The Pantel Expedition

[Tom-Pen]

The Setting:

The planet of Pantel (July 12. 2256)

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- Pantel is an immensely large gargantuan of a planet currently being explored by the Planetary Peace Union (or Peace Union as they are more commonly known) in hopes of finding suitable land to begin colonization. Little is known about this planet however, as mankind has only just begun to arrive.

Where we'll begin:
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The first three Peace Union ships to arrive at Pantel lay in wait just outside the planets atmosphere, preparing to enter the new world.

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Please refrain from posting...

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[Tom-Pen]

"All personnel to staging areas," a very monotonous woman's voice prompted. "I repeat, all personnel to staging areas," the message was on a loop, playing over and over again, broken up intermittently by sirens and flashing red lights. All throughout Red Dawn cadets and crew jogged along at a brisk pace along the ships many corridors and walkways in what can only be described as... semi-orderly chaos. In the barracks - where most of the cadets had been asleep when the messages first began to play - things were more like regular chaos, with a hint of mass confusion.


In one particularly chaotic barrack's room amidst the hurriedly dressing and arming cadets, a burly looking officer stomped about - clipboard in hand - calling for a, "M1 Boyd!" His voice was loud and hoarse, with a scratchy sort of sound, almost like he had sand paper caught in his throat, "Where the devil is Boyd!" One cadet glanced up when he heard the name, and to his dismay, was noticed by the calling officer. The officer stomped his way to the cadet, picked him up by the collar with one of his large pulsating arms and screamed in his face, "M1 Boyd!?!" Spit flew from the officers mouth onto the cadet's face, the cadet was wise enough not to try and wipe it away.


"No sir," he answered back loudly, in a confident military sort of way. The officer twisted at the cadets collar and stared hard at him with angry, bloodshot eyes. "That way," the cadet squeaked," shakily pointing to the bunks at the far end of the barracks. The officer looked in the direction, let go of the cadet - dropping him back down onto his bunk - and proceeded to stomp in the direction he had been pointed, his harsh voice still screaming for "M1 Boyd!"


@Rukeya

 

[Rukeya]

Duncan had been awake far before chaos erupted through the halls of Red Dawn. He had never slept well—especially not with roommates that tossed and turned, snoring and making all types of maddening sounds in the dark. Still, he stayed in his bunk, eyes focused on the ceiling and he idly watched the red hue of warning lights dance across the uneven plaster. His mattress slowly rocked back and forth as the cadet, bunked beneath him, pulled on his unpressed uniform and boots in a frenzied haste, knocking his head against the bed’s upper frame.


All personnel to staging areas


That voice just seemed to droll on. Duncan sighed, heavily and he waited. He saw no reason to bound from his bed in a fury, plowing through other cadets, although he didn’t mind watching it. He’d emerge from his barracks shortly after things had calmed and sneak in behind the rest, unnoticed—a practiced skill. He was even small enough to slide through the mass of bodies all clamoring about the staging area. He'd be last. Dead last. But no one would notice.


M1 Boyd!


Oh. Tired, hazel eyes snapped to the doorway as he watched an officer lumber in. And calling his name. Only then did he see reason to jerk himself upright. Duncan threw his thin sheets of bedding away from his body, as though repulsed and swung his legs around to dangle from his bunk. He was half way dressed already, boots on and threaded—perhaps an oddity, but avoiding unnecessary exertion sometimes required a bit of planning.


"Sir," he addressed the officer, although his eyes where elsewhere. Just how many cadets were still on this side of the room and how ill prepared did he seem, in comparison, now that he'd been caught at his game? He saw some men still rushing about, though most had slunk away like worms. His gaze returned to the advancing officer and he grinned, however unintentionally. A grin. He could kick himself. But then he'd never had a good handle on his facial expressions, especially not while in the company of someone he was meant to show respect.

 

[Tom-Pen]

The burly officer looked hard at Boyd, his bloodshot eyes mean and piercing, and the veins in his head bulging. "Are you def Boyd!" he shouted, bringing his own face as close to Duncan's as was possible without them touching. "If I didn't have better things to do...I'd...I'd..." he threatened, bringing his clenched fist up to the now smiling face of M1 Boyd. The officer, whose face was slowly beginning to turn red hot, lowered his fist and stared at the cadet; the cadet's smile infuriated him, and normally would have earned an immediate consequence, but this wasn't a normal situation.


"Now, If you would be so kind," the officer began calmly, leaning back from Boyd's personal space, "get yourself dressed up all pretty like, gather your things..." he paused, sucking in as much air as he could, "and get your sorry ass down to the cargo bay on the double!" he at last exploded, spraying foamy spit out like a fountain. The officer then pulled a key card from his clipboard ( Marked for Cargo Bay A7) and tossed it on the cadets bunk, after which he turned around on his heels and stomped off.


@Rukeya

 

[Rukeya]

Are you def Boyd!


It would be pointless to answer the question—however apt it was. Duncan stared, closed lipped, at the officer. He focused on an especially distracting, bulging vein between the man’s eyebrows in a valiant attempt to avoid eye contact. The ear was generally the best place to look, but the officer’s face brought a certain, albeit unwanted, mirth; his rage seemed forced, nearly comical, and Duncan couldn’t quite look away.


His smile only faltered when their faces nearly touched. He briefly gazed, in discomfort, to the effulgent warning lights, trying to discern the origination of this man's reddening hue. If the flushed red tone of skin didn’t give it away, the undeveloped threats certainly did: Perhaps this was actually serious.


And get your sorry ass down to the cargo bay on the double!


“Y-Yes sir!” The words came out in a breath and then caught, strangled in his throat. He’d just gotten a mouth full of spit from the officer’s sputtering, perhaps a taste—pun intended—of instant karma. Duncan’s eyes widened in horror as he turned, stiffly, to gather his uniform, mouth filling with saliva in a refusal to swallow. It was only once the officer had disappeared from sight that Duncan spat—one, two, three times—onto the floor, wiping his mouth against his forearm. He might have done so earlier, but he’d thought better of it: spitting in front of a superior officer after the way he’d behaved seemed like it could lead to a much worse misunderstanding.


Duncan moved to the bathrooms, key-card in hand, and pulled on his shirt to appraise himself in one of the standing mirrors, despite the implied urgency of the situation. He paid no mind to the mess he’d made on the cement beneath him. Someone else could clean that. He rubbed at bleary eyes with the palms of his hands and raked fingers through dishwater blonde hair. He shrugged at his reflection, indifferent. “Eh.” As long as he was presentable. He sauntered through the mostly empty halls in a perfunctory manner; A7 Cargo Bay wasn’t too far off and there were still a couple stragglers running amok. Perhaps he wouldn’t be dead last after all.

 

[Tom-Pen]

The Red Dawn had seven Cargo Bay's, 1-5 were for Armored Core airships and the remaining two Cargo Bay's were for ground vehicles. Cargo Bay 7 - the one Duncan had been dispatched to - (to be specific) held the Armored Core's famed Striders.

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(Peace Union Strider)



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The large cargo bay was cluttered - despite its immense size, filled with 9 striders, crates of ammunition, barrels of oil, and the better half of 50 mechanics and crew (who worked tirelessly with greasy, calloused hands on their menacing looking machines).


When Duncan entered the cargo bay he was immediately approached by a tall man with long black hair and a thin mustache, who had been waiting - not so anxiously - by the cargo bay doors. "Are you the doctor?" he asked, a thick Italian accent to his voice.


@Rukeya

 

[Rukeya]

Duncan had certainly taken his sweet time in getting there. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect and he was certainly in no hurry to find out; despite the apathy he outwardly displayed, he was actually quite anxious. As soon as he entered, he found his eyes sweeping the cargo bay, taking in his new reality. Striders? He hoped this didn’t mean he’d be in the company of the Armored Core, rather than cadets. Though he supposed, as a Medic, the chances of that could actually be quite high. He watched as the crew worked and slipped his hands into his pockets, standing just inside the bay’s doors.


Are you the doctor?


Duncan’s eyes snapped to the hairy upper lip of the man that appeared, very suddenly, in front of him. “Ye-yep,” He replied, swallowing mid-sentence—it had caught him off guard. He took a small step back and tried again, “Yes.” He was more self-assured this time, “I’m the medic.”

 

[Tom-Pen]

"Ah, Perfecto," The tall man said slowly (his speech always slow), with a certain air of disinterest in his voice that made the word "Perfecto" come off almost sarcastic. "I'm Giuseppe," he stated, lighting a cigarette in his mouth, as he began to walk away. "Come," Giuseppe beckoned, gesturing for Duncan to follow.


Giuseppe led Duncan deeper into the Cargo Bay, down into the "Crew Pit" bellow one of the Striders, where two Armored Core Crewmen (one man and one woman) were busy digging into one of the mechanical legs of their machine. Both glanced at Giuseppe and Duncan as they approached, but only the man stopped his work.


"Oy, Giuseppe, who's dis' you got ere'?" The male Crewmen questioned with a curious tone, pointing a greasy finger to Duncan as he walk to meet them. He was a muscular man, with short dirty blonde hair, a scruffy chin, and blue eyes.


"A Medic," Giuseppe responded, puffing at his Cigarette. The male Crewmen looked Duncan up and down and, with a friendly smile, laughed,


"Nice to meet ya' lad," he put his arm around Duncan's shoulder, and began to guide him toward the woman who was still at work (trying to appear as though she didn't notice them, though she in fact had). "I'd Love to get to get to know ya', I'm sure, but right now we need a favor," The man stopped once they reached the woman, removed his arm from around Duncan's shoulder, and stepped behind her. "This little lass ere'," he said putting his hands on the woman's shoulders (at which point the woman finally stopped her work and rose to her feet) "needs a lil' medical attention,"

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The woman had a noticeable gash across the palm of her left hand, jagged, and covered in grease and oil. Beyond her injured hand, if one was the sort to take notice, she had a stunning figure (only slightly covered by her thick pilots jacket and baggy pants) and long brown hair. A face of sharp, yet, beautiful features and deep auburn eyes.


She shrugged away from her fellow crewman and walked off, looking less than pleased by the situation. Not far away, on the other side of the pit, she found a place to sit at an empty table, back turned to the three men. "She doesn't like Doctors," Giuseppe said plainly, still puffing at his Cigarette, with a tone that suggested the little concern he had for the matter.


"Aye, she doesn't," the crewmen agreed in amusement, "Someone's got to fix er' hand though," he looked at Duncan with a smile, "Unfortunately for you, ya'are dat' someone," the crewmen's smile turned into a laugh as he then pushed Duncan in the direction of the woman, "Just watch ya'self lad, she can be bit... well...ah.. feisty, when she's angry,"


@Rukeya

 

[Rukeya]

Duncan followed Guiseppe very closely, half afraid that a strider could, at any moment, topple onto him. This was a nightmare—his nightmare, to be more specific. The cargo bay was just littered with hazards and, what he was sure amounted to, practices that completely went against their own safety regulations. But that was the Armored Core for you: Men and women who thought they were invincible—a heavy pride that seemed to leave them with little investment in their own lives… But perhaps he was being over dramatic.


Nice to meet ya' lad… but right now we need a favor


Duncan’s body stiffened at the arm slung around his shoulder and he ambled on, a bit awkwardly. He gave a slight nod and absently chuckled at the mention of a favor, though he was sure they’d assume it a reaction to the disingenuous greeting. None of this was volunteered and the implied notion of his actions being a courtesy was amusing, although somewhat appreciated. At least he wasn’t being screamed at.


This little lass ere


Well, that was an understatement. She was certainly not little, and before he could stop himself, he was staring-no, leering—as though he’d never been this close, in proximity, to a woman before. He averted his gaze to her wounded, dirtied hand and he cringed in disgust. She couldn’t have washed it?


Just watch ya'self lad, she can be bit... well...ah.. feisty, when she's angry


A groan escaped his barely parted lips and he stumbled in his approach, straightening his arms as he allowed his medical pack to slowly slide to the crook of his elbow. "We'll need to sterilize that," He started, ever the charmer. He'd decidedly focused on her middle back, occasionally eyeing the gaping wound when it came into vision. They had already psyched him out. He didn't expect this exchange to go smoothly.