(no subject)

[cityship]

Throughout the ship, people would hear the familiar voice of Stacy in their heads.

||Pod Release Protocols Initating||

In the Pod Caverns, there were the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There was condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slid out onto the floors, covered in slime.

Pop. Poppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiissss.

Comments

[beyondgotham.livejournal.com]

Terry blinked, looking up and around for the source of the voice. The fact that this thing knew about his suit, but hadn't killed him, made him rather sure that this was a dream. He'd had dreams like this before. (Though most of them included pretty girls and didn't have as much slime.)

"So, uh..." He said, once more looking around, craning his head back to try to see if there were speakers up there in the rows of pods. He spoke a bit louder, not sure how the voice heard him. "Any chance I can... y'know... get my clothes back?"

[cityship]

||Your personal clothing is unavailable. However, clothing will be provided if you require it. Would you like me to direct you to the clothing room?||

[beyondgotham.livejournal.com]

The voice seemed female. That made Terry feel a bit uncomfortable. Unlike some dreams that included girls and a lack of clothing, he felt a bit guilty and uneasy. As if his mom had walking in on him in the bathroom.

"Uh," he got to his feet, trying to flick off a bit of the mucus on his hands, "yeah, clothes would be good. Lead the way."

He was a bit upset about the fact that the voice said he couldn't get his suit. The old man would frag him if he lost that thing. But then again, he was pretty confident that this was all in his head, so it would be alright for the time being.

[cityship]

A line of pustules along the ground began to glow, leading off into the distance.

||This way, please.||

[beyondgotham.livejournal.com]

Terry obeyed, still happily under the illusion that he was dreaming.

"Oh, hey," he said, as he entered the clothing room, which seemed to lack any hangers or shirts or really anything he'd expected, "who are you?"