Stars, What Have You Done?

[Yirea Killohi]

Reeling mind awoke, swimming to shore from a long ways away. Sandy bank was so far away, so very far, and each stroke felt as if arm were lifting ten tons of iron. Just a couple more strokes, the beach was clearer now. Yes, yes, just one more… There.

Brain surfaced completely, regaining control over limbs and senses. Why had it taken so long to gather basic consciousness? Body never partook in an excess of alcohol, even if it did absorb a couple shots of Scottish whiskey now and again. Never absorbed too much though, since mind liked to keep its wits about. Nothing like saying something while you’re drunk only to regret it later with a couple missing teeth. With this explanation, the first mystery of the day may begin. Why did she hurt so gerdarn much?

…Wait. There’s more to this. Nerves are reporting from all over body. The pain wasn’t just from the head, but calves, thighs, and feet were sending descriptions of stinging as if something were ground into them. Yet, this couldn’t be right. Not unless… her glass had fallen? The reason her glass would fall would be if something happened to lovely little NOMAD. Nothing could have happened though, because there was nothing there. No alarms had gone off, she had been right here the whole time. Looking out into the bleak dark, staring off at the stars as usual. Eyes would’ve seen something and ears would have registered alarms if anything had been wrong. This wasn’t making any sense.

Nasals are now signaling an extremely prominent iron smell. Iron. Iron? What? The scent is so strong taste buds are tingling with it. Iron could mean fallen pieces off of NOMAD… If the ship were made of it… which it wasn’t. What else had iron in it…? Tomatoes? Yep, definitely squished tomatoes all over the inside. That had to be it.

Lids rose over deep chestnut irises, only to reveal chaos.

Absolute and complete chaos.

No words could possibly express the horror as eyes roved about, watching NOMAD’s innards droop from the ceiling and the occasional spark fly. Her lovely, majestic, beautiful NOMAD had been defiled. The metallic angel that responded so well to her directions and flew so grandly through the black was deeply wounded. What in world could cause such havoc?

Arm found itself used as prop, as self realized body was lying back down on a rather crunchy surface. Using this limb to roll self to the other side, several somethings snapped beneath weight. Breath exhaled swiftly in a hiss, as glass underneath made itself known. Any movement on her part would grind their sharp little edges into her skin, burrowing underneath a surprisingly intact fishnet shirt. Yep, broken glass. That would explain a couple of things, but also raised further questions. Hurrah, Sherlock Holmes anyone?

Glass or not, the two-in-one-special required a better look around. She needed to get up and ask NOMAD what the hell happened. Placing lip between teeth, the mentioned bit firmly as body continued to move in the same direction as before. Rolling over other arm, frame landed in a belly flop, scattering fragments everywhere. Hands found purchase beneath self and propelled it onto knees. These in turn, changed the route to feet, which straightened body into a standing position. Only once this was accomplished did the pilot notice how slick her soles felt. Looking in down in their direction revealed Yirea stood on the fringe of an oozing pool of blood. That wasn’t unusual. Nope. Not at all.

Hurriedly stepping in away from the lake, eyes now took in the full length of the room. Ah, what pretty patterns of crimson dotted the walls. In shapes of hand prints now less! How creative! What a freaking mess. Curiosity surged through her yet battled with scared creepiness at the same time. If only this was a nightmare, but the line on her just released lip begged to differ.

For once, Yirea wished for actual clothing, since wandering around in this getup in such a place was not a seductive thought, at least, as long as it was comfortable anywho. Not to mention there was bound to be more danger on the ground, and the idea of stepping in another disease-ridden lake or on a fallen slab of ceiling wasn’t appealing either. Yet considering there was little chance of getting such attire on the Observation Deck, she’d survive just as well without out it until that time.

All wishing aside, first thing came first. Nostrils flaring, voice pushed forth over the sparking, dying electric sounds. “NOMAD. What the hell happened to your princely self? Might as well explain the blood while you’re at it.” If the AI didn’t reply, all the more reason to worry. She wouldn’t be the only survivor, that much was clear. Many of the crew on this vessel were pretty persistent, unless well… Unless something was more persistent than they were.

Shoving that thought away, Yirea began to make her way to the door while waiting for NOMAD’s reply. Upon bringing the exit into sight, a new problem arose in one giant pop. The opening seemed to have withstood a great deal, for its edges were crumpled in, almost welded to the side of the frame. The sides of the gate resembled pie crust, which meant that she could- theoretically- force her way out. The only thing she required was a crowbar shaped deal. It was unlikely Yirea would find the exact tool, but with all this debris there was bound to be something that would complete the same excercise.

Glancing around, feet carried self over to a large piece of metal ceiling tile. Lifting up the corner proved fruitless, except the bits of singed.. somethings. Choosing to end her investigation of those bits there, fingers carefully placed corner back in its original place, so as not to create noise. Perhaps.. furniture? With hope against hope, Yirea carefully skirted dangers and arrived at the side of a tipsy, ripped lounge chair. One of its legs dangled helplessly to the side, providing her with an ample reason to simply pull it away. Armed with this unusual tool, body marched back over to incapacitated doorway. Jamming the end underneath an edge, hands and arms worked together to push the other end towards the wall. Not only did the object used begin to bend, buttt... It didn't so much as move the thing an inch let alone a centimeter.

Alrighty then. Bent metal foot was then tossed to the floor a few feet away, as mind once more began to search. There had to be something in this mess. Walls usually had metal constructs inside them that were capable of moving other large metal squares. Carefully picking way back across the room to the left hand side, self headed towards one of the more destructive sections. One of the panels hadn't survived near as well as one might have thought it should. Perfect place to go a-scavenging. Head poked through the gigantic hole provided by its absence, able to see just enough by the plentiful sparks. There was, understandably, much more sparking wires here, than in the room. Who woulda thunk it.

Ah... There. Turning face away back towards the room, hand reached out to the object in question. Other hand busy gripping a still standing wall for support, fingers grazed the desired. Just a little.. more.. Yes. Phalenges curled around a flatish object, and propeled by a body all too willing to escape the recess, brought it out. Upon reaching normal position, Yirea inspected the gizmo. Yep, this was exactly what she needed. This item was in fact, an angle strut. Talk about luck. If this didn't work, then may the bunny come a-hopping.

Determination settled over features, as legs strode back over to the problem child. Pads of fingers caressed the metal, praying to the Winds that it would work. Yirea would act quickly because the sooner she was out of this room, the faster she could be of use. To whom, was not the question. Edge of metal was slipped beneath the orifice, and biceps began to haul back. Feet placed themselves firmly on the floor so calves and thighs could be added to the effort. Breath came out in a hiss, as the exit began to scream of metal being scraped against metal. The screech was loud enough to wake the dead and some besides. Muscles strained and kept on straining, for if this was survival of the fittest, Yirea'd be damned if she was going to be the one to succumb.

[Thomas Jenkins]

Private Jenkins had been awake for almost an hour now, finding he had dozed off while on duty. Or at least, that is what he originally believed. Wandering the quiet, darkened hallways, Thomas Jenkins searched for human life. Instead of survivors, he found death all around him, feeling all the more lonely aboard the massive ship. What ever had done this was not normal...the behavior of these attacks were not human against human. Thomas knew it was something more, and he held his rifle firmly, so firm in fact that the rifle shook in his hands slightly. The unknown had always been a scary thing for the private, he himself having never seen combat in his life, always haunted by what to expect...what to feel. He wanted to know what was killing everyone...wanted to know what brought about the radio silence. The soldier could not get into contact with any other military personnel through his helmet's comm link.

The light emitting from his rifle lit up a silent corridor, bobbing slightly as he cautiously advanced. His stomach felt cold, his chest felt cold, but he was sweating all the same in fear. It was shameful, he knew, and a disgrace to the man that raised him, but the fear was so real. This wasn't a warzone, this was a butcher shop. He was snapped away from his thoughts as a loud, metallic, creaking sound echoed along the hall. He froze in place, readying his weapon before slowly turning the corner. At first he thought it might the thing that was tearing Nomad to pieces, but he couldn't be sure. Thomas tilted his head slightly and breathed a sigh of relief.

"A survivor? Thank god...Are you alright in there?" a young man asked through the speakers in his helmet. He stood on the other side of the door, decked out in his on duty uniform, placing a hand on the door.

((Sorry for the short post, have to go to work))