Right outside the gate device on the Obs Deck, quite inconveniently located for people with a tendency to trip over such things, lay a large tome.

On the front cover, a face sat rigidly immobile. Eyes shut, mouth frozen, it might as well have been simply drawn on for all that it showed no reactivity to the environment or external stimuli.

To those who know the Overlord, well, that book was indeed the Sacred Tome. But was it still Zetta? For all intents and purposes, the Overlord appeared to have checked out.

[Just the start of a little plot. Respondents are encouraged to thread in pairs, because the book won't be responding no matter what you do.]

So she wasn't wearing her suit with the wig and mask right now. In a way, during the attack, she understood that maybe it just didn't matter as much anymore. Coincidentally, it was also when she was beat up the most. Even when she had faced that messed up Cain fucker after Sasami, she hadn't been as injured as this. Being thrown against a wall, shot a few times (thank you barrier jacket) and straining every part of her body to its max would pay a toll, and with everything being so wonky, the Overlord's healer hadn't gotten to her.

So here she was. In med bay. Barely conscious.

And she still needed a new cook, damn it!

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.

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 )

While Diana was never one for overly exercising, usually doing just enough to keep herself in her wonderful curved shape, she did see that the whole ‘clears your mind’ thing was somewhat accurate. 

And her mind felt very crowded. Plus, she couldn’t argue the disadvantages of being in top physical condition when the ship went to heck for the millionth time.

So, she deck out the sensorium into her own gym. A bit of running, then maybe some swimming with Jinx if she texted her to come over.   

True, by the end of this day she’d most likely be over worked, sore and far too tired, but that almost meant she’d want nothing more than to drift into a dreamless sleep without any weight of past event or futures worries. 

Provisions had recently discovered the wonders of sky dancing and so spent him time diving and twirling in the air high above Diana’s head, apart from when she was shooting, then he would peck at the ground near her feet to avoid the possibility of stray bullets.

In the Fortress of the Overlord, surrounded by minions and servitors who were (for once) merely standing around and adding their presence to his majesty, Zetta sat on his throne and waited. His gaze fixed on the 'gates', such as they were, he waited with as much assumed Overlordly dignity as he could manage.

He expected a report, damn it! And a good one!

|| Attention, crew. Those who wish to attend the funeral of Matthew O'Connor, please report to the Observation Deck. ||

Another death announcement so soon after the last. It's a sad day.

Once again, the Observation Deck is arranged for the launch. The departed crew member, better known as Punchy in his lifetime, is encased in a central pod. The deck is lit by the starlight pouring in from the open window, a blazing blue star that will soon be Punchy's final resting place.

Another life lost. Time to say farewell once more.

Day three of the tournament. With less than half of the entrants remaining, and many of them having grown substantially in power with their conquests, the fighting was building to a fevered pitch destined to end in a crescendo of glory. But this far out, it's still anybody's game...


[Results are due by the end of Thursday. Contact me if you need to know your power gains for the last round.]

The first day had cut the participants by half, though to the meatship's undoubtedly great relief, most of that half had not been culled from their own ranks. Technology and magic together had been combined to heal the wounds of those who had suffered in their first rounds, and those who wished to make the attempt could play with their new powers or toys, to see how much they could adapt to their uses before the next day.

The cameras never stopped following them, never stopped rolling. (Except for the bathroom, but otherwise, don't strut around your bedroom naked.)

The next day dawned bright and clear, bright and clear being the prevailing, enforced weather pattern of the castle's particular biome chunk.

|| Medical personnel, please report to the Observation Deck. ||

The shuttle from 'Eden' returns to Stacy, carrying the rescue crew and the original crew members that went down to answer the first distress signal. The returning people are bloodied, battered, some grievously injured. Maxine, Diana and Clef are dehydrated and haven't eaten in days. Karis is missing her entire lower half.

But at least she's better off than the corpse and the wand hastily wrapped in sheets and clothing and lying in the back of the return shuttle. Howard Bassem and Cedric Diggory, one laid cold and still by death and the other not even in enough pieces to be scraped up and taken back, never made it home alive. The official causes of death will be respiratory failure and spontaneous combustion, respectively, as if to to provide a clinical, accurate excuse in lieu of questioning a ship that sends children on dangerous missions.

Stacy quickly determines that she is the most qualified to deal with Karis' case and whisks her away to a secluded section of the Medical Bay. The rest of the survivors and the tragedy are left for the crew to deal with.

[OOC: Bendytimed to right before the tournament plot.]

No sooner did the Obs Deck descend to Arena Planet LXIII, and the crew allowed to disembark, than they were met by a veritable cloud swarm of cameras. Sleek, elegant things that might have been living, might have been machines, maybe were even magical... but were definitely nuisances as the swooped around to capture video of the crew at all conceivable angles, close up and far away. Their every move from this point on would be on camera.

In front of a small crowd of retainers stood what appeared to be a great circular orb whose only distinguishing features were a nose, and what appeared to be the most overblown mustache ever, which actually appeared to be supporting that two-foot-diameter orb at shoulder height to a tall man. Then the orb took a couple of steps forward,revealing that no, those were actually just really, really hairy legs. A seam cracked open on the creature, and in a voice loud enough to echo across the broad open plains without any need for amplification, it bellowed, "AND NOW! STRAIGHT FROM THE TRANSMIGRATION NINE VESSEL! OUR NEWEST COMPETITORS! FRESH TO THE STAGE OF BATTLE, BUT NO STRANGERS TO WAR--"

It went on like this for some time.

Under cover of this introduction, a small man that to all appearances seemed to be the love child of Richard Nixon and a particularly aggressive Furby stepped forward, and in a bored businesslike tone recited, "Welcome to the tournament. There will be one battle per day. The arena in which you battle will be determined by random draw. Our medical crew will perform all healing necessary and ensure no deaths so feel free to not hold back. Please refrain from accepting any bribes or favors from on-planet spectators--"

"--ARE YOU READY?!" the orb bellowed even louder than before, completely swamping the smaller man's recitation. "THEN STEP THIS WAY!"

And so saying, the orb and its procession began a clearly well-choreographed procession towards a large, medieval-looking fortress that hung dramatically just on the edge of clear vision. (Conveniently, this procession passed several large advertisements.)

||Attention. Attention. Volunteers are requested for a mission. This mission will require active combat in a controlled environment against other sentient beings as well as fellow crew members. No fatalities are expected. Successful participation may be rewarded with increased personal power. Successful completion will result in increased resources for crew usage. Volunteers report to the Observation Deck.||

( For those that choose to answer... )

Diana was walking through hydroponics. With Jinx. And Provisions. Like some kind of warped, family outing.

( Why? )

Who: Diana and Hit Girl
Where: Sensoriums
Summary: Hit Girl teaches Diana the finer points of hurting someone.
Warnings: Flirtation and violence (on imaginary people).

( It was a chore, but one that needed doing. )

Ever since Rarity popped, there was one thing on the ship which irked her most. The hideous colour of the plant suits. She disliked green a lot and she vowed to change the garment's colours. She had a handful of plant suits laid out on the table in front of her and she levitated one, eyeing the material and poking it with her hoof.

"I didn't know you could make clothes from this kind of material... Let's see what you're made of so I can change your colour."

It did appear to others that the unicorn was talking to an inanimate object.
 

((OOC: The mods have granted me permission to change the colour of the plantsuits for variety! Your characters can wear their favourite colours now, I guess? =D))

Who: Open log that is open for all
Where: Planetside
Summary: Shopping extravaganza
Warnings: SHOPPING

Agrestic might have had might farmer's market and produce that would rival the best farms,but for a wunderkind, this wasn't anything she might have really liked. Food? Pah! She was content with the slop and whatever she could pull off in the sensoriums. After taking a stop at the weapons, she was busy looking at all the boutiques and large items and see what she could barter off and find. There were ingredients to collect and rare crystals to find so she could build more things that could be helpful to the war and dangerous to their enemies.

Maybe she could make something like the Black Obelisks again...only this time with less energy draining of the area. She had a feeling Stacy wouldn't be too happy about something taking away from her own energy.

Maybe even a hot tub...look, she had super important priorities, okay. Priorities that included hot tubs.

Despite the uproar that had taken place only a day earlier, it was all quiet at the Susono Inn. Well... mostly quiet, anyway. It was home to some of the most stubborn crew members on the ship, almost all of whom had gotten involved in the brawl with the Kessek.

Allenby's arm had been broken. Simon had taken a hard one directly to the ribs. Zouichi would probably take a week to get back to real fighting form.

And Howard... well, it would probably take Howard a while to recover from what had happened.

[Visitors welcome!]