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.)

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!]

The disease spread through the City, and through the City, to the crew. Those who came in contact with the invisible killer would slowly begin to exhibit many of the symptoms of a common flu: nausea, chills, and fever.

But they would not feel lethargic. No, quite the opposite. Their energy and their activity would only increase. And now, so would their aggression and pent-up rage...

...and it would increase very, very quickly. So quickly, that you might almost lose your mind.

Rein was very hungry when the Meet and Greet had separated, and found her way to the cafeteria. Taking up a tray twice her size with considerable effort, she floated over, hoping to get something like a cherry tomato or maybe some pasta.

SPLORCH

Staring at the goop, she tentatively poked it. It had the consistency of jello mixed with gravy. "This is it? This is food desu?"

The device started to tear up. "This is food?! NOOOOOO DESU!"

Sadly, Rein floated her tray back to the table and poked it with a fork.

She could have sworn it moved.

There is a resounding mental alarum that sounds through the ship. Nearly "deafening." Lights flash from places for extra emphasis, making it impossible to ignore.

||Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention, all personnel...||

It's entirely likely that she won't stop repeating the announcement until, well, everyone reports to Obs Deck. Outside the windows, a very Earth-like planet is visible, hanging in space. The mouth in the huge statue opens, revealing a screen. On it, the dossier for the mission flickers into display, understandable to every person there. Smaller copies of the dossier appear in holographic form in front of everyone.

The planet's stats, right next to a rotating holographic picture of it, marbled blue and green, are as follows:

Planet Designation: Earth-78734XM45
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non-sentient life: Extensive flora and fauna.
Semi-Sentient Life: Yes.
Sentient Life: Homo Sapiens. [Various translations of "human" appear here so everyone understands it]
Water: 69.5% of the planet's surface.

Climate: Earth-like, in the throes of a mild nuclear winter [Click here for cultural equivalents for non-Earth cultures.]
Landscape: Varied.
Air: Normoxic concentration. Slightly elevated levels of carbon dioxide.

Air Pressure: 101.3 kPa (kilopascals) = 14.7 psi (pounds per square inch)
Sky: Blue. Often overcast.
Sun: A class G2V, yellow star.

Warnings: Wildlife and plant-life can be hazardous. Humans can be hazardous. A human cultural and legal database is available. [click here]

Mission: Revive the spiritual entity at the North Pole.

--

Following that, there are various maps and things visible. The version of Earth this world is may be very recognizable to some, but vast cities dot its surface.

||Attention, podmates. Attention.||

Apparently Stacy wants their attention.

||It is critical that you pay attention at this time.||

A few people will be able to avoid the call by being in the right place at the right time, but most will be gathered up on Obs Deck.

[ooc: Organization Post | You can post into the gathering thread. I'll add more subthreads with explanations of aspects of the mission as we go. Note: If you don't have time to post to this mission briefing but still want to have your character in the plot, that's fine. You can just pretend they were there the whole time. If you DON'T want your characters to be in this plot altogether, however, don't have them in the briefing--Stacy could have missed snagging them.]

Leon had called for a full staff meeting for the Security team, though it was also open to whoever else wanted to attend. He had gone easy on his group since the Bridge mission, mostly giving them time to rest, recover, and deal with the things they've all been told. But now it was time to start moving forward again.

The meeting was being held in the Precinct, in one of the larger conference rooms. He gave time for people to file in and sit down where they would. Once everyone was settled, he addressed the group.

"First of all, thank you all for coming. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Special Agent Leon S. Kennedy, from the United States Strategic Command, and current Chief of Security here about Transmigration 9.

"A couple of weeks ago, we all learned some startling information. That our worlds were gone, destroyed by the Ohm, and we're all that remains. That we've been chosen to travel across the multiverse to fight the Ohm, save what remains, and possibly restore what was lost.

"All of that may or may not be true, and we have people working to verify that one way or another. The only thing we know for sure is that, unfortunately, we're all stuck here for a while.

"Because of that, there'll be a few changes around here, most of which you'll hear straight from the Captain and the Commanding Officers in the coming days. As for this department in specific...

"Security was formed with the intent to be the first line of defense for this crew; to protect them from any threats on this ship, and sometimes to protect them from each other. That hasn't changed, and never will. How we operate is going to change, however.

"For the most part, we've taken a defensive posture, waiting for something to go wrong before we deal with it. But a Fix on Fail strategy isn't going to work anymore. Now, before you get started, no, we are not going to start hunting down and locking up crew members who may be a problem someday maybe." He wanted to be clear on that point, particularly with a crew as prone to kneejerk reactions as this one. "But, acid spitting roaches, one of which was crossbred with an Ohm; a variety of class 4 viral and biological weapons, all gathered in a failed experiment to create a biological weapon to annihilate the Ohm; the Nightmare King trapped in Escherville; HAL 9000; the Yeerks... these are all threats that originated on board. Things that were left behind when the previous crew abandoned ship.

"We need to find out what else they left behind; what other experiments they had going that have been left unattended for God knows how long. To that end, we need to root through every section of this ship, search it from stem to stern to locate and deal with these problems. We'll also be working with Engineering and Neuropathy to locate threats and malicious programs in the computer systems.

"In addition, we're also going to be expanding our duties to become a full blown Emergency Services Unit. We have to be able to deal with everything from heated arguments and hazmat spills to heart attacks and hull breaches. Some people here would be better suited for certain tasks than others, but everyone will crosstrained in a number of disciplines. I don't want to be caught short handed because we only had a few people trained to handle, say, hazmat spills, happened to be on an away mission, or were busy running through a maze, looking for cake.

"As for dealing with the crew themselves, Stacy has generally handled that, but we do have a bit more leeway now. We can interfere physically in conflicts between crew members without worrying about violations, provided you're not using excessive force. If you feel the behavior of a crew member has warranted something more than just a violation, you can haul them down to the brig where they can sit and cool off for a day or two, and any other additional penalties will be handed down by senior command, if necessary." Because that whole trial thing worked out ever so well last time.

"We have a lot of work to do, people. None of us want to be stuck here, but so long as we are, we need to make sure everyone stays as safe as possible."

((OOC: Beneath the two subthreads, people are free to talk to each other and free thread however they wish.))

Robo was in Engineering. He had cleared a table off and was working on something, and was muttering an occasional curse.

You know how it's awkward to put a band-aid on your hand because you can only use one hand? Try reattaching a finger with a soldering iron.

Difficulties aside, Robo was still concentrating on this task with far more intensity than was it required. The task was an excellent distraction against thinking about all the weird shit that had just happened to him.

EDIT: Now that The Middleman has helped him out, he's just doing more general self maintenance.

Down below the Pod Caverns was the Medbay. Most of the crew had been down there before, for one reason or another. The parts of it they had access to were currently empty of life -- and, as a matter of fact, empty of undeath as well.

They might be able to find something down here that would help them. Hey, it couldn't hurt. This was the Medbay, wasn't it?

The Vatican had a lot of ground to cover. Normally covered in expansive gardens (just empty plots on the ship) and comprised of a multitude of buildings, holing up there meant holing up in simply a part of the Vatican. The group was therefore in St. Peter's Basilica, which had had most of its entrances sealed off. Now they had to work on small windows and a few other entrances left neglected, but overall, it was a very defensible position. There were no exits other than the ones leading to the sacristy and treasury--which was their main avenue of escape, and heavily guarded. The prisoners were being kept in this area, and guarded by the rear guards, as leaving them in the prison was deemed too dangerous for their safety. As bad as they'd been with the Yeerk conflict, they were crew, and no one wanted them to die.

The courtyard was a chokepoint. Gunners could sit on the roofs of the buildings running alongside the courtyard to strafe St. Peter's square from the sides.

The various chapels and vestibules along the sides made excellent areas for food, medical, and weapons supplies to be gathered, and most were clustered in the middle of the basilica. The Medical area was in the Chapel of the Column, the main weapons and ammo caches, and Food storage areas were in the two Transepts, respectively, to the sides of the Papal altar. Pews all in the main areas had been converted to sleeping areas, right in the center of the whole place.

There was still work to be done, before the other group could leave. Last minute barricades, blocking more windows, moving the last of the medical supplies, inventorying the food, and so on. Then it would be time to hunker down.

So push up your sleeves and lend someone else a hand, folks.

[ooc: Read instructions for these threads here!]

Daimon Hellstrom, the Son of Satan, was not present during the orchestrated attempt to take the captive Yeerk's life. That did not stop him from going to the precinct, to the prisoners, and delivering a sermon that was a great deal more fire and brimstone than most sermons, if not all.

The topic, if you could distinguish a coherent basis for Daimon's mad words, was centered around the ever popular Good Samaritan story. Daimon told the prisoners of the background of the Good Samaritan, how Samaritans were viewed as the enemy back then, and how the Samaritan had helped a man despite the hatred both peoples bore for the other.

But it was hard to focus on that given how loud he was. That and how his hair was periodically engulfed by flame.

About a full day had passed since the Yeerk mess, when Leon called all of Security together for a debriefing. He wanted to give everyone a chance to get their wounds treated and to rest up. To say that it had been a rough day yesterday would be an understatement. He also wanted to give his people a chance to get their heads clear. Emotions run high after a battle, so he wanted to let everyone cool off and let some of the things the Captain said sink in.

Leon himself, though, wasn't able to take advantage of the time off, though. He looked like shit, less from the physical injuries than from the physical and emotional fatigue wearing on him. With Claire still out cold from emergency surgery, he hadn't slept at all, and likely wouldn't until he knew she was all right. Even now, his thoughts didn't drift far from her.

But with his team assembled in the briefing room, Leon stood front and center to address them.

( Read more... )

( There's a storm brewing )

When he was ready, he finally called all of security into one of the briefing rooms. In front of where he stood, there was a holographic layout of part of the city, which highlighted the few direct routes between the Precinct and the Hub. Somewhere along those routes Sam would have to attack, since outside of the city, Stacy wouldn't let him.

Out of all of the routes, he chose the widest walkway there. Right now they had Sam outnumbered and outgunned, but none of that mattered if they didn't have room to utilize it.

A group of six, consisting of Leon, The Master Chief, Samus Aran, Worf, Marcus, and Ronon, were going to take the Yeerk. Carol Danvers would be flying overhead. The rest of the Security team would be along the route, keeping watch out for Sam, but their primary function would be crowd control. If Sam attacked, it would be up to them to protect the bystanders first and foremost, and keep others from getting involved. If people started jumping in, the situation could spiral downwards in a hurry. He did not want a riot on his hands The six with the Yeerk would be the primary ones to engage Sam and whoever he had with him.

When Leon addressed the group, he spoke as if he was laying all his cards out on the table, but he did not mention his suspicions about a traitor among them. They needed to trust each other, and they needed to believe that he trusted them. And he did trust them... he trusted them enough to mention the sub-armory, where some of the more high powered weapons, non-lethal riot ordinance (including rubber bullets, flashbangs, tear gas, and beanbag shotgun rounds) and basic body armor (re: Kevlar) was available to them.

But there were still a few cards he was going to play close to the vest.

"All right, people, that's the plan. Any questions?"

Down in the city, there is a building. It is massive. It's architecture makes it clear that it is a police precinct, taken from some strange world that the crew had likely never heard of before. It's not a pretty building, built for functionality and not for beauty. It's purpose is clear to any who see it. Inside it are rooms upon rooms, including rows of cells. Some are strange, utilizing intensely powerful force-fields to keep highly powerful detainees contained. Others are more familiar to many of the crew. They resemble the average steel bars and concrete cells that have graced many a television show or movie. All of them are empty.

And therein lies the problem. One of these cells, one of the plain, bland, bars and concrete cells had an occupant at one time. News of his arrest, apprehension and hunger-strike had swept through the crew like wild fire. Deemed a threat to himself, his fellow crewmates, and the Yeerk he'd plotted to kill, it had been decided that Sam Winchester would remain detained in the precinct until the conclusion of the Yeerk trial. The trial was not yet over...but Sam was gone.

There were few clues to the how. The cell door hung open, looking like he'd just walked out of his volition. Like he'd been free to do so all along. Who had helped him was likely to be a short list...perhaps... Why he'd escaped was obvious. What he planned on doing was equally obvious. The more important questions were: Where was he now? The ship is big. But hiding anywhere where someone could merely ask Stacy for Sam's location would be stupid. So that left the city...which was also big. There were hundreds of places to hide in the Vatican alone.

And, lastly, when would he--and whoever had helped him--make his move?

The trial was not yet over. The jury had not yet come back with a verdict. But Sam Winchester was free. Likely hiding out until the verdict was revealed, waiting to take matters into his own hands if it came back as anything but 'death.' And, from the looks of things, he may not be alone....

[OOC: If you wanna have your character discover that Sam is gone and react and such, please do so. You can tag back and forth with your characters reacting and such. I will be posting later a subthread of Sam with the person(s) who helped him escape. If you would like to have one of your characters be one of those people, gimme a poke at my e-mail or on AIM (it's on the Contact List).]

"...I did it. I did it! No interruptions from crazed supervillains, no mutant bear uprisings, no interruptions of any kind. I FINALLY DID IT!"

The shouting can be heard from quite a way away from the Media Library, if anyone wants to check what the Middleman is so excited about.

This was definitely the Director's office. Aside the fact that it was the largest office in the Precinct, it was also the most decorated. There were flags hanging on each side of the large desk, each one representing states, cities, and countries that he never knew had existed. On the wall behind the desk was a symbol, meticulously carved out of some sort of decorative stone, that represented whatever police organization this was. Beneath that, there was a smaller set of symbols, also carved out of the same stone. Leon couldn't read the language, but he immediately understood what it was.

It was the oath. A verbal contract to serve a cause higher than themselves.

Apparently some things were universal.

But even if he couldn't understand what it said, he knew what it meant. He didn't mind having it there; it would serve as a reminder to the oath he once took. Not that he'd ever forget, but this place had a way of making you lose sight of the important things. After all, he was Chief of Security now, the top cop in land that had no rules and no laws.

It would be so very easy to bend the rules when you're making them up as you go along. Even easier to break them when he had access to enough firepower to take down the rest of the crew. He would need something to keep him on the straight and narrow.

So he sat in the big chair (Which not only was incredibly comfy, but it reclined, swiveled, and rolled. How cool was that?) with those symbols at his back, knowing those would help guide his hand in the days and weeks ahead. Though, even as he made himself at home, he almost felt like he didn't belong in that chair.

He may have ascended high in the ranks as far as agents go, but all of his promotions had been lateral through the command chain, not vertical. If it was one thing he believed, it was that if you went far enough up the food chain, you stopped being a cop and started being a politician. And he hated politics. He always simply wanted to be a cop, just to be out there helping people, not behind a desk talking about helping people while doing crap all.

So, yeah, he almost felt like he shouldn't be in that seat. Almost. But for the moment at least, he leaned back, kicked his feet up, and for the moment he quietly enjoyed being the top cop aboard the ship. But, knowing this ship, he had a feeling that quiet moment wasn't going to last much longer.

Wendy Watson had been lucky enough to find canvas, an easel, and some paints in the weapons and possessions locker earlier. She hadn't thought to look for them earlier, but after having gotten curious...well, the surprise was definitely a pleasant one. Especially since the few times she'd tried to paint something in the Sensorium, she hadn't been able to leave with her art. Such was the nature of holograms and the like, you know.

Currently, Wendy was seated in a corner of the Obs Deck, her back to everyone, painting. It was clear she was nearly finished with her work, and it was clear that the work of art - if one could call it that - that she was working on a was a close approximation of a yeerk. There was a half-smile on her face - more from the fact that she was painting again than from the fact that she was proud of her painting, although the pop-arty nature of her latest work certainly wasn't bad. Granted, Wendy wasn't sure how many people would appreciate a painting of a Yeerk.

Picard was sitting, watching television.

To be precise, he was watching episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. He remembered the Farpoint mission, remembered Q and his 'trial for humanity'. He only grew more sullen when he switched it ahead many episodes to First Contact with the Borg. He watched as a model of the Enterprise was bombarded with weapons fire, glaring when an actor dressed as him came on screen, pleading with Q to help him.

"It's entertainment to them," he said, his voice flat. "It's just entertainment to them."

For the most part, the groups reconvene without incident. There are some minor injuries and a few are battered, but overall, everyone is fine. At least barring poor Leela, her arm swollen, her breathing still troubled. Fortunately, when she's brought back aboard Obs Deck, Stacy provides something if a medical cot out of the floor, that she can be secured to by her caregivers for the return trip, as well as an oxygen mask.

However, as they all meet up again and climb back on board, there is one group that's a little late...

Picard, McCoy, Middle Man, Wendy Watson, Jean, Spock, and Tobias all set off in another direction. Trees and rocks battled for supremacy in this direction, they would have to walk carefully so as not to sprain any ankles. The terrain was of the rather rocky scrub-filled variety.

The door opens to a lush green place. They've landed in a forest glade of some kind. Deciduous in nature, but the leaves are somewhat odd in shape and very, very thick and tall. The grass is a green that's almost a blue.

The sky is blue like a normal sky, but brighter, more vibrant than on Earth. Two moons hang there, so close that they're visible even in the daytime.

The air is fresh and clean-smelling, like after a rain--in fact, the moisture in the air means it may have rained here recently. There's even a cool, light breeze.

Curiously, when they come down the ramp, they'll see that the pod--its umbilical cord spiraling up miles upon miles to meet the ship, floating visibly in the atmosphere--is floating about six inches off the ground.