Reconnaissance was both a duty to her captain, and a way for Mulan to satisfy her burning curiosity about the new world that fate had brought her to. And so the young Chinese soldier skittered through Stacy's halls, quietly, purposefully, and above all, curiously.

She was glad she'd found her armor, along with her sword, her bow, and her quiver, in the Possessions locker. Her armor would be hot and heavy to wear in this humid environment, but at least it concealed the embarrassingly form-fitting suit the ship had given her. It was much preferable to be slightly uncomfortable at all hours of the day then to be walking around in what would have qualified in her time as nothing but the barest of underclothing. With her armor on and her hair tied back, she looked more like the boy she had become used to pretending to be, the boy she had just been growing accustomed to not having to be back home.

As she explored, she kept her bow, arrow notched and at the ready. She'd heard enough about the dangers that had already beset the crew, though she had the sense not to pull back on the string at the first signs of movement. The people here were abductees, like her, dragged from their strange foreign worlds into an equally strange and foreign one. It would not do to shoot any of them for no reason.

Of course, the task entrusted to our beloved heroes of the Meatcrew won't be easily accomplished. They're being watched. Small, robotic Arctic foxes, a product of Macrohard, studies the crew as they come through the portal. They watch the set up; they see them go into the realm of the Holiday Spirit, and leave in their flying cars to spread joy in the world. The portal is left open--this is their chance to strike.

This joy, this happiness, this plan? Unacceptable. These creatures are the surveillance for Macrohard. The crew's plan is out, and this corporation is not pleased. The crew's efforts are threatening Macrohard's dominance of the season, but the most effective tactic isn't fighting the crew--oh no. What they'll do instead is go after the Holiday Spirit itself. There is no other option: the threat must be eliminated, once and for all.

Luckily, Macrohard happens to have access to the most technologically advanced weaponry available. The most dangerous mercenaries are on their payroll. Troops of mecha nutcrackers, cybernetic polar bears, and candy cane-wielding arctic ninjas are on route to the North Pole to finish up the job.

[OOC: These are small teams, so try to keep Infiltration Team in one thread, and try to do a LOT of group threads in the others.]

Of all the sights he'd seen on the ship, this had to be the best. He'd found it. Neuropathy: Stacy's IT support centre. It was huge, big enough to stow the hub of Stacy's neural within, and looked not entirely dissimilar to an indoor oil pipeline with cable cars running up and down its breadth.

Bruce walks over to one of the bay's many consoles, and one of the first pieces of synthetic equipment he'd seen yet on the ship. A mass of readouts blip happily to themselves, unaware that their audience had long since been removed violently from their posts. He pores over them for some time. If only they'd had access to this place earlier, they might have determined which areas of Stacy's programming were corrupted before they'd even have to run the gauntlet to the bridge. At a glance he fails to see any further issues with the readouts, but he'd make time to certify that.

Once he's done fiddling with his new toys, Bruce turns his gaze upwards to the huge, tubular infrastructure that makes up Stacy's neural network. In essence, this is where everything ticks from. And it's beautiful.

He hesitates before stepping into the car, making himself promise not to touch anything until he's absolutely sure it won't break everything.

What? Blame his Bat-curiosity.

Carol was so very glad for the sensoriums. They were marvelous, to say the least. Which is probably why, the moment she found them, she kept coming back for longer and longer periods of time. She'd been flying over New York City, during Wanda's little House of M world. She'd been surfing in Hawaii, went hiking through a rain forest, and even visited with her brother. The last one had been a bit creepy for her, but it was nice to see him again. She'd even fought some AIM guys as she worked out. All in good fun, but now it was time to rest and relax. And this place was perfect for that.

"Beach. Bright white sand, clear blue sky, and the ocean gently crashing on the shore. Make sure I have a comfortable lounge chair.. and some fruit drink." She smiled as the room flicked into view around her and she relaxed back on the pillow topped lounge chair. She looked down at her outfit, the plant suit, and then looked up. "Black bikini. String. Oh and I'll need sunglasses." She let herself smile as the things she asked for appeared.

"Now if you could just bring me a pretty boy to tend to my every whim, this would be paradise."

Spot had, as usual, been wandering the halls, making the most of the large ship. She'd also been hunting for Data, a search thus far fruitless. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't here, just that she hadn't found him. So the small feline continued to hold out hope for his arrival. In the meanwhile, she would just have to find ways to distract herself. Normally this would mean playing with one of Data's toys, or clinging to Riker's legs with untrimmed claws. This fun was a bit more aggressive, however.

Surprisingly (and strangely), Spot had managed to activated one of the many training holos in the Sensorium, and was now running through the halls of a ruined spaceship or space station. Occasionally there was a tall, bipedal creature walking around, making rounds through the halls. The first one of these suffered a most unfortunate, as for some unknown reason, the hallway that Spot and the creature found themselves on was floating over a large pool of magma, with little more than a safety rail to protect them.

Spot crawled stealthily toward the alien, glaring up at it with her angry little eyes. The repeated pattern of walking told the cat two possible things: it was guarding something, or it was inordinately stupid. Spot was inclined to believe the latter. She swooped in as the alien made its next turn, slipping between the creature's feet. With a shrill trill, the alien tripped, rolled, hit the rail, broke it, and fell into the lava.

House cat one, alien scum zero.

For all the strangeness found in Stacy, it was made only more surreal by the latest addition. There, wandering the halls as if it owned the ship, was a cat. Not a telepathic supercat, and not a giant tiger, ready to pounce upon its prey (though she liked to think she was). Just a normal tabby with a pink collar, wandering around without a care.

Well, maybe one care. She whined for her master as she traveled, wondering where he could be. She'd only just arrived, having slid out of a pod quite by accident, and now was quickly on her way to getting lost.