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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Group: MILITARY ADMIN
Member No.: 15
Joined: 4-November 12
Mal was starting to sweat. She could feel it start in her scalp, in between her shoulder blades, on the nape of her neck. Pooling on small crevices in her skin. The burn in her thighs really grabbing on now, biting into her muscles as she drove herself further, running faster, harder on the treadmill. Pushing passed the pain. It felt good. It felt familiar. There was nothing a good run couldn't solve. A little abuse to the muscles and bones. She could hear her breath echoing back at her in the mask they had strapped around her face, making it harder to properly run. Not to mention, the many wires that had attached to the various parts of her body, monitoring her heart speed, blood pressure, and anything else they could think of. Meanwhile, Mal was just content to work herself to the bone. They come on the intercom a couple times to ask her if she was alright, to which she panted, "Yes, sir."
The truth was, she needed this. The ride back to earth from May Outpost had been miserable. Her body had crumbled up on itself, responding both to the lack of drugs and to the spacecraft turbulence. It'd been a while since she'd been in a vessel like that and she hadn't thought she'd been so rusty. Maybe her Commanding Officer had been right. Maybe she was an old dog running out of new tricks to learn.
She'd hoped she had gotten the worse of it out of her system on the ride to earth. And she had--the vomiting, the night sweats. She could get all that out of the way in the confines of her own little cabin without anyone around to judge her or take care of her. Two things she couldn't stand. And so, when she landed on earth, she hoped she could just pick up and move on. Of course, her body had other plans. Her hands had started shaking this morning. Her tongue itching.
Run it off. This was the only thing that gave her any sense of calm. The only thing that wore out her body too much to realize that it was sick. Running. Sweating. Burning. She had finally reached that sweet spot in her workout when everything out faded away. When it was just her and the burn and if she could just push through it, just reach that high where her mind separated from her body and she felt like she could run for miles, days...
"That will be all, Mallow." The voice came in the intercom. Shadows of figures in the one-way glass. She felt the treadmill slow under her automatically, and then the attendants come around to unstrap her from the machine. She wanted to beg for an hour longer, half an hour. Just a little more time to burn.
Instead, she swallowed back hard and gave a simple, "Yes, sir." She ripped off the helmet, handing it off to one of the attendants, and hastily got off the treadmill, letting them quickly pluck the little wires from her body. Goddamn it. She'd been on the brink of the push she needed, and now that it had been cut short, she was back to the shakes again. She left the room for a little watering hole outside--they had the water cooler set up next to a couple too-soft couches. Mal picked up a little plastic cup and filled one up before decompressing on the couch anyway, sipping back the water. Trying to bite back her bitterness and will her hands still.
Member No.: 29
Joined: 25-December 12
Training, tests, checkups and an enormous amount of paperwork. It was always the same no matter where he began a new job or what kind of job. He had to admit that it was a little bit more “always the same” this time. In the early years he had hated it. But now it didn’t matter anymore. It simply was part of the procedure. No reason for bad mood or losing your temper. Nowadays he only smiled at those strange little questionnaires asking questions that no normal person would think about in his or her daily life. He didn’t care about that but only filled in the more or less correct and truthful answers. Maybe it could be worthy to study psychology too.
It wasn’t really important. Henry’s thoughts had drifted away back to Cardiff Hospital several times during the last days. He felt a little bit guilty because he left his colleagues with all that work and problems. It wouldn’t change his decision to take part in this rescue mission but it came back into his mind every now and than. The only solution was distraction. Something like letters. He had to write to Agatha. She hadn't been really delighted about such a dangerous project and it had been hard work to find the right words for her. She had enough to bear in these uncertain times.
Another suitable possibility was to spend time with the other participants of the mission. So he had decided to go to the common room. When he entered the room, only one other person was inside: a woman, maybe of his age or a little bit younger. She was sitting on a couch with a cup of water and looking very dissatisfied. It was that kind of mood that makes the room feel a little bit colder. No good beginning for a first meeting. The training was hard, of course, but not hard enough to exhaust someone in this dimension. Henry sat down to one of the couches next to her and watched her just a little bit longer. More particularly, she didn't seem to be exhausted that way. It was something else that worried him, more like one of these old photos from his early youth – the worst and most dangerous time in his life. What was her problem? He was not sure if he wanted to know it or if it was wise the ask. So he tried to start the conversion with a simple “Hi!” “I hope I'm not disturbing your … break.” Or whatever she was doing and thinking. Maybe she was willing to talk for a while about water, the training and everything else that bothered her. “My name is Henry Reed and it seems like we have common mission.” It couldn't be wrong to introduce himself. Most people prefer this way to start a talk.
Group: MILITARY ADMIN
Member No.: 15
Joined: 4-November 12
Mal was doing her best to mentally transport herself to somewhere--anywhere--some place where she could burn a little more, ache a little more, hurt a little more. Anything to get this nagging feeling out of her system--like a virus, worming its way through her veins, nibbling at her nerves, driving her mad.
It was fine. She was fine. She just had to keep her heart rate going. Get her adrenaline high and maybe--just maybe--it would satisfy her craving. Nip the edge a little, at least. Anything to clear her head except these too-soft cushions and this paper cone cup of tasteless water.
She was so stuck in her own head, she almost didn't notice another presence in the room. Almost. Her military instincts kicked in before her brain did and her eyes snapped up to spot a man settling into the couch across from her. Not much older than her. Soft, almost feminine features in his face. Hair that looked just a little too perfect. Definitely someone who knew how to present himself--a sharp contrast from Dahlia, who was wearing baggy work-out clothes that clung to her frame here and there where she was damp with sweat. Not exactly a picture perfect image, but it was what she had to work with.
"Hi," he said, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitch in a near-smirk. He was almost adorable in a clueless way--a civilian. It'd been so long since she'd talked to anyone who wasn't military grade, she'd almost forgotten how normal people spoke. He introduced himself. Henry Reed. Part of the mission. Well. She was going to have to meet the rest of her team at some point--now might as well be the time.
"Unless you're here to stick me with needles, you're not disturbing, Dahlia said, cracking a light smile to put him at ease. She'd been poked and prodded by the Weyland team all day to ensure that she wasn't carrying...whatever into space. She made to take another sip of water, but her hands were starting to shake. Crap. She swallowed the water down quickly so he wouldn't notice the shaking, then crumpled the cup up in her palm and tossed it at the trashcan. It went in.
"Reed," she said, giving him a nod. This was business, after all. "I'm Lieutenant Mallow. I'd shake your hand, but I don't want to drip on you." She spoke with a short, curt tone--holding her confidence in her voice because she sure as hell didn't have it in her heart. She glanced over him--he was certainly not a mercenary. She gave her next best bet. "What's your part to play in this mission? Don't tell me you're another scientist."
Member No.: 29
Joined: 25-December 12
With a little touch of fascination Henry watched the woman sitting at the couch and looking kind of out of place. This must be the right expression to describe her mood. It was easing to see the approach of a smile or even a smirk on her face. Maybe it was possible to get more of it. Anyhow, she didn't seem to feel as much disturbed as he had expected. It wasn't that kind of warm welcome that he preferred but a friendly beginning.
Henry tried to hide a smile when she spoke about sticking her with needles. But he failed. Of course he understood that she was stressed by theses tests. It always seems to be unnecessary for a person who is sure to be healthy and fit. At the end it's just a matter of habituation. But the way she met the truth of their situation was more amusing. “No, I won't. Not yet.” he answered smirking. “And not as long as you keep healthy.” It seemed to be clear that there would be no use of needles. She looked dissatisfied but he couldn't discover any sign of indisposition. Henry noticed something in the way she drank her water that he could call uneasy. She acted to fast and untypically compared to the few moments he had watched her before. But he couldn’t see a reason to be concerned. Her accuracy was excellent so he had to watch one more thing he wasn't able to do. The cup landed nearly soundless. To hear her introduction explained a lot. Military precision. No training he ever had to do was able to reach this amount of body control. The one or other person had annotated that he would be helpless in case of any violent conflict – a problem he couldn’t completely avoid in his job. He hadn't worried about it. All his life he had tried to stay far away from every kind of military institution. More or less successful. His life had been violent and dangerous enough. Nevertheless he always arranged with different people. So he would with Lt. Dahlia Mallow. She was one of the more amiable kind, he decided. “Don't worry. I'm nearly sure it won't kill me” he answered when she didn't want to shake his hands. Water and sweat – the only things he could image to be on her hands at the moment – where two of the most harmless substances he ever touched. Hoping to show her that he was sure, he stretched out his hand.
Henry shook his had and smiled again. No, he wasn't another scientist although that wasn't far away from reality. “There are a lot of things I want to find out but scientist doesn't exactly meet the point. I'm a doctor. And I would prefer to have nothing more to do during that mission than help the scientist to explore whatever the Prometheus crew discovered. But the fact that every contact is lost, can't be a good sign. And I suppose that it is your job to ensure that we won't be anythings meal.”