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Futuristic Unlit IC


Viper Actual

Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Stratton get your ass on shields, be quick!

Confused, Stratton momentarily took his eye off of the prisoner of war standing at their console in order to get a visual on Adira. To his surprise she wasn't severely injured and judging by her readings she wasn't oxygen-deprived either. She must've gone mental.

Cursing, muttering and grunting Stratton holstered his rifle and rushed up towards the shielding console. He stared at it with a puzzled look before looking up and setting his eyes on his captain. "You realize that the last time I handled anything larger than a dropship were decades ago, right?" He let off a nervous chuckle as he assumed control of the terminal. "Hell, I don't you had even been born yet at that point."

Whether he liked the orders or not Stratton would nonetheless obey the commands of his captain- because good soldiers follow orders. He cracked his neck and took a deep breath...


🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Roleplay Type(s)
Seeing the crew scramble kicked Laoise into gear. She had no intentions of taking orders from their captain in the long run, but she wasn't about to let pride get everyone killed. Looking around at the moving crew and empty desks, Laoise was left somewhat paralyzed by choice. She hadn't operated anything for a ship this scale before. "Fuck it," she said to herself, making a snap decision, "I'll navigate."

Laoise ran to the Nav Desk and tried to settle herself in. She turned a few dials, flicked some brain off the top of one of the panels, and tried to chart some sort of course to safety. "Uh... if that dot is bad," she started, "I think we should head... this way!" She zeroed in on a stretch of empty space a good ways away from the immediate danger they had found themselves within. At least, she thought she did. Genuinely, she couldn't tell if anything had registered for the rest of the crew, but she didn't really have time to get a tutorial.

The Jenkins Curse

Among the Stars
Silas breathed a sigh of relief that the crew adapted to being out of their element. He was sure most of them had little to no experience helping to pilot a ship this size, but no one was in the position to choose. It was either sink or swim for them at that moment. Silas was glad to hear the readout from Laoise about a safe navpoint, and started pushing on the engines to get them moving forward. He hoped by propelling the ship ahead, they could at least mitigate the damage being done to the ship. That wasn't working too well, though, since he was the only one operating the engines at the moment and only had control of the port side. "I need someone on starboard engines," Silas called out, hoping someone was available. At the moment they were simply rotating in space to the right, since no thrust was being given from the starboard engines.

Krota heard the commotion and decided to take action. He was able to perform the job needed and had experience. In an instant, he appeared at the starboard engine seat with his wings fluttering behind him. He tapped away at the screen in tandem with Silas, who both produced enough thrust to start moving away from the Soviet ship. They weren't able to escape it, but at least make their cannons aim at an awkward angle to try and hit them. Stratton's commandeering of the shield generators allowed him to bulk up most of the protection on the port side, where the fire was coming from. That no doubt kept the frigate from being torn in half by artillery fire, which Silas and Krota were both grateful for.

In response to Wei's attempt at communication, the radios in the bridge crackled to life with a message from Hoptonov. "Эта советская армада не прекратит огонь, пока не будут устранены все угрозы. Выключите свое оружие, двигательные установки и щиты, или мы уничтожим вас и ваш флот." The words came back in an agitated, barked tone, clearly unhappy to be interacting with what was perceived to be pirates.

Silas wasn't able to tell what the gibberish meant, but he said, "He doesn't sound happy. I say we stake our chances on getting out of here."

The Jenkins Curse

Among the Stars
Presented with the choice of either surrender or evasion, the crew ultimately came upon the idea to flee. It wasn't terribly wise to work with Soviets, especially after lying to them about the status of their crew. Collectively, Adira, Stratton, Wei, Laoise, Kestrel, Silas, and Alex punched the ship into FTLT; which immediately notified the Soviets of their plan to leave. As the engines spooled up and glowed a signature blue hue, the Soviets let out one final shipwide message."Вы выбрали смерть. Гниение в космическом вакууме из-за вашего неповиновения." The message cut off, and with that, the bombardment continued on the pirate vessel. It didn't take much longer for the shields to completely falter. With little more effort, the Soviets would completely destroy the ship and send the crew into the harsh cold vacuum. All they could do at this point was pray the FTLT drive could spool in time. Silas silently prayed from his console.

Hit after hit, the ship slowly lurched forward as the drive finally reached full capacity. Without setting much of a destination, and instead just hoping to get out of the situation, they locked in on a random coordinate in front of them and shot of into the dark. However, just as the ship reached lightspeed, the Soviet bombardment landed a heavy hit on the portside engine. This wouldn't have been a big problem if it wasn't for the overwhelming amount of damage already sustained to the ship. They entered FTLT just in time, narrowly evading getting the ship spliced in two by artillery.

But now they had a different problem. The ship was actively falling apart as it traveled, with the Portside engine held on by a string. It didn't take much time at all for the situation to worsen; the engine completely detached, bringing a good chunk of the ship with it. The engine ripped of violently, the rend causing significant damage to the rest of the hull. With the insides of the ship open to the harsh vacuum of FTLT, the ship rapidly began singing away. Any part of the ship that was open to the outside was now burning off due to the lack of scion gel; the burn reached into the ship and began melting down hallways, equipment, doors, and anything else that was exposed to the vacuum.

The ship probably would've been engulfed in thermite-levels of combustion if they weren't abruptly lurched out of lightspeed. Anything not tied down was thrown against the window of the bridge as the ship came to a halt abruptly. Before them was a giant blot of emptiness; black as space, but not even stars permeating it. Silas' first thought was a void; but that would make no sense. What would've pulled them out of FTLT? Then he realized the lack of stars were from an object in front of them, blocking out the light. Silas quickly jumped up from his prone position to align himself with the starboard engine. He kicked on as much thrust as he could, getting the ship to angle away from the object they were approaching. As it turned slowly on its axis, stars once again could be seen past the crescent of what could only be a planet. Once facing away from the object, Silas set the engine on full blast, hoping to project them away from the planet. However, the lack of half the engines meant they would only start turning to one side again. Silas wasn't sure what he could do at this point; as the planet dragged the ship into its orbit, it became clear to the crew that they were on an inevitable crash course with the celestial body.

Soon, the flames of entry into the atmosphere lit up the fuselage of the ship, dragging them further down into the planet's grasp. The darkness only made it more terrifying; it was impossible to tell how close the ship was to the planet. However, he knew that the charred corpse of the ship was lighting up the night sky for anyone below them. Pieces no doubt broke off, and the entire event probably seemed like a meteor shower. Silas hoped he made a pretty shooting star for anyone seeing him, before he inevitably crashed and burned into the surface.

When it finally happened, Silas was holding himself onto the console in hopes of keeping from being thrown around the bridge again. However, his preparation did little to keep him from becoming just another object being tossed around in the cluttered room. The crash was loud, the sound of metal being torn apart and an ear-deafening cry from the ship as it collided with the ground. At some point, Silas was hit by something, hard, and he could no longer place what was happening. For the limited amount of time he was conscious, he just had to pray he'd survive the crash.


.bored now.
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
My Interest Check
The strike of the harpoon rippled on the water as Dekxer stood calf-deep in the waves. He pulled the rope, dragging his latest catch above the tide. His thick corded muscles gleamed with sweat from the light of the two moons as he retrieved his catch. This night seemed like it would be like any other night. His basket onshore awaited the plentiful amount of 'fish' on his belt. With the amount he'd acquired he could trade for some herbs needed for Maryid's labor pains. He wasn't her midwife or anything--there were plenty of women eager to take up that role here--but the woman was mousey and quiet, traits that Dekx felt the involuntary need to protect. Plus, the lady made a mean cocktail featuring berries and this one particular type of melon that grew where the two rivers fork from being one. He thought of dipping into his private reserve of it as a reward for the day when the night sky lit up and the searing screech of the atmosphere on metal ground out into the air.

By no means was it a star to wish on.

Dekxer hopped through the tides to the purple and white sands to his basket and quickly cut the rope on his belt to save his quarry and left it in its spot. Thieves weren't a problem when you had nothing left but the sands and water of this planet. But, malevolent scavengers--the very few of them that this particular island had--were known to be very suspicious about their involvement with crash victims that should have survived the collision. Alexander would have to chew him out later for recklessly running to save a full ship of people. It was just the kind of thing Dekxer would do. By the looks of things, the ship fell just as rapidly as any of the others did. Something about the planet's magnetism kept pulling every ship down--or at least that's what Dekx gathered. He didn't have to run particularly far though he could have. The vessel landed in the direction of the east pole, about half a mile away from where he stood. A cloud of sand, poly-glass, and metal danced up into the air, surrounded by flames in many places on the ship. It was still intact for the most part excluding the engines on its left side. There was probably more damage than what was externally being shown but Dekxer wasn't worried about that.

He reached the ship, luckily on the side with the entrance. It was ajar but a little higher than expected. If it was anyone but Dekxer or a person with augments, the jump would have been a little too high. Dekx looked around to see if anyone else was there and when he confirmed he was the first to reach the ship he jumped up and caught the bottom of the entranceway with one hand, pushing the door open with the other. He pulled himself into the vessel, which wasn't burning too badly on the hallway and the two rows of rooms on either side. However, he went directly to the bridge. On his way, he happened to notice a pressurized flame retardant--a more effective sort of fire extinguisher--on the wall. He grabbed it and got onto the bridge. Looking around, he sprayed the consoles down to contain the flames. They slowly began to die down as he scanned the deck even further for survivors. He found one, a man splayed out on the ground. He looked singed, except for his sideburn-clad face with had smudges of ash and a gash over his right eye. Dekxer Knelt down and shook him lightly, throwing the man's arm over his shoulder to pick him up.

"Come on, guy, you've got to get up," Dekx said as he shook him, lifting the man on his feet to walk him out of danger's way.
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Miss Medic
Was it funny that a life-threatening situation felt familiar by now? Not like an old friend, but a repeated disappointment, a routine stressor. The familiarity doesn't make it any easier. It was still that soul-deep shiver: counting each hit against the hull listening to the metal scream, shouting orders to take cover and secure themselves and protect their necks, while trying to reroute a broken machine that's decided it's had enough of her bullshit. Adira could almost laugh at the similarities, but if everything else was the same, it meant the grief would be too. Maybe this time, though, she wouldn't have to worry about grief. Maybe someone else would grieve for her. But that was a hell of a wishful thought.

There's a lot of introspection in being faced with death again and remembering that nearly nobody would really miss you. At least this time, there's not that awful green light. At least this time she's free.

She managed to keep herself at the console for as long as possible, just pulling up to try to give them a more gentle landing instead of a splat. She'd like to think it worked at least a bit. The hope was to give her crew any tiny percent of increased chance for survival, just like every other time. If she had any sense of self-preservation, she'd have tucked herself against the console or strapped herself into the chair, but standing gave her the leverage she needed, and she had never been known for that. Somewhere in the landing (if it could be called that) something heavy and hard hit square in the center of her torso, just along the lower ribs. She heard the crack of at least one rib and had the wind knocked right out of her lungs. Whatever it was knocked her to the floor, landing with something striking right between her shoulder blades.

The rest of the crash was a blur to her. Flickering fires, loud explosions, the shuddering of the ship as it ground to a halt. Adira knew some more debris hit her, but nothing that would break any more bones. There was almost a film between her and the outside world, and she didn't mind it. Despite barely being able to breathe, Adira just... didn't mind. Maybe, she thought, just maybe she had finally earned a rest.

Then there was movement. It had to have been a good... Bit of time? She wasn't sure, but she was a little more coherent. Adira opened her eyes behind her visor to see someone up and moving around. Stratton? Was that who was picking up... Silas? No... Yes? No. Neither of them had helmets on. Wait. Why couldn't she breathe still? She knew she was sore and bruised, why couldn't she breathe?

There was that tell-tale hiss of a damaged respirator when she tried to breathe. Adira rolled onto her back and hooked her hand under her helmet, clawing at the mechanism to detach it. Her nails scratched over the metal before finding the switch and yanking off the helmet with a pained gasp. Yeah, that was a broken rib or two.

With the helmet off, she looked back toward the movement. That didn't look like Stratton or anyone else on her team. The next thing she reached for was her gun on her hip. She'd be damned before she let pirates steal from her friends' bodies.


Monika had been wandering for what felt like weeks; though, in reality, it had only been a little over a day. She was hungry and thirsty and hot, but most of all, she was confused. Monika had spent years studying every corner of this galaxy, and she could not – for the life of her – recall ever seeing this planet on a map. As far as she knew, it simply should not have existed. “Yet here I am. Alone, close to death, and now talking to myself,” she mumbled, continuing to trudge along in no particular direction. She wasn’t the only survivor on the vessel she had been traveling on, initially. There were two others: the pilot, Mysha, and another passenger named Debra. The three of them managed to survive off of the supplies that weren’t destroyed almost a week. However, Mysha had been horribly injured in the initial crash and eventually succumbed to her injuries.

Once Mysha had died and they had run out of food, Monika could see that Debra was quickly deteriorating. Monika soon found her lifeless body hanging from a rope, and she was suddenly alone. With nothing holding her to the wreckage, she decided her only chance of survival was to leave the ship. There was a good chance she was going to die anyway, but she couldn’t live with herself if she hadn’t at least tried. Though, now that she was suffering from the worst case of sunburn she’d ever experienced, she was starting to regret it just a bit.

She needed to rest. Just for a moment. She was exhausted, and her feet felt as though they were on fire. She found a small rock formation and sat down, leaning back against the warm stone. For a moment, she could feel herself falling asleep. Stars, when was the last time she slept? Her eyes had just fluttered closed when—

Zip. Crash. Boom! She was startled awake by a series of noises, none of them sounding particularly good. She quickly sat up, looking around for the source of the sounds. She glanced up towards the sky, using her hand as a visor. There was a dark trail of smoke, which her gaze followed, that lead to a could of dust and smoke and flames. Monika’s eyes widened once she realized that it was another shipwreck, much like her own. How often did that happen on this planet? She wasn’t sure if the exact statistics, but it seemed very improbable for there to be multiple crashes on the same planet within a week of one another. She scrambled to her feet and began running as fast as she could towards the wreck, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do once she got there, but she couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

Even if there were no survivors, there could be supplies or some way to contact another ship or something. Anything. it was hard to believe that only a week ago, she was graduating at the top of her class at the Faraday Institute and getting ready to finally head home to her family. Now she was bounding towards the fiery carnage of a wreck like some feral animal, on some strange planet that she had never seen or heard of, shouting what she wasn’t even sure were actual words and hoping that someone could hear her. She could taste salt, and she wasn’t sure if it was her sweat or if she had started crying at some point, but it didn’t matter because she was almost there.

By the time she had reached the ship, the flames seemed to had died down a considerable amount. She scanned the ship, looking for a point of entry, but to no avail. She was sure there had to be an entrance somewhere, so she continued to circle the vessel. She eventually found one on the opposite side of the ship that looked to have been pried open, but there was certainly no way she could reach it — so she settled on shouting ‘hello!’ and ‘is there anybody there?’ repeatedly, instead. If there were any survivors on that ship, hopefully they could hear her.


Farseer to the Warsong Clan
Wei braces as the ship lurches into FTL. To be frank, he's never particularly enjoyed faster-than-light travel, and this isn't even doing it under the best of circumstances. Looking towards Laoise, he raises his gauntleted left hand and extends his index finger and pinky outward, then wiggles his fingers. The devil horns never go out of style, and its still his preferred way to signal success. They made it out, and he enjoyed the opportunity to remind her it was largely thanks to him.

Looking around him, he decides quickly that none of the chairs here are rated for his weight and squats down slightly before locking the knee joints on his suit and magnetizing to the floor so he doesn't have to support his own weight. Keying his private line to Laoise, he chuckles. "So when do we pop these guys? Ship like this, even in this condition, would fill up some pockets. More than I've got." He asks.

When the ship drops out of FTL and sets its crash course, he unlocks his joints and spins towards Laoise. As the ground gets closer and closer, he can feel the G-forces kick in and the blood rush to his legs before his secondary heart roars to life in his abdomen, forcing blood upward to keep blood flowing to his brain as the crushing gravity buildup sends blood streaming down to his calves. Its enough to keep him sensible enough to stomp across the bridge as they get closer to the ground. Without really asking, he wraps his considerable armored weight around Laoise, bracing and locking his armor in place to absorb as much of the impact as possible. He loses consciousness when they hit the ground, and the pair of them get launched out of a shattered viewport, tumbling down the side the hull of the ship together in an armored ball. Its enough to save the two of them, though he's broken a wrist and several of his armor's systems are damaged. Still, its better than being a red smear in the sand.

Alexander Cavanaugh, Lord of the Two Rivers, looks skyward from his throne room, the wreckage of an old casino ship perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking his domain - the fertile valley set between two rivers where a motley collection of shacks made from local materials and ship wrecks sit among his fields. The rivers have plenty of fish, and the irrigation system he put into place originally has done its job. A well-rounded education has gone a long way to making his position unassailable - to reach his palace, one needs flight or to ascend the fortified staircase, and he has enough food stored to last a siege. It is good to be king.

The top of the staircase is protected by his prized possession - a YLN-3 Nova Courier, mostly intact but not quite operational. Its prow weaponry is, however, and any would-be attackers have to confront a loaded auto-cannon on their approach with no cover. The small vessel will be enough to get him and his closest supporters off the world eventually, at least once they found a suitable JMX9 power coupling to get the engine spun up. The luxury free-trader craft would be a nice home as he figured out the next phase of his life - real leather upholstery, a high class lounge and wet bar, a real kitchen, the sort of vessel a planetary noble would tour the galaxy in during his youth. He'd killed that same noble twenty years ago when he landed here himself, flayed him and hung his skin from a pole to signify his authority. Messages are important.

Seeing a large vessel streak down out of the sky, as they so often do, Alexander picks up his helmet, coils his vibro-whip around his forearm in its sheathed position, and then picks up the battered carbine he'd found in the casino ship's security room. No doubt his people in the village below knew how they greeted newcomers - with sharpened spears and loaded guns. They'd enslave the ship's engineers and kill the rest - their other mouths weren't worth feeding. Attended by his personal guard, Alex strides imperiously from his throne room down the steps to join his forces in the village below, where they'll mount their reptilian Teragor riding beasts, bipedal raptor-like creatures, and ride for the crash site.
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dae mec

Birds are cool. 🐦
Lu looked up at the sky, squinting with her flesh eye at the streak of light in the atmosphere. "Damn. Two crashes in one week!" she said to no one in particular. "Lucky, isn't it? Well, unlucky to the poor souls who're joining us on this resort planet, but lucky for us. I wonder if we'll get any good parts from this ship too." The last ship crash had no survivors that they saw, but there had been some helpful parts. "We might even get useful people. Not that everyone doesn't have inherent value: they do! We all have inherent value, and you deserve to live even if you have no skills worth being stranded on Crash McCrashland, but like... if you're a lawyer, that's not super great here, right? No offense to lawyers."

She closed her flesh eye, focusing with her cybernetic one. Lu switched the mode of her vision and let her red implant do the trajectory calculations for her. Prior, she'd used that feature for the amateur ricochetball league that she played in when planet-side. She'd downloaded other mods for her ocular implant on a whim, but they had also come in handy. It turned out that infrared, night vision, and other visual overlays were great when it came to surviving on this beautiful hell hole. Almost as useful as her medical knowledge. She was high in demand on this rock, which was always a good feeling.

"It's about an hour away," she announced. Lu grabbed the 'first aid kit' (which was sad compared to a proper one), rope, and a couple supplies that she thought might be useful. "I'm going to head over there. Anyone want to join me? Scavenge buddies, eh?"

Though she said that, she was already moving out. There was a solid chance that no one would respond to her: most people had gotten adept at tuning on her monologues. In the last few months she'd been here, Lu and the survivors from her ship had fallen in with a mid-size collective. It was somewhat democratic, and there was a steady supply of food thanks to frequent scavenging and the potato field a prior survivor had set up. Lu had quickly made herself valuable, but that didn't stop people from being annoyed by her chatter.


Proverbs 17:9
Kestrel Cavanaugh woke, laid out on the ground at the end of a long furrow. As her eyes blearily tried to focus, her equally worn-out brain struggled to get itself back online and process her circumstances.

She'd been in a crash. The ship was crashing. Critical damage to the engine had resulted in critical damage to the Ambivalence itself. She remembered Silas and Adira working frantically to hold the ship together, remembered the black weight of a terrestrial world in the middle of nowhere looming up on the ship's sensors, relayed by ship telemetry to her HUD. Her HUD. She was still in her suit. The form-fitting grip of the environmental armor reassured her, as did the suit status report waiting patiently for her to acknowledge it. Her implanted Mutter's Spiral Chipset's transceiver was in a state of constant synch with the spacesuit's onboard processors, and it 'dropped' an overlay of the armor's condition into her field of vision. Translucent, so as to not create a blind spot, but with telltale strobing that indicated numerous micro-fractures and outright tears rendered the suit unspaceworthy. Still, it'd kept her alive.

Turning her head, Kestrel next processed the fact that she was prone on the ground. Surface. This was the planet? How did she get out here? Another moment and her eyes backtracked along the furrow, then followed the path up to the wreckage of the Ambivalence. It was impossible to tell exactly where, or how, she'd exited the hull but plainly the shock of impact had propelled her right through. Which should have killed her, if she was being honest with herself.

She closed her eyes and tuned into her body. The weight of her bones, and now her muscles, were still just new enough to be unfamiliar, foreign. Soft tissue was another matter. An experimental shift brought a hiss to her lips, revealing the beating she'd taken. Bruising, surely. Possibly damage to her organs. Sore. Kestrel felt so sore as she shifted again. She needed medical attention, a physician to professionally diagnose and treat her injuries. But that seemed pretty damn unlikely given their circumstances.

Their circumstances.

"Ambivalence, this is Kestrel," she croaked into her comm. "Anyone getting this? If you can't speak, try to toggle your comm on and off at least so I know you're out there."

strawbqby strawbqby
The effort of speaking exhausted her, which probably said a lot about her physical condition right now. Listening for an answer from her crew, however, gave her an opportunity to realize she could already hear someone. Cries of 'hello' and 'is there anybody there' and such. Not a voice she recognized either.

With effort, Kestrel lifted her head enough to spot a girl who looked to be in equally bad shape. Someone else stranded here? Pretty young thing, the girl looked apprentice-aged but lacked a uniform and sported an impressively bad sunburn. Recent survivor? Didn't seem to be armed, which was promising. The thought made Kestrel realize her rifle was God knows where. A shift of a hip brought another hiss of pain but confirmed her pistol had stayed in its holster, somehow. So she had options.

"Someone's here," she said, not so much speaking loudly as toggling up her environmental armor's voice projector. "That's the Ambivalence, or what's left of it. I'm Kestrel Cavanaugh. Please declare your name and intentions." All from a prone position, no less! No need to risk further injury when she could just lie here and project at her potential rescue.


🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Roleplay Type(s)
For what felt like the 5th time that hour, Wei had saved Laoise's life. The crash was... Well, honestly, somewhat expected. It was bad enough that she had stolen coordinates from the Soviets, but she then apparently defected to the pirates they were already firing at. It was, all things considered, not her brightest set of moments. If it wasn't for Wei, her hired protection, she'd have been trapped on the Soviet ship and executed when she ran out of stolen weapons to sell them. Even as things seemed to be standing, Laoise couldn't help but find it preferable. She'd rather die in a fiery crash than the torture she knew the Soviets would have reserved for her.

Helping the unfortunate crew she and Wei had unwittingly become the saviors of, Laoise found herself trying to work as a makeshift navigator. As the ship's shield fell and the Soviets were about to disintegrate them all, an animalistic urge to save her own life overtook her. She punched in the coordinates she had stolen instead of the empty space she originally had announced, and closed her eyes. Please don't get us all killed, she said to herself, desperate to manifest her survival into a tangible truth. Laoise had never been an exceptional navigator and, with her luck, she had misread one of the numbers. The ship accelerated into faster than light travel and she prayed they'd make it without issue.

They didn't.

Laoise was flung forward against a glass pane as the ship was suddenly thrown from FTL travel. The armor over her left hip cracked and dug into her flesh. "G-ah! Fuck!," she screamed, falling to the floor. Warm blood coated her leg as she struggled to stand and remain conscious. She scanned the room for Wei, who she quickly found standing with seemingly no trouble.

"So when do we pop these guys? Ship like this, even in this condition, would fill up some pockets. More than I've got." He asks.

Laoise let out a pained laugh. Wei was a different breed entirely, she had decided. Only someone who had long ago forsaken his own sanity would be thinking that in their present circumstances. Even so, she called back out to the man that had kept her alive thus far. "Let's survive first, okay?"

Maybe he took that as an order, or maybe he really was just committed to keeping her alive and finishing his contact. Though, really, it didn't matter. Before Laoise could object, she was grappled by the man in the hulking suit, where she remained as the ship crashed in a rather grandiose fashion. She hit her head against Wei's armor, but she managed to stay conscious as the ship skidded across the soft dirt below them.

For what felt like the 5th time that hour, Wei had saved Laoise's life.


Laoise forced herself out of Wei's metal embrace. "Wei?" she called out. Nothing. Was she keyed into his private line? She fiddled with her helmet, but the two were still connected. "Wei!" she called again, trying to put authority into her voice. Nothing. "Fuck," she grumbled to herself. There was no way she'd be able to drag Wei's gigantic armored frame from the wreck under normal circumstances, but with the thick smoke and her injured leg, she wasn't even sure she could stumble out by herself. "Please survive, Wei." She touched his metal shoulder pad before turning and fighting her way through the tar colored smoke.

As she stumbled from the ship, she saw a blonde woman on the ground in front of a badly sunburned brunette. She figured the brunette wasn't on their ship due to her bright red skin, but Laoise couldn't remember meeting the blonde either. Then again, she hadn't exactly had much time for pleasantries. "Hello!" she called, fighting through the pain to stand up straight. "Would either of you happen to be a member of the crew I just helped save?"

strawbqby strawbqby Epiphany Epiphany


The Bologna Bombing Line
Tavish wiped swear off of his forehead as he glared daggers at the freighter's emergency transmission system. Several long gashes and exposed wires on the surface of the nondescript metal box stared back, mocking him. He had been fiddling with it on and off for the better part of the time since the crash, three weeks, for three hours today. It had been hopeless. It was probably possible to fix. Maybe if he had more tools beyond a pry-bar and a kitchen knife, he could have done it. Or maybe not. He'd never been too great with electrical devices, didn't have the mind to trace wires.

He sat down hard next to the transmitter on the piece of debris he'd been using as a makeshift workbench. He looked at it again, and frowned. What good would a distress signal even do out here? He had no idea where they were, and no idea how to find out since the bridge and most of the command staff had been more or less vaporized by impact. He stood up, picked up the pry-bar he'd carried there with him for some reason, and headed back to camp.

There had been twelve of them, roughly, when the ship had first crashed. The entirety of the ship's command, navigational, and support crew had been killed when the front of the ship impacted the ground like the tip of a missile. The ship had stood, teetering on its nose for a moment before falling over and tearing itself in half. The twelve who survived were all just contract workers who had been in the cargo hold. Mostly deckhands, a couple janitors, and one security guard who'd been very out of his depth.

Now though, there were only two. Tavish and Hank. Some of the others had died in those first few days, succumbing to whatever injuries they couldn't treat with the one first aid kit that had survived the crash. The rest had gone with the security guard, to look for civilization. Tavish stayed with Hank.

Hank was old. Tavish didn't know if he'd ever done anti-aging treatments, but if he had then he must have been pushing 130. He looked about sixty. He'd fractured most of ribs, dislocated an arm, and had done something to his knee in the crash. Without surgery, he was a dead man. Tavish had stayed, though. Hank had been his union steward, and a funny guy in the way that most drunk old men were.

"I'm back, Hank." He said, climbing through a gap in the torn-up hull to what had once been the cargo hold. Between a few overturned containers were a handful of bed rolls and the embers of a campfire. He did not slow his pace, and instead reached into the pocket of his coveralls for the crumpled pack of cigarettes he'd been carefully rationing the past three weeks. "You want a smoke, old man?" He asked as he lit his own. His eyes flicked down to Hank on the bed roll. "What, you asle-" He stopped. "Ah." Hank's chest wasn't rising or falling. Tavish frowned. He'd only known him for four or five months, before the crash. If they'd gotten to their destination, Tavish probably would never have seen him again once they collected their paychecks. Off to deckhand on whichever ship the union had a job for them at. Still, he'd liked him.

Tavish knelt down and as gingerly as he could laid two fingers against Hank's throat. No pulse. Tavish put out the cigarette, looked around for some words. Nothing came, he sighed, and a put a hand on the old man's shoulders.

"Sorry, brother." He said.

Hours later and Hank was buried, though the grave was not deep. He'd dug with a pry-bar and then later with a roughly shovel-shaped scrap of the hull. It was enough. He shoved the piece of scrap he'd used into the dirt, as much of a marker as he could manage. It was no great monument to the man's memory, but it would keep the animals away.

He thought, then, about what to do. The others had promised to send back help. That was nine days ago. The transmitter would not function and would not help if it did. He was running low on the provisions they'd borrowed from one of the surviving cargo containers. As he thought, he saw a fireball streak through the sky and land a pretty great distance from him.

If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was. If there were people here, they'd be either in that wreck or on their way to it. He set about packing up what he had. He slipped the pry bar into the belt-loop of his coveralls. He couldn't help but wish that he had his old Icarus service pistol with him, now buried amongst the ruins of the crew quarters. Likely flattened. He thought for a moment, removing the cigarettes from his pocket. He supposed there was no better time to quit than while stranded on a desert planet. He left them on top of Hank's grave, the only other person he'd met in years who still smoked. He made a promise to himself, that he'd buy himself some of the fancy ones if he ever got off this rock.

Once all was settled, he looked up again. The smoke from the crash was too far now to see, but he remembered where it had gone down. Roughly, anyway. With a final hesitant look at his old camp, he swore under his breath and started making his way there.


Fantasy Romance Archivist
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Maya had been going about her daily routine (which amounted to a lot of doing nothing) when the sky suddenly blazed with light. Shielding her eyes she looked up and watched the trail of what could only be ship debris fly above her head. Maya had taken a walk just outside the temporary camp outskirts, but she could hear the cries of surprise and curiosity rise up from the makeshift shelters from where she stood. Shrugging, Maya figured she would head back to base. They would probably send out a search team to survey the wreckage, and Maya wanted to see what they came back with. She really hoped that at the very least there would be some spare parts they could use to fix their own ship. Exploring the hollow shells around had proven fruitless so far, and Maya REALLY wanted to get back to modern civilization. The latest installment in her favorite serial novella series was supposed to have been released two months ago, and she was dying to know what happened. She really missed having modern entertainment.

"Did you see that, Maya?" one of the scientists, Travis, asked Maya as she walked past. He was one of the nicer members of the ship they had worked on. Close to her in age, and always trying to make her feel included in conversations with others. If she had to call any of the people she was stranded with a friend, it would probably be Travis.

"Kinda hard to miss it, Travis." Maya responded.

The man nodded and gestured her over. "Me and a few others are going to go check it out. Come with us." Maya was taken aback at his offer. Of the people here Maya was probably the least qualified to go on a mini expedition to survey a crashed ship. Travis seemed to notice Maya's surprise and smiled at her. "Come on, it could be fun. You're bored out of your mind here, we can all see that."

Maya thought it over for a moment and nodded. "Alright, I'll go." With a small smile, Maya went to her meager shack of a temporary dwelling and gathered the things she might need. A few basic tools, in case something needed repaired or disassembled, some water, and a small snack for if they got hungry. Maya met Travis and the other scientists and the meeting point, and the group ventured off. Following the trail of smoke that lingered in the sky.

The group made conversation as they went. From what Maya could gather, none of them had been able to figure out why this planet seemed to cause so many wrecks. Granted, a lot of their tools had gotten damaged in the bumpy landing they had made. But would they have even been able to solve the mystery if they had those at their disposal anyways? After a long time, and about half of Maya's water ration, the group crested a small hill to look down below them. There it was, a decently sized vessel smoldering among the earth. As the wind blew, it brought with it the waves of heat and the smell of oxidized metal. Maya cringed, and upon doing so noticed that something in the debris was moving.

"Holy shit, there are survivors." Maya readjusted the straps of her bag and began hastily climbing down the hills slope. There were shouts behind her as members of her own crew warned her to stay away, that they could be hostile, that there could be scavenger animals waiting to feast on the corpses of the dead. But Maya paid them no head. There were people down there, Maya was sure of it as she got closer and could now see multiple figures standing out among the wreckage, and she couldn't abandon them to die choking on the fumes of their own ship. What if that had been her down there? She would have welcomed the help of an outsider.

"Hey! Hey, are you all right? Are there more?" Maya called out to the figures as she approached. Right now she could make out a man and a woman. For all she knew there were more people who needed pulled from the flames. "We have a medic back at our camp if you need it!" Maya turned around and motioned for her own crewmates to come down and join her. They had come to survey the wreckage, but helping the people stuck inside took priority.


Miss Medic
Collab post with sublimed sublimed , all parts involving Dekxer were written by him!

Dekxer heard the rustle of someone rising to their feet behind him. He turned to see a woman, small in stature compared to him, wrestling to get her helmet off. The sound of hissing was alleviated when she finally managed to break free. As soon as she did the sound that left her lips was a little too pained to be normal. Their eyes met and she reached for her weapon that rested on her hip. Dekx raised his hand up to let her know he wasn't a threat. What a wonderful time not to have his side-arms on his person.

"I'm not here to harm you," he said in a calming tone. He meant that-- he was there to help. Call it luck if you wanted, Dekx just happened to be at the right place as the right person.

Adira forced herself to a firing stance and tried to quiet the screaming of her ribs as she raised her pistol, the white muzzle vibrant in the dim light. It hurt to breathe, stars it hurt, but she wasn't about to back down, especially not when a guy easily twice her weight class was looming over Silas. "Bull. Who are you and why are you here?" There were a lot of better questions, like where they even were and who else in her crew survived, but right now this seemed most important.

Dekxer paused and looked at the weapon pointed at his skull. He held his ground, aware that she was a little jolted from the landing.

"Does it matter who I am?" he asked, raising his hand to gesture at the surrounding. "My name is Dekxer, I'm trying to get you guys to safety. If that's a problem you can riddle me with as many bullets as you like...after I get you off this ship." Dekxer looked at her with a raised brow then took a step toward the door, the weight of the man on his shoulder not bothering him a bit.

"You coming or not?" he asked, coughing a little from the fumes of smoke rising around them.

Adira looked him over and said, "It matters who you are because you have my mechanic on your back." The authoritative volume in her voice faded halfway through her sentence. So, it would have to be small breaths to make it hurt less, noted. She hated to admit this Dekxer was right, but in the end she couldnt' argue much. Was Silas even alive? She couldn't tell, and she didn't like thinking about the alternative. Who else from her crew was alive? Worse, they didn't have a medical kit anywhere she knew of, this ship was strange to her. She looked around to see if any of her crewmates were visible, but really she couldn't see much past the debris and the smoke. Or was that her eyes?

"Fine. If you make a wrong move, I'm still going to shoot you." Adira took her eyes off of him for a moment to try to pick her way through the rubble littering the ground, her own balance already iffy at best as she followed behind. She'd need to come back to search for the others once she knew Silas was safe, but she didn't trust Dekxer, not yet. Secretly she hoped she could though.... Adira didn't want to admit that she wouldn't be able to carry any of her crewmates except for maybe that new Russian girl out. The only way she could get anyone out was with Silas's help or, potentially, Dekxer's.

They made their way to the door and, before the woman with the gun could oppose, he wrapped his arm around her waist. The jump down was a bit farther down than it looked.

"Brace yourself," He yelled before taking a step off the edge. They landed with a loud 'thud', with Dekxer taking the force of the fall with his legs. He released the woman, gently, and laid the man out on the sands before him. He noticed three more female life-forms outside the ship. He looked down at the mystery man and noticed the rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive. 'Good,' Dekx thought, otherwise Annie Oakley would have put one in his head. He looked back at the ones who were already on the beach.

"Is there anyone else up there?" he asked, craning his neck back at the spacecraft that was finally smoldering down.

Adira yelped as Dekxer grabbed her, and probably would have put a bullet in his head if she had had more coordination at the time - and wasn't falling (again, ironically). Her ribs ached in his grip, but it was better than falling. She stumbled away as he released her. Rather than snapping at him and arguing, she silently watched him lay Silas out and knelt beside him, taking his pulse. Despite the blood on his face, he seemed fine, his breathing and pulse were regular and steady. Now as to everyone else. "Uh..."

Adira looked over to the group of women and squinted. "I don't know one of them... There's me, Silas, Wei... I think that's maybe his armor in the distance... Kestrel is over there... Stratton ( Viper Actual Viper Actual )! He's probably still in there, he's an older guy, uh... really tall, should still be in his suit. If he's conscious, you'll have to tell him Adira said you're okay," Adira sighed and added a soft, "And before you go up there... thanks. Seems like you are trying to help."

Adira looked up at the woman ( thorspuddingcup thorspuddingcup ). Well, no point in stealth now. There as a whole group of people to "help" and if they didn't want to and at this point, fighting it wouldn't be worth much. She remained aware of the gun on her hip as she sat up and called, "I have an injured crewman here! Others of my crew are over there, they may need help."
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The Jenkins Curse

Among the Stars
Silas wasn't in great shape after the crash. Sometime during the crash, he had hit his head on something hard, enough to make the rest of the fall a blur at best and completely blotched at the worst. By the time everything stopped moving, Silas was knocked out cold, pried up against a corner. It was only by the miracle of someone else he was taken from the smoldering wreck at all. The wreck was little more than a pile of scrap, and no doubt anything inside was in about the same condition. Considering the ship wasn't even theirs, there was no way to tell if they had any rations, medical stations, anything. It was little more than a somewhat pretty sight in the sand and shore grass. The flames from the ship had sparked a fire in the tall grass which was starting to spread, though that was probably the least of anyone's worries. It seemed as though the crash of the vessel had brought many different people from all over to the sight, which itself was grandiose. The stress of the metal permeated the area, assuring everyone that it was far from a static wreck. The engine that was still attached to the hull hung high in the air through some force of mangled makeshift scaffolding, and threatened to fall at any moment. The engine still ignited flames from time to time; the fuel source was a major threat of immolation if it ever caught fire.

Through all the chaos, it was clear that there wasn't much around to aid in the rescue of the crew trapped inside. It was little more than an open field beside a large lake or maybe a bay. Silas' head began to sway slightly, his eyelids flickering a bit. He tried to sit up eventually but instead coughed and resumed his prone position in the sand. He felt like his lungs were filled with smoke and his entire body felt singed by flame. Was he even alive anymore? He hoped so, since he doubted the gates to heaven were in front of a ship crash. A ship crash. Shit, Silas thought, bringing his hand to his head. There's no way he survived falling from atmosphere onto a planet's surface. There's no way any of them survived that. Before he could think much more on it, the pain in his leg flared up and forced Silas to seethe. Looking down, his right leg looked fine, but he couldn't move it at all. With his hand he slowly felt the spot of injury, recoiling a bit at the feeling. Shit, he thought again. Definitely broken. He winced at the thought of the sound his leg made when it collided with whatever apparatus caused it. "Where are we?" Silas asked, looking around at those standing above him. Maybe he was just dreaming and he was safe in his bed, back on the Ambivalence. He hoped so. The shouts in the distance didn't reinforce it, though.


Monika strained to see inside the ship, standing up on her toes and craning her neck. For a moment, it seemed that her shouts were in vain. There was no one there. But surely there wouldn’t be an empty ship propelling itself through space until eventually crashing. Right? Then she heard it. A voice. Monika snapped her head in the direction of the sound and saw a woman lying in the sand, seemingly unable to move. Monika quickly made her way towards the woman, falling to her knees in front of her. She was blonde and appeared to be a little older than Monika. Though, it was hard to tell anyone’s real age nowadays.

It was pretty obvious that the woman was in bad shape. Monika surely would’ve started crying just from the sight of another person if she weren’t already halfway in tears. The woman had asked for Monika’s name and intentions. Monika thought she might’ve even seen her reach for her pistol. Which she supposed was understandable, given the circumstances. Still, though, Monika was unarmed — Stars, Monika had never even touched a gun before — and wasn’t about to let some stranger shoot her out of fear. Monika may have been in bad shape, but this woman was worse, and Monika was easily able to push her hand away from her holster and remove the pistol. She quickly tossed it to the side, out of both of their reaches. Good, Monika thought, now we can get somewhere. Monika opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, another voice was calling out to them. Monika stood up, bracing her hands on her knees. She squinted, looking towards the figure that was speaking. It was another woman, also blonde. But that was all Monika could make out from this distance. If these two survived being thrown from the ship, Monika thought, then maybe there are more people in there. They couldn’t have been manning it all by themselves. Monika turned back to the woman lying on the ground. She leaned down a bit, outstretching her hand. “My name is Monika, and I promise that my intentions are good,” she said. She tried to force a smile, but her skin was pulled so tight from the sunburn that she probably just looked pained. Oh well, at least maybe she could help get this woman upright.

dae mec

Birds are cool. 🐦
"Love is a tragedy!" sang Lu to herself as she continued the hike to the ship crash. It was the theme song of the creatively named Love is a Tragedy, a soap opera with two hundred episodes. (The latest one she'd seen, episode 112, had ended on a cliff hanger with the main interest's evil twin being revealed to be a robot clone.) Lu was watching it with her mech eye while her right fleshy one kept track of the outside world. "How could we lie? How will we cry? When love is a—"

She fell silent when she heard voices. Survivors! She stopped the video with a mental command and hurried forward. The trees abruptly stopped, revealing a clearing by a lake. Not a bad site for a crash. Lu scanned the scene, her eyebrows going up as she took stock. There was a remarkably red looking woman next to an injured person, a few others who were helping bring crew from the ship, an intimidating lady with a gun, a very injured man who was being carried by... ah, Dekx. She knew him. Lu wondered if the medieval cosplayer he hung around would show up too. Probably, considering the size of the ship... she'd have to move fast.

"Hello, Dekxer." Lu nodded to him. A little louder, in a calm, professional voice that she always used in a crisis, she said to everyone, "I'm a medic. Looks like we have several injured. I'll start triage and basic care, though we need to set up further from the crash site." She gestured towards the lake shore, away from the precarious, groaning wreck of a space vehicle. "Sound good?"

Viper Actual

Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Some might consider a ship escaping via FTL in the nick of time from a horrendous battle to be an exciting event. James Stratton however, was not one of them.

As the ship lurched forward there was a brief moment of relief followed by an intense feeling of dread and fear as the hull, metal and every other inch of the ship cried out in pain as it practically tore itself in half. Now, while not an expert Stratton had read enough Waning Star reports on FTL-accidents and/or FTL-related bombings to know that zero structural integrity paired with insane amounts of speed almost always resulted in death.

Stratton initially clutched to his console before strapping himself in. Once secured in his seat his eyes hovered over to Adira. This wasn't how he thought things were going to pan out- not by a long shot. Sure, he didn't see himself growing old on some distant colony but being torn in half during FTL certainly never made the list.

He sighed. I wish I had more time. There's so much more I wanted to say, so much more I wanted you to know.

Instead of speaking however, Stratton remained silent and the only thing Adira could see if she looked at him would have been the flashing lights of the console in front of him reflecting upon his opaque visor. Then, when the ship dropped out of FTL, a piece of metal detached and collided with Stratton's right shoulder which dented his shoulder plate and severed that part of the seat's harness which effectively cut him lose right as the ship violently crashed down onto the planet below.

Stratton's last thought before being hurled sideways across the room would be a mental comment on the planet's apparent beauty.

There's worse places to die.

With a catch of breath and wide eyes open Stratton suddenly awoke. He was warm and freezing at the same time which hinted at a wound somewhere that he needed to pack- and fast. To his surprise he wasn't covered entirely in debris though during his short flight through the bridge he had managed to get himself tangled in several meters of wiring. With a couple of waves and movements his arms were somewhat free and Stratton was about to untangle the rest of his body when a sharp pain shot through his left thigh.

Managing a glance, Stratton spotted a small piece of metal loosely lodged into his leg. It had somehow narrowly missed the armor plate on the thigh which Stratton would have been really impressed of if he wasn't in pain because of it.

Tapping the side of his helmet to manually activate the comms the now wounded liaison attempted to contact the rest of the crew, though he was met only with static. Looking around him did no good- there were simply too much debris surrounding him to get a proper look so there was no way of telling if any of the others were around much less still alive.

"Great," he muttered. "I guess I better start cutting." Said Stratton, slowly reaching for the forged blade still resting in its sheath on the right side of his equipment belt.
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The Jenkins Curse

Among the Stars
Silas was still half awake, barely able to perceive anything going on around him. He knew Adira was nearby, and he knew some other figures were too. The man beside him was unrecognizable, though. He tried picturing Stratton or Wei in his place, but neither seemed to fit his stature. Maybe they had rescue? He hoped they landed in a comfy resort on a planet filled with rich non-profit members looking for a cause to help - because damn did his crew need it right now. From the situation alone he knew the Ambivalence members were in rough shape, if any were like him. He knew Adira was in relatively good condition, but he didn't have tabs on anyone else. Stratton? Kestrel? Where were they? It was too disorienting for Silas to try and place faces on those around him, so he instead collapsed back on the sand and stared into the sky with blurry vision. Was he about to lose consciousness again? Was he about to just start getting better? Silas hoped for the latter, but it seemed unlikely. When Silas heard the term "medic," he was more than interested in letting out a groan. "Got any painkillers? My leg hurts like a bitch," He said, trying once more to sit up. Yeah, I definitely hit my head in that crash, he thought.

Dekxer, flashing a heroic grin at Lu, responded. "Good to see you out here, Lee. Let's get to work." He looked back to the wreckage, wondering how much longer it'd take for it to topple over and crush any chance of rescuing more survivors. Whatever decision he came to, it clearly wasn't soon, as he darted back for the ship without another word. Entering the same airlock as before, he wove his way between wreckage and rubble to reach the bridge again. Dekxer assumed the bridge was where most of the survivors would've been, considering the rest of the ship was little more than brimstone and twisted metal. Even by comparison, though, the bridge was little more than a box barely holding together under the stress of the compromised hull. Fires were practically everywhere, debris could be a hiding any number of bodies. While searching for more survivors, Dekxer lifted up a thin, papery foil that looks insectoid in nature. A piece of a wing, he thought. There was a Durian on board.

Dekxer began his search for the being when he came across Stratton; a competent looking man, working his way through a mess of wire. Dekx was unsure if he was wounded or not, but went to help free the man regardless. He'd already been aimed at by one of the people from this crew, he he was sure to state his intentions after beginning his rescue operation. "I'm Dekx. Don't worry, I'm here to help. I've already helped other members of your team out of the wreck."

The entire fuselage of the ship abruptly slipped a notch lower than it had been before, the sound of metal crushing as it began to give way and fully collapse. It was clear that imminent destruction was soon to follow. Dekx lurched around a bit, but otherwise continued assisting Stratton. "we've gotta move fast." He said brusquely.


Þe wormes awnswers to þe body
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What cruel joke was it that his mind was unable to pull itself away from the blur of what happened? His memory of the crash was a spindly little thing, intent on hiding itself away like a spider behind a sink. He neither wanted to coax it out nor reach for it, since he knew the effort would inspire hostility, and the memory would only slink further back, not wanting to tango with anger. In attempted distractions, he would wonder why none of his shortlived fellow crew on board the Holden had not come to find him. But there were tens of explanations why.

If he was being nihilistic, it was because he was the only survivor; the Holden hadn’t needed strong crewmembers, since it was little more than a coach that slogged through the cosmos, and, at present, he could think of only one other crew member whose body type compared to his own.

If he was being optimistic, maybe other survivors had woken and dragged themselves to shelter in another direction. When he had gone back to the crash site, wading through the loosened under-sand, he hadn’t seen footprints leading anywhere; but that was to be expected. Winds like this would erase even blood, scattering red grains into infinity.

Perhaps they’d found shelter; perhaps they’d found life.

But the Holden was a graveyard now. Just one of many on this dire little planet. He knew, when he was debriefed by the Holden’s captain – who, by the way, had a crease of disgust on his face when speaking to an ex-convict – that something would go wrong.

‘We’re heading to a terminal to collect passengers. Our route will take us past a few notable points, the main one being a planet with extreme gravity. You will be advised to wear your suit during that time to alleviate pressure changes. You do have a suit, right?’

There was that moral smirk again. And the psionics were so bright with superiority, shining something akin to the word ‘unlikely.’

‘Of course, I have a suit, sir.’

‘That’s good. If you didn’t, you would be able to borrow one of our extras,’ said the captain. His psionic projections told a different story, a story of waning, subtle disappointment.

Ah. He was thinking about the journey again. As for the crash, he could work backwards: he had a mean concussion now and awoke from unconsciousness sprawled on the sand. Two clues with one pretty obvious progenitor.

The rest of his memory was intact though. He hadn’t been able to search through all of it, since he could barely think at all due to the concussion, but he knew the basic, important things. His name was Qyilim os datha dei-Enth, he was Zirzolan, and he was an interrogator and backup ground troop who had served ten years in the Waning Stars military. And he’d been in jail up until a few months ago. Funny how that one fact eclipsed everything else he was.

But that didn’t matter now. He was alone on the sand, wrestling with the next course of action. He had barely slept for the time he’d been here, only able to get a few miserable half-hours in each time. When his hunger, boredom or, more frequently, pure frustration got the better of him, he would stand, slide the compact pistol from its place in his prosthetic right arm and head off to search for food. Each time he did this, he wanted to instead take out his tabs of Caprocetin and make himself too dozy to care. But with a concussion, painkillers became potentially lethal. Did he want to take the pain away and have a sounder sleep, or did he want to ensure his own life for a few more precious days? If he had even one Caprocetin, it would invalidate all the edge-of-despair things he’d done to keep water in his body.

Twice he’d thrown his remaining tabs into the sand.

Twice he’d retrieved them.

Twice he’d felt helpless, married to his craving.

Then one day, another ship had crashed. He’d felt the impact, he’d hunkered down behind the piece of debris he called home for the moment and waited for the sand to settle. His suit was damaged enough: last thing he needed was a barrage of stinging sand worsening the rips to the outer layers.

A crash brought hope with it though. At least, that was the thought that sprung to mind, before morality squirmed in and reminded him that, just as with the Holden, people likely died in this crash too. Lives snuffed out. Families unaware who they’ve just lost. They were now significant only in becoming an addition to the statistics Waning Stars had on this planet. A life reduced to a 0.0001%.

Just another reason to get angry: just another reason to avoid the Caprocetin.

Don’t fucking die on this planet, Qyil.

A crash brought problems though. What other surviving nomads would make their way there? Would he even make it, or be killed by some hostile folk trekking up themselves? Well, he’d not let that happen. Perhaps he should just kill the first person he sees and carry them back to his little den? Provided they were fleshy, he could dine on every part of them, and sup their blood to regain the strength this place had sapped from him. Carrying them back would be the only problem, since the increased gravity here would make it a bit of a chore.

His tongue ran along his teeth, eager from hunger and craving something between them. He’d be careful: he’d kill if he had to, but wouldn’t go hunting for Terran, or Tethian, or whatever else found itself stranded on this planet.

He took off, walking with rhythmic strides across the sand, keeping his pistol at his side, mostly hidden by his hand and its padded suit exterior. He had a plan. He wasn’t going to die on this planet. Though, he wasn’t sure how he’d get off it on his own, so that was a bit of a problem.

A fresh crash, fresh casualties. As with the Holden, this vessel had made a sizable crater around it, meaning he could duck down and simply observe for a while. He stayed very still, visually scanning for movement. He wasn’t about to rush in to help – hopefully for the promise of future resources – if it meant some other deadly-minded person could pick him off easier.

Some people had no such qualms however: there was a man down there, exiting a door, uninjured; there was a woman hurrying to the ship.

At this range, his compact pistol probably couldn’t kill unless he got really lucky. For now, he’d watch the ship, watch his surroundings. Vigilant, observing.

He didn’t want to think like a hunter, like a killer, but it was the only method of defence now. If he assumed everyone was friendly… he’d become the prey.
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Viper Actual

Ask me about my tourniquet fetish.
Slowly making his way through the wiring while the ship continued to rumble, Stratton stopped as a figure appeared among the debris.

"I'm Dekx. Don't worry, I'm here to help. I've already helped other members of your team out of the wreck."

Eyeing the man Stratton slowly reached for his holster when the stranger followed up his statement by mentioning Adira by name. Skeptical, he nodded. "Alright then kid- do your thing."
The man helped him cut loose the final pieces of wire and also managed to clear out some of the surrounding debris. As soon as Stratton got up on his feet though he nearly collapsed from the pain pulsating throughout his body.

Luckily for him the stranger was quick to assist and the two of them started to make their way through the bridge when the ship suddenly felt as if it was shifting. "Unless there's someone else still alive I'd say it's about time we get out of here," said Stratton.

He covered his mouth to cough and blinked before continuing; "How many else made it out? Silas? Kestrel?"


🤍 Heart Problems 🤍
Roleplay Type(s)
Laoise cleared her throat and peered down at the two women from the top of the ramp. The severely sundamaged one seemed friendly enough in her efforts to pick the blonde woman up from the ground; though, really, announcing that your intentions are good truly did have the inverse effect of making Laoise more suspicious. In her experience, those that chased after freshly wrecked ships weren't exactly doing it to help the potential survivors. She had been the one doing the scavenging enough times in her life to know better than to trust someone appearing to do the same. Even so, Laoise didn't really feel like she had much of a choice- it wasn't like anyone she had already met was around. Guess we're doing this.

Laoise hopped down from the ramp with more bravado than she could back up after the crash, but tried not to let onto that; her landing was hard on her knees, but she kept moving forward toward the two woman with an exaggerated confidence in her stride. Approaching the one who introduced herself as Monika, she bent down and assisted her in picking up the woman who presumably crashed with Laoise. "My name's Laoise- it's not spelled how it sounds," she winked at the woman in a continued effort to control the situation at hand. "Let's head around to the other side and see if anyone else is still alive."

Epiphany Epiphany strawbqby strawbqby


Miss Medic
Adira watched Dekxer speak to the woman who claimed to be a medic before he left to hopefully find Stratton. Given that Dekxer hadn't killed them, and had even gone back to try to get to Stratton, he had at least earned a grain of trust from Adira. Not much more than that, but it counted toward whoever this medic woman was. The rest of Adira's crew was a short ways away, enough to be visible and maybe called to, but they seemed to have injuries as well. Maybe not as bad as Silas's, though. She pressed her hands to his shoulders as he treid to sit up again. It didn't seem like he could stay up, and his leg was definitely injured. "Hang on, you're gonna make it worse."

The groan of the metal nearby pried Adira's attention away from injuries to the much more pressing issue - their precarious position If that fuel ignited, or hell if something collapsed, they were in a lot of trouble despite not being immediately under any overhanging debris. She looked around and up at Lu ( dae mec dae mec ). "I agree, we need to move. Silas is badly hurt, I can't carry him, I don't even know if I can drag him. I - I don't think he can stand. If some of my crew over there is uninjured they can maybe help, but.... Do you have an emergency blanket? If we get that under him you and I could probably drag him by it...."

She cast yet another look around while trying to ignore the stress building up inside of her. Her eye caught on something by the sand dune... something large and with a patch of bright red. Was it a person? A part of the ship? Whatever it was was partly obscured by the sand dune, but if it was something alive it seemed to be watching them. Maybe that was just her stressed out imagination, though - they had enough people and weapons to deal with... well maybe hopefully possibly deal with any issues. She kept an eye on whatever that was for as long as she could before getting distracted taking care of Silas. ( 0stinato 0stinato )


Fantasy Romance Archivist
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The crash site that Maya was now standing in front of was obviously the most exciting thing that had happened on this planet for a while. As Maya had begun to stumble towards the wreck other people surged forwards from the landscape, lending help to the survivors, and assessing the situation. It was like a tourist attraction.

Three survivors stood before her. One, a man badly injured ( The Jenkins Curse The Jenkins Curse ). Another ( dae mec dae mec ) declaimed herself a medic. Maya felt sort of deflated, realizing now that her offer to provide medical assistance back at the scientists camp now might be useless. The third woman ( Dragongal Dragongal ) was taking the man, who Maya heard her call Silas and trying to help him away from the worst of the wreckage. Tentatively, Maya walked towards them.

"Hello, my names Maya. My group and I have been stranded here for a few months, we have a camp not too terribly far from here if you would like to get your bearings there." Maya pointed back at the scientists she had traveled here with up on the small hill above them. "We should have some supplies you can use. Do you need any help gathering more survivors? I have some tools in my bag we can use to cut people out if need be." From where they were, Maya could see another man pulling someone( sublimed sublimed & Viper Actual Viper Actual ) out from a hunk of metal.

Maya realized she was rambling. Talking this much to strangers was unlike her, but she was overcome with the need to help them. After all, hadn't that been her not too long ago? How much easier would it have been if someone had shown them kindness. Although, nobody at all had come to greet them upon their emergency landing. Probably because it involved far less fire.


Farseer to the Warsong Clan
Wei awakens with a headrush, his forehead pounding with every heartbeat. The world is pitch black, and he is alone judging by the lack of voices. His mouth tastes like blood, and every part of him hurts. "Laoise?" He calls out. His voice echoes inside his helmet, and his transmitter must be down because it doesn't sound like it projected at all. He tries to move his right arm and it remains locked, damaged beyond repair. "Diagnostic." He says before spitting a wad of blood, spit, and a cracked molar onto the inside of his faceplate. "Diagnostic." He repeats.

The HUD lights up and flickers as it displays a damage report, and it becomes clear rather quickly just how bad the situation is. He couldn't fix this with a workshop, this would mean a trip home to repair. "Emergency eject." He grumbles, and a series of micro-charges embedded in the armor burst outward, spraying a deadly hail of metal shards in all directions. Hopefully no one was too close. The chain of mini-detonations rattles his ribcage as the armor bursts apart, leaving him covered from neck to ankle in bruises but still alive. He sees a lake to one side, and can hear voices behind him. He stumbles that way, following the sound of conversation until he comes across Laoise.

His face is spattered with his own blood, and he looks more like a zombie than a living man. "Putting that on your tab, hai-la." He says, then turns his head and spits. He doesn't turn back to look at her, but his left ear pricks up.


The sound comes rumbling over the dune from the southwest, a great clamoring of drums and horns. It is the sound of death, what the barbarians local to this forgotten world call kaddak-bin, the rumbling death. Alexander has not been here long, five years at the outside, and already he has left a permanent imprint on their language - the Reaping Call. Locals know it means swift and terrible judgment looms just over the nearest hill, that a few dozen Teragors hungry for blood and bone are about to come charging down the slopes. Everywhere the kaddak-bin sounds belongs to Alexander. Such is the law of the land, and those who oppose his salvage rights often find themselves on the wrong end of a war-beast's maw.

The warband crests the dune not much later, ten of Alexander's most trusted warriors flanking him. His armor is a crimson red and his white cape rustles on the breeze, his horned helm turning side to side as the embedded optics survey the crash site. It seems there are survivors, not to mention the other locals. He raises a closed fist to hold his forces in place, though the pair of snipers he brought along settle themselves into the grass and get established. There was nothing to break the spirit of a defensive line prepared for cavalry like a few well-placed headshots to crush morale and sow confusion.

Commanded by two of his lieutenants, his left and right wings drift outward, remaining behind the edge of the dune to avoid being seen until they're in position. Alexander Cavanaugh's voice carries out towards the crashed ship, amplified as if by a loudspeaker.

"Lay down your arms and surrender. There is no need for blood, and you too may serve." He calls out, his voice steely and commanding.

Wei grimaces. "Can't say I like the sound of that."
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