Big Things Have Small Beginnings is a neo-noir scifi RPG, based on the works of Ridley Scott (think: the brilliant mind behind the films Alien, Blade Runner, and Prometheus). We're set in the year 2093, thirty years before Ripley's ship took off. Weyland Industries, the face of new technology and advanced space travel, funded Project Prometheus. They set out to discovered the origins of mankind...and found so much more. Mankind is now reeling with the new discovery. Meanwhile, infections are spreading in other colonies, the military outpost is training in the event of an alien attack, and rescue ships have been sent out to find Prometheus. The space race is over; now, it's a race for survival.
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Member No.: 30
Joined: 3-January 13
Silas had planned to go alone.
Plans, however, were not always followed through. Silas slipped through the engineering rooms with a sampling kit and headed purposefully for the loading bay, already prepped to suit up. If anyone noticed him, he payed them no attention. Better to look like you belonged there than to falter and be questioned.
He didn't need questions right now. He needed answers.
Need had variable definitions, variable connotations, variable...variables. Need was an insufficient term. Need did not compensate for human emotion. Need was basic. Dependence was more appropriate.
Dependency had a nice ring to it. Physical, emotional, spiritual. Yes, far more appropriate.
He set his kit down and started to pull on his suit.
The engine room had, naturally, taken quite a beating in the crash. One of the engines had fallen out all together and it'd been a real bitch hauling that thing over the sandy, rocky surface of LV-223. Unfortunately, the engine room was almost the most important part of the goddamn ship--if only this part was a little more ship-shape, they could actually get the wings off the ground. Get this bird back into action instead of being marooned on this godforsaken rock.
Intent on avoiding everyone on the ship, Charlie threw himself into maintenance. It was demanding physical work which kept his mind off his malady and his devil's hands from idling for too long. Once Charlie had a mission, he was a different person. He was a man with a goal and nothing would get in his way ("It's that Taurus in you," his mother would mutter over nonsensical astrology charts and meaningless card games). But a Holloway without a mission was useless. If he had nothing to do, he slept, drank, and buried his head deep in self-loathing.
Which was exactly why he'd stuck himself in the back of the ship, welding metal on metal. He'd already been outside to weld a couple panels together with Janek (outside--that foreign place where few dared to go and absolutely no one went for long), and his space suit was puddled at his feet, helmet beside him as he reached muddled through his toolkit for something that might close this damn hole in the engine--the not-so-beating heart of the ship.
He was trying to figure out which tool did what (never claimed to be a mechanic), when he heard someone come through the main compartment way. Charlie was wedged between two of the engines and he just managed to make out the figure of Silas--the strange, quiet surgeon who Charlie hadn't really bothered to get to know, not before the crash, anyway. He watched as Silas reached into his own kit to pull out his suit. Huh. Another rule of thumb: don't go out alone. Silas was clearly doing something that hadn't exactly been sanctioned by the powers-that-be (Meredith fucking Vickers).
"Going somewhere, Alderin?" Charlie said, plainly, not about to let the man sneak passed him without getting called out. Charlie'd been chastised enough for a few lifetimes, it was nice to get on someone else's back for a change.
Member No.: 30
Joined: 3-January 13
The good doctor looked up, his expression blanked entirely if not for the eyes -- his father's eyes, to be exact. Dark and penetrating to the point of discomfort. His was the kind of gaze you could feel before you knew it was on you, that inkling sensation of being watched by someone or something who knew more about you than you thought anyone could.
Even on the rare occasion that he didn't.
Silas eyed Holloway for a second, head canting ever so slightly to one side in consideration, not looking at him but through him; dissecting the man on a cellular level -- subject would not survive -- in the space of a single breath, Silas was completely still. Then, at the end of his internal dissertation, he blinked slowly and then turned back to what he had been doing.
"As you are at least semi-intelligent, Dr. Holloway, I assume you can divine the answer to that question from both my presence and my attire," he replied, very pointedly zipping up his undersuit.
Charlie didn't trust this guy. It was something about him. About the way he looked at people. Those cold, distant eyes. Like everyone around him was a sheep in a slaughter house and he was measuring them for the meat on their bones. Charlie had encountered people like him before. Sharks in Weyland Industries. Those who saw money, power, or their own invested self-interests instead of people. Those with ulterior motives.
And if Charlie was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't exactly one to talk. He knew full well the dangers going into this mission. He knew there was a possibility that not everyone would come back. But he was willing to risk his life and the lives of everyone on the ship for one thing: discovery. So, yeah. Charlie had ulterior motives, alright.
Still. The way this man appraised him set him on edge. And then, of course, his cold and clipped tone did nothing to damped Charlie's burning suspicions. "You know we're not supposed to go out on our own," Charlie said, not about to let this guy out of his sight--least of all, let him wander LV-223 along. He reached down, pulling his own suit up from around his ankles and shrugging it over his shoulders. "So it looks like I'm coming with you." With that, he zipped up, leaving little room for argument.
Member No.: 30
Joined: 3-January 13
"And what exactly is anyone going to do about it?" he retorted smoothly, not commenting on Holloway's decision to accompany. Let him accompany if he wanted, Silas would happily take him out himself if he got in the way, he had no qualms with that. It only emphasized that question: What would anyone do about it?
Fire him? Kill him? As he had told Jin before, he'd died once already. Silas was of strict opinion that he was not due for another trip to the darkside anytime soon. And as far as he was concerned, Meredith Vickers could take his contract and shove it up her perfect lily-white ass.
Silas pulled his bag over his shoulder and then snatched up his helmet, moving and talking at the same time. "I expect you to keep up," he said, "and if that infection of yours comes anywhere near me without my first asking for a blood sample, I will kill you myself, am I understood?"
The look he gives Holloway is filled with nothing short of promise.