space_jam | Come on and slam

Come on and slam

It doesn't matter what was happening before. Wherever your character was? They just faceplanted into steel flooring. If they look around, it’s just a short narrow hallway, very characteristic of a transport vessel. Emergency lights flicker and faint, urgent beeping can be heard from the end, which opens up into a room that is currently producing a faint, blue glow.

A happy tone plays and is quickly followed by a chipper artificial voice:

Huh! How weird. I can’t believe we got another one! Well, welcome aboard the Ithaca. We’re having a bit of trouble with our warp drive right now. Please stand by.

Suddenly, the ship hits a bit of turbulence. Whoever’s in the hall may be thrown around bit, but luckily there aren’t too many sharp edges on the bulkhead. What are a few bumps and bruises anyway?

Oh, you may want to move. I think a new crew member is arriving.

Further questions are just met with an overly apologetic Please stand by! But turn their back for long enough? Another unlucky “crew member” may come catapulting into them. The artificial voice doesn’t seem too concerned with exploration, though. Every door is unlocked. The ship remains turbulent as it sometimes spits out unfortunate souls, but with steady feet, may find the following places of interest.

Navigation was where all that beeping was coming from. There’s a super fancy galaxy map that would certainly be a lot more interesting if actually contained planets your character knew. Sorry, there’s no Sol System or Federation Space here! In front of that is a cockpit which has a bunch of blinking consoles in front of a really comfortable looking pilot’s chair. It’s probably not wise to touch anything.

Head back to the crew quarters, and in between the rows of bunk beds, there are several lockers. Open them will reveal a myriad of (abandoned) personal items ranging from spare clothes to fit someone with six arms to a comic book collection ~~to an alien “personal massager.”~~ The stuff looks like it’s been left alone for at least a month. Maybe two.

If they head down a level, they might hit engineering or the cargo hold. Engineering has quite the array of tools, from the most basic to the most technologically advance. The most peculiar thing, though, is a meticulously organized collection of bright colored plastic tools. Across in the cargo hold, there are several wooden crates along with a few tamper proof containers. Most of the crates are all labeled with the same name, for someone on planet “Gotor.” A clever character might recognize this as a planet that the Ithaca is happily speeding towards right now according to the map in navigation. Most of the boxes contain bowler hats. The remaining to apparently be dropped off at Gotor contain bowling balls.

((GO FORTH AND BE IN SPACE! Have a massive pile up in the hall or bump into each other in engineering or explore together! It doesn’t matter. Feel free to have them encounter other strange things not written about here. Make the Ithaca spit out an unfriendly alien that they have to hit with a shovel. Make as many subthreads as your hearts desire. Really, do whatever. After a while, the turbulence will settle down and Edgar will explain. ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Among the first to arrive is lucky lady, Samus Aran. It doesn't take her very long to get frustrated with this ship's apparent AI. When she can't make contact with her own ship and she doesn't see ANYTHING familiar on the Navigation map, she decides to give this ship a very thorough look around.

Remembering what he said about other's arrivals, though, she elects to do this search via the ventilation system. So yes ~~the small fall managed not to knock off all her powerups~~, there is a round orange ball rolling around in the vents. Unfortunately, between the turbulence and a few loose screws, it's pretty easy to fall out. Bad timing could mean the morph ball lands right in front of someone. Or on top of them...

You know who's good at breaking falls? Not Grif, that's who.

The guy she lands on is decked out in orange armor so it's not like she's doing permanent harm by landing on him, but he still screams anyway.

"Son of a bitch!"

Samus... well, rolls off and away several feet before she pops out of the morph ball and immediately points her cannon at him. It's probably a bad idea to fire in a pressurized environment, but it's the threat that counts right?

Grif doesn't remember that particular detail quickly enough. He is very easy to bluff against.

"Hey, don't shoot!"

It's a very compelling argument from the perspective of someone who doesn't want to die.

He's much less agile and is still awkwardly on the floor. The cannon pointing at him has made him stop scrambling to get up.

Samus holds her cannon steady, but he's not dead. Which is good. He also doesn't appear to be fighting back. This makes it much easier for Samus. Her arm falls just slightly, so it's no longer pointed at his face.

"I won't shoot if you tell me who you are."

Her voice is muffled and maybe a little bit distorted, so there's not much indication to her sex currently.

"Deal!" Grif lifts his hands to show how empty and entirely gunless they are. ...Which was obvious before, but this is how you're supposed to do stuff, right?

"I'm Grif. Who are you and what the hell is going on?"

Samus drops her cannon entirely, extending a free hand to help him up if he chooses to take it.

"Samus." She stops there, which is not an explanation at all, but she is really about as clueless as he apparently was. "I just arrived."

"Fucking great," Grif grumbles, but he takes the offered hand. He's clumsy and leans a little on the wall once he's up. This is definitely not one of Earth's finest.

"So, we could probably be killed by aliens any minute now. That's awesome. I hope you're a better shot than me because if I'm all we've got we're kind of boned."

At least he's honest. He draws his gun down off his back anyway.

Kurt wasn't sure what had happened to him or how he'd been transported from Onyx's core to what was unmistakably a ship of some kind. He wasn't used to space ships jolting and shaking about so unsteadily however so he braced an arm against the bulkhead for balance and peeled himself up off the floor he'd just slammed into.

Considering all he could remember was an army of Covenant forces closing in on him and the motley crew of Spartan-II's and III's, he was automatically on high alert an seeking out potentially camouflaged Elites or anything else that might ping on his motion sensors. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting anything on his COM frequencies when he tried desperately to radio the rest of his team.

The active camo feature of his SPI armor kicked in as the near seven feet tall Spartan went nigh on invisible and started to make his way through the ship in search of some answers. Though there seemed to be little to be had.

It wasn't Covenant, it wasn't Forerunner, it wasn't UNSC, and those three facts exhausted John's ability to identify the vessel. Arachidamia was on her feet before he was, pacing and sniffing. To be fair, there was less of Arachidamia to move.

"Anything?" he said.

"Human," his dæmon reported. "But not recent." This was comforting, but only slightly. People could be talked to, sometimes.

The Chief gestured for Arachidamia to move and they headed for the end of the hall. They didn't reach it before she came to a sudden halt, ears up and tail high. John stopped.

Arachidamia turned her head to the left, indicating the direction the sound had come from, then shrank back to put the armored bulk of the Chief between herself and the unknown around the corner. She was wary of it, but not enough to pull him back too.

He'd take those odds.

John touched the top of the dog's head, a warning to stay back out of any potential line of fire, and stepped around the edge.

Kurt had found his way into the cargo hold in hopes of finding a Pelican or some kind of drop ship he could use to get the hell out of this strange ship. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much luck finding a ride out of here. He was turning to make his way back out into the hallway when he heard the click of canine nails tapping against the metal floor and the heavier footsteps of someone else.

Could it be a group of Jackals hunting him down? This ship was unlike any Kig-Yar ship he'd heard of however. The space faring pirates were prone to clutter and filling their strangely scavenged ships with trophies and other odds and ends of their victims. This ship was far too neat to be a Jackal ship. But what other Covenant did he know of with talons? It never even occurred to the Spartan that he'd be dealing with a dog on this ship.

Whether or not John would see the subtle ripple where the armored Spartan stood creeping around the edges of the shipping container labeled 'Gotor' was uncertain. The sight of the unfamiliar Spartan wearing what was unmistakably MJOLNIR armor however had Kurt pausing. It wasn't like the MJOLNIR suit he had hidden back in his quarters back at Camp Currahee but he recognized the design all the same.

He quickly weighed his options and whether he wanted to chance exposing his position versus the hope that this was one of his fellow Spartans. Another II perhaps? Ducking back behind the wooden shipping container, the Spartan keyed on his mic and whistled the simple six-note signal that every II knew. If he was in fact dealing with a fellow Spartan, they would get the signal. And if not, well he could only hope he could get out from behind this sad looking crate before the other person opened fire.

The other Spartan's head jerked slightly at the whistled notes, startled, and was still for a second. Something old and familiar in a completely strange place, it was jarring enough to stop him cold for just a moment before he answered.

"Oly Oly Oxen Free," the Chief whispered the countersign into the mic.

Who was here? He had to know.

No one but another II would have known that phrase surely. Why another II was on this strange alien ship was beyond Kurt however. He hadn't seen another II in nearly twenty years though so he found himself at a bit of a loss about what to do. Thankfully, years of military training took over and the other Spartan disengaged the active camo of his SPI armor and stepped around the edge of the crate.

When he turned the polarization of his visor completely off, the face behind the mask was one John hadn't seen in two decades. Kurt was older but those hazel green eyes were the same and it was unmistakably a Spartan who had been marked as MIA for twenty years.

"Who are you?" Unlike the last time he'd seen a fellow II, there was no helpful Spartan tags marked on the Chief's armor to tell him who he was dealing with.

The suit was unlike anything John had ever seen. There was a definite kinship between his suit and this one, but it was much lighter with a different purpose.

The face behind the visor was more important, and it was alarming how quickly he recognized it.

No.

SPARTAN-051 was dead. He was listed as MIA in all the files, but it was a mere formality. A defense of morale. "Spartans never die" went the phrase, a bitter and necessary lie that John had known false since the day of the funeral for those who hadn't survived augmentation.

This was impossible, but he returned the gesture and cleared the golden plate that usually hid his face. The years had worn hard on John, harder than their number should have. This war had not been gentle to either of them.

"One-One-Seven," he replied.

Two decades yawned between them, and he had no answer for that.

"You were dead."

The SPI armor was definitely a lot different from the MJOLNIR armor he had sitting back home hidden in his weapons locker. Kurt hadn't worn it in nearly twenty years but he could still remember the weight and the power it filled him with the first time he'd donned his suit.

Ackerson had never told him whether his fellow II's had mourned him or if there had even been a funeral for him. Those first few days had passed in a confusing blur as the newly minted Lieutenant Junior Grade had gotten used to the strange turn had taken. The years had passed quickly and Kurt had lost himself in training each class of Spartan-III's to be the best Spartans they could ever be but he'd never forgotten where he'd come from or the II's he'd grown up with.

When the visor cleared, Kurt instantly recognized John despite the weathering on the other Spartan's face. A quiet noise escaped the dark haired man and he found himself answering almost on autopilot; the words practically rote by now.

"Spartans never die, you know that." They weren't the type of people to hug or indulge in wild displays of emotion. And this place was definitely not the place for heartfelt reunions but there was a hint of wryness in Kurt's face that conveyed a whole host of unspoken questions and greetings.

"We should figure out what's going on here, One-One-Seven." The codename instead of the real name because they were still in unknown territory and possibly surrounded by enemies.

It made no sense for Kurt to be here but even the suspicion it gave the Chief couldn't quite suppress that he was glad to see another II. Even as the visor faded back to mirrored gold anonymity, he swiped a hand across where his mouth would be to form the old signal for a smile. It was brief and perfunctory, but they'd have time to speak later. It was an acceptance, a greeting, and said more than a word would have.

"Agreed."

A voice came from around the corner, gruff but female. "Clear?"

"Clear," John replied. "One of ours."

Arachidamia stepped around and, rather than take her usual place near John's leg, began immediately to investigate the shipping crates. She flicked an ear in Kurt's direction, but that was the only indication his dæmon gave that she noticed him.

How to explain this?

"This is Arachidamia. Long story."

"Not so long," she objected.

"Very long."

The Spartan 'Smile' was an achingly familiar signal and one he'd taught to his III's after a fashion. Kurt found himself returning the gesture in kind as his own visor darkened once again to that inscrutable gold.

Kurt had seen canines before but never a talking canine. It was a good thing his visor had finished polarizing; otherwise John might have been able to see the look of dumbfounded shock on the other II's face. As it was, the SPI armored Spartan's helmet tilted back and forth between his former comrade and the dog currently sniffing about the shipping containers.

"It sounds like it. How-" He seemed at a loss about just who he was supposed to address his question to and finally decided there would be no chance for satisfactory answers right now. They could discuss this in depth once they figured out what was going on here. "I'm not getting anything on my team COMM. What about you?"

He was going to have to go over this eventually. He'd have to explain how apparently he'd accidentally clipped through to another reality and apparently his soul fell out and somehow that manifested itself as a talking dog.

There was no way it wasn't going to sound insane, because it had never sounded sane to John in the first place. Arachidamia was an inconvenient reality of his new life, whatever it meant, and he'd just grudgingly accepted her and moved on.

"Nothing. I've been out of contact for months. Some things happened." He tilted his head in Arachidamia's direction, the dog being the most obvious indicator that Things Had Gone Amiss. "You just appear, too?"

Now that his faceplate had completely polarized once more, it was impossible to see the vaguely troubled and uncertain expression that flickered across the other Spartan's face. No, Kurt wouldn't understand the concept of stumbling through some other reality only to find one's soul being ripped out of their body and shoved into that of an animal.

"Months?" There was a subtle stress to that word. "You weren't on Reach when it--" Kurt broke off abruptly because he didn't know just how much John was aware of. And the news that their most advanced military position--and the only home any of the II's could remember--had fallen to the Covenant was too bitter a pill to swallow. "How much do you know, One-One-Seven? How long have you been missing?"

The oddly armored Spartan nodded tersely in answer to that question. Kurt wouldn't let the worry for his Spartans and the rest of the team back on Onyx interfere with his currant circumstances. He couldn't afford to become emotionally compromised. "Lets find some comms gear and try and get in touch with our people?"

"I was," the Chief corrected flatly. And he'd gone back. So many were dead that it still didn't sink all the way in, he didn't have time for grief. Someday he'd have to stop long enough for it to catch up, but John was never one to sit idle for any length of time.

"Before I was on Halo."

Arachidamia moved before the Chief did, back the way they'd come.

"This way's to the fore," she said. She didn't pause to see if they'd follow. She knew John would.

"I see," Even though Onyx was off the beaten trail, they'd heard about the fall of Reach. The complete loss of Noble, a team he'd helped to assemble and handpick was just another insult added to injury.

"So it's true then? About the Halo array?" Considering the Halo array being but back into service had been what was apparently causing all the strife in his life back home...well, could you blame him?

Kurt was still horribly unsettled by this talking dog of John's and quite pointedly gave Arachidamia a lot of personal space as they made their way back out of the cargo area. "This doesn't look like any Covenant ship I've ever seen. Who did this, I wonder?"

Of all the places to get captured. I need to find my gear.

You'd think after watching the world's biggest conspiracy theory literally crash right into the middle of downtown Manhattan that few things would faze Raiden. But here he was, finger to his ear desperately trying to codec someone--anyone--familiar. This was crazy. This was insane! He'd just gotten out of a space ship only to land back inside of another one again, somehow.

This ship wasn't anything like what he'd seen before (limited experiences aside). The AI was chipper and friendly and wasn't talking about brainwashing censorship of the masses. A bit more familiarly, there were the sounds of muffled voices and not-so-distant heavy footsteps unmistakeably weighed down by thick armor. Probably bullet proof. It also sounded like there was a giant dog-sized rat crawling around the ventilation system. Just great.

Raiden tried to keep his voice down as he very cautiously slipped around corners and in shadows.

"Snake? Do you copy? Otacon?"

Worst of all; Raiden was naked. Every bit of the pale soldier's body was exposed, his junk barely covered by his other hand, his bar-code-esque tattoos striped across his thighs and arms bared all to see.

"Anyone?"

Ideally, he hoped he could get out of this without setting off any alerts and with no one seeing.

Someone was coming. Boot were audible thumping along the deck, at least one set. Maybe just one set. But whoever was wearing them was definitely talking to someone.

"-so then he said "I'm not going to the Vegas Quadrant," and then the next thing I know he's in an escape pod headed for..."

There was indeed another set of boots as well. This set was very reluctantly allowing the other set to keep up with her own in between popping in and out of the ventilation shafts. This sort of broke up whatever story he was trying to tell her as he seemed perfectly content to keep talking while she was otherwise occupied, but Samus wasn't exactly the most invested in whatever her new companion had to say. In fact, it would be really nice if he would just stop talking for a second.

In a rare pause in his insistent jabbering, Samus thinks she hears someone whispering. She pauses, holding her arm out in front of Grif to stop him and slowing bringing a single finger in front of her helmet, just about where her mouth would be. Shut up, Grif.

Cautiously, Samus takes a few steps forward of course with her cannon at the ready. She can't be too sure what she'll find as she peaks around a corner in this ship.

Edited 2014-01-06 06:49 (UTC)

Vegas Quadrant? Was this guy for real? There was an odd dissonance in trying to be hyper-vigilant about one's very alien (literally) surroundings when the accompanying company was going on and on about something so mundane.

Raiden swallows hard when one of them seems to be alerted and starts approaching his direction, weapon drawn first. Sure, he knew CQC but that wouldn't do him any good against armor like that. He'd be dead meat. There was only one thing he could do. Around the corner in the middle of the hallway was...

Oh. It's just a box.

Ah, how convenient. Grif decides that this is a perfect spot to sit, this box.

"It's just a box," he tells Samus as he does. "Don't be weird, dude."

No, Grif has not figured out that Samus is a girl. Nobody spoil it for him.

Raiden silently muttered a mantra of nooooo no no no no! as he saw the looming shadow of Grif's butt fast approaching his only peep-hole. He felt the cardboard threaten to buckle inwards so the only thing he could think to do was throw his hands up (gently, unassumingly, carefully as possible) and try to support it.

Things Raiden never thought he'd have to do on a mission or to save his life: technically butt grab through a cardboard box.

Grif sort of notices that the box crumples, and thankfully for everyone assembled he gets up off of it and opts to lean on the wall. He sighs, clearly disappointed.

"What's with this box just laying here, anyway?"

Edited 2014-02-05 23:58 (UTC)

Samus heads over and nudges it slightly with an armored boot a few times. Really, Grif, you catapult into a random space ship and you're surprised by a cardboard box laying in the middle of the hallway?

Hm, it was a little odd though...

"Probably belongs in the cargo hold." It's a little hard to pick up things when you've got a cannon for an arm, but Samus figures she can manage, especially when whatever was in it was light enough to crumple. She grabs the handle and lifts.

Except with 100% more Raiden and 100% less Lucario and 100% less clothes... spare for a bowler hat on his head, and whatever other bowler hats happen to tumble out.

Raiden is quick to shuffle backwards, scattering the bowler hats all over, perhaps to a point they conveniently obscure the important manbits as he holds up his hands defensively, ready (but not hoping) for any CQC.

Edited (repated a word oops) 2014-02-14 02:55 (UTC)

Oh. That is... 100% not what she expected. On her list of things that might be under this box, bowler hats and naked men were nowhere to be found. Her first reaction is to ready her cannon arm as he takes a defensive stance, but she's quick to drop that.

He doesn't seem like much of a threat at least.

"Why were you hiding under there?" She's quick to the point even if she's skipping over the more obvious why are you naked question but she is a professional and has seen much stranger things in the galaxy. Maybe he's just from a nudist planet.

Raiden lowers his dukes but only slightly. It didn't seem like they were going to kill them but armored guys in armored suits were no less intimidating. It made him feel especially naked and vulnerable. More than he was literally, anyway.

"Wouldn't you if you found yourself suddenly naked and on some strange space ship..." He spat back like a petulant teenager.

"Who are you guys?"

When Kon woke up in a strange place without remembering how he got there it was really something of a panicked affair. Too much had happened in the last year and a half for him to not freak out when that happened, especially since that was how this whole crazy thing with the government started. He'd been KOed by the dimensional whim whammy of the Crisis and woke up strapped to a table with Uncle Sam all eager to get his probe on. (Not the actual Uncle Sam, as in the superhero, that would've been creepy. Metaphorical Uncle Sam.)

In Kon's recent experience - and even his not-so-recent experience - nothing good ever happened when he woke up somewhere and didn't remember how he'd gotten there. That was why the half-Kryptonian went from waking to standing in about 0.2 nanoseconds flat - and that was without using superspeed.

A quick look around revealed a whole lot of spaceship and no people, though. It definitely was a spaceship, judging from the nearby window.

"Aw, nerts." Right now, he could do without any encounters of the third kind. Or the second kind. Or any kind. He had a lot on his plate at the moment.

And his powers still weren't working, he realized, the moment he tried to fly. It looked like Felix Faust and Enchantress' combined magical hoojoo still had his powers as spotty as cell phone reception in rural Kansas. He knew he might be able to call on it in a spot - he had two times already - but there was no guarantee it'd clap on and clap off when he needed it most.

"Great."

That's when the AI chirped up, unhelpfully. Devoid of helpful answers.

That was his life, wasn't it? Randomly on a spaceship, powers were fried, and his handlers were probably...

They were probably...

They were probably a million miles away right now. Maybe in another universe even - this kind of hoobly joobly sometimes meant surprise interdimensional travel was involved. He was free. He was free. At least for right now.

The world started spinning and he could hear his pulse in his ears.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. Now was not the time to let himself get overwhelmed, not until he found out what was going on. "Get a grip, Superboy."

No shock. No shock at his real name this time. They could't hear him. They were too far away.

...but did he even have a right to that name anymore?

Whatever. It wasn't time to probe the nebulous depths of his own very fractured morality. That was why Kon made his way to what passed for a bridge and spotting some very colorful characters inside, he said, "Anyone wanna explain the spaceship thing better than the Stepford AI?"

If they turned and tried to blow him up, he'd book it and find somewhere in the ship to make a stand but for now he was defaulting to 'been there, fought some aliens, bought the T-Shirt.' Whackiness like this was his life.

"Also, what aliens do I have to punch this time to go home? I was kind of in the middle of a thing."

They'd be greeted by the sight of a ridiculously muscular teenager with baby blues that would make your average reader of Teen Beat faint and a pair of black spandex shorts that left very little to the imagination.

"And can someone maybe point me in the direction of some pants?" he asked with all the zen calm you wouldn't expect of someone randomly waking up near-naked in a spaceship.

Edited 2014-01-06 07:34 (UTC)

If one looked at Jack they would probably assume he's far from knowledgeable as far as technology goes. That's not to say they're wrong - having been born and raised (mostly) in feudal Japan, he wasn't exposed to anything like this ship for most of his life.

Of course being flung thousands of years into the future had changed all of that. He may still not be particularly knowledgeable, but he's at the very least familiar with the strange advancements science has made. It's why his mind isn't immediately blown by his new surroundings. Actually, having stepped into a portal just seconds ago, he was prepared to be somewhere other than where he'd just been. The problem is that the portal was supposed to take him back to his own time, not... not here, wherever that may be.

Then again, that wasn't really too surprising, either.

So for now he's set out to roam the halls, hand resting on his sheathed blade as he cautiously explores his new surroundings. Maybe there was another portal here?

Being lost and completely naked on a strange alien space ship was not Raiden's idea of a fun time, but persistence would eventually pay off. Down in the cargo hold he manages to find a box that contained his missing gear; his skull suit, his gun, and his high-frequency blade just as he remembered them.

Elated, Raiden wastes no time re-clothing himself first, though squeezing into a skin-tight battle suit was no easy task. He gets his feet through and shimmies the suit up to about his torso when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Who's there?" Very ungracefully asked as he fumbled one hand trying to hold up the suit and the other for his sword.

So, suddenly, there’s this really annoying beeping sound. Like ridiculously so. The unhelpful AI from before remains unhelpful and offers no advice of how to proceed in the light of these beeping noises and– oh look –there’s flashing red lights too. They seem to light up in a pattern, cascading towards navigation in the off chance that everyone got lost or didn’t remember where they came from. Should someone chose to ignore cascading lights an awful, terrible noise sounds a few times until they turn around and go forward as directed. There are boxes upon boxers of bowler hats and bowling balls that need delivery! And what kind of delivery vessel would this be without a good collection of delivery men, women, and aliens.

The incessant beeping doesn’t lighten up until everyone has gathered in navigation (Edgar is very patient for a stupid AI). It’s now that everyone can start to get a good look at everyone else.

Phew! A mostly human crew. I pulled a few Giraffitarians before you, but they had problems with the door height. Edgar chirps happily as they assemble. It’s true, too, mostly everyone at least looks human, save for maybe some vaguely humanoid armored figures and a very clearly out there green man with a double set of eyes. Said green man scoffs. ~~Primitives.~~

Edgar does not let alien scoffing throw him off and he cheerfully continues as if he didn’t hear it, Good to see all of you made it in one piece! We’ve had some splicing issues in the past. I’d advise you to count your fingers and toes tonight. Humans have twelve of each of those right? My entry on human biology was corrupted slightly on one of those warp jumps.

Comforting. What else did he manage to lose?

Don’t worry! I’ve got my warp drive mostly under control.

Key word: mostly.

I was attempting to return for maintenance, but now that I’ve drafted a crew, we can continue onto Gotor! As the new operatives of this independent transport and shipping unit designated as the Ithaca, you should begin to review standard operating procedure manuals. Our delivery will be a bit late, but I’m sure the boss won’t dock your pay too much.

Pay? Boss? What?

I’m– Suddenly, the AIs voice scrambles and music starts playing. It only lasts a few seconds, and soon enough the AI is continuing, relentlessly chipper, as if nothing happened, –Edgar, by the way.

They’re delivery people. They’re delivery people on a broken ship.

Edited 2014-02-11 01:06 (UTC)

[When the klaxon went off, his first instinct was to activate the active camouflage and find a way off the ship in case something critical like a hull breach happened. The almost sub-sonic thrum through the hull and plates told Kurt they were on a space ship but little else about this odd situation made a whole lot of sense.

How they'd gotten here was a pressing question to be sure. He shot a curious look over at his fellow Spartan and that look conveyed a whole host of questions as to whether or not they should follow the warning lights or if they were being herded somewhere. And if that was the case whether or not they should go meekly like lambs to the slaughter or go the opposite way.

Eventually however, the two Spartans and the canine soul-dog found themselves in the nav area with the gathering of mostly human captives.]

You people cannot be serious. You kidnapped us and now you expect us to work for you?

Oh no, nothing like that! Edgar continues with extreme sincerity. Malice and sarcasm are missing entirely from his vocalizations. Instead he is very apologetic. The warp drives aren't precise. I didn't mean to get a new crew. I quite liked the old one!

So naturally the next question is well where is the old one if you like it so much but he's not too keen on answering that. Here, have some more unhelpful explanation instead.

You're quite free to go when we arrive on Gotor. Or I can open the airlock if you prefer.

He's not even joking. To Edgar, this is a valid option and he means it with no harm.

The Chief wasn't especially enthusiastic about the klaxons, or being led somewhere, but ultimately it was a sign of life. He's also armed, and not alone. There aren't a lot of things two Spartans can't improvise an answer for.

Even now that they're apparently not being shot at, he's not standing at ease and Arachidamia's fur hasn't lain flat across her neck and shoulders. Her ears still hurt and that's not cool.

The mention of the airlock draws the Chief's first comment.

"Don't do that!"

...In stereo.

Thanks, soul dog.

Still haven't mastered free-floating in space even with advanced armor. Tch. Typical humans. Javik doesn't need to ask about the previous crew, because he can already sense what's happened to them (and he doesn't quite like it). He doesn't share that bit of information, though. Mostly because he's just kind of an asshole.

"I do not have great hopes that we'll end up any different from your previous crews, AI."

Well, not with that attitude!

"I'm gonna go with the "free to leave" thing, because honestly? I'm not real big on the whole work thing," says Grif helpfully.

"...Where the hell is Gotor supposed to be, anyway? ...And about how much do you think fare would be to Vegas Quadrant?"

Anybody? Anybody?

Edited (I just got home from work and cannot brain) 2014-02-12 04:23 (UTC)

Silently, Kurt drifted over to the nearest control panel and tried to access the interface. All Spartans had been trained to access computer systems so as to complete their missions and bypass enemy surveillance and Kurt had always had a deft touch with machines. Despite the fact that he was a hulking near seven feet tall super soldier, he was also really good at fading into the background.

Don't mind him, he's just going to try and find a way of bypassing Edgar.

Sorry, Kurt, but there will not be much success bypassing Edgar. For how dumb of an AI he may seem to be, his programming is pretty tightly protected. Plus, if Edgar wasn't annoying enough to talk to, his interface somehow exceeds that. The console keeps switching languages, activating the screensaver, flashing different colors, and an annoying animation pops up periodically.

Oh, I suggest that you don't try to modify the computer's programming. The company has IT personnel for that. You wouldn't want to accidentally shut off life support when poking around!

Spoken like an AI that's watched it happen.

If there was one thing Raiden was good at at this point in his career, it was following orders ~~from crazy AIs~~... but that didn't mean he was going to be too thrilled about it. Especially not with chipper not-threats about being thrown out airlocks or having life support cut off.

"What do they even want delivered? There's nothing but bowler hats around here."

By now he had found his skull suit, so there was sure to be no more sensor-hats in action.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Come on and slam

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