( 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

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.

[anklets]

[Something in her chest leadens down at the sight of him; she puts that added weight into plying her heels to the nearest of the three-- it's a mess and she's tiring, choosing to hold her breath for herself until everything is beaten down around her heels, and then she whirls.]

It's- [ on a hard exhale: ] a necessity, actually.

[onehundredswords]

Sheesh...scarier than you look, huh? There's quite a few people around here like that. I should be more careful.

[Although he's not too happy about seeing how exhausted she looks; he doesn't want to have to do any fighting himself here.]

But can you really go on much longer? You seem tired.

[anklets]

[She's touched. Really.]

I'll be fine.

[Her resilience is iron and strings up through her; she won't bend until it breaks completely. A testament to her fortitude, maybe, that she's made that metal a permanent part of her.]

This is only the start of it.

[onehundredswords]

Oh? Good! Cause my hand started crampin' up a bit earlier, ended up not bein' able to hold my sword right [lie] 'fraid I'm not much use now. [truth]

[He looks at her, grinning.]

And gettin' back to the housing wing has been a real pain, not bein' able to hold off all the zombies an' such...mind doin' me a favor an' helpin' me get back?

[Though he hasn't been paying much attention, so he's not sure if he's even near there or not.]

[anklets]

[The discomfort he puts in to her is not well-hidden, it's in the set of her mouth and her shoulders and the push of her hands together in front of herself. But when she moves, it is decisive.]

Follow me.

[onehundredswords]

[As much as he tries to appear offputting, a lot of people here simply seem to accept it. It's an oddly twisted sense of satisfaction he gets from noticing her discomfort, not necessarily out of malice...more like a sense of nostalgia.

As she moves he quickly follows, keeping up with her with ease, though it's not long before the undead rear their ugly heads again, a small group of about five of six ahead of them in the distance.]

Guess you're up.

[anklets]

Guess so.

[Not cheerfully, but she'll carry through the motions over the aches and exhaustion and niggling feeling that she's being played, rushing them before they can her. A dragonfly-quick weaving: the noises begin immediately, frothing, gnashing, hot against her face so that she squints angrily against it.]