( 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]

[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.