( 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

[speakveryclearly]

[Another freaky thing: Drinker fastness. She's easily shuffled five feet away, on the other side of the hallway, and lands with a click of her combat boots and the coordination of a cat, by the time the blast occurs. Her nose tells her before her eyes that the red curtain of infected zombie blood has vanished into thin air. These purple lines in some kind of cross shape. A wavy, violet cross shape. Then her auricular sponge clots catch up, along with the familiar indignation at that term of addre--

Holy shit she is so thirsty, months of scavenging stray cats can take a toll. (She feels so much more undead, among her own kind.) At whom on the moon is she looking? Her eyes flick away from him to the devastation on the floor and then back to him.]

Alright, you really are a scientist after all. [Said as she already has begun stalking backwards, preparing herself to examine the next onslaught. This development may be sudden but if nothing else constitutes a tactical improvement.]

[highbloodprince]

At least someone's finally catchin' on.

[When the next round of undead bolt down the hallway towards them he instinctively throws himself backwards and lifts off of the ground, since he flies a lot faster than he does move. The corridors aren't high enough for him to move completely out of reach(not to mention some of them are able to crawl on walls and ceilings handily, so it wouldn't matter either way) but it at least provides a better shot at evading being lunged at.

He takes another shot at one of the approaching zombies moving along the ceiling above them, causing it to drop into the group approaching on the ground, the sudden presence of the flames disorientating and scattering the group as they try to avoid being ignited as well.

He kind of expects her to do her own thing now that they're distracted.]

[speakveryclearly]

[She would roll her eyes if bitter nostalgia for wwixardry weren't already a throbbing pain in the back of her think pan. The distracted zombies are difficult to dance around but when they're incapacitated by the unfortunate condition of possibly being on fire she has the luxury of being able to weave in and out indiscriminately, not mattering whether the stroke that decapitates one low-standing zombie amputates the leg of another. The resulting collection of chunks is pretty manageable in terms of being kicked into the developing fire.

She relaxes for a moment, stops glowing quite as much as a lighthive, and then feels one more zombie trying to eat her right hand whole. After a single shocked squawk, she steps on its neck to pin it against the wall. Her left hand is on the handle of her chainsaw, leading her to pull the ripcord with her teeth to turn the engine back on and make several unsynchronized vertical swings, the end result a creature sliced into ribbons. Makeupkind takes over afterwards to occupy less space while her mouth nudges the mutilated head off her wrist.]

What kind of sorry excuse for shadow droppers would crawl around in the dark. [Of course, stupid nocturnal-diurnal swap at work means nothing is actually like in her literature.] I didn't believe it could get worse than last Christmas.

[highbloodprince]

[Ugh, a particularly embarrassing thing to think back on, to put it lightly. He still reminds himself those zombie plague carrying bastards were disguised as dumb harmless animals, so it technically wasn't his fault he got infected. If anything the only thing he's at fault for is showing more mercy than usual and it was an off day anyway so clearly not his fault right, right!!!

yeah he'll go to a lot of lengths to keep his pride intact

In any case, he kicks at a nearby corpse, charred beyond recognition, only satisfied once he sees it isn't moving and turns to her.]

Yeah, well I ain't all that fond of a particular handicap known as small enclosed space we can't escape, that is in sewere danger a' breakin' open an' draggin' us all into the depths a' space should someone go too trigger happy.

[speakveryclearly]

Don't you ever go on mission? There are so many more possibilities than those simplistic "supply runs", you know. [She's about to continue her train of thought, but now that fifteen of the top twenty things she has to process right now are no longer individual zombies, the other points of interest start clamoring for space in her head. Those wings. Empty hands. What else has changed since...

She clamps her mouth shut, not able to bear adding to the chaos. Fortunately, when she's not talking it's easy to notice a sudden motion, and she turns her head in the opposite direction. Sure enough, there are more zombies, and after a moment the clattering of their bizarre limbs catches up with the sight.]

Oh, look! That way. [She points with a glowing finger.] I'll go ahead-- [Her voice gains the rising inflection, not so much of an approval-seeking question as an affirmation of understanding. Like hell she's switching out of melee now that he's here with a ranged weapon and they can actually stagger attacks.]

[highbloodprince]

What? No, no, I'm talkin' about-

[...if people go too nuts they might break open the moonbase and we'll all die. If he goes too nuts the same thing'll happen.

Well, most of us, ms-i'm-too-good-for-air!!

But he's hardly any time to correct that before she's ran off again, figuring it's not important enough to finish, so it's back to blasting the undead indiscriminately(minus her, fortunately.)]