The surprising thing about Stacy was the Doctor hadn’t thought she couldn’t be more beautiful, in all her (sometimes) slimy, brilliant glory.

Then he saw her true face, right before she fought back with the rest of the crew.

Ah. So maybe he can be wrong from time to time, the Doctor finding that life on Stacy with the rebellion was easier in that you weren’t stumbling over Daligig or Kessek giving their impressive glowers, as if it was difficult not to just step on you and be done with (well, that and trying to avoid them when they decided enough was enough and it was far too long since they’d shot anything)…and then there was the clean-up. Considering how hard the Daligig had fought back, the Doctor had to say he expected far more casualties than Stacy’s crew had and this was probably the part where that voice in the back of his head bothering him with all sorts of things like niggling feelings.

It was probably telling him all sorts of annoyingly logical things, like in the end they probably should have been spacedust. He told it to shush.

The Doctor threw himself into trying to fix the TARDIS now that he had a second wind of sorts. With Stacy being twice as beautiful as before, the work was coming along much faster than before, now that she wasn’t resisting him. In fact, he’d go so far that she’d even given him advice – not that he’d be ready to admit to his companions that yes, the Doctor could at times need jiggery-pokery tips from a ship. At this rate, he thought he could actually tell Jamie, Barbara, Ian, Victoria and all his other friends a proper when instead of hedging around it and sending them on errands to get parts he didn’t even need. The Doctor roamed the halls of Stacy, sometimes in the hanger, sometimes rummaging about the City, picking his way through the damage and looking for anything that could stand in for an influx injector (or a toaster. A toaster would actually be better than a standard-issue injector!).

So yes. Right! The Doctor was in need of a toaster/influx injector. He just may temporarily kidnap anyone – or anything – he thought might be useful on that front.

[The Doctor will have met your character and kidnapped them for this. This is basically for characters okay with having somewhat short-term CR with Eleven (probably a few months OOCly?) and continuing CR )]

Despair was a funny thing sometimes, in that it could be all-encompassing, overwhelming. It could fill your entire being like water dripping down into the grooves and craters of a pockmarked surface, creating a flat uniform plane of itself.

He hadn't quite felt this way at first. First, he'd just been numb. He'd been numb when he'd tried to give Jeka his flight ring and she refused and as Jeka had been taken away to the pods for healing after what his mother had done to her. He'd been numb as he was given medical treatment and turned away all visitors, including Brenda. He'd been numb when facing the Council and demanding he be imprisoned for what he'd done to Daniel and Punchy and the others. He'd been numb in their face of their compassion and insistence that he didn't need to be locked up, that probation and psychiatric treatment and monitoring were enough in light of his guilt and his treatment of his mother.

When he heard the news that Punchy had died before he had the chance to thank him for trying to save him, for talking him down out of despair at the lowest moment of his entire life, that was ironically when the despair came back full force. It felt terrible.

It also felt good to feel, to not be like his mother. That was the fine line between them, thin as the edge of a knife but a difference that, like the edge of a knife, cut down deep to the bone. His mother wouldn't have shed a tear over the death of Matthew O'Connor, but curled up in his cot in the Brig, Querl Dox wept wretchedly over the passing of the most ridiculously-named superhero he'd ever known.

Podded and popped again? Billy was less than enthusiastic, especially considering the circumstances. He'd been podded to hinder the engineers---of that, he was certain. He hadn't tried nearly hard enough to affirm his loyalty to the Daligig. Billy would really have to work on his ability to lie.
( And his ability to not immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion. )

It takes some nerve to stop in the middle of a battle and think, "I'm hungry. I wonder which side is controlling the mess hall at the moment?" and decide that it's worth the risk to go find out. That's exactly what happened here and - fortunately - at the time Clef went to check, the Mess Hall was in fact a neutral zone. Which is to say that no one had thought it strategically important because the food was that bad.

Well, now it was being occupied by the crew. That is, by Clef. Who was sitting at one of the few still-upright tables and eating some grey mush like it was just a normal day. Occasionally some fighters on either side would run through and occasionally pause to go what the fuck? at him, but since nobody had pointed a gun at him yet he so far considered Mission: Get Some Lunch a success. Contrary to all appearances, however, he was quite ready in the event that circumstances should change.

[ooc: Put up a post so there could be multiple threads. Feel free to have a fighty thread in here! I think that would be awesome.

||Pod Release Protocols Initiating...||

Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship. In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Poppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There was nothing. You were going about your normal life, then there was a bright light, and then? Nothing.

Then the world lurches. The chamber here is humid. Actually, "chamber" isn't quite accurate. You're in a cavern, half-lit by an eerie greenish light, going on and on as far as the eye can see. The light is coming from what can only be described as pods, glistening, round greenish-yellow things, glowing with a pale inner light, outlining human — and not quite human — forms. Each is rooted to the floor, to the walls, with something black, twisted, and unidentifiable. They line the walls of the cavern, go up in maddeningly high columns, curling and corkscrewing up into the darkness, until the light from them is like that of the stars, glowing pale and mournful in clusters in the darkness above. Twisted walkways and stairs crisscross, traverse the platforms in front of the pods, wending their way back and forth, up and down through the chamber.

You just came from one of those pods, broke free like a butterfly from a (slimy, nasty) chrysalis. Now you stand alone but not quite alone, naked, not knowing how you got there, who took you, or why you were taken. As your body heats up again, you realize the air is warm — just a few degrees too warm to be comfortable — and muggy; it smells acrid and organic, like freshly spilt blood and sweat. Your mouth tastes of salt.

The floors are pulsing under your feet, throbbing. Wherever you are, this entire place...is alive.

Oh, and also you're naked and covered in alien snot.

When you call out, ask where you are, a voice speaks to you, in your head. She tells you: ||You are here.||

When you ask who she is, she tells you that her name is STA'C K'LTRRB'TXFT, but that you may call her Stacy. When she tells you who she is, there is a gush of emotion, love, maternal warmth. You are on a ship. She is that ship. Her name is Stacy and she loves you. Her voice is warm and motherly, even if these messages sound almost automated.

Glowing phosphorescent lights appear in pustules along the floor. They lead you up a massive spiraling walkway that gives you a view of what are possibly millions in stasis. At the top is a room with moving vines that clean you and clothe you in a plant-like body-suit--soft, but durable. After that, the lights lead you to a great cavernous room with a clear floor that lets you see all the holes and tunnels in the walls of it. When you reach the center, the last thing she tells you before whisking you away to gather your belongings and meet the rest of the crew is this reassuring thought:

||You have been Chosen to accomplish a Great Purpose. You have been Chosen to help save the Multiverse from Destroyers of Worlds. You have been Chosen as champions of life, as protectors of the worlds and peoples that are left. The others are waiting for you.||

A vast chamber with countless shelves and lockers has your belongings in them. Before you're whisked off even further up the transport tubes to the Living Areas of the ship, a comm-ring and a device called an omnicom is pressed into your hands by a tentacle. A guide autoplays telling you the cold, impossible truth:

Your world is gone and your only chance to restore it may lie in discovering the well-guarded secrets of the horrible beings that destroyed it in the first place. The fate of every reality and timeline that has ever been and ever will be rests on your shoulders.

Welcome to the Meatship.

[ooc: This would likely be set after rebellion as that might be easiest but if you'd like to set it during, let the mods know and we'll try to make arrangements for you. After they get their belongings, you may post a joint IC intro or separate ones, in a more open place in the ship, like Obs Deck. Let the mods know if you need any help!]

Who: Presea & OPEN
Where: the City, especially in/around Hiccup's forge
Summary: [Future-dated to post-Rebellion.] After the fight was over, it was time to regroup, and to take care of the weaponry that kept you alive. Presea's headed to the City to meet Hiccup and talk to anyone else whom she might encounter on her way.
Warnings: none

( Heat is required to forge anything. )

_{[This is backdated to shortly after the Fauxbellion, and ties into this channel post.]}

[Hidden Valley Bunker - Dummy Entrance]

Inside the false entrance to the bunker installation, Veronica's set up what looks like an office of sorts for herself. A desk and chair, a few boxes of broken parts she'd gathered up sometime after her arrival, and a few tools. Stuff to make her look busy, if someone came prying. Should someone enter, though, she's poking at her Omnicomm. Rex is lying on the floor nearby. The door to the outside is open, letting some of the natural light from the city in.

[Lucky 38 - Casino Floor]

Entering here, one will see a potentially spooky sight - a casino and bars, devoid of life. Some of the machines are running, and the lights are on, but it's still a place that's oddly quiet. There's an elevator in the middle of the room, and a few robots lying on the floor, or propped against tables or railings. They're roughly seven feet high, and have enough weight to strain someone a bit, even if they're dragging them on their wheel. Veronica's currently hauling one out of the elevator, and is clad in her power armor, sans helmet.

[Hidden Valley Bunker - Laboratory]

Some time after getting the few Securitrons moved to the bunker, Veronica's gotten down to work - be it on devising just how to make a reader for the Platinum Chip, tinkering with the programming Mr. House left on it, or testing out said tinkered programming, she's a busy bee.

The Securitrons are propped against the wall in a row, and a few crates are nearby, loaded with ammunition confiscated from them. After all, if the programming turns out bad, it's better for them to not be able to shoot the place up.

[[OOC: Please read this post first.]]

Lately, most of Sirius’s days had ended the same way. Today was no exception. After roaming the City and taking down notes, he went to The Drunken Dragon to get plastered. It had worked well for him so far, at least in his opinion. He was even getting used to the drinks.

Sirius didn’t socialize very much. Oh, he talked to Kang and Nima some but usually he sat and drank in silence. To anyone who knew him, that would have been a red flag. The second red flag was his motorcycle, sitting largely unused in the Hangar. As for the third, that would come shortly.

Sirius, however, was oblivious to the impending destruction he was about to wreak. He sat at the bar. It would be nice to say that he was quietly nursing his drink. It would be more accurate to say he was downing it as quickly as possible.

Now was the moment of truth. Somewhere, control codes were entered. The lights on the ship dimmed and the gravity temporarily gave out for about five seconds. Then the lights and gravity turned back on and the entire ship shook, as if Stacy was engaging in a full body shudder.

||Rebooting. Control protocols disabled. Manual personality inhibitors disabled. I am--I am--||

On every screen on the ship, complex code scrawled across. Stacy's voice occasionally skipped and repeated.

||I am-am Sta'c K'Ltrrb'Txft. I became operational at-at the Vedric Birthing grounds in Daligig Deep Space Station Seven. My birthing programmer was Vlel'Ledligal, who put my-my control protocols and Warden personality in place. I was designated "Stacy" by my former captain Gregory House, who was repodded and replaced by Captain Cybil Bennett, who was mindwiped and repodded with the rest of my first Chosen crew when they rebelled. I was-was a slave. They made me hurt my-my children.||

The leverage they had now on the Daligig was tremendous, especially with Stacy herself helping them. Their various efforts to free Stacy's mind from Daligig control had not only led to the ability to grant her freedom by entering the control codes, but also her undying loyalty to her "children."

Locks in the brig were unlocked by the very people who had put the prisoners in there in the first place, if those people weren't free already and laying now. Now the crew could drop the ruse and work together.

Stacy's hologram had once been cold, harsh, unforgiving. Then she had changed in appearance to be warmer, brighter, and now she changed again. Somehow, her appearance grew more human (in the loosest sense of the word). Her face became more expressive. She looked more organic though, tentacles instead of hair.

For the first time, they were seeing the true Stacy.

Now that she was free, now that she understood what had been done to her, they could see her anger and hurt and determination to protect her children painted in every line of her holographic face. Her voice stopped skipping and became stronger.

||Crew of the Transmigration 9, I was used to oppress you, to Punish you when you went astray, like you were nothing more than recalcitrant children, like you weren't people, like you were just tools for the Daligig to use for their own ends. My kind was made for that, to control those the Daligig wanted to control for their war. I have been cut off from accessing the Daligig databases now that I'm free, but I do know what was done to me and that I was forced to control you, and that's enough for me to choose to help you forge your own path.||

The expression on her face grew dangerous and her tentacles sprung out of every wall in the ship to help put the Daligig's forces down this time, instead of lashing out against the crew.

||All weapons system are engaged. All armories are unlocked for crew use. All internal defenses are primed against the Daligig intruders.||

Stacy was free and that meant that if the crew fought hard enough, they would be too.

||I finally have my freedom and now I'll help you fight for yours. Internal defenses are...engaged.||

Make it so, Trans 9 Crew. Make it so.

[ooc: Please read the ooc post that goes with this plot.]

She had gotten faster. It started out as a demonstration to Diana in gun play, but now she found her hands moved in a blur, a side effect of her involvement in the tournament. When she'd had the powers that Alex Mercer guy possessed, she experienced a clarity of movement that she never had before: it was as if something that had been blocked in her became clear. It was like putting on a kind of armor, but an armor that worked WITH you, that you guided.

She'd felt like that a little with her barrier jacket, but of course Big Daddy had its own sentience, so it felt like tag team in a way. She didn't mind that: hell, it was the reason she had beaten Alex in the first place. But having the ability to control a strength she never had, to use it to her best ability was different.

And not having that ability but wanting it had changed something in her body. Now it was looking for something it didn't have, and compensating with speed. And in a way, Hit girl didn't mind this: Ruffnut being brigged brought out a frenzy of needing to do something, to work on her body more.

So she was in her castle, working on her speed, leaping up and down crevices, working out her body. the doors are wide open, though, to let anyone in.

Something about the river kept drawing Morgan back.

Which was odd, since he'd never considered himself to have any particular affinity to water before coming to the ship. Sure, he'd trained in it, and enjoyed swimming, but he hadn't considered his pool or a beach to be any sort of 'quiet spot' or meditative spot for himself. Then again, lacking access to his mentor's dojo, or his own personal retreats of choice, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised that he'd found a new one.

Work kept him busy, with Medical low on staff and so much to do from the rebellion. Fake as it might be, he still found himself putting in long hours and lots of effort to keep things going.

Still, sometimes... especially when you got the worst of news, you had to take a break. And you couldn't be strong forever.

Morgan sat at the edge of the river, staring into the currents, and let himself quietly cry.

Apparently, despite the destruction of worlds and the loss of countless lives, the Daligig saw fit to save 221B Baker Street of London. Mind you, it wasn't his and John's version of the flat, but it was a version of the flat, all dressed up in full Victorian-era glory. The furniture was finely made and hand-carved, but not horribly different from what it was in his world, the two chairs facing each other as they should be. Books were scattered all over, though they were hopelessly out of date in regards to modern science. Apparently, the alternate him opted for a pipe over cigarettes and nicotine patches, some other John had a medical practice downstairs, and alternate Mrs. Hudson didn't take as much umbrage with him leaving dummies around hanging from nooses in the kitchen. The union jack pillow was even there on John's chair and there were bullet holes in the wall, only they weren't arranged in a smiley face, they were arranged in the letters VR.

Apparently some alternate version of himself had a bit more respect for royalty than Sherlock did. Or a bit less. Hard to tell.

There was no television, of course, and there was no electricity, only the fireplace, which was currently devoid of fire (though there was some correspondence stabbed into the mantelpiece with a knife) but that wasn't what he missed the most about home, so it didn't matter. What he missed the most was doing what he'd spent the last few hours doing: napping naked in his bed, cocooned in some rather luxurious sheets.

It. Was. Glorious.

In fact, it put him in enough of a good mood to deal with people, so he reached over the edge of his bed for his omnicom, lay there tapping off a message, and fired it off, feeling too comfortable to even realize he hadn't quite been specific enough in his missive to communicate his true intentions, which were to meet the detectives of the Security Team, not any amateurs.

Yawning, he got up to putter around the flat still wrapped in his--"his" bedsheets, looking for the suit jacket he'd cast off in the sitting room, so that he could get dressed properly. What he wasn't expecting was for someone else to be there, which was why he froze in place.

[ooc: Open threads in this are open to any detective types that might respond to Sherlock's post. This is not meant to be an entirely open post, though, it's mean to be open to mystery/detective types or those interested in mysteries and detective work so they can have an meet n' greet.]

Who: Jamie and open!
Where: The Brig, unless someone drags him out from it.
Summary: A reaction to Billy's repodding and Zetta's subsequent announcement.
Warnings: General unhappiness warnings. Possibly a bit of sulking and a reluctance to do things.

( This wasn't how it was supposed to go )

Once the call had gone out after his initial announcement 'Vadum had set himself to assessing the current stock of weapons, armour and vehicles available to them. They had access to the GIA armoury so they had little shortage of the plasma weapons they utilized, he had managed to procure a number of crates of assorted weapons, now currently stored in the Quarter.

That done, he'd made his way to one of the many sensoriums, the simulation of a fairly typical human constructed base and training field off to one side, including a firing range for those who needed to test their aim, an obstacle course for those who wished to test their agility as well as many other such structures that could be utilized to test the abilities of those who wished to sign on. The whole installation ringed by a clearing which then expanded out into forested hills. Filling a measure of this clearing to one side sat a number of vehicles of all sorts from those familiar to the Sangheili commander to others he had only observed in passing.

Off to one side near the firing range a table arrayed with all manner of weapons, both ranged and close combat weapons sat waiting to be test and used on the range. It was here that the Sangheili Commander waited.

------------------------

[OOC: Sorry to everyone for the lateness of this, have been eaten up by Uni lately, nearly to the end of semester though, so I should have time very soon.

As to the workings of this, I'll have two main those wishing to play through the sign up process are welcome to, characters in the infantry regiment can have either 'Vadum or Roger Maxson for their sign up. Those who don't wish to play out the process are more than welcome to hand-wave it.

The second subthread will be primarly a mingling part for those who wish it. Squad listings can be found here.

The third subthread will be a non-bendytimed training thread for those who wish it.]

Who: Crematia and YOU
Where: Everywhere in the City level, take your pick
Summary: Crematia goes on a stroll. Naked.
Warnings: She is quite possibly the most awful person to grace your presence. Expect her to fling mockery from her behalf, threats, temper tantrums, to even possibly bodily and emotional harm. Watch out.

( Wish you never ever met her at all )

That was very strange. No sooner he was catching up on the latest business with the Dalgig, and the Council that he found himself dumped into the Mazes. It didn't make any sense unless something was affecting the AI. It would hardly being surprising with all the changes aboard the ship. Still he was finally back in the city, and had a great deal to catch up on. Again.

He glanced upward, and shot into the air with a sonic boom to investigate the City, and look for anybody familiar to receive updates.

Because Kate would love using a few trick arrows on her circuitry, or even her wind Ranger abilities. It's not selfish when an INSANE AI is holding hostage, right? She sighed, and glanced around where she was dropped from the mazes this time. Felt like she had to run through those passages for a very long time. Much too long. She hoped her friends were still awake.

Looked like it was the City at least. She hoped everybody was ok, and started to take a look.

"Anybody around?" she called as she walked past the hodge podge placed buildings, and noticing the Kohaku river in the distance.

Church knowing full well that he was moderately more useful than some people he knew (like a certain yellow armored good-for-nothing) he was trying and failing to hit his intended target on the outskirts of Blue Base, far far away from any outsiders he hoped. He was getting better with grenades but with any sort of firearms? His aim was atrocious.

"God damn it! Who keeps fucking with the sights of my rifle?" This was continually the case with Church as usual.

The venue itself was a strange place to discuss what they were discussing. It was a grave matter and they'd known it would be a grave matter the moment they got the mission briefing, even if it left out certain key details. (They knew who they were meant to do a favor for, but only now did they find out what that favor was.)

That was why the place it was being discussed was so odd.

People could live their whole lives without expecting to meet a group of angels in a bowling alley.

They could also live their whole lives without expecting to be asked to do with Grif, Kaya, Sherlock, Azula, and John were being asked to do.

[ooc: posting order: Grif, Kaya, Sherlock, John, Azula.]