Drifting

Home of Omega Company, this Conestoga class troop transport steadily prowls through the stars.
Cohen, J
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Re: Drifting

Post by Cohen, J » Jun 18, 2013, 10:50 AM

(DON'T MIND ME, I'M JUST BEING NOSTALGIC. In case you're wondering, some of these names were from a LONG time ago. Like, when I was still a newcomer, old. If anyone was here for Tobik, you might know what I'm talking about. And Kellser, I'll try to get ya a better map. Sorry!)

GM

Flashing a grin at Hoban, Jenna replied to Kellser's query.

"Now, now, Corporal, that'd be violating regulations. You know I'd never do anything like that" Jenna smirked. It was technically true; Jenna did not personally have a weapon stowed away in her immediate personal locker in the cryo bay. But that didn't mean that others didn't. The Omaha was a tightly run vessel, but little things did manage to slip by the strict attention of Master Gunnery Sergeant Abrams from time to time. He was only one man, after all; Jenna knew that someone had to have a weapon up here.

Walking down the banks of tubes, Jenna passed many names she didn't know very well. Harris, Kassar, Barnes. These Marines had been temporary transfers, but some of their gear had been left behind after that incident with the cargo lift right after Tobik. Poor old Young never did look at strobe lights the same way again, after that was said and done. A few more familiar names were still on what Jenna knew to be empty lockers; Hawkins, Steele, Engel. They'd transferred out a long time ago, meant to fill some gaps on another ship. Checking the first set of lockers, Jenna initially felt disheartened. Nothing but some personal mementos and other assorted junk. That was, until she happened upon Barnes' locker.

"Jackpot"

Whoever this Barnes guy was, he'd had the balls to stow a full-size reproduction of an old 21st century handgun in his locker, underneath what looked like his wooly-pulley. The slide read "Beretta M9A1", and the magazine, to her surprise, wasn't empty; ten rounds, unchambered. The locker to Barnes' immediate right, Larkins, yielded yet another prize; a modern day Seburo Bobson. This little subcompact .380 weapon and the eight rounds it carried was better than nothing, Jenna supposed. The last locker, Pliskin, to her shock, had a huge framed handgun sitting on the inside. The clunky weapon's holster took up half of the back, and a bewildered Jenna gingerly pulled the weapon out, remembering how its previous owner had shot himself in the neck with this weapon. Six rounds remaining in this one. The other lockers were empty, and she didn't dare to check some of her superior's lockers. She'd already been busted down from Sergeant once for starting a drunken bar brawl, and she had no intention of going back to Lance.

Or did she?

I am so fucked. Jenna thought as she opened the locker with the name Asakura stamped on the top. Opening the locker, it took but a minute to retrieve her prize; Asakura's own repro sidearm, a PX4. The others didn't yield anything of value, unfortunately. Jenna took care to make sure that the lockers were (almost) how she'd found them before she left. Stopping by her own locker to pull on her combat uniform, Jenna was pleasantly surprised by her own negligence; there was a single 12 Gauge shotgun slug in her left cargo pocket. Idly wondering how that had gotten in there, Jenna returned to the others, with her newly acquired ordinance.

"We've got four handguns, two with ten rounds, one with eight, and one with six. It's all we've got right now. Be careful with this one, it's the El-tee's. Dunno if any of these can punch through dedicated armor though..." Jenna grumbled.

"And Kellser, seniority doesn't really mean much at this point. We're all in this together right now. Unless the el-tee wakes up, at which point I am so fucked. So if you and Taggart wanna go venture boldly into the holds, I'll back you up. We're still Marines, after all."

Jenna turned to Taggart.

"You the new synth sent to replace our last one? You've got some shoes to fill; our last one carried a minigun."
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JEDI44
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Re: Drifting

Post by JEDI44 » Jun 18, 2013, 11:31 AM

:: Merric stands facing the group arms still folded over his chest, he stands average height for a marine with a muscular build still more on the side of a runner than a builder. His hair is dark brown worn in loose parody a high and tight that has grown out some allowing hair to grow in or the sides of his head, he has a thin vertical scar the left of his left eye from the temple to the jaw line, his eyes are a hazel green that in the right light sometimes seem the become iridescent giving away that he is synthetic. Any casual observer should after realizing he is in fact synthetic should also come to realize he is not your standard technical expert but, an advanced model constructed to support a combat role, negating the need for the behavior inhibitors ::

:: Merric observes the three other Marines and makes assessments of each. CPL Cohen Female, rank designation adjusted, verified NCOIC, -- subject possibility for ulterior motives; verbal exchange suggests contraband present -- CPL Kellser SIC -- movements and assessments suggest active combat history, defined rank structure, appears to have experience with sythetics -- PFC Hoban -- possible liability, subject appears reluctant to perform designated tasks, subject now moving to terminal, assessment pending... ::

:: Merric inclines his head toward CPL Cohen as he speaks ::

We should head down to the drop bay to get some added weapons...

So if I may, what happened to your last "Synth"? ::Merric says the word with obvious loathing::

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Kellser, M.R.
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Re: Drifting

Post by Kellser, M.R. » Jun 18, 2013, 2:05 PM

Kellser nodded as he looked at the assembled weapons. "Got it," he said as he took the Px4 and checked the magazine, finding it loaded with .45 ACP rounds. He also took the Desert Eagle and handed it to Taggert saying, "You can handle the recoil on this thing way better than I can."

When Taggert further emphasized the need to get a hold of more weapons, Matthew nodded. "Well, let's get going then." He then made his way to the elevator, pressing the call button as Taggert asked about his predecessor.

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JEDI44
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Re: Drifting

Post by JEDI44 » Jun 18, 2013, 2:26 PM

:: Metric takes the offered weapon ejecting the magazine and working the slide several times before replacing the mag and placing a round in the chamber. He then moves to a position covering the elevator and CPL Keller ::

I would step back some CPL we don't know the enemy compliment or capability. If I were taking over a USCM ship I would want to eliminate the crew. That would mean destroying the cryo chambers...

Since they are in our systems I would reason they know that our capsules were revived prior to whatever shut down the process.

:: with that said Metric levels the DE at the elevator bank awaiting the next step in his latest suicide mission ::

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Redds, J. H.
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Re: Drifting

Post by Redds, J. H. » Jun 18, 2013, 4:58 PM

“...hang in there...”

All he could remember were broken pieces, after the APAC fell. Acid on his skin, all over his breastplate and his arms and his legs. That single horrifying oh shit moment where you realize you’re going to die. Valentine saying, “Hang in there,” patting his shoulder, holding his hand, looking like a goddamned glorious angel through the morphine haze and he was trying to ask her to marry him. Shit, part of him still wanted to. The recovery on Frost was a blur.

They called him ‘Zombie’ when he came back. The more things change...

Redds was one of the last ones to come out of the ice. After LV-1612 the short, stocky Corporal was always one of the last ones out — something about the artificial organs fucking with his chemistry, or something. He stumbled out of the tube, disoriented and cursing.
“Reid! Reid, th’ fuck’s goin’ on?!” he shouted, once he got his lungs back, looking at face after familiar face, searching. “God fuckin’ damnit — Wick’, Lockwood? Where’s Reid?!”
No one. Abrams, Archer, and Reid gone, and the goddamned invasion alarm going off. What the fuck. He dressed as quickly as he could and focused on the first NCO he saw — Cohen, First Platoon. He didn’t know her too well but through the post-cryo fog she was the closest he could see to someone who knew what she was doing. “Cohen! What th’ fuck happened, we get hit?”
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Cohen, J
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Re: Drifting

Post by Cohen, J » Jun 18, 2013, 5:46 PM

GM

"Jumped on a grenade. Saved quite a few folks while doing it, too. Keep your eyes open, Devil Dogs"

Redds was up, thankfully. Others were coming around, slowly, out of these last cryotubes.

"Real short version; we've been boarded. Cryo revival process was overridden and now whoever they are, they're down in the Hangar. Kellser and our new synthetic have gone on ahead for recon. They'll keep in touch via the ship intercom"

Brooding, Jenna turned to Hoban.

"When Kellser and the synth report in, we'll link up with 'em, depending on what's happening. They could need backup"

---

The elevator doors opened slowly. Though the two had set the elevator's destination as the hangar bay, the elevator had stopped at B-Deck, where cargo storage and the short term crew bunks were located. Two flashlight beams in the darkened cargo compartment snapped off at the sound of the elevator's doors hissing open. Large cargo containers, holding foodstuffs and various other sundries within them, completely obscured line of sight to the origins of the flashlight beams.

Derp Map is Derp:
[url=http://s35.photobucket.com/user/darkjedi908/media/derpmap_zps0299e522.jpg.html]Image[/url]

The boxes are cargo containers, and completely obscure line of sight.
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JEDI44
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Re: Drifting

Post by JEDI44 » Jun 18, 2013, 7:30 PM

:: Meric covers the left side of the room from a kneeling position as the doors begin to part ::

:: Meric attempts to use his enhanced hearing to determine the position of any hostiles in the area, already on higher alert since the elevator failed to go to the intended destination, he see's or rather fails to see anything but the huge hulking form of the cargo container of food stuffs and suplies blocking his view ::

:: Not wanting to stay in the murder hole created by the open elevator, he takes a few practiced strides to the container, sweeping left and right as he does so trying to 'clear' as much of the area as he can and resumes his crouch not quite touching the object itself, after a heart beat he motions for CPL Kellser to follow his lead and get behind him covering the opposite area from him ::

:: At this point Merric is fully alert in what others in his old unit would call 'combat stance' all his senses on high alert ::
:: It is during these moments that sometimes those synthetics would experience flash recall of some of the memories from the personalities of those human members of project spear tip, unfortunately Merric can begin feeling the effects of such a moment, silently cursing to himself and fighting to keep his perception anchored in the present ::

:: for a moment Merric can feel the extreeme heat and humidity of an atmospheric processor set to explode --- He hears the echoes of a firefight, smart guns going off, along with the rythmic blast of a pump action shot gun, someone is yelling to be heard... "Lets go marines! we are leaving!.."
Then it all fades to the bacground as he succeeds in pulling his awareness back to the task at hand ::

:: Merric endured the episode in silence and simply blinked his eyes as he fought through the disorientation ::
(( OOC: if there is any question as to what I might reference please see my Application Post for the BG on the character ))

Thomas, G.
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Re: Drifting

Post by Thomas, G. » Jun 18, 2013, 9:07 PM

Greg was never a very good sleeper. Nightmares had plagued his mind since a young age, usually involving his mother or drunken father in one way or another, but this dream was particularly comforting. A field, a beautiful field full of color on a gorgeous day outside, the warmth of the sun kissing his light skin, he walked shirtless and barefoot across the cool, damp ground. It appeared to be late morning, and there was a small amount of dew left on the flowers and grass, just enough to make the ground comfortable to walk on. Greg had the look of a calm and care-free man, simply wading through the ocean of endless flowers that seemed to radiate with beauty and wonderful aromas. But why was he here? He hadn't quite figured it out, but it wasn't a question he was too worried about. A smile crept across his face as he stopped and spread his arms as wide as he could, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, the sweet scents of the flowers flowing up through his nostrils. This must be heaven, he thought. He had never believed dying would be so comfortable, but he was at peace. He finally felt like he was at home. His eyes popped open, and his signature toothy grin took form from the simple innocent smile that was once before it. "I'm home. he said aloud, and he became silent as he waited for a reply. Nothing, only the birds chirping off in the distance. This world was surreal, but he couldn't be alone, could he? He was in Heaven. Where was his mother, the woman that meant so much to him, that was taken away by the carelessness of some fool. "Little Gregory!" a small voice from behind him exclaimed. The voice was so recognizable his heart nearly leapt out of his chest in disbelief. He whipped a quick 180 to face the voice and saw a small woman with bleach blonde hair running towards him. He couldn't contain himself any longer, and he was unsure if his feet could move as fast as he wanted them to. His stand still quickly turned into a galloping sprint. As they were closing the gap between each other, her voice became louder than ever, almost seeming to surround him as it came from all directions. What she said made his heart sink.

"Don't worry, Gregory. It's going to be okay."

Suddenly, the beautiful fields turned into clouds of light, hazy gray and the birds chirping turned into a obnoxiously loud klaxon alarm. Waking up from cryo-sleep was one of the hobbies that Greg listed on his "About Me" page. He could hear faint voices, and he was struggling mightily to hear them out as his cryo-door clicked, signaling it was fully opened. His vision was becoming better, and the world slowly stopped spinning as his hands reached under his shirt, clutching hair a few times before finally grabbing ahold of the patches that monitored his life-lines. He could see multiple Marines already out of their pods, and deciphered that he was one of the last ones to awake. He was able to recognize some familiar faces, but he was a new transfer, and struggled with names. His feet fell over the side of the pod, and he placed his head in both hands, rubbing his temples gently. Whatever was going on was not normal, but that was about all he could gather. He stood up and put his pants on, the cold steel of the benches nearly putting frost on his ass cheeks. For just coming out of cryo, he was moving fairly quickly as he finished up getting dressed, the Marines around him discussing with each other just what was going on. He looked up and scanned the room for anybody that had a name he could recall, and on his last glance saw a man who he could just barely remember. Redding.....Reid, no that wasn't right he thought to himself. It was right on the tip of his tongue, as his mouth opened up and he mumbled to himself "Redds." and he quickly stood up as it finally hit him that he was awake, and this was real. His heart rate began to increase and he could feel the blood surging through his veins.

Cohen! What the fuck happened, we get hit? Corporal Redds shouted, and it was as if he was reading Greg's mind. Jenna Cohen was a Corporal as well, and she seemed to be one of the few that knew just what was going on. "Real short version; we've been boarded.Cryo revival process was overridden and now whoever they are, they're down in the Hangar. Kellser and our new synthetic have gone on ahead for recon. They'll keep in touch via the ship intercom. She replied briskly. A slight grunt escaped Greg's throat as he looked around at the Marines awake and walking. None of them appeared to have any weapons, though Greg was able to make out what appeared to be a shotgun, as well as two pistols at their disposal. "As far as weapons go, is there anything else that may be stowed away in here somewhere, or is this pretty much what we got?"

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Hoban, W.
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Re: Drifting

Post by Hoban, W. » Jun 19, 2013, 12:27 AM

Hoban nodded to Cohen as she gave the instructions, heading over to his own locker to suit up. He wasn't really going to have much luck with the terminal, anyway, unless he got his hands on gear more relevant to the situation than his clothing.

"Nothing I love better than charging off into the unknown with a pistol and an empty stomach, Cohen." He gives her a grin, meting out the usual level of griping for the circumstances.

"Now, if I use up half the ammo BEFORE being killed, do I have to trade the gun off to someone else, or is there enough for everyone to die armed?" Hoban asked, much the same way someone would ask about dinner arrangements while he closed his locker door.

Cohen, J
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Re: Drifting

Post by Cohen, J » Jun 19, 2013, 9:37 AM

GM

Down in the cargo hangar, the air was heavy with anticipation. A small beeping noise betrayed the fact that their unseen adversaries had a motion tracker, and a few seconds later, a male voice called out;

"We know you are here! You are unarmed! Surrender yourselves to the Union of Progressive Peoples now and we will treat you with the utmost dignity! If you refuse or attempt to resist we will have no choice but to subdue you!"

The noise of heavy boots on the floor, coupled with the slightly distorted nature of the voice, told both Merrick and Kellser that their opponents were heavily armored, perhaps even in zero-g suits. They were probably armed, too. There were at least two in this room, and who knows how many more were on this ship.

---

Back in the cryo chambers, the few standing and awakening Marines clustered together.

"'fraid this is all we've got, Thomas. We're a couple decks up from the Armory, which I'm pretty sure our unknown OPFOR is holding"

Hoban's sarcastic griping was welcoming at a time like this, and put Jenna slightly more at ease.

"Aye, never a dull moment in the Corps. And we're not gonna die here, Hoban. We're too damn salty to die here. You and me've been through some pretty wacky shit. Tobik, that drop with those bugs...we can't die here. Not on our own ship" Jenna stated, her voice rising at the mention of Tobik and falling on her last sentence.

"Besides, our new synth might get the job done by himself. They can take hits, can't they?"
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