( 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

[crossbearing]

I'm an optimist.

( So, so dry. But yeah, it is pretty generous. ) Hey, no argument here. We're barely keeping ourselves standing, out here.

( It's shameful, is what it is. They were meant to be saving this place, doing something, and they're barely scraping by, trapped in a world not their own. This doesn't mean anything. She wants to do something, they need to do something but part of her just wants to see everything burn. ) It's pathetic.

[alittlesweptup]

That's because we've been dumped here without a map to find our asses by. [With a smooth talking lawyer pretending to know what he's talking about. It's all just pretend - delaying any real action on the pretense of running missions for the good of the moon base. Screw the moon base because:] Not that I'd say we've got long to worry about it. At this rate, the UE'll track us here before anything gets sorted.

[Somewhere out there, there could be a rover slowly inching across the surface of the moon. And one day, it's going to find them. --That is if the UE doesn't know they're here already.

There's a beat, then -- tired, because he's clearly had this conversation before to the point that it doesn't mean much anymore:] Fancy a nutrient bar or something? Someone brought back a load of freeze dried food.

[Delicious.]

[crossbearing]

But don't you know? We just gotta work together and let the diplomats tidy stuff up for us. It's all about communication.

( She couldn't sound any more scathing. Part of it she knows is unfair, there is validity in it, but it's buying into systems and authority that she's been raised not to trust. You want anything done, you gotta do it yourself. Justice, vengeance, honor. And yet she's torn, because there's a part of her that believes in everyone coming together and finding the solution, but it's so ineffective, so slow, and the entire world could be falling apart. She's already heard about the world that went up in ashes. )

We're sitting ducks. ( She knows. She agrees. )

If you've got anything with a lot of protein I'll take it. ( God. Self mocking, ) I'd kill for scallopini right now.

[alittlesweptup]

Fish and chips. [Which he realizes is about as stereotypical as is possible to be, but--] Big greasy filet of fish and potato wrapped in newsprint. That, I'd kill for. [And after a little bit of digging, he unearths what a brief inspection reveals to be some kind of high protein trail mix packet. He passes it off before making a quick note on his tablet.]

They've got the Transport-Initiative relations group, but I haven't seen that accomplish anything but dragging their feet and playing messenger for the Initiative. [Which is barely applicable here, given what a skeleton crew that latter's running on the base.] People've been doing all sorts of work to get the systems here up and running, but it's not what we should be focusing on. Without anyone leading the whole mess, they'll just keep running about doing whatever suits them.

[Barbeques in the VR room. Missions to fetch soaps and booze. Usually Charlie's all for a dash of hedonism, but even he can admit that there's a time and place.]

[crossbearing]

( A sharp grin. ) Just lay off the mushy peas and I might join you.

( But, she can work with trail mix. It's not so different from what she kept in her utility for emergencies back home. It's good to see him marking it off, too. )

I think they're lost. Trying to tackle the whole problem is too much, so they start with whatever little jobs they can handle. Pet projects so they don't feel useless. ( Some part of her understands. Some part of her has done the same thing, and wonders where helping Jaime with his research falls into that. She judges herself as much as anyone, making a slice of Sicily in the VR room like it'd make some kind of difference. "Training simulation," sure. It did nothing. It was self-indulgence. She hasn't been back there for a couple of weeks, when she got too disgusted with herself to think about it. There's some element of self-condemnation that leaks into her voice before she tips back more of the water. )

The DITR is a nice idea, but how much can they accomplish with all the shit being slung our way? We're always reacting. Even-- damn zombies.

[alittlesweptup]

[It's not something he thinks any of them are exactly free from. Hell, the only reason he hadn't been present at the time of the bombing was because he and Chloe had been off running a vanity mission for fun and profit. His hands aren't much cleaner than anyone else's.

Still here they are, trapped in a bloody moon base with limited resources and limited manpower, facing down a goddamn zombie invasion because the Initiative shoved them into this position.]

Given a gun in a dark room and now we're expected to hit a target instead of any bystanders.

[crossbearing]

Technically I might be able to do that.

( It's meant as a joke, but the humour doesn't win through as she frowns, crossing her arms and taking some more of the protein. A slow sigh, and she's part weighing up her options, part just exhausted. She needs to check in with Barbara, but God knows if she's up for the tangle of emotions that'll inevitably be.

The solution is to push that all aside and, after a moment of consideration, offer Charlie her hand to shakes. ) Helena. The uniform usually gets Huntress, though.

[alittlesweptup]

[He catches her hand easily enough, square palm and blunt fingers all laced with calluses - knuckles all scarred up and old black gunpowder scars between his first finger and thumb. Rough work, rough hands.] Cutter. Charlie, if you prefer.

[There's a beat, a gentle pull at the corner of his mouth; a quirk of his eyebrow as he lets Helena's hand go.] What're you then - some sort of super hero?

[crossbearing]

( Her own hands are a mess, covered in scars and calluses that shouldn't really be on a teacher's hands. They can be gentle and they can kill, or they can be clutched together in prayer. ) Cutter'll do.

( And a snort, derisive, although he gets points for not saying heroine. ) Vigilante. When justice fails...

( Trailing off, although her tone is sarcastic. When justice fails, you've got people in capes. And some of them, like her, are considered too dangerous to be in the field. )

[alittlesweptup]

[Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]

Well you've come to the right place then. [Which is at least eight parts sarcasm, two real bit. There's certainly no shortage of 'failed justice' in this particular dimension, this particular moon base. Maybe not belligerently so, but the means being a series of stupid mistakes as opposed to being genuinely vindictive doesn't actually make much difference in the end, now does it?]