The tapping of feet on the city streets slowed to a halt as Negi, or rather "Nagi" Springfield slowed to a halt, breathing a little heavy. He had gone out for a run, and had shut off his magic for about a couple of hours so that he could get a bit of a normal workout in.

He hadn't counted on how hard it was to do the things he did without his magic. Certainly he had a really good sense of what his body was capable of without it since the last time he shut off his magic, but this was just ridiculous. He wasn't painfully out of shape but his endurance had been effectively cut to a tenth of what it was supposed to be.

Checking his wrist, the black line was gradually easing off, a sign that the seal was beginning to diminish. Patting his forehead with the towel that he had brought, he took a drink of water from the bottle he had managed to make up before heading out.

"Well Nagi old boy, you've really gotten to the point you're officially bored," remarked Negi to the air as he leaned against a wall.

As his mecha's gatling gun cools, Sima Yi finds himself trying, once again, to recall just how long he's been here.

The home he's still infuriated at the thought of having lost seems so near; and yet, he's here amongst innovations that make those of the first seventeen centuries after his death seem like child's play. Up until the first half of the 20th century, the technological advances were based on concepts he could grasp comparatively easily - but the implications of the introduction of the vacuum tube, the foetal stages of the computer era, are a little more than he can take in. He's still trying to wrap his head around the technology he's trying out now.

He'd ended up studying the evolution of war machines over those seventeen centuries - not just that of his own world, but of some similar ones as well. The machine he was trying out now would never exist in his own world, but it had been used in another one's World War II; its design had more in common with the tanks of that era than with his crewmates' mecha - and there were two or three just like it sitting in Weapons and Possessions.

It hadn't taken him long to decide he wanted one, even if the idea had frightened him at first; it had taken him a while to reassure himself that it really was safe to ride in something powered by explosions, but evidently where the machine came from, internal combustion engines were ubiquitous and no one really though twice about them. And even though the cockpit is sitting directly over a massive diesel engine, it's armored well enough to keep the pilot alive if that engine should suddenly become shrapnel.

Before he made a final decision, he was getting a feel for the machine's performance, and gauging whether he could stand being stuck inside it for hours, if necessary, during a mission. So far, the cockpit is more comfortable than he had expected, despite the cramped quarters and lack of ventilation, and the exhaust system designed well enough that the smell of diesel fumes wasn't a problem - and after seeing what the gatling gun could do to the broken-down car he's using as a target, he can definitely see himself getting to like this thing despite its flaws.

Another flaw was the fact that he'd have to get out to disconnect the spent ammo belt from the gun and feed in a new one - he's blown through one already because he was trying to get a sense of how to time his bursts of fire so that they were as short and efficient as possible, he told himself, not because of how enthralling the sight of what had once been a seemingly invulnerable metal vehicle being shredded into scrap by gunfire was. As he shuts off the engine and kicks at the bar securing the hatch until it opens, he reflects again on how many hundreds of moving parts this machine has - and he's going to need to learn how to maintain them all himself. Here, he couldn't expect to be able to enlist anyone to help him, and if the mecha developed problems on a mission, it would be a liability at best and an outright hazard at worst if he couldn't fix it.

He didn't realize how hot it had gotten inside the mecha until he climbs out - it almost seems chilly by comparison outside. As he ducks under the machine's tank gun - mounted on the cockpit - and makes his way over to the gatling gun - mounted on one of the machine's arms - to disconnect the empty ammo belt and feed in the new one, he's too absorbed in the task to notice that he's no longer alone in the sensorium.

Kawalsky stood inspecting the setting the Sensorium had pulled up. At first, he had Stacy display the base where he'd gone through basic training but then he thought that, given his team, that wouldn't be the best course. In the end, he settled on an indoor track with weight lifting machines and bars for pull ups in the middle.

The moment he'd looked at his team roster he knew he was in for a hell of a time. Two people stood out in particular in his memory from when they'd podpopped together, and not in a good way. Charles though maybe if he ran them ragged and drilled into their heads that he was in charge, he might have a chance of them following orders... unless they resented more than respected him.

But he also had a girl on the team. One who hadn't looked very alert and healthy when they'd gone to the medbay to hunker down during the zombie attack. He'd have to make exceptions for her and he knew the others wouldn't like it.

Well, this was it. Do or die. He just hoped not literally.

Once he'd slept off all the booze he'd had at Lex's bar, Sima Yi stubbornly resisted the urge to go back for another round - back in his universe, he'd spent about the last three weeks drinking just to numb the pain until he could compartmentalize it and get back to his job, but this was something different. This was the first time he could ever remember feeling truly lost, and to say it was unnerving was putting it mildly.

Instead of giving in to the urge to anesthetize all the confusion, pain, and fear, though, he'd decided to take control in whatever small ways he could - and so he'd found his way to the library, to begin the monumental task of catching up on the eighteen hundred years of history he'd missed between when he'd died, and the era most of the people on the ship seemed to be from.

There were things Stacy had refused to let him see - namely, the three hundred years of Chinese history after when he'd been taken from - but sources on the west, and on times after that, she didn't seem to have a problem with. Currently, he was catching up on the history of the steam engine, which he'd had a vague interest in back home, but was a lot more interested in now; steam power had been little more than a curiosity in his time - and the fact that it had taken over a milennium since then to try to repurpose it for something useful was dumbfounding in retrospect. Even Zhuge Liang had to have overlooked it, extraordinary as his insights into engineering as well as battle tactics were, or there would have been records of its use before then. Resting his forehead on his palm, he muttered, "History has made fools of us all, Kongming."

Not too long after his introduction to the rest of the crew, Lex slipped away to head back to the Lounge area. That particular part of the ship had been his main workspace for several months now. He knew he would have to share that space one day, and he was certainly prepared for it.

Lex was, at the end of the day, a businessman. As any good businessman would tell you, the biggest deals are never negotiated in the board room. They're done on the golf course, the tennis courts, but more often than not, in the smoke filled backroom of a high end bar. Alcohol was always good for soothing frayed nerves, loosening tongues, and getting people to agree on things they normally wouldn't.

And now Lex had his own bar to conduct business. Actually, he had his own bar and lounge as a business now. Yes, a business. That meant that the booze and smokes that he had were not free anymore.

This is Lex Luthor here, did you think he'd give away all his booze for nothing?

Luckily, he was aware that people are running low on cash, but money isn't the only thing of value around here. His asking price was simple. He'd make any drink you want, even non-alcoholic ones (and given that he had spent some time mixing and matching liquor and juices from different universes, he can mix dozens drinks you never even thought of), and all you have to do...

"So, tell me about yourself."

...is have a conversation with him.

The conversation between the bridge crew, Stacy, and the Admiral is broadcasted where the rest of the crew is in the MedBay, and gathered right outside. Even in the bridge itself, the sound echoes over the monitors so that anyone resistant to psionics can hear Elfangor's side of the conversation.

They have now been told why they were brought to the ship.

Their worlds are gone, destroyed by the Ohm. They are refugees in an unforgiving Omniverse.

Transmigration 9 is an ark.

While Stacy is partially restored, including her core personality (which is far more personable), she is still severely damaged, and running on automatic somewhat. Until the ship can be repaired, podpops will keep occuring and they will be forced to go on missions to undo the damage the Ohm have wrought to the Omniverse. The threat of the being in Escherville is still a threat, one with no immediate solutions.

But they have allies out there, they have an AI watching over them, they have the smallest glinting traces of hope. Their loved ones are (hopefully) on board, and even beyond that, there is may be a chance, however small, of restoring their home universes.

Stacy broadcasts to the entire ship when it's all over, when all has been revealed.

||The bodies of the individuals that died today are being prepared for funeral services. A list of their names will be made available, though I can assure you that none are individuals any of you know. The funeral will be on Obs Deck in several days, and will be announced.||

||Those that wish to have their memories of their rescues restored, as proof their worlds are gone, will have a chance to request this after the services, but without grief counselors on board, I strongly recommend against it.||

||In the meantime, all of us must heal and recover from our ordeal. New areas of the ship have been made available, such as the Crew Lounge, and I have opened up the Crew Quarters for use, and cleared out the belongings of--||

Here she falters, sadness creeping into her voice.

||--of my original crew, so that all of you may sleep more comfortably. These quarters fit two people to a room, and have actual beds and sonic showers. Dining will still be provided in the Mess Hall, with periodic days of real food in the Lounge--they must be spaced out until my food stores are replenished with fresh food products.||

After a moment of thought she says: ||And because I think you've suffered enough, fornicative activities are now allowed--however, both parties must stop by the Medbay for a Contraceptive shot or this will not be allowed. These shots will provide protection for six months and do not protect against venereal disease, but all of you, barring several individuals with certain conditions--|| Like those, say, infected with zombie viruses, Steve ||--are currently disease-free.||

||The ship is now open, and the bridge team can relocate back to the Living Areas. The doors will remain open after they leave the bridge. I must now engage in heavy repairs. My AI will not be quite as available as usual. Please, take time to grieve, rest, and have your wounds treated. We will discuss more when everyone has recovered from this ordeal.||

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?

[ooc: Newbie Helpers List | Instructions: First, read *HERE*. Then, once you've read the overall plan, post your character into the main thread establishing them as being podpopped, and reacting to the oncoming zombie horde (since there is no Stacy replies to comment to, it will all be one thread, instead of individual threads). This can include fighting and/or fleeing if you want. Eventually, volunteers from Team Left Behind will rush in and save the day. Obviously, since there's no time for it while fighting for your lives against zombies, this podpop won't get the whole ||You have been Chosen|| speech from Stacy, so they'll have to get their answers (and pants) later.]


||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There is condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slide out onto the floors, covered in slime.

--
( And this was the moment everything went to hell )