( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

[initiates]

Date & Time: October 31st, 3313, 11:59PM - November 3rd, 3313, ????
Location: Agriculture Wing, Moon Base to start. Cafeteria, warehouse, docking bay, VR rooms, Transport Pad, or Observatory later on.
Characters: Any & all!
Summary: Space Zombies are allowed out of the Agriculture Wing, slowly revving up their systems to try and infect and absorb as many of the Transports (or 12 Initiative Members) as possible.
Warnings: Log will be locked for potentially graphic violence. Please warn in threads should the violence or gore become graphic.
Notes: Specify a date and location in your top comment. You may specify multiple dates/locations. Specify a time if you wish as well.

Everything is a success at first, from the cool rush of air out of the Agriculture Wing once the doors are fully unlocked, to the heady sense of accomplishment for finally moving forward on something good for the long-term usability of the Moon Base. It's intended to remain a resource, after all, but not be a permanent home. Fraying tempers and the sense of cabin fever descending on Transports continues to showcase how important it is to get back down on Earth to regain some breathing room.

There's little enough dust between all the unmoving, unlit structures, many even supporting the barest dried husks of what once grew there. Upon the lightest touch, they disintegrate, turning into a dust that falls to the ground. The silent rows will be reclaimed and turned into functioning units, based on Transport efforts, and Transport time invested in the project.

There's just one problem. Something stirs in the reclaimed wing, among tangles of hosing and wiring. Skitterings and movements that make no sense for a long abandoned Moon Base. The further in Transports go, relying on magic or technology to generate light past the bare minimum maintained by the base, the more disturbing sights they may run into.

Of course, the most disturbing of all might be lying just around the far corner -- but don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. Try not to get surprised in the machinery, caught suffering from not looking up or caught making out with anything unsavory this holiday season, Transports. We need all of you to stay alive!

We can't bring you back right now!

Comments

lenalee lee, various, open! (cw: pppossible gore)

[anklets]

a: early Nov 1st, cafeteria

[We aren't alone the anthem this morning, and isn't the Transports being spoken of, not with breaths of agriculture wing and clothing spotted newly crimson.

Lenalee's breakfast becomes unappealing and from cafeteria seat, she watches and listens, wan-faced but blessedly shrouded, and that is the only contribution the low light offers. An alliance with the darkness... there's props to be given for consistency, since they've such an excess of it up here. The dread-clogged word of something, alive passing from hand to mouth curdles her with the same slow-sureity of creeping black stars, she's seen it more than once and knows how metered and poisonous it moves and doesn't give it the time to, levering to her feet.]

What did they find.


b: throughout Nov 2nd & 3rd, housing wings

[Akuma have hardened her. By their leave, she learned the importance of swallowing down human things like fear and guilt and wanting to run away when you're here, batting for the Lord!, and Lenalee, never having fancied herself the star-spangled sort, constructed walls to mimic hulls, so that she could watch flesh shed from metal bones without heaving, and while it had once made her do so, now it just makes her sad and a little bit angry.

She considers this a victory, of sorts, but for all that she's dug her heels into everything else, she can't dig them into this, and behind locked doors, Lenalee sits and frets and racks her hair. Leave or hide, they'd been told, but she can't do either. She has faces she needs to reaffirm and drag back into the childish safety of bunk-beds and bathtubs, for they keep creeping out on her turned back. They are spread too thin and what they have let out does not care that there are places that must be outlined as "safe", or they will die, that is what they are aiming for, it is what will happen should cobbled-together beings and infection and the long passages between quarters and clinic get the better of them.]

I'm done. [ announced with surprise fists coming down on the wall she leans against, she's had quite enough of being made useless, her lips are thinned together and everything ] There's no use staying here when I could be doing something. I'm going to bring supplies back.


c: throughout Nov 2nd & 3rd, wherever the infection has spread

[Not even the air is safe. Lenalee's Innocence is blaring angry red but she's gravity-bound, weaving creatures that make her ill somewhere deep inside she didn't often acknowledge. There is rot above and below, on all sides, and the sound has gone beneath her skin and she hopes for it to remain the one thing which manages to.

Steel toes go through a skull, something that could have been a skull-- this body was in pieces long before she arrived here-- and laden as she is by the fruits of her supply run, her fingers have been kept consciously empty for the purpose of cuffing unfortunate Transports--]

Not there!

[--as things reanimate below their very feet.]

c!

[heroxide]

[Something blurs in front of her— Spike, without his duster for once, tackling a necromorph right across from her and not seeming to worry about getting in her way.

It's ungraceful, and there's a feral growl as he slams it to the ground and rears up for a punch to its face. Or where the face should be, anyway. It splatters tissue all down his shirt. Gameface is on too.]

[anklets]

[Round of bracket-applause, to start off with, because Spike certainly knows how to make a flashy entrance, and his ego has probably gone without a stroking for far, far too long.

Entrances of the snarling drug-out variety are fairly standard fare amongst her ranks, but there's a certain kneejerk reaction which comes with them: namely, Lenalee's knee jerked hard and fast for the back of his skull, then blessedly pulled at the very

last

possible inch--

these things have shown no interest in their ilk, making this gore-drenched figure a dubious ally, maybe. For how long, she wishes she didn't think.]

Don't touch it!

[Her skin crawls, but she attributes it to the rot in the air.]

[heroxide]

[He doesn't notice the near-collision of her leg and his skull, so he doesn't exhibit even the tiniest amount of bother when he looks up at her, questioning, grinning. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention to the zombie under him either, even as he sets a rhythm of boneshaking punches. It sounds gruesome.

After a few more blows, the soft framework of the thing splits and gives way, insides pouring out, and he stands up to finally reply:]

Don't touch what?

[Idiot.]

b

[commentboxtroll]

Yeah? Well, if you're so inclined to go back into that mess, bring back something I can use as a cane.

[ Lingering too close to their own room is rewarded only with the bored-sounding request from her very own roommate. Someone managed to get him out of the dangerous parts of the base before the shit really hit the fan and, so, he's been stuck in their room for the most part.

It's insufferably boring, only made worse by most people too busy to stop and lend a blind kid a hand. ]

I might be able to get around the wings on my own that way...

[anklets]

[That's one accounted for, at least, and reward, Caesar, is all in the eye of the beholder. A. Ha...

Silent at first, having taken to watching him quite intently while he cannot stare her down for it, but she's reluctant to speak mostly because she cannot keep an edge from hitting every word.]

There might be some mechanics left in the agriculture wing, but... [ she really, really does not desire to venture there ] If I gave you an [ (Oz's rescued) ] umbrella, would you use that?

[commentboxtroll]

[ Ha ha, very funny. ]

Going to the most dangerous place to retrieve something so mundane would be what an idiot would do, Lenalee. I know you're smarter than that. [ seriously, do not go to the ag wing, why would that even be considered ] An umbrella?

That depends. Does it stay shut well?

b~~

[aequivoci]

[ He's taking a short break: a moment to shove something that isn't swigs from the spirit of choice in his flask (not wine, but a hard liquor — maybe whiskey, or tequila, or scotch); replenishing his energy for another day and night's worth of fighting and casting spells; being covered in his targets' remains (how disgusting). Lenalee's comment does not faze him, shoving the last of a sandwich a Transport fixed for him (bless that Transport) as the female Exorcist speaks her mind. He only speaks after he's swallowed the final bite. ]

You can't do much unless you've replaced the energy you've used. You better have eaten something substantial.

[anklets]

[Prefers mothering when it comes through Jerry's teeth; from the General, it's just strange, unfunny contrast to a transcontinental goose chase and Allen's ghoulish-faced asides.]

I've eaten, General. [ keeping the smell out of her nose and food in her stomach, that's the proper battle, here ] But no one else will, unless we replenish our stockpiles.

[aequivoci]

[ It feels weird to mother her, but ugh, he is not here for any Exorcist going out into the "war" zones without any energy. Effin' eat, you teenage brats. ]

Going to defend the kitchen while others get their hands on food from the kitchen to bring back? [ The smell out of their noses — that is a true battle, Cross can't even front. ]

c!!

[owlbrain]

Woah -- ! [/CUFFED, managing to twist just so in order not to fight her grip, and to avoid dragging them both down to the party waiting beneath.]

L-Lenalee-san? [is he floating, are they flying, omg what... He's in good shape for someone who was just in a hallway filled with zombies, clutching one bloodied dagger in his hands.]

[anklets]

[Some people must make do without wings, Kouichi. Although she certainly looks as though a dagger may have done her better good, sweat- and bloodstained, with dirty fingers digging a little too hard into his sides. She's breathing even harder than that, and speaks to him in fragments.]

Not too close. They- won't die.

[owlbrain]

[...Ah. He draws in a deep breath, eyes seemingly focused on his -- he doesn't want to say kin, they're not even close -- enemies, but he's hyper aware of the way she's breathing hard too. The fact that they're in the sky without Kouichi's interference is surprise enough, but even he can't carry another person while flying--]

At this rate... [He doesn't bother finishing that train of thought. That's not what they need right now, especially in mid-air.] If they can't die, then we'll have to keep them from moving.

c.

[sorrowfulcry]

[the infection Heat was unaware of hadn't completely taken over yet, but he was beginning to feel the symptoms. Not yet, though, he could still fight and he could still fight well. The red head knew his specialty lay in physical attacks rather than magic. This much he was confident in even as Exsilium kept throwing his failures in his face (intentionally or unintentionally, Heat had stopped caring once he'd watched Exsilium get deleted).

He was fighting as Agni when the sound of a young girl calling out causes him to look up from where he was tearing into another body - tear, tear, rend. There were no eyes on either of Agni's head, but he could pick up the bright presence of another Transport easily enough. Her speed though-!!

Agni barely ducks under her, feels her fly straight over him even as the second head went back to tearing through rotted flesh with sharp, sharp teeth]

Mind your own business!

[anklets]

[Fairness where it is due: she's still seen things at least twice as disturbing as this. Only one or two, but.

Pinwheeling, the sight of the thing below her, not the same kind of thing as the rest, putting things up in her throat she'd rather not be there.]

Leave it! [ cannot help drawing comparisons to Akuma, what consumption might do to someone... ]

[sorrowfulcry]

[that's good but that's also not good at all: the story of everyone's lives]

[he looks up - he must be looking up with the way one of the head shifts and the other stops eating - from his meal and growls for a few seconds before her appearance causes him to pause.

... Sera...?

No, Sera had never been able to move like this girl, all light and fleet like the birds he remembers hearing about. The moment passes and he - surprisingly - stops eating but stays in his demon form, the remnants of his dinner struggling in his hand]

What's it to you? [They weren't even comrades. Why should she care?]

c whoops :')

[overclocking]

[ Chrono and Lenalee might have had a sombre conversation about things-in-common when it comes to the necessity of turning off gag reflexes. Holy water splitting and scorching legion is something humans can endure as "but it's only a demon"; Chrono has no such armor.

These- creatures- still aren't quite the worst, if he doesn't think too hard about where they came from.

Having no substantial weapon to his name, Chrono makes do with the knife he keeps tucked in his boot at all times, and the ruthless efficiency of speed, claws and brute force strength that does not even border on refined. It's why he pays no mind to the other transports around him, other than to avoiding driving a knife into their flesh should they put themselves even remotely in his way.

Pays no mind until something burns into his senses, at least, and then his attention is dreadfully splintered. He half-turns in time to see Lenalee's boots cut through air and festering flesh alike, and there's scarcely enough space in this narrow hallway to prevent the heat of it (holy, he'd know it anywhere) from slapping him in the face. It isn't until Lenalee speaks that his attention is drawn up from those boots, to the person attached to them. Lenalee. What-

So busy is he with staring at Lenalee like she is the zombie—round-eyed, half-steps drawing him back and away—that he doesn't even notice the creatures approaching from behind. ]

[anklets]

[Non-comprehension hits cold in her stomach, but what's worse is the slow-moving realisation that he's fleeing her, her with her hand hanging still and extended and pretty and useless for him. She slips from the unpleasantries she reads in him to all the rest as though her eyes were the metal and they the magnets, and hummingbirds,]

Chrono, run!

[arcing over him to put herself between and crack and sear what she can with steel toes, though they're better suited to monsters which

don't

dodge.]

[overclocking]

[ A single holy water-infused bullet can fell a demon in seconds, and even an entire clip of those nothing on whatever this is. Chrono's never felt anything like it, and as its proximity sears the back of his neck, he'll pretend any full-bodied shudders come from the sound of steel crunching through bone. That would be easier to explain.

(Not that he can quite hide how quickly he retreats, practically flees, his back hitting the far wall of the hallway. Face ashen and one hand clasped to the back of his neck, eyes still wide.) ]

I-

[ He's slower than normal, today. Distracted, brain foggy, muscles coiled tight and exhausted. ]

I'm not running. This is my job.

b

[boundbydevotion]

[Link, being also the sort who can't help but keep an eye on those he's familiar with, looks up at her announcement. Though he wasn't particularly close at hand when she makes her exclamation, he rises from where he'd been watching others move to and from their quarters, falling into step with her silently.]

[anklets]

[There is a ripple which goes up her back, and it's difficult to tell it as being from any one thing.]

You're coming, Link?

[boundbydevotion]

["If you would be amenable," he doesn't say, though he considers it. He would rather not give her the option to object to his company, knowing that her impression of him thus far is likely that of a reticent shadow that attaches to Allen whenever possible, and beyond that she only has her own experiences with the Crow to inform her.

Out of respect for her wariness, instead of playing nice it seemed better to simply be blunt.]

It hardly seems wise to attempt a supply run alone.

c! hope you dont mind a late comment

[onehundredswords]

[There's something else in the vicinity, a different sort of presence unlike that of the undead - subtle yet noticeable, but not within sight. Not just yet.]

Hey! Behind you!

[The voice is disembodied, but it's warning is at least genuine, a few of the rotten husks practically throwing themselves towards Lenalee in a rush of flesh and mindless anger from behind.]

of course not!

[anklets]

[Is usually the one issuing orders of wellbeing, so it's understandably quite startling to be on the other side! But as any sensible girl would, Lenalee obeys first and looks only once she's strung from the ceiling, toes skimming and putting up sparks, accidental.

Her back stings, but she isn't sure whether that's the adrenaline speaking. They have a reach to them.]

Who--?

[onehundredswords]

Whoa! Nice reflexes...you're pretty good at this, huh?

[The source is easily located now, coming from the direction she'd been facing a moment ago, before he warned her of the back attack. Whether or not he waited for her to be attacked from behind so he could show up while she was distracted is anyone's guess, but considering how shifty it is, it's possible.

He seems surprisingly cheerful despite all the carnage and his weapon is out of sight, but considering the bloodstains on his jacket, it probably wasn't the entire time.]

I never would have guessed.