( 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

[anklets]

[Having a bit of a split-focus issue here... Electing to keep behind him (and one eye, at least, on him), because she's still not so sure about the whole friendly-vampire thing.]

It went to the left.

[We're gonna ignore your snark, for the time being.]

[heroxide]

[The "friendly" part is certainly questionable.

He moves— sprints, really— towards where she indicates with a roar, almost joyful.]

[anklets]

[SHOULD SHE REALLY BE FOLLOWING THIS PATH...

Something cold slips into her stomach as she follows after. There's nothing around the corner--

not on the floor.

On the ceiling.]

[heroxide]

[...Vamps can jump high, but not THAT high.]

Can you get it down?

[anklets]

[ oh, can she ]

Mm. Get out of the way.

[heroxide]

[Huffs and glowers at the direct command, but he obliges and watches to see what'll happen. Okay, maybe he's interested.]

[anklets]

[Lenalee puts herself airborne, not too high, this is no open sky, they're well above that, and wishes she didn't have to look it up close but cannot risk a tornado in these close quarters.

Undercutting how it swipes at her, sickly gleaming claws, but it opts for the one who can't fly, drops to the floor and rushes Spike instead, as she twists 'round after it.]

[heroxide]

[He greets the sight of it dropping from the ceiling with a hectic, glad laugh, rushing to meet it. A swift uppercut, though he's only tenuously sure of the importance of its head, is the next move. A mundane shot, but he makes the most of it and the surface of its skin (if it can be called that) buckles and splits.]

Thanks for the delivery!

[anklets]

[The sound it makes is like ice beneath her tongue. She watches it struggle to counterbalance his blow, only to be crushed back down beneath her toes. This place has made her more delicate than she would opt to be: the walls only rattle a little.]