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Steel's Dead

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					Steel dies.
Atonement - Thursday, January 28, 2010, 9:33 PM
-----------------------------------------------

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman leans back against the bulkhead,
smiling faintly - half-heartedly, fleetingly - back at a fibrous,
scarred,
tattooed man.

<****** / ||||||>
A cold, computerized voice speaks: "Engineer Identification verified.
Access
granted."

<****** / ||||||>
You ask a fibrous, scarred, tattooed man, quietly,
   "You're, uhm. Scouting?"

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman stands by the blastdoor and tries to throw
something in but fails miserably.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman raps on the door.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear tapping from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman glances aside to a petite grey-eyed
young woman, clearing her throat.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, scarred, tattooed man tells you, shaking his head briefly,
   "Nah. Jus' scavengin'. Uh-- tha' secured parts. Shouldn' be no
trouble."

<****** / ||||||>
You ask,
   "Uhm...?"

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman shouts, rapping on the blastdoor,
   "Got some wires for you guys."

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, scarred, tattooed man glances aside to a petite grey-eyed
young woman, brow arching faintly.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a female voice shout from the west,
   "Be right out."
<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman patienly waits by the edge of the western
blastdoor.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, scarred, tattooed man asks, looking back to an athletic,
short-haired young woman, reaching up to touch her shoulder, half-
grinning,
   "I'll be back pretty soon. We can'-- ionno. Dinner? Maybe?"

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman crosses her ankles and leans against the
wall.

You tell a fibrous, scarred, tattooed man, still watching a petite grey-
eyed young woman, nodding a few times,
   "Uhm. Okay. Don't - just be careful, Steel."

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open, and a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-
framed
woman steps out into the corridor.

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open on its own accord, and a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman passes through quickly before it
shuts once again.

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open, and a broad-shouldered man with
tousled
blond hair steps out into the corridor.

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open on its own accord, and a broad-
shouldered
man with tousled blond hair passes through quickly before it shuts once
again.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman turns to look at the blastdoor and steps
up
to a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, scarred, tattooed man tells you, hand dropping to his side,
nodding and turning to port,
   "Promise."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman asks a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed
woman, quiet and dry,
   "Needed these right?"
<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, scarred, tattooed man begins walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
You say,
   "I -."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a petite grey-eyed young
woman, holding a hand out,
   "Yeah."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman nods.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman gives some snapped sections of wire to
a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman tells a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed
woman, quiet and dry,
   "If I find more, I'll get them to you guys."

An athletic, short-haired young woman shuts her eyes, then pushes away
from
the bulkhead, opens them again, and turns starboard.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking northward.

<****** / ||||||>

The Hallway's End Before a Chamber
Exits: east south

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it. One such
room, a large chamber, is to the aft.

<****** / ||||| >
A thin-framed, messy-grey-haired man is entering from the east.

<****** / ||||| >
A thin-framed, messy-grey-haired man begins walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward.

<****** / ||||||>
An Operational Cryogenics Chamber
Exits: west
   Bright blue-white lights shine from the ceiling of this
massive, active chamber, some of them originating from within the
functional glass pods along the walls. Black-painted metal
equipped with countless little friction-increasing bumps makes up
the flooring. On the ceiling, a series of large rectangular
white lights drown out the myriad of different shining items.
The walls consist of cold gray metal, polished and buffed. The
glass pods line the walls entirely except where a large
rectangular window on the aft section provides a view into the
space beyond.

A small communications console is set into the starboard wall.
Set into the starboard wall is a large security monitor and console.
A jagged strip of metal lies here on its side.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman makes her way over to a large
security monitor and console and leans up against the security console
once
there, staring at it.

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
<worn on the ears>        a single cigarette
<worn on body>            a duct tape reinforced vest
<worn over shoulder>      an oversized, matte black canvas pack
<worn about waist>        a slate gray belt of coarse linen
<worn on legs>            crude, half-metal pants
<worn on feet>            a pair of low, slate gray boots

You pmote: stands before a large security monitor and console, leaning
against the console, watching the flickering screens.

Thoughtlessly, an athletic, short-haired young woman reaches back into an
oversized, matte black canvas pack, still watching a large security
monitor
and console.

<****** / ||||||> get axe pack
You get an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle from an oversized,
matte black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||> i
<carried in right hand>   an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle

<worn on the ears>        a single cigarette
<worn on body>            a duct tape reinforced vest
<worn   over shoulder>   an oversized, matte black canvas pack
<worn   about waist>     a slate gray belt of coarse linen
<worn   on legs>         crude, half-metal pants
<worn   on feet>         a pair of low, slate gray boots

An athletic, short-haired young woman sets the flat of an axe with a
textured, fibreglass handle's wedge against the console, still leaning
against it, watching.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman is entering from the west.
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is entering from the west, with a
slightly
wobbly gait.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman looks under a cryogen pod.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman gets an oversized, bruise blue canvas
pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman asks a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed
woman, quiet and dry,
   "This one?"

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man says, blinking,
   "I didn't even see that."

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman hands an oversized, bruise blue canvas
pack over to a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Go away.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman gives an oversized, bruise blue canvas
pack to a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman tells a tousle-haired, wiry young man,
quiet
and dry,
   "Someone must have stuffed it under that pod."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman shrugs.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a petite grey-eyed young
woman, blinking a few times, peering in it,
   "I could kiss you. This is the pack..sans all the batteries, but.."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman nods to a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man asks, in a deep, even tone,
   "What all's in it?"

<****** / ||||||>
A tiny asian woman is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman asks a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed
woman, quiet and dry,
   "You guys need what? Hunks of metal? Batteries and stuff?"

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, her voice quiet,
   "Yeah."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman nods.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, her voice quiet,
   "Igniting fluid, Matt. Enough to burn a pile of corpses, I hope."

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man says, in a deep, even tone,
   "AHh, good then. I'm headed back to the lab, if you want me to take
it."

<****** / ||||||>
A tiny asian woman steps into the back of the room and gives a look
toward
the group gathered by the consoles.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman glances to a tiny asian woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman tells a tiny asian woman, quiet and dry,
   "Hey. Clinic a bit quiet this cycle. Xander was just there."
<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman gives an oversized, bruise blue
canvas pack to a tousle-haired, wiry young man.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman stops following a petite
grey-eyed young woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A tiny asian woman tells a petite grey-eyed young woman, nodding her head
and raising her voice,
   "Not that I mind the clinic being quiet every once in a while."

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man nods and grasps an oversized, bruise blue
canvas pack under his arm, turning to leave.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman nods to a tiny asian woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man begins walking westward, with a slightly
wobbly gait.

An athletic, short-haired young woman turns her head somewhat, not
glancing
from a large security monitor and console, holding an axe with a
textured, fibreglass handle loosely in her hand, leaning against the
security
console.

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman tells a tiny asian woman, quiet and dry,
   "Come on. Let's talk shop at clinic."

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman gestures to a tiny asian woman and moves
out the room.

<****** / ||||||>
A petite grey-eyed young woman begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A tiny asian woman begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
An Operational Cryogenics Chamber
Exits: west
   Bright blue-white lights shine from the ceiling of this
massive, active chamber, some of them originating from within the
functional glass pods along the walls. Black-painted metal
equipped with countless little friction-increasing bumps makes up
the flooring. On the ceiling, a series of large rectangular
white lights drown out the myriad of different shining items.
The walls consist of cold gray metal, polished and buffed. The
glass pods line the walls entirely except where a large
rectangular window on the aft section provides a view into the
space beyond.

A small communications console is set into the starboard wall.
Set into the starboard wall is a large security monitor and console.
A jagged strip of metal lies here on its side.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.
A wiry-framed woman with wildly curly black hair stands here.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman licks her lips, moving up to a
large security monitor and console.

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, her voice quiet,
   "I'm probably going to make things worse, but I am..-really-..sorry
about
    Matthew."

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

A Tidy Greeting Room
Exits: north (closed glass panels) east south (open blastdoor)
west up (closed grate)

   The ship widens up into a sizable greeting room, with a large
sign hanging from the roof decorated in bright, happy colors; the
sign reads "Welcome to Level Two, Rest and Recreation!" A counter
sits off near the foreside corner, labeled "Towel retrieval" on
one end and "Towel return" on the other. Hallways split down the
fore and aft of the ship, their metallic walls cutting deep. The
starboard doors are made of a thick glass, offering a clear view
of the area beyond. A sign is affixed to the wall above the
starboard doors.

A blocky security camera is affixed to the wall, here.
A corroded battery cell sits here.
An elevator button is set into the wall. It is solid white.
A light fixture has been installed in the ceiling here, but is not on.
A   fibrous man stands here, covered in scars and tattoos.
A   toned, young black man is here.
A   wiry, hatchet-faced fellow is here. (new player)
A   broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair is here.
A   lithe, ghostly woman with hip-length raven-black hair lingers nearby.
A   tenuous, coal-haired man with some facial scarring lingers here.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman leans forwards, head still turned
towards a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, but eyes on the
monitor,
on the second, flickering screen.

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, quietly, as abruptly
leaning back, exhaling slowly,
   "I meant it. It's fine."

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman glances to a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, tearing her attention reluctantly from a large
security
monitor and console.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, looking up and then down
from the second screen,
   "Fuck, uh..I should have been up there. That's not many people."

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, glancing back to a
large security monitor and console now, at the dark screen,
   "I - I don't know. He said they were only, uhm, secured areas. He
    promised, anyway."

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, nodding once,
licking
her lips,
   "He's being cautious. It's good. Keeping people safe. No more deaths."

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, the pad of her thumb
rubbing across an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle's titanium
wedge, back and forth, smearing the metal as she watches the dark
monitor,
   "Mhm."

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, without glancing her
way,
   "I have some rations, uhm. If you could make yourself eat. You
should."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman asks you, glancing to the fore,
then back to an athletic, short-haired young woman, features worried,
   "Going to get a drink. I'll be back, if you want?"

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, hesitating, then
shrugging a little,
   "I guess, I don't know. Okay."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, grinning faintly,
moving to the fore of the ship casually,
   "Forgot about the food. Give me a moment to get a drink and wash my
pride
    down with it."

<****** / ||||||>
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, with a glance back at
a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, bemused but smiling now,
   "Uhm - Yeah. Don't fall in."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman chuckles as she leaves the
chamber.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
Your short-term plan has been set to:
Stop dreaming of wires.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is entering from the west, with a
slightly
wobbly gait.

<****** / ||||||>
   This man appears to be in his early twenties, his frame is of
average size, with well toned, wiry musculature. His face is
sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. His
nose is straight and sharp, and the lips of his somewhat wide
mouth are thin and colored a light pinkish-white. He has vividly
green eyes, overshadowed by prominant ocular orbits and thin,
arched black eyebrow the same shade as his messy, tousled hair.
His hands are visibly rough, the palms callused and the knuckles
dried out and cracked.

   Several livid scars are visible through the numerous holes and
tears in his vest. An angry red scars traces down the left side
of his face, from temple to jawline. It is thin, and cleanly
healed, as though it was expertly stitched.

A tousle-haired, wiry young man appears injured.

<worn at neck>           a padded cloth collar
<worn on body>           a duct tape reinforced vest
<across the back>        an oversized, bruise black canvas pack
<worn on arms>           a pair of metal-ribbed sleeves
<worn about waist>       a dark gray belt of coarse linen
<worn on belt>           an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle
<worn on legs>           a metal-ribbed pair of pants
<worn on feet>           a pair of low, gray boots

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man

He appears injured.

A tousle-haired, wiry young man has a severe rip on the skull.


<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man begins walking westward, with a slightly
wobbly gait.

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman exhales slowly, glancing back down
at
an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman lifts an axe with a textured,
fibreglass handle, exhales slowly, then glances back up at a large
security
monitor and console, setting the axe back down.

<****** / ||||||>
You are feeling slightly hungry.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman lifts an axe with a textured,
fibreglass handle again, then glances down at her left hand, holding an
axe
with a textured, fibreglass handle wavering above it. Finally, looking
back
to a large security monitor and console, she lays the axe aside again,
still holding it, not lifting it, just holding it.

<****** / ||||||>
The picture on the screen is clear:

It is pitch black.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He should be back by now, shouldn't he?

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking westward, turning with a slow exhale.

<****** / ||||||>
The Hallway's End Before a Chamber
Exits: east south

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it. One such
room, a large chamber, is to the aft.

<****** / ||||| > i
<carried in right hand>   an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle

<worn   on the ears>      a single cigarette
<worn   on body>          a duct tape reinforced vest
<worn   over shoulder>    an oversized, matte black canvas pack
<worn   about waist>      a slate gray belt of coarse linen
<worn   on legs>          crude, half-metal pants
<worn   on feet>          a pair of low, slate gray boots

<****** / ||||| >
You affix an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle to your belt.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Narrow, Lit Hallway
Exits: north south west (closed blast-door)

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||| >
An athletic, short-haired young woman stands perfectly still before a
retinal scanner.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman stares into the machine as infrared
lasers trace over their open eyes.

<****** / ||||||>
A cold, computerized voice speaks: "Engineer Identification verified.
Access
granted."

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open on its own accord, and an athletic,
short-haired young woman passes through quickly before it shuts once
again.

<****** / ||||||>
A Cluttered Area with Cubicle Workspaces
Exits: east (closed blast-door) west (open blast-door)

   Much like the adjoining room, this space is comprised of many
glossy-topped black counters which have been build into the walls
and floors in even rows, with the occasional white plastic
partition dividing the room into sectioned cubicles. Each
workspace has assorted supplies available; loose wires, scraps of
metal, and various tools clutter the counters.

There are a couple of furnishings here.
A large monitor has been mounted on the wall here.
A heavy-duty, plastic crate is filled with an assortment of random junk.
An electrical outlet is set into the wall here.
An oversized, slate gray canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, gray canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, navy blue canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, bruise blue canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, off-black canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, granite gray canvas pack sits here.
An oversized, navy blue canvas pack sits here.
The broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion scatter here.
An oversized, bruise blue canvas pack sits here.
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is sitting here at a long, metal table
lined by benches.

<****** / ||||||>
   At one point, this was a fully functioning surveillance robot,
made in the image of a scorpion - two feet long, complete with
tail, needle-spike, clasp-claws, and steel, segmented
exoskeleton. Now, however, it is inert; pieces are broken or
blackened, the exoskeleton has been dented and the rotary
multi-toolset set in its steel underbelly has been bent and
twisted, more fragile pieces snapped off entirely.
   You realize that you could make use of this item in the following
crafts:
'replace bot-wires', 'repair bot-mechanics', 'hack bot-process'.
You realize that you could attempt to POWER on the ROBOT.

You can tell that the broken robot's wiring needs substantial repairs.
You can tell that the broken robot's programming has a few glitches.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman glances over at the broken remains
of a robotic, surveillance scorpion, hesitates, then starts for it,
pinching
at the bridge of her nose.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man sits quietly at a long, metal table lined
by benches, staring off at nothing in particular.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman takes a knee beside the broken
remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion.

<****** / ||||||>
You pmote: kneels beside the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance
scorpion, tinkering.

<****** / ||||||>
You start to search the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance
scorpion
to find the programming terminal which should be somewhere on it.

<****** / ||||||>
You touch a place on the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance
scorpion
which causes a small, retractable keyboard and screen to slowly open up
on the
underside of the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion.
Deftly you start to hack the small terminal to access the reboot menu.

<****** / ||||||>
You have done something wrong. As you think you have hacked into the
reboot
menu you are met with a blinking red screen and an aggressive beep,
telling
everyone of your failure.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman stares down at the broken remains
of a robotic, surveillance scorpion as it starts to beep, jaw tight, then
exhales slowly, tipping her head back.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man asks you, in a deep, even tone,
   "Doing alright over there?"
<****** / ||||||>
You tell a tousle-haired, wiry young man, exhaling softly, pushing back
to her feet,
   "No, yes. Yeah. I just - hit the wrong keys."

<****** / ||||||>
Your current pmote has been cleared.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man nods solemnly and goes back to his silent
reverie.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman turns, making her way over to a
long, metal table lined by benches.

<****** / ||||||>
You sit at a long, metal table lined by benches, sinking down onto the
bench, leaning forwards.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man gets up from a long, metal table lined by
benches.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man abruptly rises to his feet and turns for
the door, stopping in front of the scanner.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man stands perfectly still before a retinal
scanner.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man stares into the machine as infrared
lasers
trace over their open eyes.

<****** / ||||||>
A cold, computerized voice speaks: "Engineer Identification verified.
Access
granted."

<****** / ||||||>
You get up from a long, metal table lined by benches, pushing back to her
feet.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman turns, making her way back
irritably
to the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion, crouching by
it.

<****** / ||||||>
You start to search the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance
scorpion
to find the programming terminal which should be somewhere on it.

<****** / ||||||> .
You thought: I'm going to get this done, one way or another.

<****** / ||||||>
You touch a place on the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance
scorpion
which causes a small, retractable keyboard and screen to slowly open up
on the
underside of the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion.
Deftly you start to hack the small terminal to access the reboot menu.

<****** / ||||||>
Accessing the reboot menu you set the robot to restart a core process.

<****** / ||||||>
You reboot the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion and
check
the config menu, you have succesfully restored one of its processes and
the
small console retracts back into the bot.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... attention all crew: . . . this is priscilla . . . all available
hands report to medical . . ..."

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman glances up somewhat, then pushes
away
from the broken remains of a robotic, surveillance scorpion.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What's going on?

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman stands perfectly still before a
retinal scanner.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman stares into the machine as infrared
lasers trace over their open eyes.

<****** / ||||||>
A cold, computerized voice speaks: "Engineer Identification verified.
Access
granted."

<****** / ||||||>
The blastdoor slides quietly open on its own accord, and an athletic,
short-haired young woman passes through quickly before it shuts once
again.

<****** / ||||||>
A Narrow, Lit Hallway
Exits: north south west (closed blast-door)

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
You detect nothing.

<****** / ||||||> You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
Flecks of dried blood have been splattered here.


<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... steel: if you can hear me, give us a status update . . . please
..."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel?

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What's wrong...

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking northward.

<****** / ||||||>
The Hallway's End Before a Chamber
Exits: east south

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it. One such
room, a large chamber, is to the aft.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A lithe, ghostly woman with hip-length raven-black hair lingers nearby.
A small communications console is set into the starboard wall.
Set into the starboard wall is a large security monitor and console.
A jagged strip of metal lies here on its side.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.
A small, rounded piece of scrap metal lies here.

<****** / ||||| >
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair is entering from the east.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair begins wandering southward.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Wait - -

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Narrow, Lit Hallway
Exits: north south west (closed blast-door)

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair is leaving to the south.

<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Three-Way Intersection Outside of a Clinic
Exits: north east south west

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. This hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it, and is
intersected here by another similar hall running athwartship,
fore to aft.

Dried splatters of blood streak across the floor from portside.
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair is arriving from the north.

<****** / ||||| >
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair begins wandering eastward.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A brutish looking man with a square jaw looms here.
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is here.
A toned, young black man is here.
A tenuous, coal-haired man with some facial scarring lingers here.
A young, amber-eyed woman tarries here.
A young lass with short, spiked hair is here.
A swarthy-skinned man with dark features looms here.
A metal cot, thinly-padded, has been bolted to the floor here.
A metal cot, thinly-padded, has been bolted to the floor here.
Metal shelves line the walls here.
A defibrillator box is here, bolted to the wall.
A wide couch with high armrests sits here, quite comfortable-looking.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What's going on?

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward, slipping in.

<****** / ||||||>
A Ransacked Clinic
Exits: west

   Though run down, this clinic is filled with glaring white.
The lights, walls and floor are all professionally, featurelessly
white. The steel cabinets and tables are undecorated, yet free
of any stains and only mildly dented in some places. Each of
them has been bolted securely to the floor, a permanent part of
the clinic. Everything else, however, has been stripped clear of
the room, including every removable drawer.

There are several furnishings here.
Metal shelves line the walls here.
A defibrillator box is here, bolted to the wall.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A lithe, ghostly woman with hip-length raven-black hair lingers nearby.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw looms here.
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is here.
A toned, young black man is here.
A tenuous, coal-haired man with some facial scarring lingers here.
A young, amber-eyed woman tarries here.
A young lass with short, spiked hair is here.
A swarthy-skinned man with dark features looms here.

<****** / ||||| >
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman asks a tenuous, tanned, coal-
haired
man, in an even, husky tone,
   "Where did you leave them?"

<****** / ||||||>
You ask, glancing around, anxious,
   "What's - what's going on?"

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man sits at a metal cot bolted to the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man rests.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw approaches a toned, young black
man and crouches near the man.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man

He appears moderately injured.

A toned, young black man has a small contusion on the thorax, a minor
crush on
the thorax, and a terrible bruise on the skull.


<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man affixes a compact black walkie-talkie to his
belt.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man puts a black, steel flashlight into an
oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks a toned, young black man,
looking him up and down, a deep from on his face,
   "What the feck happened?"

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair slowly clenches her chest as
she
wobbles towards a metal cot bolted to the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "They went to the fucking pool is what happened."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman nods to a young lass with short,
spiked hair.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair moves over towards a toned, young
black man and pulls out a kit from an oversized, slate gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "We're it."

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman, with an odd, raspy accent,
   "We were up through the grate, all the sudden the door to starboard
    bursts open and a bunch of bugs come rushing in along with some
giant...
    thing."

A brutish looking man with a square jaw shakes his head.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "You take major. I'll take minor."

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman, with an odd, raspy accent,
   "We were lucky we got out at all."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man says, not seeming to register a brutish looking
man with a square jaw as his head droops to the side,
   "Fhh--fh.."

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man says, in a deep, even tone,
   "Someone gimme a flashlight, I'll go check on them."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks, looking to more coherent
survivors,
   "Who'd you lose?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a tenuous, tanned, coal-
haired
man, in an even, husky tone,
   "Sit."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman orders a tenuous, tanned,
coal-haired man with her finger over to a metal cot bolted to the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask, raising her voice,
   "Where's Steel?"

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man sits at a metal cot bolted to the
floor, stepping over and lowering down.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man rests.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man is entering from the west, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair glances over towards a
tousle-haired, wiry young man as she gets her things ready by a toned,
young black man.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman exclaims, in an even, husky tone,
   "Doctor!"

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man pulls himself down the corridor into the clinic,
grunting, blood covered.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man asks a plain, bay-haired man, with an
odd, raspy accent,
   "You the only one that made it back other than us?"

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair asks a plain, bay-haired man,
grabbing at the bite wounds on her chest, voice deathly quiet,
   "Are you the only one?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman walks over to a tousle-haired,
wiry young man.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, eyes heavily narrowed, breath heavy,
   "Steel died."

<****** / ||||||>
   Standing a little above normal height, this man has shaggy bay
colored hair in a straight style, coming to rest at the middle of
his neckline. A set of slightly curved eyebrows lay before
chocolate brown eyes, set in an oval shape. Aquiline in shape, a
nose sits above thin lips. This man's shoulders are a bit broad,
but not overly so as his frame seems decently refined with
muscle. Two lanky arms rest by a well-built chest and torso.
Built well, his legs come down with multiple scars scattered
across his thighs, knees and calves.



A plain, bay-haired man appears injured.

<worn at neck>           a padded cloth collar
<worn on body>           a duct tape reinforced vest
<across the back>        an oversized, medium gray canvas pack
<worn   over shoulder>     a   tin cup pauldron
<worn   on arms>           a   pair of duct tape reinforced sleeves
<worn   about waist>       a   light gray belt of coarse linen
<worn   on belt>           a   black-handled chef knife
<worn   on legs>           a   pair of duct tape reinforced pants
<worn   on feet>           a   pair of waterproofed, steel-toed boots

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: -- ... What?

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man asks a plain, bay-haired man, with an
odd, raspy accent,
   "And them other two dudes?"

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw growls angrily at a plain,
bay-haired man's words, lurching back to his feet with a deep seated
curse.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask, quietly,
   "What?"

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair gets an aged first aid kit from
an oversized, slate gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, as he wipes off his face,
   "Dead as far as I know.. I left them in the vent when the bugs swarmed
    them."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman backs to the clinic door blocking
it, watching you.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's - ... No he isn't.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He -isn't-.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair sits at a metal cot bolted to
the floor, falling onto it as her mouth hangs open.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man asks a plain, bay-haired man, in a deep,
even tone,
   "Where did Steel die?"

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man says, hand weakly raising and moving to his
face,
   "Fu-... fuck..."

You say, shoulders starting to shake,
   "He didn't - You don't know for certain. You don't know."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair tells a toned, young black man,
looking down towards him, pulling her attention away from the chaos
around
her,
   "Going to get you all stiched up right and proper."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair puts a Steak (Well-Done) food bar
into an oversized, slate gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
<worn on the ears>       a single cigarette
<worn on body>           a duct tape reinforced vest
<worn over shoulder>     an oversized, matte black canvas pack
<worn about waist>       a slate gray belt of coarse linen
<worn on belt>           an axe with a textured, fibreglass handle
<worn on legs>           crude, half-metal pants
<worn on feet>           a pair of low, slate gray boots

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a tousle-haired, wiry young man, as he
falls
to a knee, body tensing briefly,
   "I saw his body lying in a horde of bugs, where we were attacked. He
lies
     there, still."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man says, hand moving to his skull, shaking wildly,
   "I'm... I'm fuckin' dead..."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, turning to a young lass
with short, spiked hair,
   "Better get him all stitched up... he's next in line to be chief."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw gestures to a toned, young black
man.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, as he looks back for a moment,
   "Fuck. I used them as a decoy to live, the freshies."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He - he's okay. He's not.
<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "Means I'm after him... damn it all if leadership aint the quickest
    fucking way to go Cold."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with   short, spiked hair tells a toned, young black man,
pulling a bandage   from an aged first aid kit and using it to wipe away
some
of the blood from   a toned, young black man's face,
   "No, your not.   I think you will be alright."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man exclaims, as he slams his hands into the floor,
   "Fuck!"

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man is entering from the west, stumbling in,
hugging his abdomen doubled over.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man says, taking in ragged breaths,
   "Steel..... All've 'em.... Dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man looks up and then to a burn-scarred, one-eyed
man, suddenly reaching for a light gray belt of coarse linen.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man snorts.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a burn-scarred, one-eyed man, as he draws
up
a knife,
   "You fucking scavenger."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man draws a black-handled chef knife.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man says,
   "There were at least eight bugs and a class two...."

<****** / ||||||>
With a clash of metal on the floor, a plain, bay-haired man pushes
himself
up.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, barking out orders,
   "Matthew. I need you to secure the elevator, please. Everyone not
injured
    get the fuck out. And someone stay with Black."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair begins to work at treating the
wounds
on a toned, young black man's skull...

<****** / ||||||>
You say, unsteadily, slumping back up against the bulkhead,
   "But."

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man asks a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman, in a deep, even tone,
   "Secure the elevator? With what?"

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man falls to a knee, coughing raggedly a couple
of
times before looking up at a plain, bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
You sit down and rest your tired bones, sliding into a seat on the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man asks a plain, bay-haired man,
   "Scave.... What?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Stick in the door. Keeps it open. Nothing comes down."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, roaring out,
   "All able bodied men and women with some type of armor on me."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a burn-scarred, one-eyed man, reaching back
for an oversized, medium gray canvas pack,
   "You're lucky I don't kill you for taking the shit from our dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man gets a crude knife made of glass from an
oversized, medium gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man wields a crude knife made of glass.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man falls into stride with a brutish looking man with
a square jaw.
<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man emphatically tells a plain, bay-haired man,
   "I didn't take shit from them!"

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel?

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man begins walking westward, with a slightly
wobbly gait.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man tells a plain, bay-haired man,
   "There were too many mutants for me to even try, I didn't know they
were
     dead already.... I went to check up on 'em."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young woman, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "It ain't the job of engineering to be leading anything. Leave
securing
    things to SecOps, though we'd appreciate any help."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a burn-scarred, one-eyed man, with a glance
to a brutish looking man with a square jaw,
   "Earlier than that, we know. Now isn't the time."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man says, pushing weakly at a young lass with short,
spiked hair,
   "Fu-... fuck..."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw turns westwards with a grunt.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a brutish looking man with a
square jaw, in an even, husky tone,
   "I am not engineering. I'm a doctor."

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man asks, squinting up at a plain, bay-haired
man,
   "Th' fuck are you talkin' about....?"

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman glances down into her lap, hugging
herself, staring blankly.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "You sent an Engineer to secure a door."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw begins walking westward, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a burn-scarred, one-eyed man, monotone in
nature,
   "Don't play stupid, you dumbas."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman walks back over to a tenuous,
tanned, coal-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair wraps up a toned, young black
man's head, ignoring his attempts to push her way till she ties off the
bandage.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman exhales.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man says, grunting as he struggles back up to
his
feet,
   "Fucker's confused...."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets an assortment of crude first
aid equipment from an oversized, light gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair tells a toned, young black man, in a
calm, smooth tone,
   "Lay still for now. Rest. I'll check on you again in a while. There
are
    others need help now."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Doctor! He's injured. So are you. Sit. Down."

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman, looking up at her,
   "I think the old one around my right eye is ready to come off at
least."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead. Is he - he can't be.
<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man manages half a grin.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man passes out.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man falls asleep.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman leans over a tenuous, tanned,
coal-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask, quietly, her voice high and reedy - on the verge of tears, close
to cracking,
   "Is - but, nobody saw - ...him?"

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man grunts, falling back onto his rear and
resting
his back against a wall, near the blastdoor.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets scissors out of an assortment
of crude first aid equipment and gently snips the bandage away from a
tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man 's face.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair moves over towards the door and
bends
down to help a burn-scarred, one-eyed man up.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... this is corporal ugly of the secops, all able bodied men and women
in
fighting shape to the elevator lobby. may have visitors we'll need to
greet .
..."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Okay there... you won't be winning any looks competitions."

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man gets a shredded, makeshift bandage from
an oversized, gray canvas pack.

A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair slumps on a metal cot bolted
to the floor, shaking her head at you and letting the weapons in her
hands fall to the ground.

<****** / ||||||>
You say,
   "I should - should go. Right? I should do something."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man awakens.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man stops using a pair of latex gloves.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man drops a pair of latex gloves.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair drops a crude knife made of
glass.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man gets a shredded, makeshift bandage from
an oversized, gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man asks a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman, with an odd, raspy accent,
   "What'a yous talkin bout, doll? I'm still handsome as ever, capiche?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets a pair of latex gloves from
an oversized, light gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman wears a pair of latex gloves on
her hands.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man grunts, trying to wrap a shredded, makeshift
bandage about his right hand.

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a swarthy-skinned man with dark features whispering to a
burn-scarred, one-eyed man,
   " . . .      to . . ."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a tenuous, tanned, coal-
haired
man, in an even, husky tone,
   "You weren't that good looking to begin with."

<****** / ||||||>
A swarthy-skinned man with dark features promptly tends to a
burn-scarred, one-eyed man's wounds.
<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tries to crack a smile at her
joke.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman drenches a piece of gauze in
antiseptic.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man smirks.

You pmote: sits here on the floor, leaning back against the bulkhead
wall.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman begins to clean a tenuous, tanned,
coal-haired man's wound, the open wound begining to froth with the
reaction.

<****** / ||||||>
A burn-scarred, one-eyed man leaves the area.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Lets see if this needs stitches now..."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman begins to flush a tenuous, tanned,
coal-haired man's wound.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man's eyes go wide as a rusty-haired,
amber-eyed young woman starts cleaning out the wound on his face, a light
grunt escaping his closed mouth.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair moves away from the door and heads
on
over towards a ghostly pale woman with raven black hair.
A toned, young black man comes in and out of conciousness.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman begins to work at treating the
wounds on a tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man's face...

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man falls asleep.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead. He can't be.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair asks a ghostly pale woman with raven
black hair, in a calm, smooth tone,
   "Mind if I have a look at you?"

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: They said he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair stares blankly at a young lass
with short, spiked hair.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman takes out a needle.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets a metal-encased lighter
from an oversized, light gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair's gaze shifts towards the puncture
on
a ghostly pale woman with raven black hair's face then sets an aged first
aid kit down.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair gets a pair of latex gloves from
an oversized, slate gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair wears a pair of latex gloves on
her hands.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman flicks open a metal-encased
lighter and heats the needle.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman puts a metal-encased lighter into
an oversized, light gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman douses the needle in disinfectant
and threads it.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair tells a ghostly pale woman with
raven
black hair, reaching up to lightly touch touch just away from a ghostly
pale
woman with raven black hair's bite mark on her face if allowed, the other
hand digging in an aged first aid kit till she pulls out a needleless
sirynge,
   "That does not look very comfortable. Should get it cleaned out and
keep
     it from getting infected."
<****** / ||||||>
You stop resting, and stand up, pushing quietly to her feet.

<****** / ||||||>
Your current pmote has been cleared.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a tenuous, tanned, coal-
haired
man, in an even, husky tone,
   "This is going to hurt. If you hit me, I'm going to hit you back in
ways
     you won't like."

An athletic, short-haired young woman leans against the bulkhead, then
pushes away from it, headed to fore.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking westward, quietly.

<****** / ||||||>
A Three-Way Intersection Outside of a Clinic
Exits: north east south west

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. This hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it, and is
intersected here by another similar hall running athwartship,
fore to aft.

Dried splatters of blood streak across the floor from portside.

<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking westward.

<****** / ||||| >
A Short Passage Between Intersections
Exits: east west

   The deck of this short passageway is formed from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The
hallway seems to split off into several different corridors to
the fore, and end shortly to the aft.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
Within a Tangle of Long, Narrow Corridors
Exits: north east south west

   The passageway leading in from the fore here ends in a series
of long, narrow corridors branching off to all ends of the deck.
Each hallway, however, is nearly identical to the other: heavy,
metal squares with a raised, herringbone pattern, painted gray,
make up the floor. The bulkheads and overhead are a featureless,
sterile white. There is little debris, and almost no clutter.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
An angular-faced woman is here.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

Far away you see:
   a plain, bay-haired man
   a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman
   a brutish looking man with a square jaw
   a tousle-haired, wiry young man


<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What do I do.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Passage Between Intersecting Hallways
Exits: east west

   The deck of this short passageway is formed from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The
hallway seems to split off into several different corridors to
the aft, and end shortly to the fore of the deck.

<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking westward.

<****** / ||||| >
An Intersection of Passageways
Exits: north east south west

   A passageway running aft intersects with one traveling
athwartships here, the deck formed entirely from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. There
is a wide opening in the foreward bulkhead.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
An electrical outlet is set into   the wall here.
A mess of wires show beneath the   flooring, in obvious   need   of   repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the   flooring, in obvious   need   of   repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the   flooring, in obvious   need   of   repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the   flooring, in obvious   need   of   repair.


<****** / ||||| >
You thought: I don't - know.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A gangly, bug-eyed auctioneer stands here, jingling lightly.
A long, metal table stands here, lined by benches.
An electrical outlet is set into the wall here.
A stainless steel sink is bolted to the wall.
A stainless steel stove is mounted to the wall here.
A group of survivors loiter about, trading with one another.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A brawny man is here.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.


<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking northward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Passageway Runs Athwartships
Exits: north east (closed blast-door) south west (open
blast-door)

   The deck of this passageway is formed of heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted grey. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless white. A retinal scanner hangs on
the forward bulkhead next to a sliding panel door.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A brawny man is here.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A rail-thin man with large brown eyes is here.
A young, blonde-haired woman with a shapely figure tends the bar.
A splintered composite bar is here, southern end wrecked.
A crisp, felt-covered pool table sits in the center of the room.
An electrical outlet is set into the wall here.
A thin, awkward-looking survivor stands here, gossiping loudly.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Quaint, Looted Bar and Grill
Exits: east (open blast-door)

   Cracked, peeling and even mismatched, the drab-colored paints
on the walls of this room give off a dreary aura. On the floor
is a series of maroon and mustard-colored tiles in a checkered
pattern. The walls appear to be made of stone, but chips from
some kind of bludgeoning reveal it to be a gritty gray-brown
powder. On the eastern end of the room lies a large canvas,
which was clearly once a background for a video projection. Now
it is ripped nearly in half at an awkward angle and hangs
uselessly above the floor.

There are a couple of furnishings here.
An electrical outlet is set into the wall here.
A thin, awkward-looking survivor stands here, gossiping loudly.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A crinkled cigarette butt lies here.
A single cigarette is lying next to a wrecked, splintering composite
bar, crushed, tobacco bleeding from cracked wrapping.
A rail-thin man with large brown eyes is here.
A young, blonde-haired woman with a shapely figure tends the bar.

<****** / ||||| >
   His large brown, almond shaped eyes stare about with the
curiosity of a child. Reddish-brown skin makes his shaved head
and clean shaven face seem more pronounced and causes his thin
angular face to stand out more. A thin, brown nose and small
ears accent his skinny small frame.



A short, rail-thin man appears to be in excellent condition.

<worn   on body>         a standard, gray crew jacket
<worn   over shoulder>   an oversized, medium gray canvas pack
<worn   about waist>     a olive green belt of coarse linen
<worn   on belt>         a sharpened metal pipe
<worn   on belt>         a solid steel wrench
<worn   on legs>         a pair of standard, slate gray pants
<worn   on feet>         a pair of low, light blue boots

<****** / ||||| >
A young, blonde-haired woman with a shapely figure describes her
inventory:


   #      price         item
  ===     =====         ====
     1    60.00    cp   a long-necked, wax-sealed bottle filled with da...
     2    52.50    cp   a spartan glass bottle filled with clear vodka
     3    60.00    cp   a long, brightly-colored bottle filled with gol...
     4     7.48    cp   a blue, hill-covered can filled with pale, 'lit...
     5     7.48    cp   a long, mountain-inked can filled with dark, st...
     6    75.00    cp   a broken, metal chair leg
     7     7.50    cp   a fiberglass-handled mop
     8    24.00    cp   a pair of needle-nose pliers
     9    15.00    cp   4 disorganized pile of loose wires
   10     90.00    cp   7 compact black walkie-talkies
   11     15.00    cp   14 small, rechargeable batterys
   12     15.00    cp   a small pack of Howitzer cigarettes
   13     75.00    cp   a solid steel wrench
   14      3.00    cp   6 handful of screws
   15     37.50    cp   a rubber-handled screwdriver
   16      0.75    cp   a length of string
   17     75.00    cp   a lightweight, titanium crowbar
   18      1.50    cp   a thin metal spoon
   19    150.00    cp   7 needle and thread repair kits

*** Press return to continue - 'q' to quit ***

   20       4.50   cp   8 metal-encased lighters
   21      15.00   cp   8 simple, white labcoats
   22       1.50   cp   48 pile of scrap plastics
   23       7.50   cp   7 pair of thin, black glasses with a pliable frame
   24      15.00   cp   a small pack of Howitzer cigarettes
   25      15.00   cp   a small pack of Howitzer cigarettes
   26      15.00   cp   a small pack of Howitzer cigarettes
   27      15.00   cp   a small, rechargeable battery
   28      15.00   cp   a small, rechargeable battery
   29       0.75   cp   a single cigarette
   30      37.50   cp   a slim razor with no handle
   31       3.00   cp   a sewing needle
   32       3.00   cp   a length of electrical cord
   33       3.00   cp   a fiberglass mop handle
   34       7.50   cp   a bent metal pipe
   35       0.75   cp   a few glass shards
   36      75.00   cp   a cooking pot helm
   37      37.50   cp   a black-handled chef knife
   38       1.50   cp   a roll of duct tape
   39       7.50   cp   a battered, plastic canteen
   40       4.50   cp   a lump of cloth padding
   41      30.00   cp   an oversized, medium gray canvas pack
(variable)

*** Press return to continue - 'q' to quit ***
   42     18.00 cp     a razor-sharp hand saw
   43      30.00   cp   an oversized, brownish black canvas pack
(variable)
   44      30.00   cp   an oversized, off-black canvas pack
(variable)
   45      30.00   cp   an oversized, slate gray canvas pack
(variable)
   46       0.75   cp   a spool of thin thread
   47       7.50   cp   a pair of sharp, all-purpose scissors
   48       3.00   cp   a handful of metal scraps

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman makes her way over to a wrecked,
splintering composite bar, hugging herself, and leans against the bartop,
glancing down to a young, blonde-haired woman with a shapely figure.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask a young, blonde-haired woman with a shapely figure,
   "Uhm. Could - I ask a favour?"

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man is entering from the east.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Please, please, please.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man begins walking eastward.

An athletic, short-haired young woman pushes away from a wrecked,
splintering composite bar, wandering aimlessly back towards the aft
hallway.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I - I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Passageway Runs Athwartships
Exits: north east (closed blast-door) south west (open
blast-door)

   The deck of this passageway is formed of heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted grey. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless white. A retinal scanner hangs on
the forward bulkhead next to a sliding panel door.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A brawny man is here.
<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking southward.

<****** / ||||||>
An Intersection of Passageways
Exits: north east south west

   A passageway running aft intersects with one traveling
athwartships here, the deck formed entirely from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. There
is a wide opening in the foreward bulkhead.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A gangly, bug-eyed auctioneer stands here, jingling lightly.
A long, metal table stands here, lined by benches.
An electrical outlet is set into the wall here.
A stainless steel sink is bolted to the wall.
A stainless steel stove is mounted to the wall here.
A group of survivors loiter about, trading with one another.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||| >
You begin walking eastward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Passage Between Intersecting Hallways
Exits: east west

   The deck of this short passageway is formed from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The
hallway seems to split off into several different corridors to
the aft, and end shortly to the fore of the deck.

<****** / ||||| >
You thought: I don't know what - anything.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward.

<****** / ||||||>
Within a Tangle of Long, Narrow Corridors
Exits: north east south west

   The passageway leading in from the fore here ends in a series
of long, narrow corridors branching off to all ends of the deck.
Each hallway, however, is nearly identical to the other: heavy,
metal squares with a raised, herringbone pattern, painted gray,
make up the floor. The bulkheads and overhead are a featureless,
sterile white. There is little debris, and almost no clutter.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
An angular-faced woman is here.

<****** / ||||| >
You thought: Anything at all.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Very far away you see:
   a henna-haired, fragile woman

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

Very far away you see:
   a ghostly pale woman with raven black hair
   a toned, young black man
   a tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man
   a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman
   a young lass with short, spiked hair
   a swarthy-skinned man with dark features
   you see a series of metal shelves.
   you see a comfortable, wide couch with high armrests.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

Far away you see:
   a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman
   a brutish looking man with a square jaw
   a tousle-haired, wiry young man

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What do I do?

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What can I do?

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man is entering from the east, helping to
drag along the toned, young black man.

<****** / ||||||>
A tenuous, tanned, coal-haired man begins slowly walking southward,
helping
to drag along the toned, young black man.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: If I stop moving.

<****** / ||||||>
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A tenuous, coal-haired man with some facial scarring lingers here.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

Far away you see:
   a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman
   a brutish looking man with a square jaw
   a tousle-haired, wiry young man

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward.

<****** / ||||||>
A Short Passage Between Intersections
Exits: east west

   The deck of this short passageway is formed from heavy metal
squares with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The
bulkheads and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. The
hallway seems to split off into several different corridors to
the fore, and end shortly to the aft.

A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
Flecks of dried blood have been splattered here.

Far away you see:
   a ghostly pale woman with raven black hair
   a toned, young black man
   a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman
   a young lass with short, spiked hair
   a swarthy-skinned man with dark features
   a metal cot bolted to the floor.
   a metal cot bolted to the floor.
   a series of metal shelves.
   a comfortable, wide couch with high armrests.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward.
<****** / ||||||>
A Three-Way Intersection Outside of a Clinic
Exits: north east south west

   The deck of this hallway is formed from heavy metal squares
with a raised herringbone pattern, painted gray. The bulkheads
and overhead are a featureless, sterile white. This hallway runs
starboard to port, several rooms branching from it, and is
intersected here by another similar hall running athwartship,
fore to aft.

Dried splatters of blood streak across the floor from portside.

<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.


<****** / ||||| >
You peer into the distance . . .
Nearby you see:
Flecks of dried blood have been splattered here.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
You begin walking eastward, wandering back in, still hugging herself.

<****** / ||||||>
A Ransacked Clinic
Exits: west

   Though run down, this clinic is filled with glaring white.
The lights, walls and floor are all professionally, featurelessly
white. The steel cabinets and tables are undecorated, yet free
of any stains and only mildly dented in some places. Each of
them has been bolted securely to the floor, a permanent part of
the clinic. Everything else, however, has been stripped clear of
the room, including every removable drawer.

There are several furnishings here.
Metal shelves line the walls here.
A defibrillator box is here, bolted to the wall.
A mess of wires show beneath the flooring, in obvious need of repair.
A pair of latex gloves sit here.
A black-handled chef knife is sitting next to a metal cot bolted to the
floor, leaving a small bloodied mess around it.
A crude knife made of glass is sitting next to a metal cot bolted to the
floor, leaving a small bloodied mess around it.
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair is sitting here at a metal cot
bolted to the floor.
A toned, young black man is resting here at a metal cot bolted to the
floor.
A young, amber-eyed woman tarries here.
A young lass with short, spiked hair is here.
A swarthy-skinned man with dark features looms here.

You say, very quietly,
   "I'll - This, this axe. I need the - that vodka, from Gray, and I'll
I'll
     give this axe to - I don't know, someone. If - if they can. You know.
     Please."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Black... Black. Honey. Sit on the couch."

You say, leaning her shoulder up against the bulkhead wall,
   "Please. That's - all I want."

<****** / ||||||>
You begin searching through your belongings, taking a tally of your
ration.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman crouches down by a toned, young
black man.

<****** / ||||||>
You pmote: leans against the bulkhead wall by the foreward doorway.

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispering to a
toned, young black man,
   " . . .   it . . .                "

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man shuffles over towards a toned, young black
man. Hands clasped behind his scrawny back as he examines his fractured
skull.

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispering to a
toned, young black man,
   " . . .     you're . . .                   "

<****** / ||||||>
Your short-term plan has been set to:
Get vodka.

<****** / ||||||>
Your long-term plan has been set to:

   Stop her left hand from itching, stop the nightmares about wires.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: What do I do?

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair glances up towards a lanky,
thin-featured man as he nears a toned, young black man, uncertainty
showing in her gaze though the rest of her expression remains trainedly
calm.

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispering to a
toned, young black man,
   " . . .                  happy... . . .    "

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman scans the clinic quietly as she
enters, looking across the facing, watching a ghostly pale woman with
raven
black hair for a moment before looking to you.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man lays still, if a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young
woman's words get through there is no obvious sign.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispers something to a toned,
young black man, but you can't quite make out the words.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, with a glance over,
voice unsteady, face blank,
   "I don't - I don't have, do you have any - rations. Thirteen?"

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispering to a
toned, young black man,
   " . . .     for . . .    food . . .          favorites."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, brow furrowing,
shaking her head slowly as she takes a few steps closer to an athletic,
short-haired young woman,
   "I don't."
<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses enters the area.

<****** / ||||||>
You ask a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, very quietly,
   "None?"

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man tells a young lass with short, spiked hair,
murmuring off to the side to her as he steps back from his observation,
   "Hm. Seems to be a linear skull fracture if I had to uh, guess. Major
    concussion. Something with a really big fist either hit him or threw
him
    head first into a uh, wall."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman leans against the bulkhead next
to you, shaking head head faintly. "None," she repeats.

You ask, choking on the word, unable to swallow past a lump in her throat
now,
   "- Please?"

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman whispering to a
toned, young black man,
   " . . .              her . . .        sleep . . .    Jerome.... . . .
"

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair asks a lanky, thin-featured man, in
a
calm, smooth tone,
   "I was not sure what to do for it. I wrapped it, but I have no idea
what
     else to do. Charlotte mentioned draining something?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets back up from where she's
whispering in a toned, young black man 's ear.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman walks away from a metal cot bolted
to the floor and to a young lass with short, spiked hair.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, quietly, nodding once,
watching her own feet for a moment,
   "I'll get you some food, Black. I promise."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman rubs her arms briskly.
<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks, moving closer into the room,
   "Heya, what's going on here?"

You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, tipping her head
back, shutting her eyes,
   "Not food. I just - the vodka above the bar. I can't afford it. I
don't
    have enough and she won't take the axe or anything. She won't -."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair looks aside to a rusty-haired,
amber-eyed young woman as she approaches, smiling weakly before her
attention
returns to a lanky, thin-featured man.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man tells a young lass with short, spiked hair,
voice a dour, hesitant soprano,
   "Theres very little we can do. We simply don't have the uh, supplies
to
    deal with neurosurgery. Nor' are there enough doctors who I feel that
    are uh, skilled enough to deal with it."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a young lass with short,
spiked hair, quietly,
   "I don't know if we can save him... its going to be touch and go.. I
gave
     him part of my memories. Something beautiful. Just.. in case... Maybe
     he'll dream."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man is entering from the west, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, moving over to her,
   "Hey, what happened to Jerome?"

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, licking her lips,
looking over,
   "She's traded, a time or two. Cigarettes for squawkbox. I'm so sorry."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, rushing into the room,
   "I need a light. We have a survivor stuck on the other side of the
glass
    door."

An athletic, short-haired young woman swallows, then curls her left hand
into a fist, pressing it against her mouth, biting her knuckle.
<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young
woman, in a calm, smooth tone,
   "Is the best you could do for him."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: It isn't Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
moving toward a toned, young black man,
   "It is Baron. I'm going for Steel's keycard."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman hurries over to a toned, young
black man, reaching into his pack, looking for a flashlight.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses turns to a plain, bay-haired man
and shakes her head.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair asks a lanky, thin-featured man, in
a
calm, smooth tone,
   "Do you think there is a chance he can pull through if he's kept still
    here?"

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man gets a black, steel flashlight from an
oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I'm going to throw up. If I - if.

A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman emphatically tells a plain,
bay-haired man, her voice quiet,
   "No!"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman pulls the flashlight out.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man doesn't respond to a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, waiting to get the flashlight from a rusty-haired,
amber-eyed young woman.

You thought: If I throw up I'll have to eat more again I'll have to eat I
can't
even puke, I can't do anything, God.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: God, God, God.
<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man tells a young lass with short, spiked hair,
voice a dour, hesitant soprano,
   "Very doubtful. If the wound itself doesn't kill him, the concussion
    could very well cause his brain to swell and he'll uh, die."

<****** / ||||||>
An able-bodied young woman with blonde hair is entering from the west,
with
light, cautious steps.

<****** / ||||||>
Out of a toned, young black man's backpack a lit a black, steel
flashlight is pulled free by a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man gives a black, steel flashlight to a
rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tosses a black, steel flashlight
at a plain, bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gives a black, steel flashlight
to a plain, bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a plain, bay-haired man,
holding out a hand, shaking her head, features terrified,
   "-Ask- me why you can't. Please."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man snatches a black, steel flashlight, turning
quickly.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Doc.. listen to Thirteen."

<****** / ||||||>
An able-bodied young woman with blonde hair steps into the clinic and
looks
around slowly.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Just listen."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man asks a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
as
he starts to leave,
   "Why?"

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses falls into stride with a plain,
bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses,
glancing back at her,
   "Stay here. I am going alone."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a lanky, thin-featured man,
in
an even, husky tone,
   "And don't play fatalistic on my patient. He's going to fucking make
it."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses,
monotone in nature,
   "You're dead weight."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks a plain, bay-haired man, in a
clear, soothing voice,
   "Do you have another battery?"

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses stops following a plain,
bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses,
monotone in nature,
   "Yes.. I do, actually."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a plain, bay-haired man,
swallowing, shutting her eyes tightly and shaking her head,
   "Because the class twos are probably laying a trap."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses tells a plain, bay-haired man, in
a
clear, soothing voice,
   "All right.."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
monotone in nature,
   "I'll have to move fast."

<****** / ||||||>
An able-bodied young woman with blonde hair says, resounding melodically,
   "Sounds like I missed something."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man puts a crude knife made of glass into an
oversized, medium gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man gets a slim, taped razor from an oversized,
medium gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man affixes a slim, taped razor to his belt.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a plain, bay-haired man, in
an
even, husky tone,
   "The class twos lay traps."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man stops using an oversized, medium gray canvas
pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man drops an oversized, medium gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a plain, bay-haired man, in
an
even, husky tone,
   "I've got documentation."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tosses down an oversized, medium gray canvas
pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman,
monotone in nature,
   "Don't care."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a plain, bay-haired man, in
an
even, husky tone,
   "We cracked the files on the USB."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, monotone in nature,
   "I need a battery."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I, God. I don't know.
<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gets a small, rechargeable
battery from an oversized, light gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman throws a small, rechargeable
battery at a plain, bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman gives a small, rechargeable
battery to a plain, bay-haired man.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man takes a small, rechargeable battery and nods to
a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I need to drink.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man unscrews the bottom of a black, steel
flashlight and replaces its old power source with a small, rechargeable
battery.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman shoves her face into her hands,
taking in a deep breath. She removes her hands, brushing away a few tears
as
she looks over to you, then to an able-bodied young woman with blonde
hair.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I'm going to need to drink.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells an able-bodied young woman
with blonde hair, mouthing silently to her,
   "Steel and three others dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells an able-bodied young
woman
with blonde hair, haltingly,
   "St..Jerome's the chief of SecOps now. Four or five..Cold..Baron's
    trapped."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, as he turns to leave, glancing at an
able-bodied young woman with blonde hair on his way by,
   "I will try, at the very least."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young woman, aghast,
   "Steel's dead?"

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman,
voice a dour, hesitant soprano,
   "I'm being realistic. What supplies we do have are all crude or rusty.
If
    we want a chance to save him we'll need professional, well-kept
tools.
    Like the doctor's unrealisticly expensive medical briefcase over
there."

<****** / ||||||>
An able-bodied young woman with blonde hair asks a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, her eyes closing,
   "Where?"

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man eyes a swarthy-skinned man with dark
features indifferently for a moment.

You say, wetting at her lips, staring up at the ceiling now,
   "I'll - anybody who can get me that vodka. This axe, I'll give it to
    them. Anything."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells an able-bodied young
woman
with blonde hair, her voice quiet,
   "Other side of the glass door."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman tells a lanky, thin-featured man,
in
an even, husky tone,
   "Yeah, well, we're going to do what we need to for him. He -will- pull
    through."

<****** / ||||||>
An able-bodied young woman with blonde hair begins slowly walking
westward,
with light, cautious steps.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man slowly opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling
wordlessly as he rapidly blinks his eyes a few times.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man sucks in a loud breath, ragged and shallow,
almost
coughing it out with a shake of his body.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman looks quickly down at a toned,
young black man.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man turns his head, passing back out as quickly as
he
came to.

You thought: My hand won't stop itching. Not even now and Steel's dead,
he's
dead, he's - dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "He was conscious for a moment... so its not coma."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, looking over, moving
to place a shaky hand on the woman's shoulder, features pained,
   "I'm so sorry. I should have been back with you, and even more, I
should
    have been with them."

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man's bony shoulders roll a shrug at a
rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman as he shuffles out.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man says, voice a dour, hesitant soprano,
   "NOt a coma yet, just a severe concussion."

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman shakes off a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman's hand and finally slumps back against the wall again,
sagging against it, sliding into a seat on the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
You sit down and rest your tired bones, staring down at her left hand,
palm up, in her lap.

<****** / ||||||>
A lanky, thin-featured man leaves the area.

You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, turning her head a
little, swallowing hard,
   "Don't. Don't, Thirteen. Don't - don't, I don't know, don't say
anything,
    because he - he's -."

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair glances about the room then looks
back
to a rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair asks a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young
woman, in a calm, smooth tone,
   "Where did Ugly go?"

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, quietly,
   "I really do not like him..."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "He went up."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "With a team."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Who has not been back yet."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman sits down, sliding down the
wall, nodding to you.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair nods.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair says, in a calm, smooth tone,
   "I am going to check things at the elevator."

You say, closing her left hand, flexing the fist, relaxing it, staring at
her palm - finally starting to cry, mostly quiet, though her shoulders
shake,
   "Because he's dead. And I - I knew, I, God. He's dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young woman, in a clear, soothing voice,
   "Charlotte, who else is dead?"

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, her voice quiet,
   "He's with Ship. Or Home. I'm.."
You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, shutting her eyes,
slamming her head back against the wall,
   "He's -dead-. And they're going - to to cut off his head and fuh-flush
    him, out that - that fucking -fuh-fucking airlock. And - And he's
dead,
    and they're going to - wear his - clothes and I'm going - going to
spend
    the - everyday looking at pieces - pieces of him. And he's -dead.-."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "Steel, that guy with the blue eyes and the wierd accent, and
another."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man mumbles lowly.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man leaves the area.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young woman, nodding slowly,
   "Equi? All right..."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses says, under her breath,
   "Shit..."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "No. Not Equi."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman says, in an even, husky tone,
   "The one with the crystal blue eyes."

<****** / ||||||>
[A brutish looking man with a square jaw (The Survivors) is online. Use
NOTIFY to reply in kind.]

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses tells a rusty-haired, amber-eyed
young woman, in a clear, soothing voice,
   "Oh, him... I can't remember his name."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman presses her face to her hands,
beginning to to weep into her hands quietly.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's going to stay dead.

You thought: He'll always be dead he won't come back I can't wake up or
go back
into that pod or God why can't I?

You thought: And my hand won't stop stop itching God he's dead, I'm going
to
throw up I can't he's dead he's dead I'm going to I don't know but he's
dead
Steel's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses says, turning quickly for the
exit,
   "I'd better see what's going on."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, from behind her hands,
beginning to shake,
   "I have to go. And I'm scared to. I'll be back. I promise. I'll..see
    about him. Steel. If you want..we can just..not spread his clothes
    around."

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman walks away quickly.

<****** / ||||||>
A rusty-haired, amber-eyed young woman begins walking westward, dragging
an
unconscious man.

You say, not looking at a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
staring back down at her palm again, inhaling hard, sniffing, tears
tracing tracks down her face,
   "He's - God, he's dead. I don't know. I - he's dead."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

An athletic, short-haired young woman chokes a sob back now, not quiet,
shoulders shaking, and draws her knees up, hugging them, left hand still
palm
up, fist flexing, and buries her head against her knees, crying openly,
finally.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, looking over
searchingly, removing her hands from her face and wiping away tears,
trailing
off as an athletic, short-haired young woman's crying worsens,
   "Please don't do anything stupid. Please. Steel hurts -through- you.
    If..you die..Please, just..."

<****** / ||||||>
[A stubby, red haired man (The Survivors) is online. Use NOTIFY to reply
in
kind.]

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Oh God he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
Sometimes there are no words; an athletic, short-haired young woman just
sobs against her knees, drawn up and small.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair moves her head slowly to
you in sad, dull eyes, while her hands push her forward off a metal cot
bolted to the floor. She stumbles to a stand, bending with a muffled
groan
to get the knives on the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair gets up from a metal cot
bolted to the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair gets a black-handled chef
knife.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair gets a crude knife made of
glass.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair brushes the fresh tears from
her
face as she wobbles west.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair begins wandering westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman clambers on her feet, awkwardly
patting you on the shoulder as she begins to rise.

You thought: He's dead she thinks but more than that more than he's dead
because his skin on hers and the way he would touch her shoulder and his
face
that smile those eyes his crying wanting so hard so badly to be good good
good
and I left them to die Black I left them to die and I want to die and I
don't
know what to do and he's dead he's dead Steel's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

An athletic, short-haired young woman turns her head away from a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, her shoulder doing nothing under
that pat, limp or dead, rubbing her face against her ridiculous, duct-
taped
knees, breathing raggedly, still crying, quiet again, and then not.

<****** / ||||||>
Wiping tears off of her face, a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman
moves out of the clinic quietly.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw is entering from the west, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.

<****** /   ||||||>
A brutish   looking man with a square jaw says, poking his head through the
hatch and   whispering loudly to a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
   "Baron   is alive... we got him out as well as retrieved the keycard."

You pmote: lies back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest,
sobbing.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man is entering from the west, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, turning back westwards,
   "Thought you should know."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a brutish looking man
with
a square jaw, holding out a hand,
   "Wait."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man steps into the clinic, glancing around briefly.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair is entering from the west.
<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks, stops, one hand on the
bulkhead. He looks over his shoulder,
   "Yeah?"

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman asks a brutish looking man with
a
square jaw, licking her lips,
   "Is anyone still up there?"

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw shakes his head.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman,
with a glance to her,
   "Nobody else survived. Baron was saved."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "Ella and the Doc went about... Baron was it. Scared as fuck, but
he'll
    live."

<****** / ||||||>
Turning, a plain, bay-haired man makes to depart quietly.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair smiles to a plain, bay-haired man
as she passes him while comming in.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman nods once, rubbing at
tear-stained cheeks and continuing to the fore of the ship.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "SecOps needs to find a councilman and quick... laws should be made,
    rules should be enforced."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, jerking an angry fist
towards
the ceiling,
   "We are feeding the second level."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw puts a bent, metal lunchtray into
an oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

You thought: Over and over and over and God he's dead still dead always
come
back please Ship bring him back wake him up again those eyes his eyes
make him
come out of a new pod brand new please God Ship I'd give anything anyone
please, God, god god god god god please. God. I will die if you bring him
back just please bring him back I will do anything I promise please I'll
please.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a brutish looking man
with
a square jaw, passing out the doorway,
   "Enough, for now."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Please.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man is entering from the west, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man gets an oversized, medium gray canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair glances over towards a comfortable,
wide couch with high armrests then shakes her head.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw looks to a young lass with short,
spiked hair and raises a thick eyebrow.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man walks into the clinic and picks up an oversized,
medium gray canvas pack, then turns to leave.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He'll always be dead.
<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He dead come back.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair says, shifting her weight as if to
turn and head out,
   "Going to find someplace to sleep that I can barricade the door."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair's gaze ticks over towards a brutish
looking man with a square jaw before she ducks her head in preparation to
step through the door.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw nods to a young lass with short,
spiked hair.

You thought: Come back come back come back maybe he is he isn't he is
dead God
they took it off his body and he's lying there and they'll piece by piece
him
apart and everyday I will look at him those pieces of who he was him the
real
him Steel and his face was a torture and his back was the way they had
put him
to piece by piece together anyway and he's gone they can't glue this dead
dead
dead he's dead I don't know what to do can't drink I want to drink I want
- a
needle a needle in my arm I need something a needle a drink smoking
cigarettes
a needle in my arm my left arm and my left hand which won't stop itching
why
won't it stop that goddamn those would be his words my words he's dead he
was
there when I came out of the pod and into the bright blue but I said
black but
it isn't right and I asked him to come with me and he did and we sat
there and
just sat there and then he I he's dead he's dead he's dead and I - I'm
not.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw turns westwards without another
word.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw begins walking westward, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.

<****** / ||||||>
A young lass with short, spiked hair begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses goes afk for a little bit.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman sucks in a deep breath, moving
to you slowly, clutching a long-sleeved, form-fitting dark gray jacket
tightly in her hands.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man enters the area.


A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses goes afk for a little bit.

<****** / ||||||>
Most of the hard sobbing has stopped. Apparently exhausted, still
sniffing,
inhaling hard, exhaling raggedly, an athletic, short-haired young woman
hugs her knees and just blinks against the gummy duct-taped armor on her
legs,
staring sidelong at the wall.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses sits at a comfortable, wide couch
with high armrests.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses falls asleep.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman sits down, leaning against the
wall and sliding down it, holding out a long-sleeved, form-fitting dark
gray jacket to drape it across you's shoulders.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man reveals himself.
A plain, bay-haired man stops using a black, steel flashlight.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man steps away from the shadow as he looses a black,
steel flashlight, moving toward a toned, young black man.

You pmote: lies back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest,
crying quietly.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man stumbles, falling to his knees.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a toned, young black man, monotone in
nature,
   "Sit. I have your flashlight."

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man clambers on his feet.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man sits at a metal cot bolted to the floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man rests.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man is barely moving on a metal cot bolted to the
floor.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man asks a toned, young black man, leaning over him,
   "Are you with me?"

<****** / ||||||>
[A brutish looking man with a square jaw (The Survivors) is online. Use
NOTIFY to reply in kind.]

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man says, head moving slightly, though it does not
seem he is completely concious,
   "Uh... ffh-..."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw is entering from the west, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man tells a toned, young black man, as he leans over
to
stow a black, steel flashlight in the man's pack,
   "Guess not."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man gives a black, steel flashlight to a toned,
young black man.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man puts a black, steel flashlight into an
oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, quietly now, gathered
at least, reaching up to grab hold of the jacket,
   "He's dead."
<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman gives you a long-sleeved,
form-fitting dark gray jacket.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, as he turns from a toned, young black
man, eyes distant as he starts to walk away,
   "And.. that is why."

You pmote: sits back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, a
long-sleeved, form-fitting dark gray jacket draped over her shoulders.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, shifting awkwardly,
letting her head rest against the bulkhead before she nods,
   "I know."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

<****** / ||||||>
An athletic, short-haired young woman turns her head, opens her mouth,
swallows hard, then bites down hard on her bottom lip, her breathing
still
ragged, unsteady, through her nose.

<****** / ||||||>
A toned, young black man leaves the area.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, her voice quiet,
   "I know I can't say or do anything to fix this, Black. But I'm here
    because you're my friend, and..I want to try."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead dead dead God I'm going to cry again don't I'm
going to
he's dead, he's dead.

An athletic, short-haired young woman turns her head again, this time
into
a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's shoulder, and presses her
forehead against one of those ridiculous tin cup pauldrons, shuts her
eyes, and
says nothing.
You thought: He's dead why couldn't it be you he's dead or anyone else or
me
not me not me not me he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw is entering from the west, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, softly, leaning her cheek
against the top of an athletic, short-haired young woman's head,
   "He didn't have to let me in, but he did."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw stops inside the bulkhead, seeing
a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman and you. He approaches a
metal cot bolted to the floor and yanks a blanket from it, approaching
the
women.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw gets a coarse, drab brown
blanket from a metal cot bolted to the floor.

You pmote: sits back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, a
long-sleeved, form-fitting dark gray jacket draped over her shoulders,
and
her head pressed against a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's
shoulder.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, looking down to an
athletic, short-haired young woman and chuckling,
   "You were one of the first I met here when I was belched forth from
the
    belly of this hell-filled beast - you were good to me. I thank you
for
    that Black, so take this blanket before you catch your Cold."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw attempts to flap open a coarse,
drab brown blanket and drape it over her.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman looks up to a brutish looking
man with a square jaw, nodding once and offering a grateful, sad smile.

You say, flinching a little at the sound of the blanket flapping open,
her voice quiet, broken,
   "I just - he's dead. He's - I don't know. I don't know anything or
what
     to do and he's dead and he's still dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw gently drapes the blanket over
you, leaving enough for a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman to
take some too.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks, nodding to an athletic,
short-haired young woman,
   "Yeah, too many have gone into the Cold and left us. Sometimes wonder
if
     the Warm ones be the unlucky ones - few of the old timers left. We
need
     to stick together, yeah?"

You thought: Grief is like a Christmas tree. Everyone wants to cover you
in
something.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman seems about to speak, but
remains
silent, simply shutting her eyes for the moment, grasping her edge of the
blanket with her free arm.

You thought: Blankets, jackets, their bodies, like it's their warmth you
need
there that right there their warmth when he's still dead and he's cold
not me
or you or she or me he's the dead one and I'm not dead I'm not and he is.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks you, his rough voice
smoothing
slightly as he reaches up to a metal cot bolted to the floor,
   "You gave me this, remember Black?"

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw drops a coarse, drab brown
blanket.

You tell a brutish looking man with a square jaw, her face still pressed
into a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's shoulder, eyes shut,
though crying again quietly,
   "He's - dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw nods, not knowing what else to
say.

<****** / ||||||>
A lissome, ecru-haired woman is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, quietly, features
hesitantly hopeful,
   "We could pray to Ship. About Steel."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw sits down near the two, resting
against a metal cot bolted to the floor and pulling one leg up to his
chest.

<****** / ||||||>
A lissome, ecru-haired woman begins walking westward.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw sits down.

You thought: I want a needle a drug a drink something I want to die I
want
Steel I want him back bring him back I want Steel he's dead he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... Good sometime people of the Hellship, Ella here to report that
Spybot
is starting to look almost good enough to return to duty. ..."

You thought: I don't know what to do say I can't console her I can't
because
God and her that intercom I'm going to God Steel he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair says, moving into the
clinic
with a faint limp. He looks about for a moment, before edging back the
way he
came,
   "I can come back later."

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... Many thanks to everyone that has contributed by donation of
materials
or investing time into working on the damage. ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a broad-shouldered man with
tousled blond hair, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "Get in here."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "We all been through hell Baron, pop a squat."

You say, voice breaking again as the intercom buzzes,
    "I - ... God, I - I don't, I - he's. I don't, I don't know, Thirteen,
I
     don't know anything or -."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses enters the area.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair freezes upon hearing a
brutish looking man with a square jaw's words. He turns his head, smiling
vaguely towards the man before limping further into the clinic. .

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... A small reminder that we are in need of snapped wires, hunks of
scrap
metal, batteries, and empty food tins to continue our work. ..."

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... Please deliver to an Engineer or leave it outside the Computer Lab.
Thank you. ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says,   swallowing, holding one
hand out to a brutish looking man with a square   jaw or a broad-shouldered
man with tousled blond hair, the other reaching   to take an athletic,
short-haired young woman's from under a coarse,   drab brown blanket,
   "Let's pray. For those we've lost."

<****** / ||||||>
After a 'bzzt' of static, a cold, computerized voice cuts in over the
intercom:
"... Warning: Non-human Threat detected approaching Deck Two Elevator.
Estimated chance of breach, nineteen percent ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw lurches to his feet.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw clambers on his feet.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw growls.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair takes a kneel near a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's position. He quickly stands
with a
wince upon the intercom's announcement however.
<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw draws a cudgel studded with glass
and metal shards.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw yanks a cudgel studded with glass
and metal shards from belt and motions for a broad-shouldered man with
tousled blond hair to follow.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man attempts to be stealthy.
A plain, bay-haired man begins walking westward, treading carefully.

An athletic, short-haired young woman does not really acknowledge the
intercom. She lets a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman take her
hand
from under a coarse, drab brown blanket. She cries against a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's shoulder again, quiet, awkward,
forced. That's about it.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair falls into stride with a
brutish looking man with a square jaw.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair gets a cudgel studded with
glass and metal shards from an oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair wields a cudgel studded
with glass and metal shards.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "You are needed here Thirteen... stay Warm."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw turns towards the door, yanking a
lunch tray from an oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw gets a bent, metal lunchtray
from an oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... Uhm. Fuck. Ella here. It. Its. Fuck. Soldiers to the fucking
elevator. ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair tells a brutish looking
man
with a square jaw, worry on his face,
   "Watch my back... I can't take much hits like the one before."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw moves into position to guard a
broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells a brutish looking man
with
a square jaw, her voice quiet,
   "And you. Don't go up while Ship's killing them."

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair nods gratefully towards a
brutish looking man with a square jaw.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "I won't, I plan on staying warm a while to bother you some more
Thirteen."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw begins walking westward, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair begins walking westward.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: It's - is - he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: /He's dead/.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, quietly, squeezing
the
woman's hand and reaching up to unlace a tin cup pauldron,
   "Let me get that, it probably hurts a bit."

<****** / ||||||>
After a 'bzzt' of static, a cold, computerized voice cuts in over the
intercom:
"... Warning: Code Red security armed. Non-human Threat has reached Deck
Two Elevator. Initiating defense ..."

An athletic, short-haired young woman lifts her head reluctantly,
glancing
away from a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, staring at the far
wall.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman stops using a tin cup pauldron.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman puts a tin cup pauldron into an
oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

<****** / ||||||>
After a 'bzzt' of static, a cold, computerized voice cuts in over the
intercom:
"... Non-human Threat Exterminated outside of Deck Two Elevator ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman tells you, quietly, sucking in
a
deep breath, shutting her eyes after she finishes speaking, features
hesitant,
   "You can put your head back, now..I'm not sure how to do this, but I'm
    going to try."

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... monty here. viewing several corpses. no live one viewable. ..."

You tell a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, shutting her eyes,
inhaling slowly - exhaling as slowly, then obediently dropping her head
against a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's shoulder again,
   "I - God, god - Just."

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... monty here. repeat. steelmutant went east. monty out. ..."

An athletic, short-haired young woman's face twists, as if trying not to
cry again, and failing miserably as the intercom rambles on. She buries
her
face in a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's shoulder again, just
whimpering and crying now.

You thought: He - he's dead, God, let him stay dead be dead come back
bring him
back God he's - Steel, Steel, Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, quietly, licking her lips
before speaking, lidded gaze turning to the ceiling, faltering and
beginning to
weep as well as the intercom continues,
   "Ship. We hear you, and feel you, and you protect us. You give, and
you
    take away..We pray that you would give..comfort, now. We thank you
for
    your Warmth, and..oh, Ship. Help us. We have lost, and we feel lost."

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I can't. I can't.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I can't.

Quiet again, mostly quiet, an athletic, short-haired young woman just
sucks
in one breath after another against a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed
woman's shoulder, shoulders shaking.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: He's dead and I can't do this.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a static ringing in your ears, almost deafening, something that
a broken radio might make.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman leans her head against your
once more, taking a deep breath before visibly calming herself.

You thought: Do what do anything God bring him back Ship put him in a pod
those
eyes again and him his face the back that back that is a million pieces
put
together none matched and I touched it and God he's dead stop it just
don't cry
stop crying you can't cry you'll get sick and if you get sick you'll have
to
what if I throw up and if I do I'll have to eat again and it's all food
food
food always and God I'm going to die but he's dead not me and I'm not
dead.
I'm still not dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, quietly an hesitantly,
   "Ship help us. Amen."

<****** / ||||||>
After a 'bzzt' of static, a cold, computerized voice cuts in over the
intercom:
"... Warning: Possible Non-human Threat detected on Deck One. Scanner
certainty unclear ..."

You say, the words hoarse, broken, not lifting her head, not even shaking
it a little,
   "He's dead."

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye is entering
from
the west, standing tall, but moving very slowly.

<****** / ||||||>
   Of average height and light build, this man's body is riddled
with scars. Pockmarks and slashes cover the majority of his
frame, and his back and left shoulder are covered in one large
burn scar; a scar that obvious signs of skin-grafting and other
surgeries have ultimately failed to hide. His right forearm is
covered by a tattoo sleeve - it starts at the inside of his wrist
with a grinning skull, a dagger stuck in its eye. The skull is
on fire, and the flames weave up and around his arm, forming
various patterns and pictures. The tattoo ends at his neck, the
flames licking at his jugular. Upon his head is sat a mess of
thick black hair, reaching just to one hazel eye, his right eye
nothing more than a grotesque hole. His nose is crooked, as if
broken long ago, and sits above thin lips and a squared jaw.
Overall, this man hasn't an ounce of fat on him, his weathered
and beaten body is muscular, though wasted slightly from unuse.

A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye appears to be
in
excellent condition.

<worn   at neck>         a   spoon-woven collar
<worn   about body>      a   long-sleeved, form-fitting white jacket
<worn   over shoulder>   a   tin cup pauldron
<worn   about waist>     a   navy blue belt of coarse linen
<worn   on belt>         a   black-handled chef knife
<worn   on feet>         a   pair of low, olive green boots

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye stops as he
enters into the room. His head turns slowly, looking between a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman and you.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw is entering from the west, with a
solid gait, predatory eyes searching the corners and crevices.
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses is entering from the west.

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair is entering from the west.
A tousle-haired, wiry young man is entering from the west, with a
slightly
wobbly gait.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks, in a clear, soothing voice,
   "Where?"

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair starts to shake violently!

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw asks, in a deep and gravelly
baritone,
   "Didn't you see em?"

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man points at a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye.

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman opens her eyes to a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's approach, looking up
wide-eyed.

An athletic, short-haired young woman sniffs a little and lifts her head,
glancing up at the other voices - only to freeze, staring blank-faced,
tear-streaked, at a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one
eye.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw raises a cudgel studded with
glass and metal shards, careening in after a fibrous, grotesquely-
scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with fury in his eyes.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses tells a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye, surprised,
   "You're alive."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman says, sucking in a deep breath
before squeaking out, barely,
   "Shit."

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a tousle-haired, wiry young man say, in a deep, even tone,
   " . . . seem . . . be . . . "

You thought: He's dead he's not dead he's - God, he's - he's not dead,
he's not
dead he's not dead.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye walks aftwards
before the group, his slow shamble approaching a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman and you. From his right eye hangs a stumpy stalk of
tissue, dripping some sort of odd liquid.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks a tousle-haired, wiry young
man, in a clear, soothing voice,
   "You sure it's not another one of the mutants' tricks?"

<****** / ||||||>
You overhear a tousle-haired, wiry young man say, in a deep, even tone,
   "No, I'm . . . at . . .          be . . .          "

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair says, eyes opening widely,
words
slow and sporadic,
   "Oh . . . good . . . Ship . . . Don't let it touch you."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw throws his arm back, lending the
weight of his shoulder and muscle behind the swing of a cudgel studded
with
glass and metal shards as he aims for the back of a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's head.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel. Steel. Oh - God. He's - I don't know. I --

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses keeps her a sharpened, steel
fan-blade ready, staring at a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man
with one eye.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw shouts,
   "LEAVE HER ALONE!!!"

<****** / ||||||>
You exclaim, choking the word, watching a brutish looking man with a
square jaw past a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one
eye,
   "No - !"

<****** / ||||||>
OOC: a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye rolls vs.
dex and fails miserably.

You thought: Oh God oh God oh God he's alive he's dead he's there there
right
there oh God - he hit him he hit him he's dead Steel Steel Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye appears
momentarily alarmed at your word, turning just too late to avoid a
brutish looking man with a square jaw's attack. The blow strike him
soundly
in the side of the temple and he staggers backwards, towards where a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman and the woman sit.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses takes a step towards a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye, her gaze unblinking.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man tells a brutish looking man with a square
jaw, in a deep, even tone,
   "Hold on Ugly..if it's not hostile this could be a chance to study
them
     further."

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman moves to wrap her free arm
about you protectively, looking away from a brutish looking man with a
square jaw and a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one
eye with pained features.

You thought: Run run run run run run Steel I need to go you need to go
run or
they'll kill you you're dead oh God I'm -

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: I don't know I don't know.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw drops a bent, metal lunchtray.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses asks, glancing at the others,
   "Should we restrain him?"

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw throws down a bent, metal
lunchtray and attempts to grab ahold of a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye and yank him away from the women.

Under a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman's arm, an athletic,
short-haired young woman is trembling uncontrollably, shoulders
shuddering,
staring at a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye as
he
staggers about, staring at a brutish looking man with a square jaw, then
a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye again, only a
fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye, staring blank-
faced
but crying, soundlessly.

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... none at comm. report if found? ..."

<****** / ||||||>
OOC: a brutish looking man with a square jaw rolls vs. dex and passes.

You thought: They're going to cut him cut him into pieces God I need to -
stop
let him go God let him go he's dead he's dead just - don't touch him he's
dead
he's gone.

A plain, bay-haired man is entering from the west, treading carefully.
<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw throws down a bent, metal
lunchtray and attempts to grab ahold of a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye and yank him away from the women.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses falls into stride with a brutish
looking man with a square jaw.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man pauses as he looks at a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, monotone in nature,
   "Ah, fuck."

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man falls into stride with a brutish looking
man with a square jaw.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's jaw drops
open,
mutely, though there is a distinct static buzzing in the air around him.
His
right and left fists clench tightly, and the skin around the bridge of
his nose
crinkles in a snarl. He stands there, between a frizzly-black-haired,
wiry-framed woman, you and the others. When a brutish looking man
with a square jaw leaps forward, he stays his ground and attacks the man,
brutally!

<****** / ||||||>
You hear a 'bzzzt' over a hidden intercom, heralding a muffled voice:
"... all cameras out. repeat all cameras out ..."

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair falls into stride with a
brutish looking man with a square jaw.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw says, roaring angrily,
   "Kill the damn thing! Were it truly Steel would it have snuck by us?
    Would the computer be reading an anomaly? Would any of us had to get
    that damned keycard!? It's an abomination - kill the damned thing."

<****** / ||||||>
The lightly-built, cooking-pot-helmed person is entering from the west,
with light, cautious steps.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man exclaims, rushing forward to help,
   "The static buzz, fuck! No!"

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye engages a
brutish looking man with a square jaw in combat.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw sidesteps a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's wild claw.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man   with one eye sidesteps a
brutish looking man with a square jaw's wild   hack.
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man   with one eye utterly misses
a brutish looking man with a square jaw with   its claw.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses completely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her cut.

<****** / ||||||>
The lightly-built, cooking-pot-helmed person says, while holding a
compact black walkie-talkie up to their lips and pressing a button on its
side,
   "Normal sometimes. Give it a few mi-."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye with his stab.
A plain, bay-haired man easily misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his pierce.

You thought: Oh God, don't, don't hurt - hurt him, Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man hacks a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye hard on the abdomen as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw snarls as he engages !fibr.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw deftly parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's amateur claw with his
cudgel.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his cut.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man stabs a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye hard on the face as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man utterly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses completely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her cut.
A plain, bay-haired man rushes at a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye from the side, aiming for the head.

<****** / ||||||>

A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman sits next to you, one arm
around her protectively, the other gripping her hand.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw only just parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's amateur claw with his
cudgel.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man broadly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his hack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man broadly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his hack.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man stabs a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye on the left forearm as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her slash.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye completely
misses
a brutish looking man with a square jaw with its claw.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man broadly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man broadly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his pierce.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man fractionally misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his hack.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw barely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his chop.

<****** / ||||||>
The lightly-built, cooking-pot-helmed person says, while holding a
compact black walkie-talkie up to their lips and pressing a button on its
side,
   "Hostile in the Clinic."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her cut.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw only just parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's lazy claw with his
cudgel.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man pierces a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye on the left shoulder as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man fractionally misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

You exclaim, still shuddering, sobbing again, screaming even as a
frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman holds her,
   "Steel! Steel - Steel! - ... Steel, Steel - Steel!"

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye stands infront
of you, taking blow after blow and fighting back with fearless flails.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his cut.

<****** / ||||||>
The lightly-built, cooking-pot-helmed person affixes a compact black
walkie-talkie to its belt.

<****** / ||||||>
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye completely
misses
a brutish looking man with a square jaw with its claw.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses completely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her cut.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his cut.
<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man stabs a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye on the face as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man utterly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his pierce.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw barely manages to turn a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's claw with the haft of a
cudgel studded with glass and metal shards.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw hastily parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's wild claw with his
cudgel.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man utterly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man completely misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw utterly misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his chop.

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair is entering from the west,
a
faint limp in his right step.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her slash.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man completely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his chop.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel, Steel - God. Steel. Steel, Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses circles around a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye, looking for an opening.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw narrowly parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's unskilled claw with his
cudgel.
<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man utterly misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his stab.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw easily misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his chop.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses completely misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her slice.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man completely misses a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed man with one eye with his pierce.
A brutish looking man with a square jaw only just parries a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's wild claw with his
cudgel.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man stabs a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye hard on the abdomen as it tries to dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man easily misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with his hack.

<****** / ||||||>
You say, hoarsely, choking the word out,
   "Run."

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses easily misses a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye with her slash.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw chops a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye on the thorax as it tries
to
dodge away.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man pierces a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed
man with one eye's face hard with his knife.
A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye has been
rendered
unconscious.

<****** / ||||||>
Unable to defend itself, a tousle-haired, wiry young man chops a fibrous,
grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye hard on the left calf.

A fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye is hacked apart
by a tousle-haired, wiry young man's powerful hack, expiring with a
ragged
exhalation!
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses says, in a clear, soothing voice,
   "It's down."

You thought: Oh God Steel run leave go you're dead you're dead Steel and
they're going to cut - cut...

<****** / ||||||>
A frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman moves to place one hand over
your eyes, shaking her head back and forth slowly.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw baits and tests the creature's
attacks, keeping its attention while the rest flank it.

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man slams a black-handled chef knife into the
corpse of a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye's
face
before a broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair chops him again.

<****** / ||||||>
A green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses cuts the head from the corpse of a
fibrous, grotesquely-scarred, tattooed man with one eye.

You thought: Something breaks. Something like the inside of a lightbulb
when
you shake it stops working just rattles inside her chest and is broken
broken
broken.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw glares down at the corpse,
shoulders heaving in anger. His lips have curled into a wicked grin.

<****** / ||||||>
With a mighty slash, a green-eyed woman with flaxen tresses brings a
sharpened, steel fan-blade upon the corpse's neck, severing the head and
splatterring the immediate area with blood.

<****** / ||||||>
A tousle-haired, wiry young man slams an axe with a textured, fibreglass
handle into the headless corpse of a fibrous, grotesquely-scarred,
tattooed
man with one eye one last time, then wrenches it free and steps back.

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a tousle-haired, wiry young
man, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "Cover Black's eyes."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man says, turning and taking an abrupt run,
   "I need to watch the elevator. Cameras are down."

<****** / ||||||>
A plain, bay-haired man begins running westward.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel.

<****** / ||||||>
The lightly-built, cooking-pot-helmed person asks, blue eyes darting
person
to person,
   "Everyone alright?"

<****** / ||||||>
A ghostly pale woman with raven black hair looks up from her shock,
clenching her daggers as she staggers, but immediately looks away as the
head
rolls away.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Steel, Steel, he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: God, he's dead.

<****** / ||||||>
As they cut the man apart infront of your eyes and start to drag him
away, you think that - if just for a moment - you hear a word, whispered
into your ear by a familiar voice. It says, "Run Black. Always run. I
love you."

<****** / ||||||>
A brutish looking man with a square jaw tells a broad-shouldered man with
tousled blond hair, in a deep and gravelly baritone,
   "Drag the corpse out."

<****** / ||||||>
A broad-shouldered man with tousled blond hair puts a cudgel studded with
glass and metal shards into an oversized, greenish black canvas pack.

An athletic, short-haired young woman goes still, shuddering stopped, and
passes out against a frizzly-black-haired, wiry-framed woman, the other
woman's hand covering her eyes, too late, too late.

<****** / ||||||>
You thought: Snap.

<****** / ||||||> pmote has passed out on the floor here, and is
unconscious.
<****** / ||||||>
   "Ella, Matthew, see if the Doc needs help at the elevator."

<****** / ||||||>
   "Thirteen, okay. Black..not so much."

<****** / ||||||>
   "Go with Baron and dispose of the body out the trash hole north of the
    bar."

<****** / ||||||>
   "Eject it into space."

<****** / ||||||>
"I promise."

				
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