The rooms comprising Aibghalien's laboratory were no longer accessible from within the temple. Helpfully, Aibghalien had put up many signs to indicate this fact, so that potential visitors would comprehend the necessity of going around the side of the building, to where a stone platform stood, a circle some five feet in diameter inscribed upon it.

To step within this circle is to engage the magics laid there. It teleports all within it up to the laboratory proper, where Aibghalien is busy adjusting another such circle, trying to demarcate it more clearly against the newly-installed flooring.

The Jedi Temple rumbled as a portion of it threatened to collapse inwards.

"Why would THAT be a load-bearing wall?" Aibghalien demanded of thin air as he hurriedly cast a wall of force exactly flush with the ceiling above the slightly-smoking remains of the disintegrated wall. The magical force promptly shouldered the entire weight of the countless pounds above it, in efficient and good-natured violation of the laws of physics.

Satisfied that the wall would hold, Aibghalien, with magical passes and invocations, laid down several more walls of force over the walls and floor of the single room he'd cut out of three. About a hundred and fifty by a hundred and eighty feet, it seemed extraordinarily large while entirely empty. A lesser wizard might have worried that it was simply too large; Aibghalien wondered if he'd allotted himself enough space. Still, he didn't want to be greedy.

As he reached the last wall, he drew from his robes a crystal, which went dark and lifeless as he drew from it the power to fuel the spell. He frowned, then tucked it away for later recharging, once he could set up the proper devices to do so.

Gritting his teeth against the drain of strength and energy, Aibghalien laboriously laid permanency spells over each of the walls. Exhausting as this was, his time on the ship alone had given him more than enough strength to lay these spells; within a minute, though appearing utterly unchanged to the average viewer, the room had been sealed on five of six surfaces with two-dimensional walls utterly immune to anything but the most potent of magics.

He made a mental note to seal off the doors.

Now, to test the seals.

Flying out the hole he'd disintegrated in the wall before beginning the process of laboratory construction, he took pains to make sure the air and ground around the temple were clear. Then, drawing back the sleeves of his robes, he swiftly cast five spells.

Four of them were Delayed Blast Fireball, each on a shorter timer than the last. The fifth was Meteor Swarm. Four amber seeds of concentrated magical fire shot into the room, followed by four massive globes of force-bound destruction.

Then Aibghalien quickened a teleport right the hell away from there.

The explosion sounded like Armageddon itself had gotten extremely drunk and decided to wrestle a supernova.

Aibghalien had done his work well. Absolutely none of the force transmitted through the magical walls into the Jedi Temple. It all went directly outwards into the unshielded outer wall of the room. That wall disintegrated almost as thoroughly as the spell of that name would have done, and a massive plume of fire shot out in a prominence, followed by a shockwave that rolled out across the City like the deepest bass note from lowest level of the Abyss.

In the horribly quiet aftermath, the wizard drifted back to examine his handiwork. The room, with its walls intact, appeared perfectly unharmed. "That worked well," he noted to himself. "Now to set up the circle--"

Hmm.

He quickly pulled out his omnicomm and typed out a message before returning to work.

Leon was, somehow, 900 kajillion light-years away from everything and everyone he ever knew. But what was he doing right now?

Walking through a ruined city that was crawling with raging infected in an attempt to locate and rescue any survivors. Again. Not that this work wasn't his stock and trade, but one would think that fate would have something else in store for him. But what is, is. At least he wasn't completely on his own, this time, having gathered a small group to go in and help.

With the virus having leaked out here initially, there was no telling where the hot zone was, so as a precaution, he (and anyone else who went) was wearing a modified combat-ready environment-suit. It was fairly light weight, but had some added padding in addition to body armor, and had ts own re-breather to supply air. In addition, he had a few weapons with him, as well as several clips of 'specialty' ammo, since he really had to be ready for anyone to be infected.

He moved through cautiously, looking for anyone who needed help.

((OOC: Open thread for anyone, infected or not, stuck in the city, and for anyone helping with the evac. Interacting with Leon isn't required, and you guys can free thread amongst yourselves if you want.))

[[OOC: READ ME FIRST]]

Shiva was still in the city, surrounded by nothing but rubble. If here were not holding a hostage, he would be pacing. He was tired of waiting. He was tired of his hostage. Above all, he was tired of hiding.

"Where are you! Show yourselves to your god!" He yelled.

While Stephen had been expecting Alex to perhaps return for another game console, he hadn't planned on it being so soon. Luckily for him, he'd made a few copies of the prototype after he'd finished the first, and left them in his lab as well. So it hardly put him out when he'd gotten the message that Alex needed another.

For the moment, he was puttering about in his lab. This meant he was standing in the center of the work floor, glaring up at the walls. Seems that there were things going on that meant he needed soundproofing.

That is, if he ever wanted to get any work done while that long-winded, blowhard Overlord was in the City as well.

Until he got the soundproofing up, on the other hand, he was relegated to blasting heavy metal music at high decibels, just to drown out the sound of...dare he say it...dorking.

The City; to be more precises, a square therein, some fifty-by-fifty meters, not to this point used.

That poor piece of land would never be the same.

The tome stood in the center, laughing like it was in the finals for the Biggest Ham in the Cosmos Awards (which at some point in time it very well might have been). Around it, several vacant-yet-cheerful people, his loyal (created) constructs, puttered about, cleaning up debris and generally making the place grungy-yet-livable.

"Hyaaaa ha ha ha ha! Clean, you battle-monkeys! Clean, like you've never cleaned before in your lives!" Which they hadn't, it occurred to him, but he wasn't about to let that derail a good monologue. "Make this plaza a suitable domain for the great and powerful Overlord Zetta!"

One of his people piled a variety of stuff Zetta had, after an extensive amount of metaphorical arguing as to what exactly qualified as biometric data for a freaking book, requisitioned out of the armory. Why on the ground instead of in the locker it all ought to be in? Zetta was used to it that way. Technically his loyal mooks had these things all equipped anyway, but here in their 'permanent' home they had no need.

"You!" he said to the 'leader', the green-haired girl that normally served as a transport. "Paint a portrait of the magnificent Lord Zetta! Then get me a throne! Hyaaa ha ha ha ha!"

I really need a castle. Every Overlord should have a castle. That thought came dangerously close to, I miss my castle! -- but Zetta didn't look backwards! He WOULD get his stuff back! He WOULD get his Netherworld back! And he WOULD get his body back.

"Hyaa ha ha ha! Mark my words, Ohm!" Zetta said, with the impression that he was shaking a fist at the ceiling. "Your days were numbered the moment you chose to mess with THIS Overlord!"

Let's hope no one was trying to get some sleep anywhere near this raving loon.

         So, there were more people. Donnie discovered this by walking into a few while boggling about forwards and backwards and still trying to get a bearing on where he was. So his day had generally been all about boggling and apologizing, and trying to figure out what that voice in his head had been and if maybe he should just ask someone. So, Donnie did what he usually did. He started talking to himself. 
    "Okay, so, if the "ship" itself is a fully self realized....lifeform, is it it's own.........biosphere. if it's a biosphere does that mean there's an outside and what about the various levels of...oops, sorry, I'm sorry! God, was that your foot, sorry!....Sor--oh, that was the wall..."

In light of her run-in with that odious, terrible, frustrating the Death Knight and the Tauren, Nehaalista had chosen to retreat to the sensoriums. While it still baffled her a bit, it was there she could call up Tuurem, as she'd known it, before the Horde, before her own training had led her family to the city.

It was a little collection of small homes and buildings (small as compared to a Draenei, anyway), along the river. Villagers she remembered, now long, long dead, bustled here and there, attending to business that had never concerned Nehaalista. Huntsmen and bakers, blacksmiths and fishwives, all protected by the peacekeepers that patrolled the town in twos. The sound of hooves were everywhere. Somewhere in the distance, an elekk trumpeted as it came down the road. The light in Terrokar was blue as ever, thanks to the olemba trees filtration.

Nehaalista sat next to the riverbank and watched workers setting up tents for a festival of one kind or another. She smoothed a hand over the skirt of her robe and nibbled at some bread. She passed it over to the little Draenei boy next to her and signed, [Eat, Faram.] The words appeared over her head as she signed them. It was good to hear her mothertongue spoken in such volume again, coming over the buildings and rooftops in half-muttered curses and well-meaning joking.

It had been a month since their last Warfare Training session and both teachers were worried that their students' progress would have suffered for it. But with everything that happened on Zokez II, Ronon and Kang were both certain that everyone could see the importance of learning how to fight and defend yourselves properly. Stacy had also a lot of new crew released from their pods not too long ago. Numbers for training were sure to increase.

One major change to training from this month was the venue. Previously it was held in the Drunken Dragon Tavern but now they were standing in a Sensorium replica of Atlantis' Mess Hall without the tables and chairs but instead benches to the side. As students made their way through the Sensorium doors and the lower, lobby part of the mess hall, they could see Kang and Ronon waiting on top of the 4 steps before the main part of the mess hall. Ronon was going over today's lesson contents in his mind when Kang leaned towards him, indicating to start.

Ronon straightened up and looked at the crowd, his task master mode on. "Welcome back to Warfare Training. I know some of you are new to this. I'm Ronon Dex," He then gestured to Kang. "And this is Kang and some of you may know him as the owner of the Druken Dragon Tavern and one of the Council members. We'll be your main teachers for these sessions."

Kang's wings rustled slightly, and he grinned. "I mentioned this already, on the channel, but I'm going to say it again: this is not going to be easy. You will get hurt. You will be sore for days on end."

He crossed his arms over his chest, "Remember, this class is voluntary. If you can't handle it, then leave; we don't tolerate whining or half-assing. We also won't tolerate any sort of discrimination based on age or sex, so be respectful to your fellow classmates, and to your instructors." There may or may not have been a pointed look at Grif with that last bit.

"Because we haven't met for a while, and we have newcomers, the next few days are going to be more about review. I know some of you continued training on your own, but not everyone, and we won't ask why. We know there were injuries.

"Let's begin."

[Things to be covered!

Revision of hand-to-hand, sword, knife and axe combat and firearms!

Previously!

April 26 - May 9: Basics of hand-to-hand, proper knife and sword handling. Important points: Eye contact with an opponent at all times, prevention of telegraphing moves, breathing, learning to read an opponent and spot weaknesses. Most of it so far has been defensive rather than offensive.

May 10 - May 23: More hand-to-hand, basic offensive moves with knives and swords, basics of guns.

May 24 - June 6: Basics of hand-to-hand, shooting practice with handguns and knife and sword training. It was the start of more offensive training.

June 7 - June 20: The beginning of Ohm training. Hand to hand as always. More Sword training. More shooting practice and gun maintenance. Gotta keep those guns clean.

Notes!

From now on, Warfare Training will come with a hand-wavey thread so characters can sign in and everyone knows who was there even if you don't reply to the main threads. Don't forget to tag yourselves in if you use the hand-wave thread too. Hope you enjoy~]

It had taken him a little time, as he hadn't had many serious projects outside of his own lab until now, but finally, Stephen had a delivery to make.

By his own admission, it wasn't much--he hadn't checked Stacy for the Eva unit's schematics yet, but even the merest theories for the fusion generator he was planning. Well. It might be worth something at least. Or so he hoped.

He also hoped that he'd find Billy on duty. In truth, it was likely, as Stephen knew very well that Billy didn't precisely believe in "time off".

"Mr. Cranston?" he called as he entered the Engineering area. "Are you here?"

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a green-skinned alien and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

Asuka grinned. She'd been waiting for a few minutes now - this guy (whoever he was) had better show up soon! She didn't have all day, as much as she wanted someone to get her beautiful Unit 02 working again. Sure, she'd had an X-Wing to pilot and the training and all of that, but she really wanted to be able to sit in Unit 02 again, to be able to take the fight to the enemy, to get up close and personal.

She'd been born for this, after all.

She let her legs dangle - she'd already called up a simulation of the Eva and she was perched on its shoulder, about forty meters off the ground. She didn't mind the height. She was used to it. Besides, her Eva was a safe zone for her. If she could get it to run without external power, well... she'd be unstoppable. She knew that much.

Nehaalista was just where she'd promised she'd be. Most days she spent were on the Observation Deck, watching the Bleed go by much the same way she'd watched it pass on the Exodar before the crash. Back then, however, she'd also been occupied with proper duties, and proper training. And family.

She shook her head and looked at her wares. Necklaces, rings, small loose gems, large loose gems, settings, bracelets and cuffs. It shone and glinted in the light. She toyed idly with one of her curls, pulling it straight and letting it snap back.

Well, if they wanted them, they would come. In the meantime, Nehaalista picked up a book and read, The Light and How to Swing It

This really should have happened months ago, but it was finally happening.

The engineers were having a meeting, and Billy couldn't be more nervous if he was presenting his best work to the scientific greats. And if he thought about it, he probably was doing that on some level.

Once the announcement was made, Billy gathered his strength at the lab board. Upon it, he'd scribbled drawings, lists of names, and possible project ideas. He also held a datapad in his hand, listing possible courses of action in the event that certain people were abducted and erased.

No matter how much he planned, though, the direction of the meeting would depend on what the members brought to the table. They could oust him, they could propose a death weapon, they could complain, they could blow something up, and they could do so much more. He would really have to wait, see, and try to restrain them from killing each other.

Resigning himself to his fate, he looked to the doorway and waved to the first arrivals.

[ooc: Anyone who would have responded to his request or been interested at all is welcome! There will be subthreads for different topics, and it will be open as long as it needs to be because I know we have some hiatuses right now.

We'll start with the mingling and slowly get the ball rolling!]

Now that Nehaalista could work a little bit more naturally (her leg still ached, but at least it wasn't hard to walk on), she'd set out to find a forge. And found one she did, recently used, if the embers in the forge were any indication. With a little, strange sort of almost-grunt, she dropped her box of ore on the ground beside and relit the flame, stoking it until heat boiled from the red mouth of the forge.

While on shore leave, Nehaalista had been able to purchase some ore. To not do anything with her hands while stuck aboard Stacy would have driven her crazy, and Nehaalista wasn't about to let that happen to her sanity. After all, what would happen if she did go crazy? Start gyrating wildly while standing on a mailbox?

She wasn't a night elf, for Light's sake. Sorry, Choline.

Nehaalista prospected half the box, pulling away a few dozen uncut gems and setting them aside. They were strange, and Nehaalista couldn't think of names, but had arranged them by color. The rest of the ore was melted down into bars, one of which Nehaalista hefted in one hand.

Now, what to make? She pushed away a limp, sweaty curl and swished her tail against the chair, thoughtfully.

The sensoriums made for a convenient training ground for all the right reasons, but most of all because they allowed Motoko to cheat. It hardly seemed fair for the world around to be controlled by whatever constituted the strongest mind, or the most established, but on these proving grounds, as ever, fairness was not part of the equation.

The world was a sleepy summer day, warm with cicada song and dry, ragged grass, knee-high in places, scorched to the earth in others. An abandoned, decrepit skeleton of a Soviet military base dominated the landscape, dotted here and there with holes like dark hollow eyes among the crumbling walls and roofless, exposed innards. Once, this place had been alive, and now it was as bleached as bones in the grass, as nature retook what man had conquered.

Here and there the rusted-out remains of tanks slumped where they had been abandoned. Red paint, incongruously fresh, marked a series of them as targets at the far end of a carefully 'makeshift' firing range, though most sat aimlessly, unmarked and unattended. The place nearest the door was dominated by one such tank, perhaps in slightly better repair than the others, and perched upon it was the reason for all the fuss and trials. Major Kusanagi folded her arms and leaned her back against the treads, casting a sidelong look at what was left of Section Nine.

It was going to be a long day.

[ OOC: Wait for Subthreads, please. OKAY, GO GO GO GO! ]

Kon had a plan. Y'see, they'd gotten well and truly trounced planet-side, even if they saved the people and walked away, and that was something of a bummer. Total bummer. Of course they'd picked up and carried on, but Superboy was all for having fun in the face of crapitude.

So Kon had a plan that would both act as valuable training (totally valuable) and be tons of fun. (With way more emphasis on the fun part).

That was why the doors to one of the Sensoriums was left open, an announcement was made on the omnicomms, and... there was a supermarket in the Sensorium. As if this wasn't odd enough by itself, there was someone creeping down the aisles humming the theme to the A-Team.

Then silence.

Watch out, meatshippers, BREAD ROLLS FLYING AT YOUR HEADS FROM AISLE FIVE.

"FOOOOOOD FIIIIIGHT!"

By this point, the Ohm had spread all across the planet.

Destruction spread throughout the cities of Zokez II. There were evacuees that still needed to escape. People that needed saving.

It was time for the crew to do what they did best.

[ooc: Sub-plots! Check here before tagging.]

Down on the surface of the planet Zokez II, Stacy's erstwhile (and hopefully much more relaxed) crew began receiving messages over their comm rings and omnicoms.

||Shore Leave is now over, please return to the site for pick up. I repeat, Shore Leave is now over, please return to the site for pick up. I hope you have enjoyed your stay on Zokez II, but all good things must come to an end. Please return to the site for pick up. If you do not return, you will be left behind.||

She means it, too. Better get your butts back to the ship.

[OOC: Please thread amongst yourselves!]

Nanashi had found herself a dark club filled with people who were dressed either in all black with black lipstick, or in bright neon with much of their skin showing.  The club's walls were lined in velvet from about the elbow up, with black  tile on the floor and lower wall. The club was playing more alternative rock songs then the techno usually found in clubs, and rather than dancing to songs, a decent number just jumped.

Nanashi was not one of those people. She watched how some of the others danced, moving their bodies in wave-like motions, and she copied the ones that seemed the most skilled fairly faithfully. She was still riding the high she had essentially stolen from the junkie she had found in the slums of the area. She had told Sam that she would help him find blood to restock the ship after she got her high from one of the local junkies, but if she was going to be high, she was not about to waste it asking for blood from butchers. No, she was going to enjoy this club. And at least she fit in here perfectly, with her cloud white skin, lips still red with the blood from her meal, her black dress with the slit up to the waist and a bathing suit bottom underneath.