Κ™α΄€Κ™ΚΚŸα΄Ι΄
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
projecttartaruschpt1.gif


  • β€œFortitudine vincimus β€” By endurance we conquer.”
    ― Alfred Lansing, Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage

    The Echo’s interior waxed and waned, bulging at the seams as it’d struck the ground, furrowing soil and wet plant matter up around the twisted hull. Like some foreign seed, half dug. An acrid, uncomfortable stench of electrical burn emanated, dew and rainfall seeping between torn metal plates, its sharp drip as though a sink overflowing, tracing moisture down interior chamber walls where it gathered at the foot of malfunctioning stasis pod. Faces pristine, their staggered release from cryosleep left the dead appearing sallow, hollow in cheek and eye, lips pulling taut away from their teeth.

    Twenty-five years had elapsed in seconds; there was no memory of being sky-bound, nothing that ought to have signified their extraordinary progress of bending space to skip across it. Nothing but a ship and her mournful groans, the bitter taste of hospital-grade oxygen and cold limbs. Heavy, numbed but able to fumble their way to yank the interior handle.

    Lights hung, wires exposed as they’d come loose, modules and scattered debris now sprawling across empty hallways and water-damaged crew spaces. The Echo was constructed to keep colonists first few months of acclimation to their new home in mind, outfitted with temporary accommodation and lounges to ease the spoiled and technology-reliant into proactive members of a foundling society ⁠— albeit with the fading, insistent beeps of alarms ⁠— this would no longer be the case. A ship for 5,000 proved to now represent an apocalyptic solitude. On Earth, it was common for doomsday to loom about the heads of so many, discreetly indulging ignorance where it encroached. Adapt to the symptoms, be blind to their cause.

    Accustomed to such populated end times, in the quiet of a new dawn under another sun, silence settled over the remnants; their bretheren having not died with a bang but a whimper.

    350 souls remained aboard, and not all could confess to being glad they were spared. Families halved, lineages lost, surnames blinking red as the sheer amount turned the chamber an eerie atmospheric crimson. At the helm of the control panel, a step above the formations of pods, slumped a silhouette in the glow. In life, he’d been known as Officer Yusri Lee as posed by the embroidered tag sitting over his sunken breast, yet in death, tattered overalls hung loose on the emaciated and mummified remains. Hair still soft at the touch.

    ⬩ β¬₯ ❖ β¬₯ ⬩​

    Your last recollection was Earth. Its acidic, sun-baked atmosphere, the hours of preparation and assistants who aided you into these tiny, streamlined coffins with their uncomfortable stretcher-like beds and glass displays.

    The air tastes of cool petrichor, something unaccustomed as the rich breeze gently encompasses you, humidity beginning to build with the warmth you’re unable to bask in. Save for the glow of sunlight that outlines each break and fracture of the ship, you find yourself amidst row after row of deceased markers, unscathed, albeit weighed by drowsy ache. Peeling the remnants of medical tape from your eyes, it appears the dim surroundings have some purpose aside from their new-found responsibility as a cemetary⁠ ⁠— quelling the growing migraine at the base of your skull.

    The robotics assuredly had a harder landing, tossed from their docking stations with few still clinging to their charging points. Those suffering worse damage twitch and tremble, chattering in loops of dialogue set by the manufacturer, calling out for replacement parts and attention. Their self-diagnosis, unbeknownst to their limited understanding, is terminal.

    Is this the life you wished for? Desperate survival that could fuel you to rise above your rank and obtain the respect of your peers? Perhaps it's providence.

    Or have you done something to deserve this? What was it you left behind?


 
Last edited:
tw: graphic content, loss of life, blood, injury, body horror




Dr. Cassandra ,, Thorne ❜ ─ environmental ecologist ─ ❛
tags: open ; location: crashsite
interactions: open ; notes: oh no.




Dr. Cassandra Thorne's voice cut through the chaos, urgency lacing every word as she tried to help the severely injured survivor. "Can you tell me your name?" Her tone was firm, seeking a response to gauge the survivor's level of consciousness.

The survivor's voice was weak, barely audible as they managed to whisper their name. "Good," Cass replied, her fingers pressing against a wound as she fought to stanch the bleeding. "Do you know where you are right now?" The question was quick, the need for answers pressing.

A mumbled response, filled with confusion, reached Cass' ears. "Good, the ECHO," she affirmed, her eyes darting around as she assessed the makeshift triage area. "It crashed, yes." The survivor winced, a pained expression crossing their face.

"It's okay. It's gonna be okay," Cass repeated, though her voice shook slightly as she felt the survivor's pulse weaken beneath her touch. Desperation tinged her words now. "Do you have any family back home?" The survivor's eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.

"I need you to stay awake for me, can you do that?" Cass' voice quivered as she pleaded with the fading survivor. "I know you're tired, but you need to fight it right now, okay?" She applied more pressure to the wound, her hands slick with blood. "Stay awake."

The survivor's breathing grew labored, and their responses became mere whispers. Cass' heart raced as she fought to keep them from fading. She couldn't lose another soul to this tragedy, not when she had the power to help.

"Stay awake," she urged, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. "Please stay. Stay for me." Her hands continued their work, but her movements became frantic, as if by sheer force of will, she could keep him from slipping away.

The urgency in her voice remained, but now it was a desperate plea.

"Don't leave," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. "Benji, don't leave me." Her hands trembled as she applied pressure to the wounds, her vision blurred by tears she couldn't hold back. She couldn't bear to lose him again, not like this.

Cass was no longer looking at a stranger but at her own flesh and blood. Her brother, Benji, was lying there, fighting for his life. Her voice quivered with fear and desperation.

The memories crashed over her like a tidal wave, the frantic fight for survival on their isolated mountain farm, the rebels, and ravagers who descended upon them like a relentless storm.

Chaos had engulfed their peaceful haven; fear had gripped their heart like a vise. A deafening explosion as a bomb tore through their defenses, hurling her and her brother to the unforgiving mud. The weight of his broken limbs pressing against her, the warmth of his blood seeping onto her skin....

It was too late. Despite her efforts, her brother's eyelids grew heavy, and he faded away. A raw and heart-wrenching sound filled the air as she cried for her brother, for the survivor, for all the loss and pain she had endured.

It was as if fate was determined to take everything from her. The ghost of her losses haunted her, and even after all these years. Even as he slipped away once more, she couldn't let go, the riptide of her grief threatening to drag her underneath the surface. Panic clawed at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to pull her back into the abyss.

Cass was in a daze. Someone gently pulled her away from the lifeless body. She clung to them for a moment, her grip weak and trembling, before finally letting go.

A profound numbness settled over her. It was hard to focus on the person who was speaking to her, their words distant and muffled as if coming from underwater. She did her best to nod and respond, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Are you hurt?" the person asked, their voice filled with concern.

Cass looked down at herself, her body covered in bruises and scrapes from the crash. She couldn't even feel the pain anymore; it was all just a distant sensation, like a faint echo of what she should be experiencing. She nodded slowly in response to the question.

"Okay, we need to get you to med bay," the person said, gently helping her to her feet. "Oh shit, sorry, habit. Med bay's as good as gone. Where's that damn android?"

Cass allowed herself to be guided, her mind still reeling from shock. She knew she needed medical attention, but it all felt so insignificant in the face of everything that had just happened. What did it even matter anymore?

They stumbled upon a medical android, tirelessly stabilizing a gravely injured survivor with a serene smile on their face. Relief surged through Cass at the sight of the functioning android – a glimmer of hope in the midst of devastation.

While painful, Cass' injuries were not as severe as those of others. The stranger's voice was filled with genuine concern and a sense of urgency. "What's your name?" they asked her, their voice cutting through the fog and the mayhem. "Come with me, Cass. Find a safe spot over here," they directed, guiding Cass to a relatively sheltered area amidst the wreckage, where survivors gathered. She didn't remember giving them her name. "Don't move, okay? I'll be right back," they said with a firm but gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and then they were gone. She sat there on the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion, pain, and grief.

The exterior of the ship gleamed like a polished mirror, and Cass couldn't help but wince as she happened to catch her reflection on what appeared to be a large, broken piece of the wing. Scabbed-over cuts crisscrossed her face, and fresh bruises painted a vivid mosaic on her skin. A violent descent.

Cass' hands shook as she lifted up her shirt to examine the damage on her torso. The sight of the bruising that mottled her skin made her wince, and she gently pressed on her ribs, wincing again as pain shot through her. The rest of her body wasn't faring much better. Beyond the bruises and scrapes, her body had withered away during the 25 years of cryosleep. It was a shadow of what it had once been. But as she looked around, it looked as if the others were in no better shape.

They were supposed to have had time to recover, build up their strength, and prepare for the challenges of studying their potential new home. But now, there was no time. They were just... there, in this unfamiliar and unforgiving place, with no chance to prepare.

Cassandra buried her face in her hands. Tears welled up, hot and unrelenting, as the weight of the situation pressed down on her chest.

What the hell was it all for?




coded by archangel_


 
Last edited:



marcus.





































  • mood



    well. fuck.
















Marcus' nose was bleeding, and he wasn't sure if it was just because twenty-five years of cryosleep had dried him all out like beef jerky, or because something was wrong. He supposed it didn't matter.

The ship--his ship--was in tatters, a broken wreck of a thing, ruined like a child's toy chewed on by some great teething puppy. He stumbled through the halls of it, his feet clumsy from lack of use, assessing the damage.

"Fuck,"
he signed, though there was no one else to see.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."


Frankly it was amazing any of them had survived.

Marcus slowed in a hall and let his head thunk against a mostly undamaged section of wall. There was a part of him that wanted to slide down the floor and just stay there. Rest a moment. Maybe forever. But he didn't have time for that. He sighed, big and heavy, his ribs moving like reluctant weights at the end of his diaphragm, and then stepped back from the wall.

What needed doing?

Everything.

Augh.

Breathe.

Marcus did. He put his face in his hands, smearing his blood around on his fingers around his breath. Whatever.

One more time.

What needed doing?

He didn't know shit about people. Ignore that.

He could probably look at the busted bots, but that was a bandaid fix, even if he had been better at bots than he was. What they needed was to make sure that the ship was habitable, even just a little. Heat. Air. Water.

Marcus ran his hands down the back of his neck, forgetting that they were probably streaked with blood, and then went to find his engine room.

He did not think about what had happened before they crashed. It was over and done, and they had bigger problems to worry about.

The engine room door was jammed, and it took Marcus the better part of a quarter hour to finagle it open with his big wrench. Yankee ingenuity, his dad would have called it. Idiot stubbornness, his mom would've said. They were both right.

They were both probably dead by now.

The thought only gave Marcus relief, which he was sure wasn't the right emotion, but it was the only one he had. He stepped into the engine room, pulling his tool bag in after him. His nose had stopped bleeding. He had to choose his footing careful. It was a mess in here, the great engines still, some twisted in horrible contortions, even worse than the human carcasses he'd had to pass to get to them. At least they had had some kind of peace, still in their makeshift coffins. This was like being inside the carcass of some great mechanical beast.

Which it was, Marcus supposed.

What needed doing?

Everything.

Marcus went to the closest of the great engines and began his diagnostics.

































Survivor



2WEI










β™‘coded by uxieβ™‘
 
Last edited:
~Bo Lake...~
~Location: Echo medical labs...~
~Interactions: N/A...~

A chilling but pleasant embrace. Cold but tranquil rest. Bo lie dormant in cryostasis slumber. A finger twitch. Then an arm yank. As he slowly awoken from his deep sleep, he began to passively Take in the sights, sounds and feelings of his surroundings. The loose dangling wires and water damage. Even the very air around them felt odd. He blinked a few times and pinched himself. A small jolt in his wrist.

For a few moments it had felt like he was still in the military and overseas at a military outpost expecting to hear mortar rounds any second. He instinctively grabbed his rifle. Various scenarios crawled through his mind when his ai partner began advising him on protocol in such a scenario as the one he was in.

Memories fade and he remembered where he was and what he left behind. Or more specifically, whom he left behind. He let out a sigh and reached behind his ear and realized he didn't have a cigarette. None of that was important now because he would need to act and do so quickly. Others were aboard the ship and work still needed to be done and like the flip of a switch he was focused on his task.

Looking within the immediate vicinity, Bo was fine as far as he was concerned. Though other crewmembers likely weren't as lucky as he. Their ship may have crashed, but he didn't believe it to have been shot down so he wouldn't need to use his rifle here and of all places just yet. He had neither the tools nor the experience dealing with the injured much, but he worked well under pressure and he understood people that could help were busy and could use a hand or two at least

Bo might have been fine, but he needed to check on others if he could. He couldn't treat internal bleeding, but he could stop external bleeding with sufficient cloth and get people to medical staff which would make their job easier. He hung his rifle on his back and got up. Stretched his arms then legs, and se he made his way through the hall.

He eventually found three other people. One of which looked too out of it to lift a finger, another was stuck in stasis pod with a jammed door and the third was attempting to free them. Bo helped and through their combined effort, they managed to get him loose. He even slapped some sense into the first guy to get him moving. They seemed relatively fine from first glance, but he'd take them down to the medical facilities in case there was something he overlooked.
 
Last edited:


LUIS CASTILLO
location: Crash Site; interactions: ISHTAR ISHTAR

[tw: animal death, blood, injury]

The end of the world didn’t come as suddenly as one would expect.

There were no hellfires, no brimstone. There were no cataclysmic detonations that swept up all of life as it was known and extinguished it as simply as a candle’s flame stood against a hurricane. No ear-shattering combustions, no crust-cracking quakes shook what remained of Mother Earth.

She died quietly.

When the Earth began her decline, she did with an eerie, mournful stillness. For millennia, she hosted man and his ever growing host of inventions, making way among her beautiful flora and fauna for the most invasive of species. He used her without thankfulness or forgiveness, reaping the benefits of her produce and her land, never looking back sentimentally on the path he’d razed.

It started with the onset of fever - the temperatures that grew degree by degree higher, staving off winters and melting ice caps. Acidic rains fell on unprotected forests, killing them at their roots. Wildfires tore relentlessly through once lush plains. The mighty oceans rose, vengeful and angry, ever higher against the coasts.

In reply, people stood around, arms crossed, sighing sadly and lamenting that there was nothing more they could do. The only solution was to expand to other Earths. Leave a dying planet to her own mournful decline. What more could we have done?

No, the world didn’t end all at once. More often than not, one who’d lived through its slow and imminent decline would think hardly anything had changed until looking far back to their childhoods, perhaps even the photos taken by their grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents. For them, the sky had always seemed that hazy ocher, the air always tasting like such bitter salt and ash, the nighttimes becoming void vacuums where once choruses of frogs and cicadas grew louder in the summertime.

Some, conversely, would look back and remember the exact moment that they realized they were at the end of the line. Luis remembered this moment clearly.

It was 2287 AD, in May. He remembered this because Marisol had just turned five. They were living in northern California at the time, he and Ana and Marisol and Gobi, their old mixed mutt with a massive underbite and graying snout.

They’d gone to the beach that day. The air was still and suffocatingly hot. Only a few yards of beach stood between the vast, dark ocean and the boardwalk. Trash circle around in the gusts of wind blasted from speeding cars, dancing across the air before settling, waterlogged, in the waves.

The beaches were often deserted as they were now. The beach held little appeal now to those who still lived here. The waters were too acidic, the air too salty and the heat too unbearable, the sands too littered with plastic and glass, to find much reason for being here.

But Mari loved the beach. She was running next to him, darting ahead and then doubling back, holding out at arm’s length her stuffed plush seagull named Martin, making him dive and dip and twirl on imaginary sea breezes. She’d just finished kindergarten that afternoon and he and her mother were taking her for an afternoon stroll to celebrate.

She’d been partial to seagulls lately, for whatever reason. Even as a man who’d dedicated his life to studying animal life, he’d never believed seagulls to be particularly fascinating creatures. Just their name brought to mind fields of white, crusty excrement and chiding, obnoxious calls. But Luis was never really a man to dislike any animal (with the exception of a few men who he’d rather not have been elected into office). And now that Mari was drawn to the seagulls, he found that he liked them a little more than he had before. Perhaps, she liked them so much because they were some of the few living animals she’d seen in person, along with the occasional dog like Gobi, or perhaps the odd squirrel or a rabbit darting across the pavement.

Gobi had started barking, running forward at a pace much hastier than his usual lope towards the boardwalk. There, he found a mound of brown fur, half covered in sand, likely some discarded jacket or blanket. As Luis meandered towards the heap, he caught his breath. Not before inhaling the stench of rotting flesh, Luis regarded the mound with a dread solidifying like a rock in his gut. A sea lion, quite obviously deceased. She had been for a while.

Mari had run ahead and turned back around, skipping and jumping back towards him. Her eyes were on her stuffed animal, and as she neared, he knelt to her and scooped her up, twirling her around with a feigned playfulness. He cupped her chin in his calloused fingers, directing her eyes up to the sky. β€œDid you see that, mija? I think I saw a seagull.” A small gasp and she pointed her whole head up to the vermilion sky, eyes darting around the clouds for a glimpse of the bird. Luis carried her along, looking back over his shoulder to the decedent. He pulled his gaze from the creature, instead looking ahead to the remainder of the beach they were to walk.

A few yards ahead was another mound of brown fur, then - a few feet further - two of them huddled together in the face of death. He paused for a second in shock, glimpsing in the entirety of his periphery, handfuls - no, dozens - of sea lion carcasses, gathered on the beach, having sought familiar company in which to die. The once familiar silence of the beach suddenly thrummed hauntingly with the buzz of hordes of flies, gathered for a feast. Mothers, babies, fat-bellied males. Dead, dead, dead in droves.

Luis wanted to vomit. But, at that moment, his daughter tried to look back down to the beach, to which he tricked her yet again to keep her head in the clouds. β€œLook, over there! Did you see it? How did you not see it?” He teased. Mari immediately reassessed the task at hand - finding the elusive gull.

Luis had never been a big drinker. But that night, after they’d put Mari to bed and Ana followed after - kissing his cheek and telling him not to stay up too late - he pulled an old gifted handle of tequila from the cabinet and loosened its sealed cork. Like in the reel of some cursed Super 8mm, their eyes fluttered by on repeat, wide open and chocolate brown, looking up to the sky; flies eagerly rimmed their lashes, their larvae coming alive in their mouths and nostrils, squirming their way into the open air. Nothing to save, nothing left.

Luis poured a glass full of straight tequila over ice, sparing nothing to cut it, and swallowed it like one does with a bitter cold medicine. Then another. And another. With each swig, the horror of the situation became fuzzier, hazier, less real. Farther away. The world was ending, Luis lamented to himself. Ending, ending. And he couldn’t save it.

Reaching for the nearly-empty bottle, Luis in his drunken clumsiness, knocked it over, so that the last inch of liquor left spilled onto the rug. He put his face in his hands and, quietly, so as not to wake his girls, wept. The last few drops of tequila spilled onto the lip of the sideways bottle, lingering for only a moment before dropping down to the floor in a rhythmic, mocking

drip drip drip drip drip

---


Dripping onto his face. Cold and slick. Cold. Mercilessly cold.

Luis opened his eyes for a fresh drop to fall in his eye.

Where was he?

His head ached, like it’d been knocked around a bit. He blinked, trying to focus.

Right, he was awake. The Echo. Cryosleep. Something had malfunctioned. The glass of the shield that arced over his face, like a viewing window on a casket, had shattered in the middle. A pipe that had spanned the ceiling of the vessel many feet above had started to crack open at a gasket, leaking freezing cold water at a painstakingly slow rate, one droplet at a time, through the hole in his pod.

He tasted metal, which after moments of fatigued, confused reorienting he recognized as the iron-wrought taste of blood. He tried to wet his lips, running a dry tongue over a bleeding bottom lip.

The blinding, bright fluorescents of the vessel that were present when the passengers were all ushered off to a prolonged sleep weren’t there anymore. Instead, what hung overhead were the ominous, fleeting red hues of emergency lights, alarms rising and falling over speakers in temperamental increments, growing louder and louder as his hearing came swiftly back to him.

Something had happened. Something was wrong. His limbs felt stiff, like they were made of straw, the poignant pain of reintegration shooting up each of them every time he tried to move. Sit up, sit up. He encouraged himself with a foggy mind.

His right hand felt for the lever on the inside of the door, a piece of information he remembered being given to him by a detached, automated voice looping safety measures before he’d fallen asleep. IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, YOUR CRYOPOD WILL OPEN AUTOMATICALLY. IF IT DOES NOT, YOU WILL FIND AN EMERGENCY LEVER ON THE RIGHT SIDE. PULL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. PULL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. PULL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.

Luis pulled the lever, and the door to the pod opened with a metallic groan, coming to an abrupt halt halfway to opening. He tried to push it, his whole body feeling like it was being pricked by hundreds of thousands of needles as his senses truly came back to him. When he tried to move his left arm to help the right, he felt something else outside of the pricking sensation, which in its delayed reaction registered as a sharp pain. Luis inhaled humid air, clutching his left forearm and falling back onto the bed, which still smelled vaguely of antiseptic and bleach.

Looking through the opening on the right, he saw someone moving steadily past. β€œHey, hey!” He croaked, his voice hoarse from the oxygen. β€œHey, please - the door’s stuck.”

The stranger stopped and doubled back to Luis. Without complaint, he put his shoulder to the jammed door, and with a series of moans from both the hinges and the stranger, finally budged it loose.

β€œYou okay, man?” The man asked, tall and young and far too unscathed in comparison to how Luis felt. He wore a jumpsuit like Luis did, except the patch over his left breast read out H. Beck. Beck reached over, helping Luis out of the pod.

β€œI think my arm’s broken.” Luis called over the rhythmic alarm, cradling the injured limb in his dominant one, managing to free himself and to stand next to H. Beck. β€œWhat happened? How long has it been?”

β€œI’m as lost as you are, mate. Just woke up. Think we’ve crashed somewhere. Haven’t had a chance to find the deck yet. There were some medical supplies up this way.”
H. Beck took Luis in a steady arm, beckoning forward. β€œC’mon, can you walk?” To which Luis nodded. The stranger guided Luis through the wreckage, rows of pods like his own, some in better shape, some in worse, most occupied by unmoving figures hidden behind frosted coated glass.

When they got to a cache of supplies in what looked like the remains of a medical bay for the ship, Castillo leaned against an unused patient table, looking around at the wreckage, still gaining his senses back, obviously much slower than Beck had. β€œNeed something to brace the break.” Luis managed, which set the eager Beck to work. The Australian shuffled noisily through drawers of medical supplies, before finally standing straight and triumphant with a plastic leg splint and ace wrap. Luis nodded to his eager expression, the throbbing in his arm becoming a more and more acute burning pain with each moment that his body began to slowly awaken from its dormancy. β€œShould work…I’ll need you to re-set it.”

The suggestion took the stranger aback. β€œMe?”

β€œIt’s easy to do.”
Luis encouraged groggily. β€œI’ll walk you through it.” Until this moment, Luis had taught for exactly eleven years. More than anything else - his research projects, his private practice, his speaking engagements - one of his grandest, and most unacknowledged, talents was as a born teacher. To teach with a lightness of airs, of easy encouragement that made even the most hopeless of pupil feel capable, Luis managed to summon his old temperament now.

He breathed out through his mouth and put the limp limb on the metal table. He nodded down to the injured arm, eyeing a small piece of bone poking into the skin. β€œTake that brace you have, hold it flush against my elbow like this,” he guided Beck’s hand, clean and young and capable. β€œThat’s it. Now, you’re going to need to move the other bone so it rests against the brace. Don’t hesitate, go as quickly as you can.” He gritted his teeth, trying to keep from protesting as Beck tried his best with the wound. Finally, he’d pushed the stray bone against the plastic in line with the other. β€œGood,” Luis groaned. β€œYeah, very good. You’re a natural.” He encouraged, then wrapping the sticky bandages around his arm and the brace.

β€œA natural.” Beck breathed, straightening up his back, flashing Luis a bright, triangular smile. β€œHear that? I’m a natural.” He breathed over his shoulder to a woman who’d sat herself on the medical bed beside them, trying to lighten the dismal mood of the scene. Fully realizing someone real and suffering was there, Beck then muted his cavalier attitude and faced the woman, a pretty thing with olive skin and dark, disheveled hair. β€œHey, you good? What’s your name?”

Luis, tying off the bandages on the brace, looked up to see the woman sat beside them. β€œCass.” He breathed, and in the best way he could half-frozen and half-shocked, muttered the name of a colleague of what felt like centuries ago. One who wasn’t someone he’d considered a close friend, but nonetheless a revered and familiar figure. They’d brushed shoulders plenty of times before in their careers. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Luis that they’d do so again lightyears away from the last place they’d met. β€œIt’s good to see you.”

coded by archangel_
 
Last edited:


MAJOR BITA ALIZADEH
location: Crash Site; interactions: cwosont cwosont


What a wonder it must have been to have seen the stars go by.

There were parts of Bita that despised space, the way it made her insides turn and unsettle the further Earth looked from the ship, and there were parts of her that were just as excited by the idea as a child was looking upon the smog filled night skies. She’d taken a few trips to some of the other planets before, mostly working security type positions wherever the government needed to send its military, but the sensation of breathlessness and distance from familiar ground never ceased to make Bita feel like a stranger in strange lands.

The choice to find entirely new ground, in a new galaxy, had not been one decided on easily. Her parents had been proud, of course, though the circumstances had been less than preferable. To be dishonourably discharged and have them come swooping in to save her from imprisonment or a lifetime of shame and pity was a shame in itself to Bita. Running away hadn’t been like her, not at allβ€” so at least the idea of helping guard an infant colony in another galaxy sounded a lot more selfless than it probably was.

And it ate her up to consider that, to know that that was the truth of it all. At least her thoughts had been crystalised when they were settled into their pods, one person out of thousands locked away in ice to stay the journey. She'd been put into special clothes, injected with special serums, and wrapped up nicely to be sure that all of her enhancements and cybernetics wouldn’t fritz out in the cryosleep. It felt akin to a mummy being laid to rest, but she didn’t quite feel so regal in the act. There were no thoughts, no dreams, in those 25 years. She’d be thankful for that.

Waking up, however, had come all at once. The defrost had no doubt taken some time, systems compromised from a more natural and moderated return to living, but it had seemingly come in one breath. Awaking with a start, vision blurry and hearing muffled and echoing. Wet hair clung to her scalp, clothes dampened from sweat or water against her body and uncomfortable in their folds and bends. Her body still needed time to come to, to realise everything was working nowβ€”

But there was no time for that. Once she heard the faraway shouts of others awoken who were seeking both answers and order, Bita jumped to. Her pod was already open, having lifted at some point, and she allowed herself to stumble out. Limbs were numb, tingling and senseless, but she kept her footing. She’d thank the cybernetics for that one. Whatever she’d been pumped full of was already beginning to wear off, pain radiating from every former entry point of a scalpel and metal, and despite the warmth of her underclothes she felt so terribly cold.

It was chaos, to say lightly. The ship seemed to be in worse shape than the people she saw, darting about or hunched over in injury. Bita, mirroring, braced herself against her pod (next to which was a closed one, and the person inside did not seem to be awake or living), and felt herself for any injuries. Her head ached, fingers pulling back and revealing scrapes of dried blood from her temple and lip. Any other injuries were offset by the cybernetics kicking back in, and soon the cortisol that flooded her system would be replaced by an uptick in epinephrine, about as naturally made as it could be. Her nervous system was not allowed to rebel against the pain or feel it at all. It often made for the worst situations on the field, not feeling the full extent of painβ€” until later at least. But at least the soldiers kept moving, kept fighting. That was all that they were made for.

The next stop for Bita was to get some sense of the situation. By now she assumed that critical damages had been done to the ship (details that she’d never comprehend even with explanation, being someone who never understood spaceships and never would try to) and they had clearly woken from their sleep either too early or without warning. Anyone could make sense of what the dull flashes of emergency lights and sounds meant in a crisis. Either way, order had to be maintained. Other security was surely in the area, hopefully still alive, and they were attempting to round up the stragglers.

The last thing anyone needed was people wandering about. She half wondered if they’d even arrived on their planetβ€” the correct oneβ€” or if any escape would warrant a quick and immediate death in an unfit atmosphere. The notion was startling, getting her moving faster than before, hoping to gather as many people or to find the skeleton crew and see if they knew the situation.

Her eyes darted to some scrapes near the ceiling, widening once she realised she could see through it. The air was warmer, thicker, and it couldn’t be just from the panic of waking from an undisturbed frozen sleep. The next place her eyes looked were to the control station, above the stasis pods, and of the silhouette seated behind darkened glass.

Bita’s stomach turned.

Something was terribly, horribly and dangerously wrong. It was time for action.

Shaking away as much of the mental fog as possible, feeling the strength in her modified limbs, Bita took to moving swiftly and corralling anyone that she could see frozen in place (outside of their pods, moreso from the shock of waking up).

β€œFind anyone you can and get them to the main deck. Tell anyone you see.” She told a couple of strangers that were huddled by a pod, hoping that her confident stance and unwavering voice was enough of a reality check for them. Was the damned system working at the control panel? Could she get through to the ship?

Her attention was dragged elsewhere, seeing a stumbling and panicking individual with nobody around him. Empathy compelled her to halt her mission, despite the urgency that motivated her, and she quickly bee-lined for the man.

β€œSir, are you alright?” Bita asked, coming up gently toward the man, not wanting to frighten him more than he appeared. β€œI’m a security officer. My name is Bita. I’m asking everyone to meet up in the main deck where we can figure out what’s happened and headcount. Do you need any help?”

It was easy to see the panic in the man, and her natural assumption was that he was one of many who had signed alongside family to venture into the unknown. Either that or he was completely alone anyway, a debatably worse outcome than losing someone on this massive ship.

coded by archangel_
 


















just keep moving





Dr. Camryn Mallory was not easily phased by death. She'd been surrounded by it her entire life. Growing up with two doctors for parents during a health crisis, the subject was unavoidable. She'd talked about it, she'd witnessed it, she learned how to cope with it. As a surgeon, when someone died while under the knife, her knife, she knew there was nothing she could do about it. Freezing up wasn't an option when there was so little time to waste. When she encountered death, lingering on it was a luxury she could not afford. She had to move on.

Still, she'd never seen death at this scale. Cam had emerged from her cryosleep relatively unscathed, waking with a ringing noise in her ears that subsided rather quickly. However, looking around, she knew she was lucky. Once she emerged from her pod and regained her focus, she noticed that near her was a man lying on the floor, surrounded by blood. Approaching carefully, she searched for a pulse. Nothing. This was a man that was likely alive when... well, whatever happened happened, but bled out from an injury caused by the debris of the ship. She didn't really know what had happened. While her mind wandered to possibilities, she knew she did not have the time to be theorizing that at the moment. All she knew was that here were people hurt and she needed to help. She blocked out any of her initial feelings of dread, replacing them with a raw determination to assist as many people as she could. With a first aid and surgery kit in tow, she began to make her way through the Echo, to aid whoever needed medical attention.

The first person she came across was a woman sitting on the floor in tears who had dislocated her ankle. The doctor was able to get the woman's ankle back to it's proper position and began to wrap it up, while she was doing so another woman approached and requested painkillers, citing a terrible headache.
"They should be labeled in the top compartment of the first aid kit."
Cam motioned her head towards the kit, allowing the woman with very messy hair to take a few painkillers. Looking at the woman, she didn't seem too out of it, so Cam decided not to insist on taking a look at her, not when there were so many people around who seemed to be in very poor shape.

After wrapping the first woman's ankle, she assisted in guiding the woman towards a safer area, where many injured people seemed to be congregating. Helping the woman sit down, she looked around, taking stock of the situation. She decided against announcing that she was a doctor here to provide medical assistance, with so many people who needed it it would only cause a stir that would be utterly unhelpful. She knew that this would be her own personal nightmare once people started swarming her once they knew she was one of the few doctors who could provide proper medical assistance, she just wanted to prolong that outcome as much as possible. Making the decision to check in with individuals her eyes settled on a man who appeared to be in clear distress, so she approached him first.
"Hi, I'm Dr.Mallory."
She introduced herself, making an effort to provide a positive demeanor, one she was taught should make patients more comfortable. She leaned in a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of his name patch, as well as to visually assess him for any injury.
"T. Blixt, huh? What's your first name?"
Quite frankly, she didn't really care what his first name was and it showed through her disinterested expression while asking the question, she was just used to following the formula of starting with a simple question to allow her patients to ground themselves and feel calmer in an emergency situation. She very briefly awaited a response before moving on to her main concern.
"Are you alright? Do you need any medical assistance?"































Plexiglass












β™‘coded by uxieβ™‘

 


















Rise and Shine






The worst hangover Bev ever had was in her late teen years. She could still remember it, the night before was a good friend's birthday, and she went to the party, drinking more vodka than she'd ever consumed in her life, even to this day. She ended up with a headache that crushed her spirit and some horrendous nausea. All she wanted to do then was curl up and wither away. She'd sworn she'd never experience anything worse than that, but whatever she was feeling right now was so much more painful.

A headache sent by Satan himself and a wave of nausea consumed Bev. Pulling the inside lever to release the door of her pod, she propped herself up on her elbows, glancing around. The ship looked a damn mess. She heard some sobs and commotion not too far away. What the fuck was going on? Maybe they were attacked by aliens or some shit. Bev laid back down. If they were attacked, would playing dead be her best option? She took a few deep breaths, trying to ease her feelings of illness. No, being attacked probably wasn't likely; they probably broke down or something. Space travel was an imperfect science. Not that she was any expert.

Suddenly, she sat up in a fit of nausea, retching over the side of her pod. Oh fuck no. She was not about to lie there right next to her own vomit. She got up rather uneasily and began to wander, observing the disastrous state of the area around her. She spotted several large tears in the metal of the ship in one specific spot, it would probably be within her line of duty to fix that, but she turned and walked the other way. She wasn't messing with work today. After walking for a moment, tripping on some debris at one point, she spotted a woman with a med kit helping another woman wrap her ankle. While her nausea seemed to be wearing off, Bev decided to approach the woman and see if she could get something to help her relentless headache.
"Excuse me, so sorry to interrupt, but would you happen to have any painkillers in your med kit there? I woke up with a batshit crazy headache."
The woman, whom Bev assumed was a doctor, pointed her towards where the painkillers should be located. Bev found the pills and grabbed a few, swallowing two and putting a couple in the pocket of her jumpsuit just in case she needed them later.
"Thanks,"
She said graciously, nodding at the doctor before wandering off.

She didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. Looking around, she saw people with injuries- people in extreme pain, both emotional and physical. This was not in Bev's wheelhouse, she knew she could be of no help. Besides, she could barely think with this goddamn headache. She found a quiet, presumably safe corner and lay on the floor, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon. She attempted to gather her scattered thoughts. Maybe moving to another planet wasn't the best form for her mid-life crisis to take (which was actually beginning to seem like an end-of-life crisis given the current predicament, but you never know). Therapy might have been a more reasonable thing for her to do. But therapy was expensive and manipulating her absentee father into letting her onto the Echo didn't cost her a penny. Now, she was probably going to die here. She wasn't even sure where here was at the moment. This was all way too much for her to even think about, it made her head feel like it was about to explode.
"Fuckkkkk. What the actual fuck?"
She muttered to herself.






























Funkytown












β™‘coded by uxieβ™‘

 


  • artemis2.gif


    Location: Equip Store β†’ Med Bay
    Interactions: Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife (Beck, Luis) ; ISHTAR ISHTAR (Cass)
    Mentions: N/A
    The equipment store off the main med bay proved to be in as much disarray as the rest of the Echo, surrounded by shattered androids and limp synthetics. Those who successfully booted up, took to accomplishing their programmed duties, whilst others appeared frozen in rattling off warnings and miscalculations, frayed and twitching. Artemis’ systems jolted at the unplanned return online, fearing for her circuity that’d been painstakingly interwoven with lab-grown tissue, as though a product fearing its own eventual lack of capital.

    Plasma, or what she ought’ve called blood if not for it’s lukewarm temperature and thin, almost diluted consistency⁠ β€” rolled between her lips, settling between porcelain teeth as it darkened her suburban smile a shade of raw pink. Superficial lacerations to the face posed no risk, shrapnel and debris leaving the flesh tender with bruising. Rarely had Artie ever managed to hurt herself to any extreme as her patients, however pain didn’t sting. Rather, it felt as if tingling, combined with the flickering warning displayed on the synthetic’s cybernetic interface.

    Slender fingers wrapped around the low-walled booth of her docking station, slipping the harness as Artie pulled herself away, gradually setting her feet down on the metal walkway. Still in control of all her faculties, she’d not yet taken in the distress of their situation beyond her own condition; now faced with a reality far more worrying, her gaze rose toward the state of the room, where the panels had collapsed inward with such consequence it was hard to ignore the cause.

    If it hadn’t been the clutter of robotics that struck the synthetic, it would’ve been the ceiling or industrial lighting. A notion that returned her mind to the persistent prickling sensation in both her face and scalp, staining the platinum strands closest to her temple whilst plastering them to her jaw as the mixture dried.

    The Echo had crashed. Or if she were to speak to her factory programming standard, they’d suffered an abortive emergency landing. One which the ship weathered poorly, though it must’ve been extreme to have occurred under the watchful eye of a manned skeleton crew. Just what had the Captain ordered? Or was it unavoidable?

    Approaching the door, the hydraulics hissed as it jammed halfway, albeit allowing the synth to slip by; first passing the locked pharmaceuticals before pushing on into the broader sick bay. A handful of androids were active, alongside automated surgery systems and few of her own kind that proved no better in wear and tear. Albeit, at least they were still capable of function ⁠— the same could not be said of others. Just to encounter survivors that were human was enough to quell the fear of losing directives, for what else was there to do but nanny their future efforts at survival?

    If one had ever glimpsed through the annals of history, it became clear that the species' high mortality rate was a solid excuse concerning the necessity of synthetic production. Things were better now, they had remarked, if not failing to mention only those facilitated to live longer and longer were from wealth. What was technological advance if only some benefitted? A quandary Artemis could’ve never conceptualised so early if not for that of Dr. Armitage’s impressive dedication to morality.

    Approaching three huddling around a bed, two men and a woman, Artemis only hoped to designate more space and assess each for triage. Whilst the darker haired male appeared to suffer no immediate injury, the others present were all degrees of battered.

    It wasn’t her purpose to interrupt with cheery disposition and lilting tone, β€œWelcome to Med Bay! I’m Artemis, model 4.0, your designated trauma nurse and head of triage. Is anyone in need of assistance? I can provide motivating, calming, and reassuring phrases during or prior to treatment if this is something you think will help!” Yet perhaps to be faced with the bright smile of something equally as bloodied, was not quite as pacifying as the synthetic intended.
 
Last edited:



marcus.





































  • mood



    well. fuck.
















Well.

Fuck.

Marcus rubbed the side of his face, looking down at the tablet in his hand. Five hours before the pinnacle of human ingenuity spilled all over some random planet. Chernobyl 2.0: This Time in Space!

There were a lot of things Marcus knew he could fix in a five hour window. An impending nuclear meltdown wasn't one of them. His eyes went to the suits hanging ready anyway.

He should warn the other passengers. They needed to evacuate, so even if he couldn't fix it they wouldn't all die anyway.

Marcus looked around the engine room, feeling a deep sense of unfairness welling in his chest. This was supposed to be his refuge, the place where the world made sense, and instead it was going to kill them all. He'd always known it could, of course, but it wasn't supposed to. That was the deal, right? He took care of his ship, and his ship took care of him.

"Guess the deal doesn't last after twenty-five years in cryo,"
he signed. He started to turn back, to warn somebody with the power to get whoever wasn't dead to listen and get off the ship. And then he paused.

The chief engineer's quarters weren't far. If he was going to attempt a repair having her keycard override would make things smoother. Marcus hesitated--he should wait until evacuations were underway--but it was only just right there.

If he couldn't find it quick he'd give up, he told himself, and headed in the direction of Katerina Sokolova's quarters.

































Survivor



2WEI










β™‘coded by uxieβ™‘
 
Bo: "Now what, S.A.M.W.I.S.E.?"
Samwise: "Given the sufficient medical staff on hand, our skill set would be more efficiently utilized elsewhere"
Bo: "You think any of the ship's weapon systems need repairing?"
Samwise: "In order to access the situation at hand, I must be connected to one of the ship's terminal systems. From there I may access the weapon systems and and diagnose a solution if one is needed"
Bo: "Maybe we can head to the engine room, see what we can do"
Samwise: "Very well, I don't know why you ask me for advice, but do your own thing. You always do."

Note: (Smart Artificial Mind with Intelligent Support and Efficiency)

As Bo looked around the medway, it became abundantly clear there wasn't much for him to do here. With an idea of where to go next now he'd need to make it happen. He had already spoken to the three crew members he assisted. He made his way out of the medbay and to the hall then eventually finding himself in the engine room entrance.

Bo was no ship expert but he knew a few things. Enough to be helpful atleast. Taking a good look around, he cleared his throat. It was pretty quiet, but perhaps he'd have a look around anyways. Someone may still be down there hard at work dealing with whatever was going on with the ship.

"So what's the damage? How long do you think it'll be before we can get this rust bucket moving? I imagine you guys could use a hand" Bo commented. He walked over to a functioning terminals and hooked up his wrist computer to it so that Samwise Could give him a report. After Samwise had filled Bo in on the dire situation. Forget the ship, they'd need to save themselves. He'd eventually spot Marcus.

Bo: "You alright? How many others are down here?" Bo attempted to speak with Marcus, Samwise recognized the engineer and let out an audible groan.
Samwise: "This is Marcus Pasternak, ship's engineer. This worker is in fact deaf and cannot hear you"
Bo: "Oh..."
Realizing Marcus likely didn't hear him, Bo decided to wave over to them to hopefully try get their attention.
 
Last edited:


Dr. Cassandra ,, Thorne ❜ ─ environmental ecologist ─ ❛
tags: love is in the air ; location: med bay
interactions: idalie idalie Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife ; notes:SONG






As Artemis, the synthetic, approached, Cass felt a wave of relief wash over her. She was in desperate need of pain medication, and her body refused to cooperate with even the slightest movement. Every attempt sent blinding, excruciating pain radiating from her injured ribs, stealing her breath. Cass was fortunate to have enhanced lungs; otherwise, her shattered ribs might have punctured a regular lung, spelling a far bleaker outcome.

Cassandra clung to her swollen midsection, feeling the throbbing pain of her broken ribs with every breath. She knew something was seriously wrong, and her limited medical knowledge couldn't provide the answers she needed. Her head throbbed in time with her racing heartbeat, and the world spun around her.

Cass's voice quivered as she spoke, her distress evident. "I need help," she gasped, her voice cracking with anxiety and disuse, "something's wrong."

Nausea gripped her, and she swallowed hard against the dryness in her mouth. Cryosleep had taken a toll on her body, and the disorientation and pain threatened to overwhelm her. She was desperate for water, her throat parched and aching.

The weight of grief felt like an anchor dragging her down into the abyss without a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounded her.

But then, a voice, sweet and familiar, broke through the dark waters like the gentle rays of the moon breaking through the surface. It whispered her name, a lifeline in the vast emptiness of space. Cass couldn't believe it. It just couldn't be...

"Cass..."

The name hung in the air like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. It couldn't be him, could it? What were the odds? Her heart raced, hope and despair warring for dominance.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief, dizzying, agonizing moment, wrestling with the decision as the room seemed to tilt. Could she allow herself to believe, to hope? Finally, with a determined tug of courage, she turned, heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes met his, and in that electrifying instant, time seemed to stand still.

They were as warm and kind and heartwrenchingly melancholic as she remembered, her own filled with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. In an instant, they were in that crowded bar, and she was hypnotized by the way the bar light danced in his brown eyes. And there was that disarming, devilishly handsome smile that melted the permafrost in her hollowed heart and drew a smile of childish joy.

She still remembered what he was wearing: a suit and tie, the knot undone and the tie hanging loose, a clear sign of the frustration that had gripped him during that ill-fated UN Conference on Climate Change. Her impatient, hurried hands tore open his shirt, revealing the taut skin beneath, and moved down to his belt. A collision of two lost, lonely stars lighting up the night sky, now sitting at the precipice of an uncertain future.

With a weak, playful smile, she repeated those famous first words she had said to him, a joke: "Hey, I know you. You're that famous guy from TV..." Her voice trailed off in a wheeze, and a sudden stillness hung in the air. Then, without warning, her eyes fluttered closed as the ship seemed to spin, and she slumped over, losing consciousness.




coded by archangel_


 
Last edited:


CAIN STROME - ❝ THOMAS BLIXT ❞
location: Crash Site; interactions: Dr. Mallory Lizy Lizy

He wasn’t one to be overly religious, dependent on God’s whim of right and wrong to define the rest of one’s life choices, but suddenly and surely he was acutely aware that his faults may have led to the destruction in front of him. It was a hysterical sort of belief, that he alone had caused the ship to crash and wreck, endangering countless lives including nearly ending his own prematurely (a due karma, if anyone asked, were they aware of what lay in that hotel bathtub back on Earth). Cain didn’t look for chance in the eyes of coincidence, but it was all just a little too convenient for a guy who’d just barely gotten on the ship under this identity, lying through his teeth, and resting in a pod meant for another.

Crazily enough, one of the first things he thought when he’d woken, in the midst of panic and being so desperately unaware of what had happened, was that his mother was probably dead. At least she’d gone thinking he was doing something good for himself, for the family name. She didn’t know the truth, and wouldn't have let him go if she’d knownβ€” so at least, he believed, she died thinking the best of her only, useless, son.

The second thing he’d thought was relief (also in the midst of panic) that, well, he’d gotten this far. Wherever they were, whoever was still alive, no one needed to know that he wasn’t Thomas Blixt. No one needed to know that the shallow wound on the top of his right hand was cut in by a dull knife from the hotel’s mini bar in the room, and that the chip that nestled under his skin was still rubbing raw at the skin that sat above it. He’d wrapped it tightly after they’d scanned it, he’d said the wound was an accident at work, longer and more jagged than needed for the initial incision, and they’d made some attempt at treating it prior to going under. It ached now, a dull sort of tingling, and he used it to try and keep his senses with him.

The third thing was the pain that also ached through his body, though these were more from whatever collision had come about when the ship had crashed. Jostled about in a silent prison, his ankles felt raw at the bone, his ribs were sensitive when he took a breath, and he was sure that he probably had some stage of concussion. The pain centred him, though. He wanted to whine about it, if anyone would ask, however.

He’d made his way out of his pod, avoiding anyone and everyone and just trying to find an escape. It was better to stay with the others, to blend in, but for the moment he knew he needed a moment alone. A guy who thrived on entertaining others, uplifting others, had witnessed the haphazard plan dissolve in front of him. It’d do the same to anyone else, surely.

There was no way that he was thinking clearly, anyway, as much as sense tried to reason before being forgotten in the fear of the moment.

Cain had peeled a bit away from the pods, finding a wall to brace himself against. God damn it was hard to find a breath. One hand fluttered near his chest, half in a fist, knocking against the ache to his heart. He shut his eyes, hoping to squeeze it away if he believed hard enough.

He’d hardly noticed that he was hyper-ventilating. He wasn’t an anxious guy. Why couldn’t he breathe?

A voice appeared before he noticed the owner of it, a buoy in the sea of breathlessness he was experiencing, and Cain shook his head as she spoke. His eyes were still closed.

β€œI’mβ€” I’m,” his voice felt tiny and far from his body. He shook his head again. β€œWhat?”

It took an extra moment for him to process what she said, what she asked. He’d almost blurted out that his first name was Cain, an instinctual response, but that delayed response turned out to be to his benefit.

β€œT-Tom. Thomas. Right. I’m…”

He licked his lips, dry and flaking. Even his tongue felt like it weighed about five pounds more than it should.

β€œCan’t find… breath. Panic? Don’t know. Ribs? Don’t…”

He opened his eyes finally, blinking his vision back into clarity as they focused on Dr. Mallory in front of him. A more cohesive, less panicking and less injured Cain would have put whatever charm he could. Maybe he just needed a moment. Maybe several.

β€œI’m hurtin’... Real bad Doc. Cryo had… We were out cold, huh. No… no pun...”

There he was. A faint smile spilled over his lips.

β€œDoctor… not your first name, huh?”

coded by archangel_
 



marcus.





































  • mood



    p.t. barnum was right.
















Marcus' plans were disrupted by a flash of movement. Turning, he saw a stranger in the engine room, and for a moment Marcus felt like a cat bristling. This was not one of the engineers. He didn't know them all well, of course, but he'd learned them all by sight. Enough to know when someone who didn't belong was there.

Marcus changed his direction, face sliding into an unimpressed half-scowl as he pulled up a notepad app on his tablet.

"You can't be here."
he typed The last thing he needed was someone getting a hand stuck in an engine or whatever. He gave Bo a once over as he held the screen up so Bo could read the message. He could send him to find someone in security to start evac, but nobody ever just did what Marcus asked, and if he was going to argue with someone, he'd rather it be someone who would get evac started once he won the argument.

"Come with me,"
he added, pulling the tablet back for a moment to type further.
"We gotta find security to start evac."
He showed the tablet to Bo, waited what he hopped was enough time for the other man to read, and then tucked the tablet under his arm, turning as he did so, and gesturing with two fingers for Bo to follow, walking like he expected to be followed.

He'd come back and try to get Sokolova's keycard after.

































Survivor



2WEI










β™‘coded by uxieβ™‘
 
~Bo Lake...~
~Location: The Echo: Engine room...~
~Interactions: Marcus...~

With his hand on his hips, and his head cocked back, he gave Marcus a side eye glance.

"Why not? Ship is s fucking mess and crews scattered about like some chickens running around with their heads cut off. Reckon we got our work cut out for us" he commented. Marcus said where they'd need to go, and they'd need to see security. A solid evacuation plan as far as Bo was concerned. He gave the mechanic a deadpan expression as he used the finger gesture to motion him to follow.

Though without any better plan in mind, it was best to stick together. As Marcus went back to get the security key, Bo decided to wait there. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, and if he had, he wouldn't know where to find it. He leaned against a rail.

"How much time you think we got?" Bo wasn't sure if he'd get a response but he wasn't gonna stop talking or asking questions any time soon.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top