Asuka felt ecstatic. She'd gone down to the hangar in the dim hope that she might be able to find her Eva. It had taken her a while, of drifting through the multitude of vehicles, hoping to catch a glance of a familiar shade of red. And she had. When she'd seen it, she'd let out a whoop of joy and pushed off of the wall, shooting up to it's shoulder (the zero-g had taken her a while to get used to, though).

It was locked in place, staring out over the hangar. She settled on the shoulder with a grin, legs dangling as she leaned against it's neck. For some reason, it's presence just made her feel better. Safer. Like she could handle everything that was being tossed at her. She almost wanted to crawl inside it just now, but her plugsuits were stashed back in her new (admittedly spartan) room.Besides, now she was invincible. She had her Eva. When she was in it, nothing could stop her.

Nothing at all.

Lafiel floated in the great chambers, weightless and warm as a great womb. Organic docking clamps (T-shaped with surfaces like teeth) held great shadowy shapes, sleek and metal. They were curved, beautiful and deadly.

The first clamp held a ponyu class, the only fighter in the Abh fleet. Its split tail and rounded body gave it the appearance of some great metal sailfish. As Lafiel pushed off the wall to float close to it, she remembered being pursued by the corrupt Baron Febdash in one of these crafts. He, a fellow Abh had been her first kill. At the time she had not understood why it upset Jinnto.

Now, after having suffered wounds and faced down things like humans that called with human throats in the thick and humid night, she thought she did, at least a little.

She climbed inside to inspect it.

When she was done, she moved onto the next ship. It was much more squat than the ponyu, flattened, round body with a smaller cockpit that poked out like the head of a turtle. An assault transport class, designed to ferry troops to ground worlds in the rare event the Abh needed to become involved in lander affairs. Inside, however, she would find an uglier shape: bulbous and spherical, it filled the hold. It was a hoksath or antimatter mine, a weapon capable of turning a continent into a skin melting inferno.

And it was fueled.

Unsettled, she double and triple checked the security on it, before floating away.

[OOC: If weapons of mass destruction are against the rules i'll happily change this post.]

Everyone's had a chance to recover somewhat, to stop reeling or at least try. Now that people are at least somewhat closer to being on balance again, it's time to say goodbye.

There is a message throughout the ship, one tinged with sadness:

||Attention, crew. Those who wish to attend the funeral services for the crew-mates that died during the conflict should report to Obs Deck immediately. Services will begin in approximately a thirty Earth standard minutes.||

The floor of the Obs Deck shifts to allow lifts to come up through it. Tubes connect from the space there to the hatches that suddenly appear between the windows, giving something of an impression that the closed caskets are missiles about to be shot through a missile tube. The funeral pods themselves have clear round domes in them--some of the people that died more peacefully are visible, looking as if they're sleeping. Most, however, were killed in a way that would make them appear less than presentable, so in their funeral pods only the vaguest outlines of humanoid forms can be made out. Some have entirely closed pods or were vaporized and thus, only have a funeral pod there to represent them.

The ship lurches lightly as it comes to a stop to a random universe, but where it's stopped at is beautiful to behold. They are in the middle of a nebula, surrounded by red and blue plasma. Several new stars burn brightly, here, and they are stopped near one, just short of being sucked in by its gravitational pull. It's a red dwarf, small and faint and new, but its light is welcoming. Here, where the very fires of creation burn, and stars are born is the last place the dead will be sent.

[ooc: Instruction thingies]

Kelly had been trying to keep as busy as possible in the days following the big reveal. She knew that she would have to sit and consider what it meant for her at some point, but not yet. She'd cleaned her armor, taking hours to get the olive drab metal to shine again. She'd modified her combat knives, installing High Frequency sonic generators to vibrate the blades and enhance their cutting power.

She's helped as much as she could with cleanup. But she was unavoidably running out of things to do. So when she'd woken up today, she'd decided to go for a run. It was the best way to keep her mind off things. Whenever she ran, it felt like everything fell away. There was no need to think, no need to worry, nothing to worry about. It was just the pounding of her feet on the ground in her ears, the steady rhythm of her heart. It was like a world of her own. A world where things weren't complicated.

So she started to run. Just slowly at first, but as her muscles warmed, she picked up the pace. Soon she was practically flying along the corridors, legs pumping as she loped along, lost in the rhythm of the run. She loved this feeling. It was almost intoxicating.

For anyone else? They had better stay out of the way, if she hit them at this speed? Well...that wouldn't be fun. For them.

The Chief's not usually one you see poking around in engineering, but today's a special case. The Spartan's out of his armor, which is also unusual. This is because it's spread out on the lab table in front of him at the moment in various stages of disassembly.

He hasn't had time to properly maintain this suit since receiving it at Cairo Station what feels like centuries ago, and it needs some work. And cleaning. There's an unpleasant mess of bio foam residue and dried blood in there and some of the ports for vented hydrostatic gel need cleared, damage from battle aside. At least Stacy does in fact have the correct tools for breaking down a MJOLNIR suit on hand so he doesn't have to improvise. It's a complicated piece of equipment and the Mk VI's an upgrade, but the Chief's been in and out of a MJOLNIR suit for most of his life. He's faster than a tech. It's good work. It gives him something to do besides pace while he thinks, and the Chief has a lot of thinking to do.

He'll probably notice you if you come up to him, but just to look at him he seems absorbed in his work.

Stacy jerks and shudders to a sudden stop, likely upsetting more than a few things already upset because the comms have stopped working. And deep down inside Stacy, on the first level, a little section thoughtfully titled "Contagion Containment and Quarantine" spilled open.

Hal 9000 had opened it up. And the things that had been kept there were still alive.

Or at least, they were moving...

Their groans echoed through the lower level as they spilled out of Quarantine 1, shambling and shuffling toward the Hub. The Hub would take them where they wanted to go. And what they wanted to do first was make some new friends.

So they went to the Pod Caverns. Then, after that, the zombies started heading up to the City...

[[OOC: Holy $#%&, Team Left Behind, ZOMBIES. Going to set up some subthreads, please wait until I do! INFO HERE, FIRST SUB-THREAD GO GO GO!]]

The Vatican had a lot of ground to cover. Normally covered in expansive gardens (just empty plots on the ship) and comprised of a multitude of buildings, holing up there meant holing up in simply a part of the Vatican. The group was therefore in St. Peter's Basilica, which had had most of its entrances sealed off. Now they had to work on small windows and a few other entrances left neglected, but overall, it was a very defensible position. There were no exits other than the ones leading to the sacristy and treasury--which was their main avenue of escape, and heavily guarded. The prisoners were being kept in this area, and guarded by the rear guards, as leaving them in the prison was deemed too dangerous for their safety. As bad as they'd been with the Yeerk conflict, they were crew, and no one wanted them to die.

The courtyard was a chokepoint. Gunners could sit on the roofs of the buildings running alongside the courtyard to strafe St. Peter's square from the sides.

The various chapels and vestibules along the sides made excellent areas for food, medical, and weapons supplies to be gathered, and most were clustered in the middle of the basilica. The Medical area was in the Chapel of the Column, the main weapons and ammo caches, and Food storage areas were in the two Transepts, respectively, to the sides of the Papal altar. Pews all in the main areas had been converted to sleeping areas, right in the center of the whole place.

There was still work to be done, before the other group could leave. Last minute barricades, blocking more windows, moving the last of the medical supplies, inventorying the food, and so on. Then it would be time to hunker down.

So push up your sleeves and lend someone else a hand, folks.

[ooc: Read instructions for these threads here!]

Jaime Reyes voice sounds over the comm-rings--all of them--and it sounds very urgent.

« Everyone on the ship, listen up! This is Jaime Reyes, your local 'Blowing this pop stand' coordinator and escape facilitation engineer. I need everyone on the ship to come to the City, in front of the Precinct, immediately. Grab people who don't have their comm rings with them--and tell them to grab their comm rings, people who are sleeping, whoever you find, and try to make sure everyone on the ship knows to come. This is very important. This is "getting the heck out of here" important. »

When they arrive, they arrive to find the Command Staff waiting, and a tiny, tiny young man standing on stone ledge from a fountain, waiting for them.

Here goes nothing.

The Chief's got the sensoriums up with a shooting range. It's not the one he's called up in the past, this is an outdoor range. There are several different target distances, including the long, long rifle lines for things with considerable scope to them, at the end of the range are some somewhat chewed out hills deep enough to catch most impacts. There's plenty of open space off to one side with some practice dummies for melee training, and plenty of open space in general. It's relatively sunny and the air is fresh, but the weather's an after thought. They needed a range. Chief called one up.

They all have a lot of work cut out for them.

The Chief is in full armor, doing a little quick rifle maintenance before anybody shows up. It's holographic, but it serves his purpose for now.

[OOC: This is a FULLY OPEN post. Subthread all you want. Tag each other, teach each other, ask questions, branch off. It's like a big social thread with guns!]

([Also OOC:] If you need to talk to the Chief, just warning you that I'm a bit swamped right now. I'll get back to you but it'll be a slow process. @_@)

Picard was in the Sensoriums. It wasn't an unusual spot to find him by any means, but unlike much of the time when he relaxed in a smoky jazz club, or walked along the streets of Old Chicago or New York, the captain was not dressed as Dixon Hill. He wasn't smoking or drinking, either. Instead, he simply stood on the bridge of the Enterprise, listening to old reports, Captain's and Senior Officers' logs, and even going so far as to recreate some of the memorable moments on the ship. Now wanting to try and use the hologram as some kind of emotional crutch, he even had the simulation make an artificial version of himself, playing through the events exactly as they'd occurred.

Taking a sip from his tea, the captain gazed out of the viewscreen to the expanse of space before him. It made for a very pretty picture, no doubt about it, but it was not why he was here. No, Picard had the unfortunate self-assigned duty of reacquainting himself with every case of temporal discrepancy and every judicial dispute and every interdimensional boondoggle the Enterprise and her crew had ever been involved in.

He did laugh, however, when he read the regulations and operating procedures for the Department of Temporal Investigations. He almost pitied them, having to deal with so many temporal disputes involving James Kirk.

[Instructions: Here.]

The fighting begins in earnest, as bystanders get dragged in, have to duck out of the way, or join in to help out, but with more people entering the fray, there's even more chaos.

Buildings have been cracked, a nearby fountain has been smashed, causing water to pour over the ground and make things even more of a mess.

Can anyone, Security or the Conspirators, keep the situation under control?

The door to one of the Sensorium pods has been propped open with a brick taken from the city level; it leads into a small vestibule with 'airlock' doors, set up to block out the outside light.

Past that, one can take a few steps into the darkness, eyes adjusting—and feel the weight lifting as the gravity drops to nothing, and there is only a soft floating against the stars and galaxies that stretch in every direction.

The air is thicker, almost fluid, body temperature, enough to make the boundary of the skin seem to almost fade a little, and there's absolute silence but for one's own breath: it's like stepping into a supremely thorough sensory deprivation tank, but for the stars. One could imagine floating peacefully in space, overlooking the whole universe.

Near the entrance (now hidden from the inside), only a dimly-outlined shape against the sky—as there isn't enough light to really see her properly—is Luly, curled up against herself in the zero-G environment, eyes open but unfocused and her red wrap trailing around her a little.

Anyone who steps into this particular Sensorium pod will find themselves in a plain, boring-looking laundromat. But for a single running washer (thrum thrum thrum it goes, and there's a flash of red inside) and Meluly sitting on one of the plastic chairs while wearing only a white towel (wrapped around her from collarbones to halfway to her knees), it's unoccupied.

She's flipping through the May 2085 issue of Vogue.

The Sensorium was dark around him, its empty, featureless state as the default.

Kira closed his eyes for a moment, a part of his mind telling him to not do this - it had been almost two years since he'd last flown, and why just accept war like that? But no, he shook that off. There were things worth fighting for, and this world was one worth protecting. He would need to keep his skills sharp.

All that was left was a proper test of the program he'd written. "Stacy," Kira said aloud, his voice quiet. "Please run program KI_YA_SIMU.01... Setting: Space, Earth Orbit; Craft: ZGMF-X10A Freedom."

As the words left his mouth, the room around him transformed, becoming a cavernous hangar bay that lay open to the star-speckled black of space and the small blue-white-and-green orb that was the Earth as viewed from one of the Lagrange points. His clothes, too, changed - the teal-and-white flightsuit that he had once worn, and it was remarkable how accurate it was to his memory.

He was standing on a walkway forty or so feet above the floor of the hangar bay, a walkway which led to an open cockpit in the chest of the machine standing sixty feet tall in front of him: His Freedom Gundam.

Kira stood there, looking at the familiar Mobile Suit, and felt... nostalgic, in a way. It had been almost a partner to him, hadn't it? And if what he'd been told was true... it would be his partner here, too.

He tightened the seals on the helmet of his flight suit as he walked forward, climbing into the cockpit and strapping himself in. The door slid shut, and the small chamber was dark for a split second before the viewscreens that surrounded him lit up, providing him with an unobstructed view of the hangar bay. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he reached to touch the ignition... and then he pressed it.

"Kira Yamato, Freedom. Heading out!"

(ooc: The door to the sensorium is programmed to open into a viewing chamber. Come bug Kira, talk about giant robots, or use your own!)

Spaurh had found the sensoriums. At first she'd merely been curious, recreating a few places from memory, trying out the zero-gravity simulation. She'd even dabbled in the piloting program (and found that she was almost as good as she had been out of training). And then she'd recreated her flagship. It had been perfect - almost too perfect. The crew acted like the real crew. Her Chief-of-Staff was so real that she'd almost thought he'd materialized next to her. Of course, that's when that worming little thought had burrowed into her head - what if? Could the battle at the Sord have gone differently? Could she have saved more of her men, her ships?

Despite her rather smug exterior, she honestly had cared for those under her command, even if in some abstract way. And even though she'd achieved a "victory" of sorts at Lobnas, the defeat had still stung. She was supposed to be rebuilding her squadron. Instead she was here. So, at a loss, she'd replayed the battle in the Sensoriums. And then again. And then again. She lost less ships, she lost more ships. But every time the losses had been crippling to her little fleet. And now she was doing it again. The ship rocked from a nearby explosion, "Looks like the enemy is stupid..."

She had made it this far into the fight - the retreat from the Sord, breaking enemy contact. But just as the first time, they were following her. Her crew, her wonderfully trained crew were giving it there all. Reports continued to stream in from the fleet. Another ship had exploded. and then-

"Mine! Incoming!"

"Evasive-"

The ship shuddered for a moment from an impact and a frantic bridge officer begin yelling as information scrolled across his screen, "Impact! Our engines are disabled! Another-"

The ship shuddered underneath her again and then the deck plating seemed to rise to meet her as the entire room turned into blinding white light. It faded out a few moments later, leaving Spaurh standing on an empty bridge. The words "Ship destroyed" burned across the viewscreen. Spaurh bit back a curse and stalked back to her command chair and slumped, sulking. There had to be some way to get a better result out of the fight....

Stones in the shape of a caern for a body that was never recovered and now never will be. It's down there on that forsaken planet, probably picked over by scavengers, both human and animal. Some criminal warlord is right now probably using his rank tiara to decorate his scarred forehead. Lafiel hopes it's not that bastard McAngus.

Late at night she's painstakingly brought her coffin of rock here. She carved his name on them in Baronh with her klanyu. If anyone wishes to activate their omnicomm's translation functions, they'll see it reads Lynn Su Rock Haidr Jinnto.

Lacking an airlock to eject the "coffin" out of, the alien stars rushing past are the only backdrop she can give for this makeshift funeral. She hopes his last view was of those stars. Maybe they gave him some comfort as starvation or wound stole the last little bit of energy from him and his chest stopped rising and falling in the oppresive, humid night.

She dares to hope he thought of her.

After a minute's rest (the stones were very heavy and awkward to carry from the city) she stands straight. She will have to be both speaker and audience for this wake.

First a crooning dirge, something that would be proud and magnificent if sung by all his friends. From her voice, it comes out too thin though, a small imitation of a grand gesture.

Next the Abh national anthem, not sung but recited in a monotone. This is their equivalent to Taps.

It ends like this:

Dear Stars,
Please listen to the wishes of your short-lived kin.
Our wishes,
It is to live until your are ancient.

Dear Empire, Dear Stars,
Let us pledge ourselves to eternity together.

At this point, the coffin would normally be shot off by an electromagnetic rail cannon, aimed towards the center of the galaxy, to travel eternally. She snaps the Abh salute, middle and index fingers to her forehead and the thing is over.

Abriels are royalty. To be fair rulers, they must not show too much concern for any one subject. Otherwise, they will have to show concern for all of them, and that is of course impossible. They are most definitely not allowed to cry.

So Lafiel stands stock straight but trembling and watches the stars...

Not crying.

Luly has been checked into the Med Bay after a bit of an odd incident in the Mess Hall. So far she's stayed mostly of the way, given a bed in a secluded niche, and while she's ended up babbling to herself a few times or doing other odd behaviors, nothing's been obviously harmful.

With the ship's somewhat annoying lack of proper hospital robes and her disdain for the plantsuits, she's wrapped in just a sheet, hopefully while somebody figures out something to clean her usual makeshift red wrap with. At the moment she's sprawled across the bed assigned to her, focused intently on a holographic keyboard and screen being projected from a little cylinder she's placed on the bed. To look at her she could seem almost normal, except for the one hand keeps rapping out a compulsive, staccato rhythm against the bedsheets.

It starts simply enough: Meluly goes to get some of the horrible stuff in the mess hall that claims to be food. She sits, with the tray, and stares at it. One bite is taken, and a second, and she chews, but she hasn't swallowed, and her eyes are blank, and her face twists with disgust, and she coughs once, twice, and hurks, glop evacuating her mouth as her eyes squeeze shut with the involuntary half-tears of the gag reflex.

"( **** )

!" she screeches, snorting back reflexive tears, in that horrible transition moment between self-control and lack of it. She grabs the tray and throws, and the throw is powerful but unguided, and the tray hits the floor and shatters while the glop spatters onwards across the floor. "( ************ ***** **** ******* )!" Her face has become something terrible, a death-rictus scream—

—and she slams her head down into the table, letting out a wordless wailing whine, and again, and again, and again... She slides back, falling, eyes open but staring unfocused at the ceiling, and against the floor of the mess hall she cries like a child, her mouth trembling but near-silent. Her head is bleeding, the skin torn and pummeled.

Jack's kind of annoyed right now. Well, more than kind of. Leon took his omnicom! What gives him the right, huh? Jack knows he probably shouldn't have hacked Sam's, but didn't it turn out alright in the end? Heck, everyone should be hailing him as a hero for finding the guy's plans! Not that Jack much likes the idea of being thought of as a hero, but still. Is a little respect that much to ask?

So right now he's falling back on the oldest standby in the book for being frustrated with nothing to do about it: busting stuff up.

Jack has the sensorium set to replicate a particular room in his evil lair. It's mostly bare concrete with some lines painted on the floor, it's the room he usually uses for assembling any really big bots. Instead, he has five smaller ones sitting ready. He's set his helipack off to one side so he doesn't accidentally get it damaged. He holds the Monkey Staff in both hands.

"Monkey Staff!" he shouts, activating it. "Alright fightbots, bring it!"

The robots spring to life and come at Jack. Clearly, they know kung fu. Jack? Jack only sort of knows kung fu. But that's not stopping him, and he has the staff making him much tougher and more agile than normal.

"YAAAAHHH!"

If you look in on the loud crashing and random monkey sounds, he's bouncing all over the room beating the crap out of robots. If you watch one, you'll notice they pick up any broken off limbs, repair themselves, and return to the fray regularly. Jack seems to be just getting started.

Who knew he could actually fight?