There is a traitor in your midst, meatship. A crew member working for the Nightmare King, enacting his will subtly on the crew.

This person has access to all the Nightmare King knows about their crewmates, and there's plenty the horrible being can glean from their dreams.

Today, it's time to act, to try to cripple all they can, to bring the fears of their crewmates to the forefront to make them easier prey. Today they revel in their cruelty, their soul twisting and writhing in the grips of their cruel master.

[ooc: This is your cue! Each of you, tag in making a new subthread, and set up the setting of where your character is, like you'd do for an post to the comm in general. In the OOC post please lay out the fears and insecurities you plan to exploit in your character's final nightmare to help with the messin'--they'd be bringing those fears to the forefront with their comments, to make it easier for the Nightmare King to act on them]

The crew will see them slinking off, disappearing around hallways--shifting shadow shapes and the backs of heads ducking around corners. They're always people they think they know. Dead loved ones, perhaps, or loved ones they're not sure are dead or alive. They lead crew members into dangerous places, sudden drops, parts of Stacy where things can go wrong.

And they do go wrong. Floors drop out. Ducts become damaged somehow, invisibly, and suddenly spew hot steam. Around the children, items slam into walls--poltergeist activity.

Whether these are really those lost souls, or just illusions, is hard to tell. Either way, those that are part-ghost or have supernatural powers will have a helluva workout. The upside is the presence of the ghosts might disrupt the Waking Dreams to allow people to escape them more easily.

Which is good because the dreams will start to cause injuries now. Real ones.

And refusing to go to sleep doesn't save you when the dreams can happen while you're awake.

[ooc: Waking dreams will continue--and start causing injuries. Furthermore, ghostly apparitions will start to cause poltergeist activity and lead the crew into danger. Start to raise the alarm, meatship. It's starting.]

Well. At least it'd been quiet since the attack.

Christian (he hardly ever considered himself Adam any longer. He'd changed identities too often to become attached to one) did not even bother to determine how long that was. The lack of a solar cycle did not prevent him telling time, but he imagined the scale of traveling residence on this ship doubtlessly entailed, made the tracking pointless.

He had managed by luck more than skill to avoid the latest diversion, fortunately enough, it had been some inane holiday world. Christian may have been mild-mannered, but he was still not about to go and 'save Christmas' for a strange world he knew nothing about. He would save his own Earth before worrying about others.

Now, he could do without the disturbing dreams--vivid and uncomfortable even by his own standards...and after four hundred years, a mind could become extraordinarily creative--or the spectres of his past that accompanied them. Their persistence alone would have given him a headache, were he capable of such things any longer. Clearly, his mind was unsettled, but how? Aside from the obvious placement on this ship, and the claim that his world was lost. He had long overcome any disappointment or chagrin he felt at those revelations. Yet, he knew of nothing else that could cause such nightmares.

Perhaps he simply needed action. Perhaps it was time Christian met the population of the ship on a more personal basis. Christian was friendly, if quiet. Surely, it was time he came out of his shell somewhat, and befriended some of the crew. Undoubtedly, he would need to. Certainly, if Petrelli meant to blackmail him into submission, with his limited knowledge.

Now, he contemplated just how he might achieve that. Clearly, a change of tactics was required. To be unnoticed would not serve his purposes any longer. Thus, rather than lurk where his suit would blend into the ship's walls, he donned the simple dark slacks and suitably tacky blue pull-over, and went exploring in tighter corridors.

Presently, he found himself in front of the painting which enjoyed shifting. As the image settled on a gruesome battle scene--much of the damage undoubtedly done with abilities, judging by its depiction--Christian stumbled backward in outward shock. "Oh, God, why doesn't it warn someone when it does that!"

That, at least, ought to be cracked and loud enough to draw attention.

He'd managed to avoid excessive exposure during the attack, through careful measuring of where to keep himself. He rather preferred it that way--the less anyone knew of his ability, or saw of his skill with the sword, the better. For now, the less anyone noticed him, the better chance he had to decide what he would do with his appointment on this ship.

Because, of course, he would only sit around and wait to be ordered by anonymous faces via television screen for so long. He would determine how truthful they were, and whether it would be best that he lend his expertise to this venture on his own. After all, as tragic as it may have been that this strange race destroyed that universe...he survived. Callous as it might seem to the casual observer, the truth that they would eventually destroy themselves was undeniable. This might just provide the fresh start he'd been trying for, after all.

If, in fact, any of it were true.

His sword now kept safely within the room assigned to him--for now, to him alone--he lurked in the outer edges of the Obs Deck, watching the crew as they wandered about in whatever miniature worlds they'd constructed for themselves.

Sooner or later, he would find the person he was looking for. Just as soon as he spotted them.

A mass of zombies has laid seige to the Vatican.

Time to fight for your lives!!!

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!]

Christian kept his head down. If he was lucky--because it was too soon in a strange place to be 'good'--no one noticed him unless he allowed them to. So far, he'd been decently lucky. When the war broke out in the 'city' he had been staying unseen--keeping up the appearance of sleep. The fallout didn't affect him, and no one who spoke to him of it during the meal seemed surprised he'd missed it at all.

He'd stashed his sword where it would be safe and where he would easily be able to retrieve, should he have need of it. Carrying it around with him made him stand out in ways he'd rather not. There were many who carried weapons around the ship, but he preferred to be viewed as a noncombatant. Even by Petrelli, who regrettably recognized him. He had no need of the weapon for protective purposes. It held little more than sentimental value, and if he were to keep up the appearance of a collector to those Petrelli chose not to inform (and he did suspect the man's Petrelli blood would keep his secrets well until it served the man better to share his advantage) he would have to hoard what he had, not carry it around.

Such was why Christian, once Adam, once so many other names, now sat on the Obs deck, picking away at food he did not entirely require (which was to say...he did not particularly enjoy sustaining himself without it.), observing those who passed him by more than he observed the mess on his 'plate'. At first glance, he might have appeared so unremarkable, he hardly warranted another glance. On the other hand, he might appear as if he were a fitting piece from the wrong jigsaw puzzle. Yet, the same could be said of many of the crew he observed. With such different surroundings than those he had acquainted himself to over the past four centuries, it was...a process to find the right balance.

[OOC: What'd I tell ya? Bendytime constructiveness. Just in case someone might want to actually meet Christian-Adam before he gets serious. Indeed, it is a very late first EP for the man.]

Another day, another podpop. The crew and command crew has gathered on Obs Deck to greet the newbs, but right now the atmosphere is tense. People are taking turns on rotations to alternately hunt for Sam--who'd been kept in prison during the trial to present his assassinating the Yeerk-- and guard said parasite so it can have a fair trial. The Jury is in recess, for the moment, but will be deciding the Yeerk's fate very soon. A bunch of new people thrown into the mix is tremendous complication.

Meanwhile, the newbies are waking up to a strange, new world, one unlike anything they may have ever seen before. In the Obs Deck, the light of stars--and parallel universes--streaks past in a sleek, transcendent sheet of multi-colored lights in the large, eye-like windows. (They're inside the eyes, looking out, it seems). The statue in the center of the room, going up the domed ceiling is intimidating--and seems to be looking at them.

The tension is palpable, though a few individuals are trying to cut through it with friendliness for the benefit of the scared and bewildered new people now waking up from their gooey slumber.

[ooc: Newbie Helpers List | Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. If you would like to play out them talking to the AI, please send an email to the mods making the request--we do this only by request. Then move onto the big Newbie Meeting. Once your character has gotten the rundown from the old crew, you may start posting entrance posts and freely tagging.]


||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

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

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

--

( There was nothing... )