( 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

[retraced]

[Smack goes the pie right into the back of his head. So now he's got pie crust and delicious filling dripping down his hair and onto his neck and shoulders, another mess to clean up, and now he's watching that melting zombie begin to rotate.

There are few ways that this scenario could get any more embarrassing.]

Break...! [His shoulders tremble as he bends over slightly, hands still grasping the oven door, and fights to keep from turning around and punching the man right in the face. He's definitely saving it for later, though.]

Stop messing around for just one minute-!

[senseandcecilbility]

Mister Bre--!

[Okay, maybe, just maybe, he has been around the wrong company for too long. And the truth is he has come from a time when people getting hit on their heads by pies was considered hilarious.

There is also something terribly silly about rotating zombies. And...and the most effective way to induce laughter is trying to prevent oneself from laughing.

Still holding the oven door closed, he ducks his head between his arms, his shoulders shaking hard with repressed mirth.]

[maddeninghatter]

[ There are more pies



and Break has two hands. Even if his aim isn't the best, Kevin and Gilbert are more or less stuck in the same place, so eventually by the law of averages...

(unless there is some divine retribution or something) ]

Heh heh heh heh heh heh!

[retraced]

[Yeah, you two laugh it up. Gilbert is just going to shake a little and hold himself back from turning around and punching Break in his stupid face. You can throw as many pies as you want but you'll never take his dignity! Because it's been gone for years now.

Meanwhile, those zombies look like they're getting ready to explode. Got a good grip on the oven, Kevin?]

1/2

[senseandcecilbility]

[It is a testament to Kevin's willpower and stubbornness that he is still holding the oven closed even after the pie hits the back of his head (he is holy, not pie proof). Besides, he doesn't want to disappoint Mister Gilbert, which is why...]

[senseandcecilbility]

[...While the other man is distracted with the rotating and - unknown to him - about to explode zombies, he very maturely uses his crystal shield to catapult a couple of pies towards Break's direction.]

1/2

[maddeninghatter]

[ He honestly doesn't know how many of his projectiles have reached their targets. All that matters is that he is throwing pie on the moon in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and life can't get much weirder or nonsensical or — ]

GAH!

[maddeninghatter]

[ — or sticky. Chocolate peanut butter pie, by the smell of it, and he can't resist licking his lips. ]

Delicious!

[ The sad thing is, he's running out of pie. ]

[retraced]

[--Hey, where did those pies come from?! Gilbert can't even appreciate the humor or satisfaction behind any of it because he's too busy looking around the room and trying to figure out where those came from.]

Huh-?

[senseandcecilbility]

[Kevin is about to repeat his warning about not eating the infected food, and even throw his remaining shoe if necessary, when something glimpsed in his peripheral vision makes him scream like a girl.

Never mind the pies, Mister Gilbert. From inside the oven, comes the sickening sound of zombie skulls popping. ]

WHAT SORT OF OVEN IS THAT?

[maddeninghatter]

[ In one bound, Break is at the oven, aghast. That scream, Kevin, and the sound of bones breaking... ]

What's the matter, what's going on!

[ There's a sword in one hand; and balanced in the other is the very last pie, a perfect lemon meringue. ]

[retraced]

[No time to question pies now! There are exploding zombies and for the first time since all of this started, even Gilbert is starting to look a little green. Every man has his limits.]

I think...these things just exploded.

[Very cautiously, Gilbert steps away from the oven and then reaches up to turn it off. They probably don't need to keep it on anymore. The small of rotting - grossness that they were comprised of is starting to get stronger, no need to let it burn on top of that.]

[senseandcecilbility]

[Feeling rather sick himself, gives Mister Gilbert's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Do not faint, pal. Otherwise, who is going to clean this mess?]

It...is like...what happened to London! W-why, why would the Initiative turn the oven into a weapon?!

[He has made pies there. He had showed it love. Why is it a terrible weapon now? Why does technology betray them?]

[maddeninghatter]

[ Point one: Gilbert and Kevin are uninjured. Point two: the zombies have exploded.

...everybody wins. He exhales, and sheathes his sword.

He would wonder why the two of them are fretting about this, except the answer is obvious: they're always fretting. Also, wow, that smell. He wrinkles his nose. ]

I say, did you two burn the zombies? Tch! And you fancy yourselves being able to cook!

[retraced]

[Gilbert is glad for the comfort, and also the fact that Kevin seems as distressed by the whole thing as he does. It's a stark contrast to the nonchalant look on Break's stupid face at the moment. Gil stands up a little straighter and half-covers his nose against the gross, dead-flesh stench.]

Stop joking around! How many more of these things are there?!

[And do they have enough ovens to take care of them all?]

[senseandcecilbility]

[Kevin is, at this point, delicately pressing a handkerchief to his nose. He will...never trust ovens again. Or suggest baking zombies for that matter. This is certainly his punishment for profaning this sanctuary of food.]

...Must we find out, though?

[Isn't it more reasonable to just hide and wait for the Initiative to deal with the outbreak? It is not like they have enough pies either, and he could bet his non-existence salary that Mister Break will get in trouble sooner or later.]

[maddeninghatter]

[ The truth is that there are a lot of zombies in the moon base; the few that have been dismembered and cooked are but a small fraction of the whole. He should really head back into the fray and resume killing them, preferably by some less messy method. Perhaps he can figure something out with the airlocks?

However, first things first. He's going to go back to the living quarters and try to wash off some of the rotting entrails clinging to his body. Also he is going to tip the remaining pie into his mouth. Yes. This is a good plan, and there is nothing at all wrong with it, particularly as there is not much zombie on the last pie. ]

Never mind that! Gilbert, Mister Cecil. Gentlemen. Your first and most critical job is…

[ Wait for it ]

…to make this oven operable again!

[ Have fun cleaning, kids. Meanwhile Break is going to just… tiptoe off… ]

[retraced]

[No, figuring out how many more zombies are stalking about is more important than cleaning! But...at the same time, if they don't clean it now and zombie goo cakes on, it could spell trouble later when everyone decides they want to eat dinner after the invasion is taken care of.

Gilbert watches Break walk off for a moment before turning to Kevin with a heavy sigh.]

Go after him and make sure he doesn't do anything else stupid. I'll stay here and clean things up.

[senseandcecilbility]

...

[For a brief second, Kevin stares in dismay at Mister Gilbert and considers the pros and cons of cleaning up zombie goo versus babysitting Xerxes Break. One of the two of them is getting the short end of the stick, but Kevin cannot quite decide who.

He gives his colleague a sympathetic look while following Break. With parental expertize, he gently attempts to dislodge the remaining pie from his grubby hands.]

...

I will do my very best, sir.