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.]

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!

Within a great dome suspended in the sky by magic or technology -- because really, what was the difference? -- the final arena took form. Which was to say it took no form, or any form. The two combatants found themselves deposited on opposite sides of a slick translucent platform, surrounded by pitch-darkness. In that darkness, vague hints of shifting remembrances of old battles swirled, ready to leap out and remake the arena at a whim.

On one side, the warrior lord Hogan Bight, alternatively known as the dragon Crucible.

On the other side, the Viking warrior-girl turned lightning-lord, Ruffnut.

There came no signal, no alarm, no warning, no notice to begin. There came only the simple knowledge that now was the time to claim final victory.

"And so the crew of the Transmigration Nine has DOMINATED the tournament, coming at last to the semifinals, where four brave souls now strive to see which of them is the best!" the leg-mustached orb announced to the camera cloud! It paused, then continued in a more witty tone, "Of course, there are no rules against selling your soul for the power to advance, so maybe I'm being a little too charitable, huh?"

Pause for laughter, and...

"Victory and the prize seems assured for these warriors... or DOES it?" Pause for gasp. "We need some motivation for the best fights to come out! We can't let them go easy on each other! So from here on out..." Aaaand pause for dramatic effect...

"The loser will surrender ALL their powers to the winner! That's right! Lose this round and walk away a boring, ordinary human being, dragon, or whatever that purple guys is! This is for ALL the marbles, kids!"

The program cut to commercial, as the MC turned to the eliminated crew members. "It's not true, by the way, but don't tell your friends that. Your electric-man friend especially seems to have way too many scruples for him to go all-out without motivation. Let them think the stakes are high. It's good publicity."

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.

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.)

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicomms and comm rings. They are also told they must read information about their current situation and a survival guide with their new omnicomm. New crewmates might see a tall dragonish guy with wings (but don't call him that), a large afro attached to a smaller girl, and talking ponies 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. But thankfully this time, there's a system that was set up to aid the new crew members with a few more experienced ones.

[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. Big brother/sister, there will be a thread for you as well!]

Less than an hour after the ship leaves Agrestic's orbit, an announcement is broadcast throughout Stacy.

|| Attention, crew. Your crewmates, Howard Bassem and Charles Merriman, have been apprehended attempting to desert. They will now be given Punishment. According to established guidelines, you are all requested to report to the Observation to witness the Punishment. Attendance is not mandatory, but highly suggested. This will serve as a reminder of the consequences of treason and desertion. ||

On the observation deck, Archon Yavek, Archite Rekkti, two other Daligig and a handful of Kessek soldiers stand outside a spherical force field. Inside the bubble, Orc and Howard are suspended by tentacles looping around their wrists. Orc's ceased thrashing around and struggling against his restraints; rust-colored fissures have developed around his shoulders and forearms from the strain, but now he simply hangs there, looking defeated. Howard's nose is bleeding, and every time a drop falls to the bottom of the forcefield there's a small sizzle. He's weeping and begging the Daligig with every plea possible, but they act as if they aren't listening. Instead, they wait for an audience.

Hana had, of course, been napping when he’d felt something that stirred him.

( [follow me out towards the horizon] )

“I missed you.”

**********************************

Hana was laid on one of the patches of grass in Ruffnut’s garden, grinning madly up at the sky. He’s completely immersed with chatting the ghosts around him, which obviously means to a lot of people he appears to be laughing and joking with himself, but it seems Hana couldn’t care less, because his face holds a look of total happiness.

People dealt with things in different ways. In Mindy's case, she had continued severing people in the cafe. The hours were rough, her sleep patterns shifted, and she had told herself to take it easy after the ejecting from the Sensoriums by Overlord Zetta. Much like a bartender though, working in the kitchens meant hearing people's conversations, and that led to the topic most people were talking about: the Daligig, the former crew and the inevitable fight for the ship. This wasn't just gossip: it was legit information, and while she could skim over Howard's really long summary, it was Allenby's that hit home. Sure, she had that dumb phobia about tech that was irritating, but she was truthful.

And that meant training time had to happen. NOW.

She didn't waste any time either. Quick to the Sensoriums, Hit Girl costume on and the simulation began ten minutes after intense push ups, stretching and a little running.

She learned something in the past few weeks: the only way to really train yourself was to push, and that push had to keep going and going and make you better. So now she was back again against the Daleks, testing her ability to dodge and run and make things fall on them. Then came that duel with Aqua, where she got much, MUCH better with a blade. Then she was back to attacking SAINTS and the hark robots, making sure there were twice as many.

But the grand finale? Shadow Zetta, unstoppable, merciless, and constantly coming at her. Even in the aftermath of broken robots and a beaten Aqua, she couldn't come close to landing a hit on shadow Zetta that mattered. Yet here she was, going at it again and again, and somehow, the audience were smug looking members of the Daligig, looking like Ceasars at a lion feeding.

[OOC: Backdated to before System Shock.]

The TV lights up in La Casa Smize.

Two contestants remain. Now you must fight to the death to become the Multiverse's Next Top Model.

Fiercely in Love,
Tyrant Banks
Disclaimer: Please remember that Multiverse's Next Top Model, Tyrant Banks, Modelesque Entertainmet, and all associates and producers do not encourage violence between contestants unless it boosts ratings and long-term viability for the models in question.

Rachel and Ruffnut are then ushered to their final runway challenge and photoshoot.

A little after the Shodan attack, Mindy would learn that both Sasami and Negi would be repodded, further darkening her mood after all of the fight: no victory, nothing to be really proud of, just a good, swift win. That was life on Stacy, so be it. What was more, for all intent purposes, "Mindy" had to make sure to look broken up about the death of her father, which was obviously not a stretch. But there was something, in her estimation, that needed to be taken care of first and foremost, which was why Ruffnut would notice that there was no Mindy around the castle for the last few days. In fact, Mindy had spent that time in and out of the Juraian Royal Palace, through the permission of Starfire, of course. This was because she was cleaning out the debris those fucking robots left behind in the one place Mindy was adamant needed to be preserved: The First Tree Cafe.

Or formerly that, anyway. The sign had been done away with, with a new sign replacing it: Negi and Sasami's Diner. Granted, the inside was still a bit of a fixer upper, but the lights were working, the chairs were clean of garbage and robot entrails, and a now dusty but accomplished looking girl was busy inside, busy cooking.

Outside there was another sign: Negi and Sasami's Diner
Under New Management
Alien Burgers
Apple Pies
Soup
Ask for anything else and you will get punched in the face.
More food to be added at a date TBD.

[To Note: Splitting this post in two: for those coming into the restaurant, and Mindy going back to the castle.]

There was only one destination in mind when the war started: work. Billy had dashed down to the transportation tubes, arriving on the first floor when he'd hit a snag: a robot swarm already assaulting the Med Bay and Special Weapons. But that wouldn't stop him: his coworkers and friends could be there, and the lab could easily hold the key to fighting back. He'd struggled and shoved his way through, roughed up very well by the time he crossed the threshold of his lab.

The hordes were closing in. Only his guns and a narrow doorway stood between Billy and death, and so far it seemed that death was gaining the upper hand. Would there ever be time to cobble together a better solution or escape? He doubted it. Not unless help arrived for them.

(ooc: Defend the laboratory? Your characters can be trapped with Billy rigging together some kind of defense system or trying to get through to him. If it gets bad, though, they might all have to escape and blow up the tech...)

There were ten around the building. There were fifteen or so at the door. There would be more once the shots started firing. No magic, no lightning, no super speed: just bad ass normal fighting power, and whatever actual skill they had in hand to hand combat.

Oh, and weapons. She had stored and fashioned some weapons. You don't have Hit Girl live someplace and expect it to be without some firepower and bludgeoning weapons. She had done this over the course of a few days, back and forth from weapons and possessions: she smuggled them as Mindy, just so she wouldn't look conspicuous too. Blades of several shapes and sizes, pistols capable of shattering through skulls, a mace or two, staffs with blades at the end, a spiked bat: Hit Girl's paranoia, which had amused Ruffnut at the time, was now about to pay off.

Now, to lay out the plan to actually getting out...

((Hit Girl, Ruffnut and Hana are in her castle, about to fight their way out. Open to anyone passing by, but especially to a certain afro sporting Wunderkid...))

Such a strange occurrence needed, finally a conclusion. Thanks for the Time Lord's trinket gift, there was suddenly an old, fearsome creature made of gears, it's old features squeaking (although not as bad as before, since a certain someone had given him a good oil job). Analog,the fearsome creature known by some as a the crankiest Time Dragon, walked in the city to find out o where Eleven was. She could smell him even in here, you see (wow that's creepy). Flanked by her three handmaidens, the women giggling like schoolgirls at everything, memorized at the ship. The city could hold her well, for all her large size.

First step - Find the Doctor, ask him what he wants. Step two - Do that. Step three - Get out of here.

She still was a Time Dragon, after all. Proud....and cranky. These boring old puny humanoids were nothing as the greatness of HERSELF so the sooner they were our of her mind, the better.

[OOC - Done! Go for it.]

The dreamworld. The personal world that touches both the person's inner soul and memories of times gone past. the strange, the bizarre, the cruel, the comedy, it has a range of colors and emotions. Usually, very personal. Even the mind doesn't remember all of them.

But what if that soul is now shared with another? A windowed view into the deepest part of the body that possibly neither of them ever wanted to share, as one whose body they are currently drifts into sleep and gets carried off by nightfall, the other lives to see the dreams, one by one, even the ones the host body doesn't remember by morning.

How will this affect each other? Or will it just be a problem or things they'd rather forget?

[OOC - This is completely optional, and was a fun little idea that I figured if anyone else wanted to join in and have their characters see each others dreams or talk to them inside, are welcome too. Enjoy ruining each other's images. Again, if you don't want to do it, don't worry, it's all good. It's a good way of sharing innermost secrets and old memories. Ahhh, making out characters suffer for fun and profit.]