Post by Viridis on Jan 30, 2008 1:34:01 GMT -5
Armadillo Bowl - Living Habitat
This is a difficult room to describe, because it's frequently changing, and even when it's stable, it's so large and segmented that general descriptions fail. This room exists for at least two purposes. First, it's a place that attempts (with varying degrees of success) to integrate the various preferred natural habitats of the residents of the station, minus the armadillo, who has the entire bowling alley downstairs for his pleasure. There are plants growing under bright sun lamps, and fortified water running through a river that gets pumped from basin to mouth, and passes under partitions. There are colored stones and mosses and a few trees, and a weather system. The ecosystem is maintained by computer, the artificial soil fed by horizontal drainage into a layer beneath the ground, above the ceilings of the rooms below.
Secondly, this room is meant to function as a living room. It has natural places to sit, rest and talk, as well as the occasional piece of furniture constructed so as to look not too out of place. There is a computer station against one wall with a news service available--unfortunately, it tends to only give nonsenical-seeming news from local planets, and only very rarely picks up a major story from Earth. There is an intercom here connected to similar devices in the bridge and bowling alley.
Another reason one might call this a 'living habitat', of course, is because of the way it changes whenever remodelers visit the ship, or even, at times, when the computer gets it into its mind to rearrange the partitions and redesign the landscape. Anything that undergoes so much metamorphesis might as well be considered alive.
[ Obvious Exits: <Out> to the Upper Corridor ]
[ Sleepers: Timothy ]
Alan suddenly finds himself confronted by another tiger as he hits the door to the outer corridor. He's alone, apparently not expecting to face an angry, heavily armed engineer. He's only got a stun baton. Like that'll even penetrate his suit! As Blood comes out, Alan slams his cutter into the tiger's stomach, doubling him over, and then swings his plasma wrench into the back of his head. Crrcckzap. One down, but he won't catch them by surprise again. He has to find his way to a hanger, or a security center he can lock himself in... the sounds of pursuit are just behind him, prompting him to fire a few blasts off from his cutter behind him. (re and done.)
Sammy shares in D'Yana's shock, like a group of people sharing a contagious laugh or yawn. He skitters some distance toward the doorway, a hulking thing that appears to be filled by a door from above, only at the moment stands empty. "You...so you're an alien, yet...you know about Earth?" This is what seems strangest to Sammy. "A few...million...light years?" Sammy only has a dim grasp of what a light year is, but he's duly impressed.
D'Yana nods. "I'm an alien to humans, anyway. Our races discovered each other on a random warp jump about fifty or so years ago." She sighs. "I think." She pats a sore shoulder with the opposite hand and continues. "Anyway, long story short, my own people started fighting each other and because of some important trade deals the human colonies decide to pitch in and help fight the bad guys on our side. I've been in a war for about fifteen years now. So you can understand my confusion at suddenly being here."
Sammy nods in appreciation for the saurian's directness. "That's amazing," he remarks. "A totally random jump...through space? I couldn't imagine..." He couldn't imagine how that sort of technology is possible, but moreover... "It's a strange coincidence, then. Earth is +my+ home planet. And Timothy's. I guess...I guess you were brought here because they think you're...somehow related to the planet. Maybe because you work with humans." His mind keeps coming up with hypotheses long after he stops talking. The armadillo wants to get away from that cage; he heads out the door, wanting to show D'Yana her confines. And his ears perk. He hears something. Commotion.
The dinosaur shelves any idea of responding with petty talk when something is up. "I'll explain later. You hear it too?" She stands, muscles tense, ready.
Soon several other paratigers are right behind Alan, ready to shoot him down if he doesn't cooperate. Blood is walking calmly down the corridor behind them. "Make sure when you catch him to give him punishment, end remove his weapons and clothing. I am tired of your incompetence!" Blood thud, thud, thuds down the corridor, paying the 'dominated' test subjects no heed.
Armadillo Bowl - Upper Corridor
This corridor is a touch brighter than the one below it, in part because there are more lights embedded in the ceiling, and partly because the lights from the Bridge and Living Habitat shine in here. These rooms, one small and important, one large and gratuitous, are connected to the corridor at opposite ends, while the engine room leads off from a smaller door in the middle. The large ramp leading down to the lower level comes with a guide rail, striped blue and silver. A lever protruding from the floor raises and lowers this rail, and another lever converts the ramp to a staircase and back. Nothing else of interest can be found here.
[ Obvious Exits: To the <Bridge>, To the <Engine> Room ]
[ To the Living <Habitat>, <Down> to the Lower Corridor ]
[ Players: Alan ]
D'Yana tries to keep as low a profile as she can, hunching over slightly in a pose expecting trouble. "Do you see anything?"
If anybody was about to come into the corridor at that moment, they'd find themselves in the middle of a virtual warzone. Alan, in his clunky, rather frightening full body-suit, is thundering down the hallway at top speed. "Out of the *WAY!*" he screams at nobody in particular as he lets loose a deadly stream of plasma behind him with his cutting laser. Best follow his advice, or anyone actually in front of him is in for a world of hurt!
D'Yana reaches down to grab Sammy as she ducks back into the doorway. THIS is something she knows. "Watch it!" she whispers sharply.
Sammy peers cautiously out the door...and does...in fact...see something. He dashes right back through the door with a high-pitched yelp! His tail is the last part of him in sight from the hallway, waving like a snake in retreat or a broken surrender flag. He defers to D'Yana's supposed expertise. "Be careful out there!!" he shouts.
D'Yana puts her back against the wall, tail sliding behind cover, and slowly sticks her snout out from around the door frame, just enough so that her eye peers around to see what's going on.
D'Yana pages, "It's these long silent pauses that get to me." to you.
You page-pose, "Sammy frowns." to D'Yana
Several of the paratigers scream as they're hit with the lasers, but they're not disabled. It defionitely seems to slow them down then. Blood growls angrily and roars. "Open fire!" Soon the entire hallway is filled with projectiles.
D'Yana suddenly thinks better of leaping into the fray, as unarmed and unarmored as she is. Instead, she bides her time waiting around the hall, looking for a chance to do some good in an obvious rebellion to her captors. She peers down at poor Sammy. "Do you know who that is?"
Sammy shakes his head, and the rest of him shakes a little with it. "Another one like you?" he hypothesizes. The bullets...they aren't even bullets, they're...something else. Something terrible, demonic, even. He stands aside, next to the computer and calls, spontaneously: "In here!" Up go the armadillo's front feet, ready to try the control, knowing it only sometimes works his will...
"I'm gonna die!!!" Alan screams as he feels bullets ricocheting everywhere. If they're paralyzing darts or the like, his suit will more than defend him. He flops to the left and hurls himself to the right in a bid to dodge, nearing the door to the engine room... there's a small voice coming from somewhere, too, barely audible through his helmet. Probably some cosmic being pointing a finger at him and going 'And thou shalt be screwed for the rest of thy days."
D'Yana watches rather uselessly as the proceedings unfold, powerless and forced to rely on the judgement of a creature a fraction of her own size. She feels weak, helpless, but doesn't dwell on it. She points to the switch Sammy is about to pull and hisses slightly. "What's that do? What are you doing? We've got to help him!"
Blood growls and decides to leave the siezure of Alan to his men, and strides boldly and loudly into the alley again. He has a job to do, let his men handle the loose cannon. He's certain they'll either apprehend him or kill him. "Let this be a lesson to you fools when you resist as much as our new subject, here."
"It controls the door...sometimes," squeaks Sammy. It's the door to the Living Habitat, at the end of the corridor; he agrees with the dinosaur; he doesn't want this stranger caught, because Blood and his soldiers are...well, he can't imagine ever wanting their side to win a skirmish. "Hurry!" And, with his foot ready, he glances at D'Yana, wondering if, despite her lack of weapons and armor, she might somehow provide back-up if it's needed.
D'Yana has never been one to run, but this is a big exception. There is simply nothing she can do here that wouldn't get her seriously hurt for the sake of a stranger. She turns to Sammy and nods, stepping out of the corridor to join him in safety. "All right. Do it."
Alan can only run, run, and run some more, feeling odd things ping off his suit as they open fire with their diabolic something-or-others. All the doors are closed! Curses! He fires wildly behind him to make the guards take cover, and then he's off again, charging blindly at the only open door at the end of the hall. The fact that there seems to be a rodent and an underwear-clad dinosaur on the other side don't slow him down. All he can tell is that they aren't shooting at him, so that's where he'll go! It's doubtful he'll slow down to avoid hitting anyone, though.
D'Yana steps out of the way and looks to Sammy. "Get ready to pull that switch! He's coming this way!"
Blood can't help but sigh with irritation. "What the hell do I pay you bastards for?!" he yells at his men. Dammit all! Blood stalks off to the lowerlevel. "Prepare to seal off the upper level, and flood it with gas nmber eighty nine oh four. Knock every one up there to sleep. I want pro-masks, men!" Blood is pissed, indeed. He takes his own protective mask and wears it, then readies to flood the zone. "Once they're asleep, grab the new arrival and remove his weaponry and clothing. And give him a beating, since he's gone so far as to piss me off."
Sammy does it; it's the only thing he can do. He trembles, hoping not to be hit, and impulsively leaps up onto the console, stepping on the input board. [REPURPOSE HABITAT?] asks the computer in an all-too-smooth, androgynous voice. The armadillo doesn't have the wherewithal to take advantage of this. He waits for the intruder, who is his suit is too obscured for Sammy to make out, to barrel into the room, and then yanks the switch. The system thrums, and the door lowers. It's a strong door, too, as this room is one that occasionally needs to be secured against powerful inhabitants. Whether the plasma blasts will make it through is an open question...but at least D'Yana and Sammy are safe for now. With a suited-up and dangerous stranger.
Alan doesn't do much else except crash through the doorway, trip, and fall flat on his face. He wheels around onto his back, and brings his cutter up. "Stay back!" he shouts at the others. "Both of you! *Geez!* Where are your *clothes?*" he asks D'yana, sparing Sammy an odd look. He's ready to shoot anything that twitches. "Where am I?!" Stressed out much?
"Hey, easy!" D'Yana spits, suddenly conscious of her shapely and exposed figure again. The Lambeosaur actually blushes redder on her cheeks. "You're safe, for the moment. We're not gonna hurt you. In fact, we're trying to help." She kneels down, offering the new arrival her hand.
Sammy scoots back on the console. As he moves, the computer interprets where he happens to brush against as instructions for itself. [REPURPOSING CANCELLED. DO YOU WISH TO REPURPOSE HABITAT? REPURPOSING CANCELLED. DO YOU WISH TO REPURPOSE HABITAT? ENTER AUTHORIZATION KEY. INCORRECT KEY. DO YOU WISH TO...] Meanwhile, Sammy cringes back. He's seen the weapon. "You're in here," he offers by way of answer. "In this room. I don't think they can open it from out there while I'm...um..." He shifts his back foot and the computer asks, [DO YOU WISH TO RESTRUCTURE THE WALL LATTICE?] "...tying up the system. But they're gonna flood the room! Did you hear? We're going to be gassed!"
"What?! Kill us?!" D'Yana spouts rather suddenly.
"I don't...I don't..." Sammy stutters. "I don't remember! I don't know!"
"Whoa, whoa!" Alan cries as he scoots away from D'yana. "Naked lizards and talking rodents, I need a moment to process!" he says, and gets up under his own power, his helmet darting this way and that, the little blue lights that signify where his eyes should be lighting up and darkening rapidly, as if scanning the room. "Outta the way!" he says to Sammy, and looks the console over. Whatever the heck it is, he'll need a second to figure it out. "... Okay! Uh, how does this work?" he asks quickly. He's close to going insane, but the need to save his life is overriding questions at the moment.
D'Yana gets back to her feet, a little insulted. "Well, you're welcome then." Her eyes narrow. "And I'm not *completely* naked.
Sammy leaps abruptly into the air, landing a few inches over, and thus mashing more buttons and keys. [WOULD YOU LIKE TO UPLOAD A RESTRUCTURING FILE?] it asks. On the screen, where normally gentle and irrelevant news crawls grace a green-blue mottled background, a schematic of the room, with all its temporary white plastic walls, appears. "And +I'm+ not a rodent!' Sammy gets out once he's recovered his balance. "And I don't +know+ how it works." As if that's something to be proud of. "It controls the environment in here...somehow!"
Blood walks to his control station and taps in his authorization key and begins the flooding. "Three minutes to full effect." Blood says and then walks back out of his office, taking care to lock it behind him. To his men he says. "You better be prepared to grab him soon after. You have your orders."
D'Yana's eyes bolt up to the ventilation sharply and she gasps as purple mist begins to flood into the room. "Ssshith!" She spits, the translation in her own native tongue evident enough. She turns to Alan, "Whatever you're going to do, do it fast!" To Sammy she kneels down and places a hand on his back. "Try to hold your breath for as long as you can. Don't breath unless you have to."
"Well if you don't *know*, then get off!" Alan says, holstering his cutter and grabbing the armadillo and plucking him off the console to set him down. He cracks his knuckles under his gloves. He's not sure his suit's closed breathing system will protect him, but he'll certainly last longer than these two... bad news for them. He begins typing furiously, asking after all the basic programs, specifically atmospheric controls.
Sammy smells the purple gas...and gets dizzy immediately. He doesn't complain when the canid--for that seems to be what he is--plucks his up and sets him down. He feels a general lack of gratitude, or something of the sort, but has not had full control over any situation for a long time, so isn't surprised. He runs from D'Yana's touch toward a smooth-barked, dark brown tree nearby.
"Please...the trees...they need to fight off the gas...oh...give me the breath of life..." But he's already, clearly, delirious. He'll be under shortly.
D'Yana recalls an excercise in boot camp where the privates and her officiers had incapacitating gas canisters fired at them by the drill instructor. The entire goal of the lesson was to build up an immunity to gas attacks, teach proper respiration, and how to stave off unconsciousness for as long as possible. Of course, D'Yana had a breath mask. Regardless, she hangs over Alan's shoulder watching intently, holding in her breath and trying to keep her eyes from watering at the complete exposure. A coughing fit is not far behind.
Blood waits intently, just outside the alley, preparing to storm.
Normally, the idea of a seven foot tall lizard breathing down his neck, especially one in her underwear, would be enough to unsettle Alan. But he's in his own little world now, type type type. Restructure? Maybe. Repurpose? That sounds better. Options are: Vent atmosphere, bake a cake, and re-distribute gas ratios. Well, venting seems perfectly fine. [WARNING. Emergency protocol initiated! Input proper authorization code.] Oh. Shoot. Maybe baking a cake doesn't need a code... he goes for that option, with no idea what it'll do, but heck, anything's better than this. He has a good few minutes left before the gas starts leaking into his rebreathing system as well... his suit was pierced in the firefight.
D'Yana offers an incredulous glare, holding her hand to her mouth and hanging on as long as she can, trying not to cough as her nostrils and lungs burn. Are you *serious?* Bake a cake?
Sammy is holding the tree with all his strength, expecting it to save him. He is watching Alan, though, and snivels in a high voice before falling unconscious. How wimpy! Not even a witty line. The computer, meanwhile, is offering a menu. [TYPE OF CAKE: VANILLA LEMON COFFEE CARROT SPINACH GHOSTHOUND BLUEBERRY CHOCOLATE...] and so on. It's a touch screen, but the ordinary keyboard also will suffice to make a selection.
"Shut up," Alan says without real rhyme or reason other than feeling D'yana's glare on him. There's a hissing noise from his suit and one of the pipes leading to his tank pops off. There's a hissing noise... there's breathable air in there. "Use this," he says, offering her the tube. It should help stave off the gas until he figure out the other options. Obviously the cake isn't going to help. Type type type... try re-distributing gas ratios if this doesn't work. Maybe he can try and do some sort of neutral, not-authorization required recycling sequence, if he can fool the computer into thinking there's something dangerous in the room.
D'Yana begins to succumb, having held her breath as long as she can. Amazingly, at this precise moment she's offered a leaking tube of oxygen, and quickly inserts the hose into her mouth, thankful. She watches Alan work, her vision a bit blurred and her head getting a bit dizzy, but thanks to the fresh air it's starting to clear. Good, we're out of the cake rubbish! She shakes her head slightly in annoyance, like a child who figures he or she can do a better job than a computer illiterate parent, but she knows better. Wait a second! She removes the tube from her mouth for a moment and offers a few words. "Can you vent it elsewhere?"
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO USE A PRE-EXISTING GAS RATIO TEMPLATE?] asks the computer. Other options on the screen include uploading one directly, customizing one, entering one from scratch, or modifying one factor. The cake menu is still up in the background, too.
D'Yana sticks the tube back in her mouth and watches helplessly. She's a soldier, not a technician. This is way above her.
Alan is starting to get a little dizzy himself. But onward he presses. Which option to choose... he quickly orders the computer to show him all the pre-existing templates. There has to be *one* sequence that doesn't include this purple stuff. Failing that, he's got one more thing up his sleeve...
Blood shouts orders to his men. "Thirty seconds remaining, then you can take him."
A number of complex windows containing both illustrations and text appear. They seem to have gas ratios, as well as pressure, temperature, and a number of other statistics listed. The purple gas is getting pervasive, and most of the scenery is hard to see now. The purple stuff, based on the visuals, seems to be given the code ID #FG8904. It appears in only one template: it's labeled "Neutralization Foundation." Oxygen is prominent in a number of the mixtures...and a few even look more or less like ordinary air.
Alan gives out a sudden cry of "Screw this stupid thing!" in frustration. The gas, the shooting, the whole situation, he's fed up with it. He applies a template that looks as normal and breathable to him as possible with no purple junk cluttering it up. Before that, though, he makes absolutely certain by setting the Neutralization Foundation to a variable, giving it the value of "Totally Zero" (or the applicable analogue) to make sure it stays out, and begins the recycling sequence. Hopefully just in time, as his vision is getting very blurry...
D'Yana stands behind Alan with hopeful wide eyes, looking around the room for any sign of change.
The computer issues a soft, high beep, three times. [ANOTHER SYSTEM ENTITY IS ACCESSING THIS PROGRAM,] it informs you. [ENTER OVERRIDE CODE.] Now there's a sidebar on the screen with the friendly green heading, "Processing Queue", and in small text underneath, it reads: "You will be baked. And then, there will be cake."
D'Yana's face falls and she places a hand on her aching head, the dizziness returning in full force as her oxygen runs dry. That can't bode well for the suited up creature.
Blood nods to his team. "Take him."
<OOC> Blood loves the Portal ref, btw.
<OOC> D'Yana says, "This wasn't a triumph.
I'm making a note here: no success."
Alan stares at the screen for several long moments, his eye twitching. Nobody but nobody *bakes* Alan Kazminsky! In a last act of defiance, his vision blurry, his head aching, he goes back to the baking menu and types in a custom recipe for the cake. [SPINACHHOUNDOCOLATECARRNILLACOFFEE] he enters, and bangs the entry code just as the other tigers seize him. Everything's going black. He feels strong arms seize him and throw him to the ground. The last thing the others may hear before the gas overtakes them is a sudden zorch from Alan's suit as it zaps a tiger that tried to open it with what appears to be a futuristic can opener. "Ha!" says Alan, sounding almost drunk. "Bit off more than you could *chew*, huh Tiny Tim?!" *WHACK* "OW!"
D'Yana staggers across the floor uneasily, she's done at this point, and lets out a coughing rasp before she plummets to the ground on her hands and knees, shaking and coughing wildly. She lets out a panicked final gasp, and then everything goes black for her, heavy body hitting the floor with a loud thud. Her last thought is a distinct and primal hatred for baked goods.
[SELECTION ACCEPTABLE. SPINACHHOUNDOCOLATECARRNILLACOFFEE CAKE IN PROGRESS. TAKE ALL NECESSARY SAFETY PRECAUTIONS.] And the room starts to heat up...and the purple steam starts to shrink down toward the floor...and the tigers roar at each new obstacle and boobytrap in their way. Those who remain uninjured bind D'Yana and Alan, and one takes the limp Sammy without bothering to secure him. They clump obediently out the door...
Blood smiles as Alan is taken. "Remove his equipment and his suit, and be sur to search him. Then you can throw him in the test environment with the rest of the subjects. Secure the rest of the system. Destroy all the confiscated weapons. Do I make myself clear?"
<OOC> D'Yana says, "What?! No strip search!"
<OOC> D'Yana says, "I'm calling my feminist rights activist."
<OOC> Alan says, "Ah, his suit is basically his entire wardrobe... so it's the same thing."
<OOC> D'Yana says, "Welcome to naked town. Population: 2."
<OOC> Blood says, "I think that's what the search is going to be, especially since he told them to search him *after* he lost his suit."
The tiger soldiers growl in various pitches of obedience. Their protocol doesn't demand a verbal answer here. They take the subjects to the Interrogation and Processing chambers, to carry out orders. Meanwhile...the room, unattended, continues to steam from above...and whitish brownish green steam seeps into the Living Habitat...and the temperature continues to rise...and the computer continues to beep thrice every now and then...
Fade out.
~~ END EPISODE 3!! ~~
This is a difficult room to describe, because it's frequently changing, and even when it's stable, it's so large and segmented that general descriptions fail. This room exists for at least two purposes. First, it's a place that attempts (with varying degrees of success) to integrate the various preferred natural habitats of the residents of the station, minus the armadillo, who has the entire bowling alley downstairs for his pleasure. There are plants growing under bright sun lamps, and fortified water running through a river that gets pumped from basin to mouth, and passes under partitions. There are colored stones and mosses and a few trees, and a weather system. The ecosystem is maintained by computer, the artificial soil fed by horizontal drainage into a layer beneath the ground, above the ceilings of the rooms below.
Secondly, this room is meant to function as a living room. It has natural places to sit, rest and talk, as well as the occasional piece of furniture constructed so as to look not too out of place. There is a computer station against one wall with a news service available--unfortunately, it tends to only give nonsenical-seeming news from local planets, and only very rarely picks up a major story from Earth. There is an intercom here connected to similar devices in the bridge and bowling alley.
Another reason one might call this a 'living habitat', of course, is because of the way it changes whenever remodelers visit the ship, or even, at times, when the computer gets it into its mind to rearrange the partitions and redesign the landscape. Anything that undergoes so much metamorphesis might as well be considered alive.
[ Obvious Exits: <Out> to the Upper Corridor ]
[ Sleepers: Timothy ]
Alan suddenly finds himself confronted by another tiger as he hits the door to the outer corridor. He's alone, apparently not expecting to face an angry, heavily armed engineer. He's only got a stun baton. Like that'll even penetrate his suit! As Blood comes out, Alan slams his cutter into the tiger's stomach, doubling him over, and then swings his plasma wrench into the back of his head. Crrcckzap. One down, but he won't catch them by surprise again. He has to find his way to a hanger, or a security center he can lock himself in... the sounds of pursuit are just behind him, prompting him to fire a few blasts off from his cutter behind him. (re and done.)
Sammy shares in D'Yana's shock, like a group of people sharing a contagious laugh or yawn. He skitters some distance toward the doorway, a hulking thing that appears to be filled by a door from above, only at the moment stands empty. "You...so you're an alien, yet...you know about Earth?" This is what seems strangest to Sammy. "A few...million...light years?" Sammy only has a dim grasp of what a light year is, but he's duly impressed.
D'Yana nods. "I'm an alien to humans, anyway. Our races discovered each other on a random warp jump about fifty or so years ago." She sighs. "I think." She pats a sore shoulder with the opposite hand and continues. "Anyway, long story short, my own people started fighting each other and because of some important trade deals the human colonies decide to pitch in and help fight the bad guys on our side. I've been in a war for about fifteen years now. So you can understand my confusion at suddenly being here."
Sammy nods in appreciation for the saurian's directness. "That's amazing," he remarks. "A totally random jump...through space? I couldn't imagine..." He couldn't imagine how that sort of technology is possible, but moreover... "It's a strange coincidence, then. Earth is +my+ home planet. And Timothy's. I guess...I guess you were brought here because they think you're...somehow related to the planet. Maybe because you work with humans." His mind keeps coming up with hypotheses long after he stops talking. The armadillo wants to get away from that cage; he heads out the door, wanting to show D'Yana her confines. And his ears perk. He hears something. Commotion.
The dinosaur shelves any idea of responding with petty talk when something is up. "I'll explain later. You hear it too?" She stands, muscles tense, ready.
Soon several other paratigers are right behind Alan, ready to shoot him down if he doesn't cooperate. Blood is walking calmly down the corridor behind them. "Make sure when you catch him to give him punishment, end remove his weapons and clothing. I am tired of your incompetence!" Blood thud, thud, thuds down the corridor, paying the 'dominated' test subjects no heed.
Armadillo Bowl - Upper Corridor
This corridor is a touch brighter than the one below it, in part because there are more lights embedded in the ceiling, and partly because the lights from the Bridge and Living Habitat shine in here. These rooms, one small and important, one large and gratuitous, are connected to the corridor at opposite ends, while the engine room leads off from a smaller door in the middle. The large ramp leading down to the lower level comes with a guide rail, striped blue and silver. A lever protruding from the floor raises and lowers this rail, and another lever converts the ramp to a staircase and back. Nothing else of interest can be found here.
[ Obvious Exits: To the <Bridge>, To the <Engine> Room ]
[ To the Living <Habitat>, <Down> to the Lower Corridor ]
[ Players: Alan ]
D'Yana tries to keep as low a profile as she can, hunching over slightly in a pose expecting trouble. "Do you see anything?"
If anybody was about to come into the corridor at that moment, they'd find themselves in the middle of a virtual warzone. Alan, in his clunky, rather frightening full body-suit, is thundering down the hallway at top speed. "Out of the *WAY!*" he screams at nobody in particular as he lets loose a deadly stream of plasma behind him with his cutting laser. Best follow his advice, or anyone actually in front of him is in for a world of hurt!
D'Yana reaches down to grab Sammy as she ducks back into the doorway. THIS is something she knows. "Watch it!" she whispers sharply.
Sammy peers cautiously out the door...and does...in fact...see something. He dashes right back through the door with a high-pitched yelp! His tail is the last part of him in sight from the hallway, waving like a snake in retreat or a broken surrender flag. He defers to D'Yana's supposed expertise. "Be careful out there!!" he shouts.
D'Yana puts her back against the wall, tail sliding behind cover, and slowly sticks her snout out from around the door frame, just enough so that her eye peers around to see what's going on.
D'Yana pages, "It's these long silent pauses that get to me." to you.
You page-pose, "Sammy frowns." to D'Yana
Several of the paratigers scream as they're hit with the lasers, but they're not disabled. It defionitely seems to slow them down then. Blood growls angrily and roars. "Open fire!" Soon the entire hallway is filled with projectiles.
D'Yana suddenly thinks better of leaping into the fray, as unarmed and unarmored as she is. Instead, she bides her time waiting around the hall, looking for a chance to do some good in an obvious rebellion to her captors. She peers down at poor Sammy. "Do you know who that is?"
Sammy shakes his head, and the rest of him shakes a little with it. "Another one like you?" he hypothesizes. The bullets...they aren't even bullets, they're...something else. Something terrible, demonic, even. He stands aside, next to the computer and calls, spontaneously: "In here!" Up go the armadillo's front feet, ready to try the control, knowing it only sometimes works his will...
"I'm gonna die!!!" Alan screams as he feels bullets ricocheting everywhere. If they're paralyzing darts or the like, his suit will more than defend him. He flops to the left and hurls himself to the right in a bid to dodge, nearing the door to the engine room... there's a small voice coming from somewhere, too, barely audible through his helmet. Probably some cosmic being pointing a finger at him and going 'And thou shalt be screwed for the rest of thy days."
D'Yana watches rather uselessly as the proceedings unfold, powerless and forced to rely on the judgement of a creature a fraction of her own size. She feels weak, helpless, but doesn't dwell on it. She points to the switch Sammy is about to pull and hisses slightly. "What's that do? What are you doing? We've got to help him!"
Blood growls and decides to leave the siezure of Alan to his men, and strides boldly and loudly into the alley again. He has a job to do, let his men handle the loose cannon. He's certain they'll either apprehend him or kill him. "Let this be a lesson to you fools when you resist as much as our new subject, here."
"It controls the door...sometimes," squeaks Sammy. It's the door to the Living Habitat, at the end of the corridor; he agrees with the dinosaur; he doesn't want this stranger caught, because Blood and his soldiers are...well, he can't imagine ever wanting their side to win a skirmish. "Hurry!" And, with his foot ready, he glances at D'Yana, wondering if, despite her lack of weapons and armor, she might somehow provide back-up if it's needed.
D'Yana has never been one to run, but this is a big exception. There is simply nothing she can do here that wouldn't get her seriously hurt for the sake of a stranger. She turns to Sammy and nods, stepping out of the corridor to join him in safety. "All right. Do it."
Alan can only run, run, and run some more, feeling odd things ping off his suit as they open fire with their diabolic something-or-others. All the doors are closed! Curses! He fires wildly behind him to make the guards take cover, and then he's off again, charging blindly at the only open door at the end of the hall. The fact that there seems to be a rodent and an underwear-clad dinosaur on the other side don't slow him down. All he can tell is that they aren't shooting at him, so that's where he'll go! It's doubtful he'll slow down to avoid hitting anyone, though.
D'Yana steps out of the way and looks to Sammy. "Get ready to pull that switch! He's coming this way!"
Blood can't help but sigh with irritation. "What the hell do I pay you bastards for?!" he yells at his men. Dammit all! Blood stalks off to the lowerlevel. "Prepare to seal off the upper level, and flood it with gas nmber eighty nine oh four. Knock every one up there to sleep. I want pro-masks, men!" Blood is pissed, indeed. He takes his own protective mask and wears it, then readies to flood the zone. "Once they're asleep, grab the new arrival and remove his weaponry and clothing. And give him a beating, since he's gone so far as to piss me off."
Sammy does it; it's the only thing he can do. He trembles, hoping not to be hit, and impulsively leaps up onto the console, stepping on the input board. [REPURPOSE HABITAT?] asks the computer in an all-too-smooth, androgynous voice. The armadillo doesn't have the wherewithal to take advantage of this. He waits for the intruder, who is his suit is too obscured for Sammy to make out, to barrel into the room, and then yanks the switch. The system thrums, and the door lowers. It's a strong door, too, as this room is one that occasionally needs to be secured against powerful inhabitants. Whether the plasma blasts will make it through is an open question...but at least D'Yana and Sammy are safe for now. With a suited-up and dangerous stranger.
Alan doesn't do much else except crash through the doorway, trip, and fall flat on his face. He wheels around onto his back, and brings his cutter up. "Stay back!" he shouts at the others. "Both of you! *Geez!* Where are your *clothes?*" he asks D'yana, sparing Sammy an odd look. He's ready to shoot anything that twitches. "Where am I?!" Stressed out much?
"Hey, easy!" D'Yana spits, suddenly conscious of her shapely and exposed figure again. The Lambeosaur actually blushes redder on her cheeks. "You're safe, for the moment. We're not gonna hurt you. In fact, we're trying to help." She kneels down, offering the new arrival her hand.
Sammy scoots back on the console. As he moves, the computer interprets where he happens to brush against as instructions for itself. [REPURPOSING CANCELLED. DO YOU WISH TO REPURPOSE HABITAT? REPURPOSING CANCELLED. DO YOU WISH TO REPURPOSE HABITAT? ENTER AUTHORIZATION KEY. INCORRECT KEY. DO YOU WISH TO...] Meanwhile, Sammy cringes back. He's seen the weapon. "You're in here," he offers by way of answer. "In this room. I don't think they can open it from out there while I'm...um..." He shifts his back foot and the computer asks, [DO YOU WISH TO RESTRUCTURE THE WALL LATTICE?] "...tying up the system. But they're gonna flood the room! Did you hear? We're going to be gassed!"
"What?! Kill us?!" D'Yana spouts rather suddenly.
"I don't...I don't..." Sammy stutters. "I don't remember! I don't know!"
"Whoa, whoa!" Alan cries as he scoots away from D'yana. "Naked lizards and talking rodents, I need a moment to process!" he says, and gets up under his own power, his helmet darting this way and that, the little blue lights that signify where his eyes should be lighting up and darkening rapidly, as if scanning the room. "Outta the way!" he says to Sammy, and looks the console over. Whatever the heck it is, he'll need a second to figure it out. "... Okay! Uh, how does this work?" he asks quickly. He's close to going insane, but the need to save his life is overriding questions at the moment.
D'Yana gets back to her feet, a little insulted. "Well, you're welcome then." Her eyes narrow. "And I'm not *completely* naked.
Sammy leaps abruptly into the air, landing a few inches over, and thus mashing more buttons and keys. [WOULD YOU LIKE TO UPLOAD A RESTRUCTURING FILE?] it asks. On the screen, where normally gentle and irrelevant news crawls grace a green-blue mottled background, a schematic of the room, with all its temporary white plastic walls, appears. "And +I'm+ not a rodent!' Sammy gets out once he's recovered his balance. "And I don't +know+ how it works." As if that's something to be proud of. "It controls the environment in here...somehow!"
Blood walks to his control station and taps in his authorization key and begins the flooding. "Three minutes to full effect." Blood says and then walks back out of his office, taking care to lock it behind him. To his men he says. "You better be prepared to grab him soon after. You have your orders."
D'Yana's eyes bolt up to the ventilation sharply and she gasps as purple mist begins to flood into the room. "Ssshith!" She spits, the translation in her own native tongue evident enough. She turns to Alan, "Whatever you're going to do, do it fast!" To Sammy she kneels down and places a hand on his back. "Try to hold your breath for as long as you can. Don't breath unless you have to."
"Well if you don't *know*, then get off!" Alan says, holstering his cutter and grabbing the armadillo and plucking him off the console to set him down. He cracks his knuckles under his gloves. He's not sure his suit's closed breathing system will protect him, but he'll certainly last longer than these two... bad news for them. He begins typing furiously, asking after all the basic programs, specifically atmospheric controls.
Sammy smells the purple gas...and gets dizzy immediately. He doesn't complain when the canid--for that seems to be what he is--plucks his up and sets him down. He feels a general lack of gratitude, or something of the sort, but has not had full control over any situation for a long time, so isn't surprised. He runs from D'Yana's touch toward a smooth-barked, dark brown tree nearby.
"Please...the trees...they need to fight off the gas...oh...give me the breath of life..." But he's already, clearly, delirious. He'll be under shortly.
D'Yana recalls an excercise in boot camp where the privates and her officiers had incapacitating gas canisters fired at them by the drill instructor. The entire goal of the lesson was to build up an immunity to gas attacks, teach proper respiration, and how to stave off unconsciousness for as long as possible. Of course, D'Yana had a breath mask. Regardless, she hangs over Alan's shoulder watching intently, holding in her breath and trying to keep her eyes from watering at the complete exposure. A coughing fit is not far behind.
Blood waits intently, just outside the alley, preparing to storm.
Normally, the idea of a seven foot tall lizard breathing down his neck, especially one in her underwear, would be enough to unsettle Alan. But he's in his own little world now, type type type. Restructure? Maybe. Repurpose? That sounds better. Options are: Vent atmosphere, bake a cake, and re-distribute gas ratios. Well, venting seems perfectly fine. [WARNING. Emergency protocol initiated! Input proper authorization code.] Oh. Shoot. Maybe baking a cake doesn't need a code... he goes for that option, with no idea what it'll do, but heck, anything's better than this. He has a good few minutes left before the gas starts leaking into his rebreathing system as well... his suit was pierced in the firefight.
D'Yana offers an incredulous glare, holding her hand to her mouth and hanging on as long as she can, trying not to cough as her nostrils and lungs burn. Are you *serious?* Bake a cake?
Sammy is holding the tree with all his strength, expecting it to save him. He is watching Alan, though, and snivels in a high voice before falling unconscious. How wimpy! Not even a witty line. The computer, meanwhile, is offering a menu. [TYPE OF CAKE: VANILLA LEMON COFFEE CARROT SPINACH GHOSTHOUND BLUEBERRY CHOCOLATE...] and so on. It's a touch screen, but the ordinary keyboard also will suffice to make a selection.
"Shut up," Alan says without real rhyme or reason other than feeling D'yana's glare on him. There's a hissing noise from his suit and one of the pipes leading to his tank pops off. There's a hissing noise... there's breathable air in there. "Use this," he says, offering her the tube. It should help stave off the gas until he figure out the other options. Obviously the cake isn't going to help. Type type type... try re-distributing gas ratios if this doesn't work. Maybe he can try and do some sort of neutral, not-authorization required recycling sequence, if he can fool the computer into thinking there's something dangerous in the room.
D'Yana begins to succumb, having held her breath as long as she can. Amazingly, at this precise moment she's offered a leaking tube of oxygen, and quickly inserts the hose into her mouth, thankful. She watches Alan work, her vision a bit blurred and her head getting a bit dizzy, but thanks to the fresh air it's starting to clear. Good, we're out of the cake rubbish! She shakes her head slightly in annoyance, like a child who figures he or she can do a better job than a computer illiterate parent, but she knows better. Wait a second! She removes the tube from her mouth for a moment and offers a few words. "Can you vent it elsewhere?"
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO USE A PRE-EXISTING GAS RATIO TEMPLATE?] asks the computer. Other options on the screen include uploading one directly, customizing one, entering one from scratch, or modifying one factor. The cake menu is still up in the background, too.
D'Yana sticks the tube back in her mouth and watches helplessly. She's a soldier, not a technician. This is way above her.
Alan is starting to get a little dizzy himself. But onward he presses. Which option to choose... he quickly orders the computer to show him all the pre-existing templates. There has to be *one* sequence that doesn't include this purple stuff. Failing that, he's got one more thing up his sleeve...
Blood shouts orders to his men. "Thirty seconds remaining, then you can take him."
A number of complex windows containing both illustrations and text appear. They seem to have gas ratios, as well as pressure, temperature, and a number of other statistics listed. The purple gas is getting pervasive, and most of the scenery is hard to see now. The purple stuff, based on the visuals, seems to be given the code ID #FG8904. It appears in only one template: it's labeled "Neutralization Foundation." Oxygen is prominent in a number of the mixtures...and a few even look more or less like ordinary air.
Alan gives out a sudden cry of "Screw this stupid thing!" in frustration. The gas, the shooting, the whole situation, he's fed up with it. He applies a template that looks as normal and breathable to him as possible with no purple junk cluttering it up. Before that, though, he makes absolutely certain by setting the Neutralization Foundation to a variable, giving it the value of "Totally Zero" (or the applicable analogue) to make sure it stays out, and begins the recycling sequence. Hopefully just in time, as his vision is getting very blurry...
D'Yana stands behind Alan with hopeful wide eyes, looking around the room for any sign of change.
The computer issues a soft, high beep, three times. [ANOTHER SYSTEM ENTITY IS ACCESSING THIS PROGRAM,] it informs you. [ENTER OVERRIDE CODE.] Now there's a sidebar on the screen with the friendly green heading, "Processing Queue", and in small text underneath, it reads: "You will be baked. And then, there will be cake."
D'Yana's face falls and she places a hand on her aching head, the dizziness returning in full force as her oxygen runs dry. That can't bode well for the suited up creature.
Blood nods to his team. "Take him."
<OOC> Blood loves the Portal ref, btw.
<OOC> D'Yana says, "This wasn't a triumph.
I'm making a note here: no success."Alan stares at the screen for several long moments, his eye twitching. Nobody but nobody *bakes* Alan Kazminsky! In a last act of defiance, his vision blurry, his head aching, he goes back to the baking menu and types in a custom recipe for the cake. [SPINACHHOUNDOCOLATECARRNILLACOFFEE] he enters, and bangs the entry code just as the other tigers seize him. Everything's going black. He feels strong arms seize him and throw him to the ground. The last thing the others may hear before the gas overtakes them is a sudden zorch from Alan's suit as it zaps a tiger that tried to open it with what appears to be a futuristic can opener. "Ha!" says Alan, sounding almost drunk. "Bit off more than you could *chew*, huh Tiny Tim?!" *WHACK* "OW!"
D'Yana staggers across the floor uneasily, she's done at this point, and lets out a coughing rasp before she plummets to the ground on her hands and knees, shaking and coughing wildly. She lets out a panicked final gasp, and then everything goes black for her, heavy body hitting the floor with a loud thud. Her last thought is a distinct and primal hatred for baked goods.
[SELECTION ACCEPTABLE. SPINACHHOUNDOCOLATECARRNILLACOFFEE CAKE IN PROGRESS. TAKE ALL NECESSARY SAFETY PRECAUTIONS.] And the room starts to heat up...and the purple steam starts to shrink down toward the floor...and the tigers roar at each new obstacle and boobytrap in their way. Those who remain uninjured bind D'Yana and Alan, and one takes the limp Sammy without bothering to secure him. They clump obediently out the door...
Blood smiles as Alan is taken. "Remove his equipment and his suit, and be sur to search him. Then you can throw him in the test environment with the rest of the subjects. Secure the rest of the system. Destroy all the confiscated weapons. Do I make myself clear?"
<OOC> D'Yana says, "What?! No strip search!"
<OOC> D'Yana says, "I'm calling my feminist rights activist."
<OOC> Alan says, "Ah, his suit is basically his entire wardrobe... so it's the same thing."
<OOC> D'Yana says, "Welcome to naked town. Population: 2."
<OOC> Blood says, "I think that's what the search is going to be, especially since he told them to search him *after* he lost his suit."
The tiger soldiers growl in various pitches of obedience. Their protocol doesn't demand a verbal answer here. They take the subjects to the Interrogation and Processing chambers, to carry out orders. Meanwhile...the room, unattended, continues to steam from above...and whitish brownish green steam seeps into the Living Habitat...and the temperature continues to rise...and the computer continues to beep thrice every now and then...
Fade out.
~~ END EPISODE 3!! ~~
(Wait, don't answer that.)