There is a resounding mental alarum that sounds through the ship. Nearly "deafening." Lights flash from places for extra emphasis, making it impossible to ignore.

||Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention, all personnel...||

It's entirely likely that she won't stop repeating the announcement until, well, everyone reports to Obs Deck. Outside the windows, a very Earth-like planet is visible, hanging in space. The mouth in the huge statue opens, revealing a screen. On it, the dossier for the mission flickers into display, understandable to every person there. Smaller copies of the dossier appear in holographic form in front of everyone.

The planet's stats, right next to a rotating holographic picture of it, marbled blue and green, are as follows:

Planet Designation: Earth-78734XM45
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non-sentient life: Extensive flora and fauna.
Semi-Sentient Life: Yes.
Sentient Life: Homo Sapiens. [Various translations of "human" appear here so everyone understands it]
Water: 69.5% of the planet's surface.

Climate: Earth-like, in the throes of a mild nuclear winter [Click here for cultural equivalents for non-Earth cultures.]
Landscape: Varied.
Air: Normoxic concentration. Slightly elevated levels of carbon dioxide.

Air Pressure: 101.3 kPa (kilopascals) = 14.7 psi (pounds per square inch)
Sky: Blue. Often overcast.
Sun: A class G2V, yellow star.

Warnings: Wildlife and plant-life can be hazardous. Humans can be hazardous. A human cultural and legal database is available. [click here]

Mission: Revive the spiritual entity at the North Pole.

--

Following that, there are various maps and things visible. The version of Earth this world is may be very recognizable to some, but vast cities dot its surface.

||Attention, podmates. Attention.||

Apparently Stacy wants their attention.

||It is critical that you pay attention at this time.||

A few people will be able to avoid the call by being in the right place at the right time, but most will be gathered up on Obs Deck.

[ooc: Organization Post | You can post into the gathering thread. I'll add more subthreads with explanations of aspects of the mission as we go. Note: If you don't have time to post to this mission briefing but still want to have your character in the plot, that's fine. You can just pretend they were there the whole time. If you DON'T want your characters to be in this plot altogether, however, don't have them in the briefing--Stacy could have missed snagging them.]

Nate had gotten his armor back from Stacy. The initial elation had slowly given way to a very businesslike examination of the suit's use however, following a troubleshooting session in the City. It seemed that Stacy had locked down the suit's time travel capabilities. So that meant he wouldn't be going anywhere, and he wouldn't be pulling weapons out of the time stream either. A few of the deadlier weapons in the suit itself had been disabled. But he'd be able to get those back up and running.

The thing that he had most wanted to know however, was whether the Vision programming was present. Running through his checklists and looking through the programming ands source codes of the armor's minimal AI system, he was soon satisfied that his suit wouldn't be walking around on it's own anytime soon. Good. One less headache for him. Something he was thankful for, what with the way his head had been pounding recently. That being said he didn't want to be walking around in that suit at the moment. At least, not while it was looking like that.

So it was that he ended up in the Special Weapons area, various tools littering the table next to the larger one that he'd laid the suit out on. First things first, he'd need to get rid of that helmet. He didn't want his face hidden, not anymore at least. So he worked for an hour or so at pulling the components from the helmet and incorporating them into the suit. Of course, for the HUD he'd need to find an alternate method. Perhaps he could rig up a retinal projector keyed to his DNA? Well, time enough for that later.

The sound of clinking and fiddling could be heard for a long time. His eyes began to grow tired as he kept working. How many hours had it been? Didn't matter, he had his suit. He needed to finish. Now that fusion cell connected to that power cable. And that ion regulator into that outlet. Yes it was going fine. Picking up another fusion cell, he grabbed his screwdriver and began to unscrew the cap. Hopefully the gel hadn't congealed after disuse, or else it might--

BOOM

The cell exploded in a great spray of coolant gel and metal parts. One sliver of metal ran a cut along his cheek, and he was glad he'd had the foresight to put goggles on, as others pinged off the protective eyewear. Setting down his screwdriver, he pulled the goggles off, a bemused expression crossing his face as he lifted a hand to wipe the gel off it. His hair stuck out at odd angles from the release of static the exploding fusion cell had caused, and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

Maybe that was enough for one night.

Robo had been spending most of his free time (which was, at his last count, ALL of his time.) scavenging around for spare parts and building something, sometimes in his room, and sometimes at work table in engineering. His device, when complete, looks sort of like a portable TV. He flicks on the screen and something like an infinite tunnel appears. After shifting it around a bit, he seems satisfied and clicked it off. This would probably turn out useful at some point or another.

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their number. After the recent revelation, many of them were even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Brainiac 5 and Sensor were set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings.

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

It's rather ironic that Marcus managed to stay occupied in prison, but couldn't find anything to do while he was a free cyborg man. The zombie invasion was interesting, at least-- even if it was the kind of interesting he never wanted to see ever again-- but that was over quickly. The new portions of the ship were all well and good, but there was only so much of a few new rooms that one person could take.

And so, Marcus ventured into the Sensoriums, just for some variation. (Does it count as variation if it's the same place you've been for the past thirty years of your life?) He's currently in a small, cluttered garage, the hood of an almost-certainly-stolen '76 Chevy Nova propped open. He's 'changed', for lack of a better word, into jeans and a plain white t-shirt, although his longcoat is tossed over the back of a chair.

Many things have been on the minds of the crew lately, and many things have happened.

There is, however, one happening which might go completely unnoticed by all but the most astute members of the crew.

Lately, all across the ship, in different rooms at different times, there is a strange feeling of unnaturalness. It happens slowly, so slowly one could hardly notice the change until it was entirely there.

The air, normally temperate and vaguely humid, begins to become chilled and dry.

The faint sounds of voices can be heard, whispering as if conspiring together, just far off enough to be unintelligible.

The shapes of objects in the area seem to subtly change, forming almost impossible angles if one watches long enough.

The last, and perhaps most noticeable to some, is the feeling of being observed. Not in the same way Stacy watches over the crew, but rather as if something is looking directly into you, straight into your soul.

Eventually, these feelings will fade, moving on to some other part of the ship.

However, they do seem to last long enough for one to attempt to investigate, should someone manage to work up the will to remain in the area long enough.

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]

Even with Stacy's guidance, it took Tennessee quite a while to find what she was looking for in the more restricted areas of Weapons and Possessions. There's just so damn much stuff—! But she tracked it down, finally: a benign-looking hard-shelled case sized like a coffin, sealed with a series of locks down the side and a reinforced, solid-state control panel.

As she toggles the display controls and starts punching in security codes, and as the container unseals and starts to open with a hiss, she hums dramatically.

Retrieving the shiny-slick bodysuit thing within from the preservative goop it was resting in is easy, though the slime splashes her in the process. She checks that nobody's around, then quickly strips out of her plantsuit, starting to awkwardly work her way into the suit, getting all the support equipment arranged properly against her. (The suit—or the base layer of it, anyway, as there's an assortment of sleek-fitting extra panels and attachments—is form-fitting but not skintight, given the extra thickness of it.)

The torso, the arms... finally she seals the odd segmented helmet in place, the faceplate splitting open to both sides as the suit's systems initialize. Only her face is visible now, with the blue-green mild iridescence of the suit and its slim-fitted back and leg and arm and torso hard-shell packs covering all of her.

Robo was in Engineering. He had cleared a table off and was working on something, and was muttering an occasional curse.

You know how it's awkward to put a band-aid on your hand because you can only use one hand? Try reattaching a finger with a soldering iron.

Difficulties aside, Robo was still concentrating on this task with far more intensity than was it required. The task was an excellent distraction against thinking about all the weird shit that had just happened to him.

EDIT: Now that The Middleman has helped him out, he's just doing more general self maintenance.

The conversation between the bridge crew, Stacy, and the Admiral is broadcasted where the rest of the crew is in the MedBay, and gathered right outside. Even in the bridge itself, the sound echoes over the monitors so that anyone resistant to psionics can hear Elfangor's side of the conversation.

They have now been told why they were brought to the ship.

Their worlds are gone, destroyed by the Ohm. They are refugees in an unforgiving Omniverse.

Transmigration 9 is an ark.

While Stacy is partially restored, including her core personality (which is far more personable), she is still severely damaged, and running on automatic somewhat. Until the ship can be repaired, podpops will keep occuring and they will be forced to go on missions to undo the damage the Ohm have wrought to the Omniverse. The threat of the being in Escherville is still a threat, one with no immediate solutions.

But they have allies out there, they have an AI watching over them, they have the smallest glinting traces of hope. Their loved ones are (hopefully) on board, and even beyond that, there is may be a chance, however small, of restoring their home universes.

Stacy broadcasts to the entire ship when it's all over, when all has been revealed.

||The bodies of the individuals that died today are being prepared for funeral services. A list of their names will be made available, though I can assure you that none are individuals any of you know. The funeral will be on Obs Deck in several days, and will be announced.||

||Those that wish to have their memories of their rescues restored, as proof their worlds are gone, will have a chance to request this after the services, but without grief counselors on board, I strongly recommend against it.||

||In the meantime, all of us must heal and recover from our ordeal. New areas of the ship have been made available, such as the Crew Lounge, and I have opened up the Crew Quarters for use, and cleared out the belongings of--||

Here she falters, sadness creeping into her voice.

||--of my original crew, so that all of you may sleep more comfortably. These quarters fit two people to a room, and have actual beds and sonic showers. Dining will still be provided in the Mess Hall, with periodic days of real food in the Lounge--they must be spaced out until my food stores are replenished with fresh food products.||

After a moment of thought she says: ||And because I think you've suffered enough, fornicative activities are now allowed--however, both parties must stop by the Medbay for a Contraceptive shot or this will not be allowed. These shots will provide protection for six months and do not protect against venereal disease, but all of you, barring several individuals with certain conditions--|| Like those, say, infected with zombie viruses, Steve ||--are currently disease-free.||

||The ship is now open, and the bridge team can relocate back to the Living Areas. The doors will remain open after they leave the bridge. I must now engage in heavy repairs. My AI will not be quite as available as usual. Please, take time to grieve, rest, and have your wounds treated. We will discuss more when everyone has recovered from this ordeal.||

The undead were pounding at the doors -- all of them, and the windows, and the walls in general for that matter.

The front doors were going to be a problem, though. They zombies were actually breaking through there.

Battle stations everyone!

The Defacto Rearguard of Team GTFO hadn't gone too far away from the doors that had separated them from the rest of the team. They were fortunate -- Mei Ling was still unharmed, and the rest of them were of no interest to the zombies, possessing none of the meat that their stumbling attackers found so attractive.

They were going to have to move soon. They could only hold the zombies off for so long without some sort of fortifications, and they were very much without those here. They had a blank expanse of fleshy wall where there had used to be a doorway separating them from the rest of GTFO and multiple hallways teeming with zombies.

The lights were still up and looking just fine. Which meant that they could see the hoards coming for Mei Ling. Fortunately, they seemed to have no objections to sticking together.

[ooc: Newbie Helpers List | Instructions: First, read *HERE*. Then, once you've read the overall plan, post your character into the main thread establishing them as being podpopped, and reacting to the oncoming zombie horde (since there is no Stacy replies to comment to, it will all be one thread, instead of individual threads). This can include fighting and/or fleeing if you want. Eventually, volunteers from Team Left Behind will rush in and save the day. Obviously, since there's no time for it while fighting for your lives against zombies, this podpop won't get the whole ||You have been Chosen|| speech from Stacy, so they'll have to get their answers (and pants) later.]


||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.

--
( And this was the moment everything went to hell )