Bleary-eyed toil brought results, and there was a cure for ROM-199A. Now the problem came with administering it.

Down in the city, the makeshift strike team wielded modified tranquilizer rifles and each of them had 12 cure rounds to use. The infected needed to be struck solidly in order for the cure to be injected-- they were instructed to aim for the chest, though a shot in the arm or leg that hit and stuck would work as well.

It's like paintball, except with deadly pathogens!


Meanwhile, up in Quarantine, those who didn't feel comfortable with shooting their crewmates in the face chest and lower extremities were charged with curing those who had already been subdued and contained.

That was more like tag than paintball, except with deadly pathogens, of course.


(ooc: If you signed up here or here, fire away. If you want to participate but didn't sign up, fire away. If you're infected, tag in to your victim of choice and tear those jerks apart before they shoot you in the face chest and lower extremities! THROW-DOWN! Remember, give the newbs and less plot-fortunate first shot. HAVE FUN.)

Tenaya's systems were on red alert. Her fever was spiking so much that no amount of coolants could lower the temperature of her mechanical systems. A bit of rest would have been able to get her to at least cool down somewhat, but the contagion wouldn't let her do that. She was restless and aggravated, and she'd already gotten into one fight. Her body was still too hot.

And right now, she was not in any mood to deal with anyone. Pity the poor souls to come across her while the City was in chaos.

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 tall man in green armor 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.]

It was official, come down from the ship herself; there was an outbreak aboard the Transmigration 9.

Naturally, the Contagion Containment Laboratory was unusually crowded-- patients in quarantine bubbles, panicked crew members asking questions, medics and scientists hard at work in desperation to find a cure.

[ooc: If you've got business in the CC lab, this is the thread for you. Pick an appropriate subthread and mingle, or start your own!]

With everything that had happened recently, and especially after GLaDoS and his chat with the Prince, Ratchet had been feeling... well, he supposed 'homesick' wasn't a very good word and 'lonely' just seemed too morose. Restless was probably better, so he'd made his way out to the Sensoriums. He'd been avoiding them for the most part simply because he new that the minute he opened one up, something like this would happen.

Massive spires reached up into an inky sky, skyscrapers on gargantuan levels, blue, gold, grey and covered in lights. Bridges and expressways connected them from top to bottom, reaching down to the alleys far below. There was no sun or moon in the sky to be seen, but the lights of the city provided something close to an artificial daylight regardless of the cycle. It was crowded and even if Ratchet still knew that this was all just Stacy's illusion, the other mechs around him felt real enough. The road under his feet was hard and well worn and when he moved out of the way to rap his knuckles against the side of a building, it answered with the satisfying clang of metal on metal.

There were certainly other, more beautiful places on Cybertron; or more important or more poignant, but East Iacon was a place he remembered well. He supposed when he thought about how it used to be, this was what his memory banks provided: one idealized little block to represent an entire chunk of history. ...Oh well, it wasn't a bad block at least.

He tried for a while to remember that this was all just some glorified holomater projection, but he gave up the moment he started seeing familiar faces in the crowds around him. A part of him still hung on to the idea that it wasn't right doing this- trying to relive the past through illusions- but the rest of him was remembering that he was pretty sure ol' Maccadam's was just down the street...

((OOC: please note that even though this is Transformers!world, because it's being scaled to Ratchet's height inside Stacy, all buildings and robots are more or less human-sized.))

In a corner of the obs deck, near the windows looking out over the bleed, there was a pile of papers scattered around. Upon closer inspection, they were slightly messy crayon drawings. Several of them tried to depict the view of the bleed out the window with dark smudges of color blended into each other. A few tried to do some perspective including the windows of the obs deck. Slowly they started transitioning to pictures of fields of flowers with animals happily frolicking through them, trees and grasses, birds flying in the sky and insects buzzing around.

There were a few drawings of little people who looked much like the artist, in a myriad of colors and all with smiles on their little faces. And the Prince's current piece was a depiction of two beings holding hands and tango-dancing together; a pretty woman in a pink dress and, in an explosion of colors, a huge figure with a big orange nose and a magnificent cape. Grasping a gold-colored crayon, the Prince carefully added a crown on top of the figure's head.

The Prince set his crayon down and studied the picture beneath his feet, hands on hips as he looked it over. Finally he let out a little sigh and sat down on top of it, setting his hand where the dancers' hands met on the drawing.

He frowned sadly and stared out into the bleed.

There were 8 bombs spread around the ship. The teams were assigned. They had their orders, now they had to carry them out. And pray to whatever they held dear that they could disarm them in time.

Tick tock.

Shiva spoke through the comms (not the omnicomms) directly into the minds of the crew.

«I am Shiva. I am the destroyer of all that you know and the creator of a grand new empire. For months you thought of me as my host, Charles Kawalsky, but now you shall see me in all my glory. I have positioned bombs throughout this vessel, including the pod caverns. I need but press the trigger and they will explode. I also have one hostage of my own, Sheryl. You will not be able to stop me. I am fully equipped with a power dampener, and a forcefield. I am untouchable. You have one hour to surrender yourselves to me and begin your new lives as my slaves.»

His eyes flashed gold and he held his hostage firmly. He did not wish to wait, but if he tired of this he would amend his demands. For now he stayed in one of the areas in the City hidden from Stacy’s view, in the middle of a pile of rubble, with not a landmark in sight.

Still, he knew they would come.

This ship... was huge. And 'huge' didn't even seem to be a big enough word. Gargantuan. Cavernous. Ratchet's logical mind was struggling to understand how something on this scale was possible, but then again, common sense pointed out, they were dealing with interdenominational world eaters and planets full of people sleeping in pods. Logic didn't seem to have a very good hold on this situation.

He had detoured briefly to the medical wing earlier, but he knew better- if he went in there now, he'd be gone. Even a glimpse was enough to convince him that he was going to spend days just figuring the basics out. And the last thing he wanted was a week from now to realize that he didn't even know Stacy's basic layout. So he was starting with the City.

The sky was a nice touch, if somewhat startling at first. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when he started out, but he was very quickly wondering if he'd taken on more than he could handle. There seemed to be more of this place than he would have thought there to be room for and he was getting the distinct feeling that maybe aimless wandering was going to get him lost.

At least he could say it would be an adventure.

[OOC: Sort of bendytime'd? I'd meant to get this up earlier. 8B Ratch is wandering around the City, sticking his nose into all kinds of places in the name of exploration. Please feel free to tag with impunity! <3 ]

Anyone paying attention in the City today will notice a bizarre sight-- a small lump of garbage, roughly a foot and a half in diameter, rolling up and down the streets. It's mostly made out of bits of rubble, broken glass and garbage, the odd misplaced or discarded item, the occasional loose cobblestone that's been dragged up from the street. Several crew members innocently dropped something they were carrying and found it suddenly snatched by the trashy menace and on its way down the street.

Behind the ball of garbage, pushing it along, is a well-meaning but rather misguided little space person with a pad of paper and a magenta colored pencil strapped to him like a backpack. On the paper is written a message:

-----------------------------------

WE ARE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE!
WE WILL HAVE YOUR PLANETS RESTORED SOON!

-----------------------------------

He looks hard at work, but he would be happy to stop and chat with his subjects.