The Vault was an imposing structure, from the inside. Externally, it looked like an unassuming little building, a facade that masked a door like a bank vault and with as impenetrable a lock.

Inside, it was...considerably more impressive.

Everything about the warren of architecture spoke of thick beams and the weight of the earth. This was meant to be an impenetrable fortress, the headquarters of the so-called 'Strike Team.'

Motoko had left the door ajar, but waited silently in the artificially lit antechamber. It was time for them to meet.

There were loud tunes coming from the hangar again. Virus was over with, city's re-open, Sam's ok, and the only drawback is they got an archangel turned trickster turned human awake and wandering the ship now. Eh, he could think of worst people from his world to wake up. A lot worse.

So time to kick back with his tunes, and hang out with one of his favorite girls. (Kaylee being the other now.) There were still a few repairs remaining from the shore leave he hadn't a chance to get to until now.

So Dean was currently underneath his vehicle, checking over her undercarriage while his bootheels beat a rhythm to some Led Zeppelin.

He was also singing.

"RAMBLE ON... SING MY SONG. BEEN AROUND THE WORLD.."

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.]

The brig. Tossed there for starting a fight with the two pricks that couldn't mind their own damned business. It irritated Mei-Xing, but there wasn't much to be done about it. So she made up her mind to irritate her jailers by not being bothered about it at all.

She started off her mornings with a nice stretch, coupled with some minor exercises. Sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, even squats and lunges were used. After that, she'd spend her day either meditating, reading a book or watching a movie from the data storage unit in her head, or stepping out into the astral realm and futzing about the ship that way. Having so many people with no idea how her magic worked or what she could do with it came in handy, it seemed.

At this time, Mei-Xing is at the tail end of her morning work-out, just fooling around by this point. She stands on her head, then lifts herself up, her entire body weight on her hands. Slowly, she pushes herself up just a bit further, resting on her fingers. Carefully, as if unsure if she could do it, she lifts her left arm from the ground, holding it to the side. She lowers herself slowly, touching her nose to the ground, and then straightens her arm again.

Just because she was a mage was no excuse for her to be out of shape, after all.

The infiltration team has had a long, hard slog through everything GLaDOS is capable of throwing in their way. Lasers, pitfall traps, rooms with mildly toxic gas, anything that she can spring on them with minimal prep time at her disposal and whilst at the mercy of the path they blast through the walls.

||Haha-a. Well done.||

The AI's voice is entirely mirthless as the team finally reaches their destination. It's cooler in this final hall and the floors and walls are mostly fleshy once again. There are more metallic intrusions here than much of the rest of the ship, but it's a sharp contrast to the stark whitewalled test chambers.

At the end, it opens up into a circular chamber with a narrow metal walkway spiraling up from the floor in the middle. Hanging from the ceiling in the center is a strange combination of wires and smooth, curved white metal with four spheres with colored "eyes" protruding from the tangle. The eyes roll toward the infiltration party.

||You ^have passed your test. Please wait _{for your} cake to be dispensed. Obey ^all cake awaiting procedures and _remain here un^til the cake arrives. Refrain from moving from ^{where you} stand or there will be no cake.||

How could something so apparently helpless possibly do anything to harm them now that they're out of her little "kingdom" of chambers and she can't keep playing her sick little games? It has to be a bluff.

Hasn't it?

This ship was still a dangerous place. There were a lot of things that were out of their control, and problems they could manage, but few that they could fix. One of the biggest ongoing problems was GLaDOS, who routinely caused crew members to disappear, some for good.

Worst of all, there was nothing that could be done about it.

Until now.

Which was why Leon was putting a team together, the members of which he had called to meet him at the Precinct. They'll be the ones to finally deal with the AI once and for all.

Leon found a relatively quiet spot in the city to meet the Major. He was in the area dubbed "Religion Row," standing outside of some kind of a mausoleum. Given the type of building, not many people wandered by, which suited him just fine. Given what he and the Major were about to discuss, it was important to not have anyone overhear. Especially Stacy.

The Obs deck was as always, the bleed, the flesh-chairs and the endless meandering of those without an occupational specialty, which was most of them. That they felt obligated to lounge about in public was beyond annoying, but it made enough of a casual atmosphere of the place that anyone idly standing around wouldn't seem out of place.

( And then there was Grif; he was more like furniture. )

Training was coming along. Also the house they were living in, but it still needed more repairs. That Xander guy was a big help, even if Dean didn't care for how the guy would sometimes stare at his brother too long. It was weird, and he'd be apologetic about it as he'd get back to work. But it's weird. All the one eyed guy would say would be how he knew the other Sam and they worked together against the Yeerk. The very idea of his brother being possessed again by something evil... that was worse, and reminded him too much of the possible futures he kept hearing or seeing. Sam saying yes. Like he was always going to bend over to Lucifer for one reason or another. And Dean had to allow it. Just sit back like some useless bitch while everything falls. Well hell with that, hell with the damn future for that matter. He hoped Adam was in the pods perhaps, and maybe his old man. At very least Mikey can't have them take his place.

Or you can accept your destiny, Dean.

Crap, he could do without the background commentary. He needed a drink or something to fight. He was half hoping Vader would show up somewhere so he could go kick his Sith ass. Be better than contemplating how much his future will suck if they get their world back. Eh, screw it, he needed to practice or something. He checked the time. Hunter class was yesterday, so he was free and clear there. He hated using the Sensoriums but it did work for training purposes. Like the hunting sim he rigged up a few times.

Now, time for something different. Cas was probably poking around the hydroponics. As long as he was just growing herbs and weed and not trying to partake anything narcotic, it seemed like a good idea. Gave him something else to do. Just like what Dean was doing. Keep moving, keep busy. Fight and bury the thoughts down in the hole.

Today's practice didn't involve a gun though. It involved a longsword. His old man gave them some pointers about bladed weapons, and an overview just in case. But most of their battles involved guns and bigger weapons. Still, better to be diverse as possible.

And this was the part of the job that Leon knew would eventually grate on him. Meetings. They were necessary, and usually productive, but they were not his thing. Still, it was part of the job now, so as per his post on the comms, he made himself available at the Precinct. His old office belonged to Samus now, so for the time being he made himself comfortable in the fifth floor conference room.

John could have been at the party, but he wasn't. It wasn't because of sour grapes either. He simply had important business to take care of. Business for the Major, and John had done exactly as she had requested, and then some. It had been easy for him to find what she'd requested as he'd already stolen half of it on his first visit to the armory. Of course it was much easier this time as he had the proper access. He'd even managed to dig up a Seburo C-25A submachine gun, and one of the cMN-23 assault rifles for her. Keeping the submachine gun supplied with ammo might be a problem due to the odd round, but it couldn't hurt to impress her a little. It did take him a few days however to move the hardware quietly to the city, but he didn't mind. By not using the armory computer, and moving it himself it was far easier to make them simply vanish.

Once he'd finished securing everything he contacted the Major so she could come inspect some of it. Hopefully she'd approve of his efforts, and the new location. It was some kind of large fallout shelter with one hell of a blast door, and enough room to shelter plenty of the crew should any disaster strike. There wasn't any alternate exits that he had found yet, but they could certainly make one if they had to. Exploration of the place turned up that it was called a Vault, and had been built in some universe's America around 2070. It would take a bit of work to clean out, and make completely ready for the team, but it would be well worth the effort. They simply couldn't have asked for a better base of operations.

The sensoriums made for a convenient training ground for all the right reasons, but most of all because they allowed Motoko to cheat. It hardly seemed fair for the world around to be controlled by whatever constituted the strongest mind, or the most established, but on these proving grounds, as ever, fairness was not part of the equation.

The world was a sleepy summer day, warm with cicada song and dry, ragged grass, knee-high in places, scorched to the earth in others. An abandoned, decrepit skeleton of a Soviet military base dominated the landscape, dotted here and there with holes like dark hollow eyes among the crumbling walls and roofless, exposed innards. Once, this place had been alive, and now it was as bleached as bones in the grass, as nature retook what man had conquered.

Here and there the rusted-out remains of tanks slumped where they had been abandoned. Red paint, incongruously fresh, marked a series of them as targets at the far end of a carefully 'makeshift' firing range, though most sat aimlessly, unmarked and unattended. The place nearest the door was dominated by one such tank, perhaps in slightly better repair than the others, and perched upon it was the reason for all the fuss and trials. Major Kusanagi folded her arms and leaned her back against the treads, casting a sidelong look at what was left of Section Nine.

It was going to be a long day.

[ OOC: Wait for Subthreads, please. OKAY, GO GO GO GO! ]

Thrawn had gathered and reviewed every scrap of information Stacy had about the disastrous battle with the Ohm--every after-action report, every camera angle. Now, in the Sensorium, he was watching the skirmish unfold in three unsettling dimensions. It was a reconstruction, only as good as the crews' accounts and his own tactical skill. The latter, at least, was formidable.

Parts of the battlefield were empty, grayed-out in a literal "fog of war," where Thrawn had too little information to fill them in. They shifted and flowed as the fight progressed, crewmembers and Ohm disappearing into them and then popping back into existence where the records picked up again.

Gradually, however, the blank spaces were disappearing, as Thrawn ran various scenarios and decided on the most likely. Combat would pause, reverse itself, and then resume with tiny differences, again and again, as bit by bit, with infinite patience, the Grand Admiral recreated the battle to his satisfaction.

If he had any say in the matter, no confrontation with the Ohm would go so poorly again.

This had been a rare find. During all of his wheeling and dealing while on shore leave, he never expected to come across a box of Monte Crisco cigars. Cuban Monte Crisco premium cigars. Even back on his earth, those were difficult to get a hold of, though far from impossible for a man of his resources.

He decided that he would enjoy it in the crew lounge. Partially because the one bottle of brandy that he knew would go best with it was there, and partly because a cigar like this should be enjoyed in good company. Unfortunately, at this hour, the lounge was mostly empty, most of the crew busy licking their wounds from the recent fight.

Still, he knew eventually, someone would show.

In the meantime, he took a seat near one of the windows. The light from the Bleed filtered in, giving him a red tint. He asked Stacy to play some jazz for him, and lit his cigar. He took the first deep drag and held it in, taking a moment to truly taste all of the flavors, then exhaled.

Truly excellent work. He was going to savor this.

Motoko checked her watch- yes, right on time. It was unnecessary of course, but habit nearly as old as she was still lifted her wrist and turned her eyes to glance at the antique analog display. The wrist was expensive, but the watch was irreplaceable- unlike what carried it.

In fact, that was what brought her to the intimidating building in front of her. One of the larger islands, this, like many others, held a teeming metropolis to suck the money off the beaches. This was Veratech Inc., a shining facade of mirror-tinted windows and gleaming brass that catered to the heaviest end of the well-endowed Security they had been assured was so competant as to warrant the complete abandonment of weaponry. Specifically, they made robotics, which was why the Major was here, today. Her new-minted spare shell would be waiting.

It had been simplicity itself for Motoko, with her skill and her hardware to convince her new on-world bank account that it was both government, official, and possessed of a generous expenses purse. She herself was dressed in a sleek, professional button-down and skirt, with a pair of glasses that did double duty hiding her eye color and giving her an official, professional look. Purse in hand, she pushed open the doors and paced past the gleaming lobby and it's stern-looking receptionist. The woman waved her by and Motoko lifted a hand to aknowledge it.

She was, of course, expected.

It was only a moment before the smiling, too-polite representative put her aside to wait in a relatively public waiting room. It was a sparsely furnished thing, as opulent as the rest of the place, but meant to bring focus to the gleaming glass window that dominated an entire wall. It was a tank, on the other side, filled with viscous oil coolant and the gently tumbling half-assembled example of Veratech's finest work; an android, much in the fashion of Motoko's prosthesis. She took a seat with her back to the wall and watched the panels slide into place, silently counting down the minutes.

This was a place where anyone who asked at the front deskcould be admitted, could watch in awe as the weapons that protected these islands from criminals was assembled. What was taking them so long?

The Major asked to see him. In person.

Well, asked might be a bit of a stretch, but that's neither here nor there.

Regardless, he was willing to meet with her. She wasn't one to waste time, so he figured it had to be important. He told her to meet him at his office, where he was waiting for her now.

Hydroponics was peaceful. There weren't that many people in it, and most people were willing to ignore you if you curled up in a corner with a book- well, data pad, and he almost missed the solid weight of paper and ink in his hands - and kept your head down.

And right now, Iniss wanted nothing more than to stay out of the way and avoid all of the humans and assorted alien lifeforms that had decided they were going to hunt him down for Jake.

His host was quiet, on the edge of dozing. Bored by his reading choice and content, for once. He'd sent Jake a message, and he knew Jake had to have received it.

It was a small thing, something very few other people would think much of. Telling your younger sibling you love them? Most teenagers would die first. But Tom hadn't been able to say so much as 'Hi' to his little brother in three years. It felt...nice. Comfortable. He felt almost happy. As close to happy as he'd gotten in years, even with the near miss of freedom.

And so he dozed and Iniss read and they ignored each other completely.

It could almost be said to be peaceful, if living with an alien slug in your head could ever be said to be peaceful.

Stacy's voice speaks over the whole of the ship. What she has to say has become very familiar over the the podlings have spent here.

||Pod Release Protocols Initiating,|| she says. ||Please proceed to the Observation Deck to meet your new crew mates.||

Those crew members that don't head to the Obs Deck on their own are hurried there via gentle but insistent tentacles. A few people stop by Engineering to help bring and pass out omnicoms and comm rings to the new crew members as well.

[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.]

Batman was restless. Too tired, too bored to sleep. It wasn't as if there was much concept left of day and night on Stacy but if anyone could find it and abuse it, it was the Batman. With a mechanical proclivity that came with repeating the same motions every night of what on this particular night felt like a very, very long life, he donned his uniform. Like always, he paused for a few brief moments, holding the cowl between his fingers and feeling the weight of it before pulling it over his head. Lit by the battery of computer consoles that ran across the deck of the Neuropathy bay, he strode out to the school of cars that could take him up into the lofty ceiling of the enormous chamber and the sprawling spaghetti junction of neural pathways.

The crackle of a power torch. The flare of brilliant, blue incandescence. The same old scene for hours, days, weeks, months. Batman was doing the same thing he did every night, Pinky. Keeping this half-scuttled rat trap from doing something inconvenient, like killing them all. And as if anyone needed informing, he preferred it if he could do so without being disturbed.

Bats in the belfry. So it goes.