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.: 24
Joined: 27-November 12
Notes: Halfway through this, I realized part of it was in first person. So if a couple things still are or worded weird, that's why. I was just too lazy to rewrite half of it.
Nyssa hadn't stopped moving since the day the disease broke out. She never slept for more than a few hours at one time, and she never knew when she would sleep. Morning, night, afternoon, it didn't matter. She was exhausted, worn out mentally, and so tired of seeing sick and dying people. Some days, it made her want to walk away from it all. But she couldn't. These people depended on her and the many others who were tirelessly working beside her.
It hadn't always been like this. In the first few weeks, it had only been a few cases. She went home most nights, got a decent rest when she wasn't worrying, and actually ate meals instead of snacks in between helping patients. But it began to get worse. The military officials had tried to keep it secret, to avoid panic. Those who could afford it escaped to other colonies. And when your neighbors were disappearing, well, you couldn't help but notice that something was up. Soon, the only ships that arrived were ones carrying supplies. No one was stupid enough to come here.
Nyssa had watched the hope disappear from people's faces. Laughter and smiles died down. There was no singing, no children playing in the streets. just...less happiness. Some looked like death, some looked sad, and all were scared, worried about what the future held. You could see it in everyone's eyes, if not in their faces. A feeling of worry, sadness, and fear, all wrapped into one. There wasn't anyone on the colony that didn't know. Some did their best not to worry, and went on about their daily lives. It was all anyone could do. That, and try your best to stay alive.
It was the worst in the poorer areas. Hygiene wasn't always of the upmost importance, so of course, the disease spread like crazy. The hospitals were filled with people who could barely afford a day's meal. Hospital bills had long since stopped being given out in the poorer places. They didn't matter anymore. No one had the heart to charge someone whose loved one had just died.
The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing what this thing was. It was life a flu, but fatal. People would get sick and eventualy die. Only the very strongest had survived. There was no cure, no way to slow it down. No good treatment options. There was medicine to ease the symptoms, but it didn't cure the cause. When someone got sick, you crossed your fingers and hoped for the best.
They've been doing our best to keep it from spreading. Androids have been the best thing. It's not like they can get sick, so when possible, they take orders from doctors and do the actual work on the patients, which is usually just trying to ease their pain. A lot are of Androids are working at the hospitals now. They're the best chance at keeping everyone from getting sick.
She, along with many others, have been working on a cure. They've studied the disease and tried multiple cures, all of which have failed. They're working desperatly, knowing that each second we take could be another life lost. But it's hard work and they're running out of ideas. She's beginning to wonder if there even is a cure. Still, she keeps at it, hoping shell suceed with at least coming up with something that would at least help. If they had all the fancy equipment other colonies have, and especially Earth, they might be able to handle this better. But that takes money and this a pretty poor colony now, considering everyone rich has left. It'll never be the same.
When she heard about the Promethues, she admits, she was shocked and a little scared. But it quickly left my mind. I had to leave that to people beyond Angkor Colony. I had enough problems to deal with. I couldn't do anything about it, and I didn't have time to. I haven't thought of it since I found out the news. I don't have time to think about anything besides the disease.
She has the money to leave. She could get out of here, save herself. But how could I? When a small child cries out in pain, she can't do anything but try to help. Healing is her calling. It's what she was made to do. And she''ll do it for the rest of her life, no matter how short it is.
"Dr. Keyes!" Nyssa was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of a nurse's voice. "We just got a new patient.' A wave of disappointment rushed over her. Another life attacked by this horrible disease. She quickly followed the nurse and they reached the containment center, an area of the hospital cut off from the rest to avoid spreading the disease.
She saw the new patient through a pane of glass, curled up on the bed. A young boy, maybe 16,
"He lives on his own and is very poor. Police found him. He's probably been sick for several days."
Nyssa nodded. "I need to go in.'
"Shouldn't you wait for an android? Just going into the room makes you very likely to catch it."
"In his state, he's got to get medcine in him. There's no time."
Nysssa began pulling on her mask that would help shield her from any germs.
Michael's experience of Angkor Colony was, so far, an exercise in data overload. The people here were different from those on Earth. Something slower about them. Something absent. Something lost. Something hopeless. It was fascinating, but sad, because Mattie said it was sad. Still--for Michael, he might as well have found a new species of human to observe and emulate. He deemed it wise to change his patterns of being to match those trapped on Angkor--trapped was, after all, the right word for the infected and the maybe-infected, people who would never get to leave this rock for fear that they would spread the disease.
And so Michael practiced walking with his head down. He practiced keeping quiet, in the shadows, like all the other inhabits of Angkor.
Mattie was constantly busy. She had known how many people were sick, but as soon as she had gotten back on her feet and visited the hospitals, something switched in her. She recognized the desperation and Mattie--being all science and curiosity--threw herself into the fray. Michael, likewise, volunteered his time. Both had something to offer; Mattie, her genius, and Michael, his imperviousness. He had no need to sleep (though Mattie often requested it for her sanity) and he had no immune system to destroy (at least, no test results had shown any indication that the infection would in any way impair synthetic models). He had an advantage that many on Angkor did not--especially since it was such a forgotten, poor colony and androids were few and far between.
There was, of course, one more skill Michael had that benefited the colony: infallible organization. While everyone was too tired, too busy, or just too despondent to attempt to go through any of the professional, standard steps required of a hospital, Michael could easily file paperwork in a matter of seconds. So when there was a lull (and there often wasn't one, in one of Angkor biggest hospitals), Michael occasionally found himself mapping out patient's files and compiling them together. And, maybe when this was all over, some good would come of this. If it was ever over. Perhaps Weyland would abandon Angkor all together and cut off all ties, leaving the infection to die and the people with it. It made logical sense.
"Dr. Keyes!" A rushed, urgent nurse's voice caught Michael's attention. He glanced up towards the source--two women in the containment area, a doctor and a nurse, if their respective uniforms told the truth. He watched as they spoke rushed words and one of them--Dr. Keyes, if Michaels' math was correct--started pulling on her mask with a determined expression. Clearly, she meant to go into the contamination room herself for the sake of the patient, even though she risked exposure. The act confused Michael. Didn't she understand that her doctor's expertise was important and, if she died attempting to help this young boy, so many others would die without her?
Michael got up from his spot and stepped over, moving between the two women. "Excuse me, Dr. Keyes," he said, respectfully. Knowing full well the order of hierarchy in the hospital. Also knowing full well that, as an android, there were many who looked at him as a mere tool, despite his complex facial structure and human like appearance. "I am Michael model six. Perhaps I can be of assistance."
---------------------- Note: No worries! We're not POV Nazis here.
Member No.: 24
Joined: 27-November 12
After being on her feet for a very long number of hours, Nyssa wasn't exactly thinking clearly, something that occurred to her when an android rushed up.
What was she thinking, going into the contamination room? Humans only went in during an emergency, something this wasn't. Sure, he needed the medicine, but if she got sick, where would that leave the countless others that needed her? She was one of the best doctors they had. She had worked with the disease for months and knew all the best treatment options. She knew practically everything about it. Except where it came from and its cure.
She sighed as she pulled off the mask, letting it drop to the floor. She was instantly grateful towards him. Despite the fact that androids weren't human, Nyssa never saw them as just a tool. She frowned upon anyone who brushed them aside. Like with the disease, they had already proven how valuable they were. And Michael had obviously seen the risk of her going into the contamination and stepped up to take her place. They were far more than common robots.
She gave him a tired smile. "Yes, thank you Michael." She pulled out two syringes. "Inject one into each of his upper arms please." She shooed the nurse away to check on other patients and waited to watch him.
Luckily for Michael, the woman saw the error of her ways the second Michael stepped up to the plate and he didn't have to strong-arm her into letting him take over. Not that he would. Obey was a priority of his, only after take care of Mattie. Mattie first, the rest of humanity second.
Still, even Michael, with his finite knowledge of emotional intelligence, could spot when the woman had given in; she dropped like a sunflower straining too hard towards the sunlight. More than happy to let someone else take over, it seemed. Michael had seen her around more than once tonight and, much like him, she didn't seem to require sleep. This time around, however, she appeared long due for a little rest. Human systems were weak, faulty--they shut down with only twelve hours of stress pressing into them.
Doctor Keyes handed him two syringes, which he took from her delicately. "Inject one into each of his upper arms please."
"Yes, doctor," Michael said, keeping in tradition with the hospital protocols, and--without a mask, without protection (good thing about his systems, it was all unnecessary)--stepped into the contaminated room with the patient.
The man was moaning, sweating, clearly in pain. Staring at something that wasn't there on the ceiling. "It will be alright," Michael murmured to him. Gentle white-lies were occasionally required for reassuring the human population on Angkor--one of the first missteps he'd made was abruptly telling a man he would die and shattering the poor man's spirit. This patient, however, seemed to barely register Michael's voice. He inserted the syringes into veins on the man's arms--carefully--and slowly injected the medicine. There was a hiss through the man's teeth, a slight uptake in the heart monitor...and then shallow silence as he fell into a deep but restless sleep.
Assuming he'd done his duty, Michael stood up and left the man's side, properly disposing of the syringes in a trash can by the wall. He slipped out from the flimsy material that separated this patient from the rest of the hospital and then turned to the doctor. Offering a light smile. "Completed, miss. He's asleep, but stable." He paused, then added, "I know I'm not the doctor here, but if you don't mind me saying so, you look like you could use some rest."