Grounded - Wastelands

There's this magical thing called a search engine that should clear that up for you.

Tiel wrote:

There's this magical thing called a search engine that should clear that up for you.

OOC:Maybe you should tell people win they ask instead of wasting a good post with your bullshit come backs my friend.

Lee Men Russ? I'm sorry, I can understand misspelling normal words, but at least try to spell things like that from lore right.

'Nes sat up in his bed. Was it a dream brought on by the drugs and health or did his communicator really announce what he was dreading? He tapped he command console and opened a frequency with the Prototype.

"Proto."

"What is it, 'Nes? I'm rather busy."

"What is the status of the Lamentor?"

The noise of machinery and clanking of metal ceased.

"It's... Alive, 'Nes."

"What?"

"Alive. It lives. There's no way known that can kill it."

'Nes closed the channel. The thing had died, he had watched it wither as the fusion core collapsed. The radiation would have completely destroyed it's mechanical and biological components. It should be a cloud of atomized metal and carbon.

But it's not.

No material could stand up to that. Not in this Universe. This universe. It is impossible that the thing would be alive if it was a construct of this here and now, if it was actually captured in the fireball. If there are others...

There are no others. Only one. One construct, spread across multiple universes. Then those... brought into one universe. The perfect war machine. Only together will they fall, will it fall. Apart it is invincible. Together it is only a machine.

Captain stufuzzycat wrote:

Lee Men Russ? I'm sorry, I can understand misspelling normal words, but at least try to spell things like that from lore right.

OOC: Ok i can under stand that one. I was tempted to leave it just to get back space wolfs seeing as everyone in my god dam town plays them...I am just so fucking sick of seeing Rune priest everywhere. And on top that i am only grey knight player here :C Well there is that one girl who plays Sisters of battle........But last i herd there army is dead pretty much. I don't even think they have a up to date codex?!?!? (oh sorry i seem to have gotten way off course)

Prototype has almost repaired the engines, once they are operational again, all that will need to be dome to get the ship space worthy would be to close off the huge hole in the hull, and repressurise the ship

Prototype can almost feel the Lamentor watching the ship, disturbing memories of the incident on ARC-19 play over and over in his mind, where he saw many of the other MK-VIIs torn to people's by the feral machines.

It only took three Lamentors to completely shut down ARC-19, and a few million tonnes of solid rock to stop them, not kill them, just stop them.

Prototype had heard Nes's murmurings, about how the Lamentor is spread across multiple universes, which gets him thinking.

The ancient Frestiorians, from what we know, had developed transdimentional travel, spreading themselves in a similar fashion to the stringiforme, and they were likely sut off by the same incident that immobilised the strigiforme.

There are other ways to jump out of the universe, ways that don't require any yttrium portals or such, supposedly things can be imagined outside the universe, which, according to the multiverse theory, these imagined things are actually brought into existence, but to create on that would be compatible with our universe...

Would require a brain the size of a planet...

ARK-1...

O.M.I.C. Plans to reach out to the lost Frestorian race, and forcibly materialise them into this universe.

But it could do so much more.

In theory, it could bring just about anything into existence, as long as it finds somewhere to contain its information.

But it will have an infinite number of empty universes to store information, if O.M.I.C. accomplishes such a thing, it will literally become a god.

But then how does the Lamentor stay alive, does it store it's information in so e alternate universe, then force that information into our own to repair itself.

But if so why doesn't it bring other things with it?

Prototype realises his thought processors are overheating, the theories he is creating are above his level of understanding, however one thing is clear...

They have to get to ARK-1, and soon.

After retrieving more fuel Arslan went hunting for Jack. As he walked memories of home started surfacing, first of which was the beginning of The Founding War.

On an island that is about 3,000 sq km, a group of 250 Slendarians were showing models, charts and graphs on the growth of the group. After hours of presentations a small group of 15 Slendarians which were heavily decorated emerged from the group, one of them blew a whistle. It was official, they were going to war.

Arslan continued to walk onwards.

While walking to the hangar to find a shuttle or something, Narzos thinks better of it and walks the direction of the escape pods. But not before heading to engineering to leave them a... present.

OOC: For the revival!

I wake up behind a large buzzing machine with my head throbbing
"What the hell!?"

OOC: I always wanted to know why we stopped with this.

I blame arselan.

EmoTiel wrote:

I blame arselan.

Icy what you did there.

Aha, I bet you did nazi that coming.

Hahahaha... Berry punny.

OOC: I'm up for a revival of this, it was really going good.

Prototype notices someone leaving the ship, someone armed.

"probably going to take on the lamentor, fool, they are no longer of any use, I shall not stop them, they should know that it is undying"

Prototype reviews the reconnection of the power grid, it has taken several long months to get this far, but the ship is almost space worthy, the sooner the better, for the Lamentor will not hold back for much longer.

Once the ship is mobile, I'll have to ask each crew member whether or not they will accompany me in the fight that awaits, those who value their lives will say no, and I will drop them off at the nearest civilised planet. I am afraid that if the captain refuses, he will have to be overthrown, but seeing as he is ex-forces, he will likely realise his duty, and join us to storm the mechanical Goliath ARK-1.

I have doubts about Nes, he has already suffered at the hands of a frestorian creation, he has no reason to carry on.

Adeptis I believe will join me, whether it is reluctant or not, his duty to the empire would be to help eliminate the threat.

The mechanic, Larsa, I don't expect him to carry on, but his choices have surprised me in the past.

Jack, Jake and the others seem ready for a fight.... A fight we shall all get.

Prototype begins to input the flight co-ordinate for the nearest planet, and the classified location of ARK-1.

oOC: for those who can't remember what happened when we left off, My character had discovered his own race was plotting to bring back an ancient evil and subsequently destroy all life in the universe, and is secretly trying to get the other characters to join him, whilst preparing to overriede the ships controls should the captain refuse.

Oh and there is a huge ass invincible, savage biomech outside (the Lamentor)

Jake was in his workshop, wearing a radiation suit, about to open a lead cylinder with a yellow and black warning label.
"Ok, steady now... Steeeady..."
With a small 'pchht'- sound, the cylinder opened.
"Ok, I got radioactive material. Now I just have to make some explosive with it."

Thanks to his advanced knowledge of explosive engineering, Jake managed to make a few nuclear grenades in about half an hour.
Jake started grinning.
"Now we are up to some serious explosions." he said to himself.

Suddenly he realized what he had just created.
"Oh god what have I done?"

A blip on the ships self scanning radar readout alerts prototype of radioactive activity at workbench c-17

Damnit jake, I told you not to...

No

Prototype activates the intercom, accessing the built in speakers in Jake's workshop.

"Jake, I've told you time and time again, don't bother making these explosives, they are a danger to everyone on board"

"sir, we need to keep that thing at bay"

"if you would have allowed me to continue, I would have told you that we are going to need as many as possible"

"You're planning to attack the MK-I'V?"

"no, jake, as soon as this ship is functional again, we will have to fly to the nearest civilised planet, there, we will drop off anyone unwilling to fight"

"fight? What do you mean?

"I mean war may be about to erupt, from what I know, on my home planet of ARK-1, elements are in place to bring back a powerful and terrible enemy from the past of the encient civilisations"

"Cthulu?"

"worse, things that make the Lamento look like a child's toy"

"and you want us to fight?"

Prototype disconnects the intercom, knowing that the bomb smith has already, even if he does not yet know it, pledged himself to fight to the bitter end for the sake of the galaxy, probably even the rest of the universe

Jake was standing in his workshop, looking slightly confused.
"So... my nuclear grenades are too dangerous?"
Jake opened his toolbox again.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to disassemble them then. We can always use the radioactive material for fuel or something."

After taking out the radioactive, resealing it in the lead cylinders and putting the cylinders back in the suitcase, Jake got an idea.
He opened a channel to Prototype.
"Hey Proto, do we have any tiny fusion and fission reactors?"

"Jake, the fusion reactors still have plenty of fuel, so I'm afraid the material would be wasted there, and the last micro fusion reactor was blown up by Nes.

That said, I seem to recall there being a few guided missile bolted to one of the fighters, and, seeing as there will likely be a scenario where,me may need, say a nuclear missile or so"

"are you ****ing me, I just disassembled them"

"Jake, I want you to head to the hangar, and see what you can do about installing some nuclear warheads on those missiles"

"but Proto, I am no expert on guided missiles, and besides, if I fit a nuke on them they won't fit in the launch pods of the fighter"

"I'll take care of that, now, there should be a digital instruction manual for those missiles on your computer"

"Proto, you told me a nuke couldn't stop the lamentor, why do you want nuclear missiles?"

"I plan on paying my "father" a visit"

I find a broken glass bottle next to my leg, I pick it up and notice the pool of blood on the floor, It is comming from a gash on my leg which looks like it was cut with glass, Well that explains two things atleast "Now, Where is my damn wrench...".
I get up and begin walk out down a hallway.

OOC: Oh goody, we're continuing this.

Narzos continued towards his destination. There he would make sure no one would survive, and that whatever-the-fuck outside wouldn't be a problem for him because he'd prepared an escape craft prior to walking towards the destination.

Ramilius saw that the power was almost fully online, and started running to his gunnery control station, so he could play with them once they had power.

I was walking along when suddenly out from a corner some guy smacks into me
"Who the hell are you!?"
"Ramilius"
"Meh, Ok"
I stare at the strange man.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

The Ensign labored away at the bulkhead with his vintage 23rd century wrench; the ship had some old components that were incompatible with newer tools.

"Always gotta freaking have an obstacle. Oh, look at you, too good for fekking spanners." Larsa mumbled under his breath. The android or whatever it was had made sure to wake him up this morning and had refused to leave his room until he agreed to make some final checks to the ship's crucial functions. It would be rather nasty for the structural integrity of the bulkheads to fail once they were back in space - the vessel and its occupants would be crushed like meat in a grinder. The technician was not keen on that method of death.

Finally, the paneling of the faulty pillar came off with a deft motion of the wrench, the thin steel collapsing to the floor, revealing a host of rather confusing circuitry. Why bother putting electronics in something designed to keep the ship's shape under pressure was beyond Larsa, but his scanner reported something was amiss with this particular structure. Grunting, the technician clenched the wrench in his beak while his wings glided over the veritable clusterfek of wiring...in a few minutes he could find nothing wrong with it.

"Bloody stupid machine!" He practically yelled as he threw the scanner to the ground, causing it to break in half. No matter, he had forty like it back in the reactor storageroom.

There was a silver lining, however. That was the last object he'd been ordered to check, and thus it was time for a siesta. Larsa examined the dusty cement of the maintenance hallway and thought less of that idea. He would have to go back to his quarters to have anything that could be called a 'nap' under any circumstances. With that, the technician was about to walk out the hatch of that particular stretch of the maintenance system into the regular hallways when he heard voices.

Peering around the corner, there were two people. Ramilius and...who was that? The ensign could not associate that face with any members of the crew...an alien impostor? Couldn't the gunnery officer see that? No, Larsa thought with a shiver, he was probably under the creature's thrall. He wasn't one to take spontaneous actions, but there is no way in hell he'd sleep with the knowledge he could wake up screaming. With that in mind, Larsa jumped out, SMG aimed at the alien's face, right as the duo were passing where he stood.

A mix of confusion and fear filled the strange creature's face. Typical. Poor imitation emotions won't save you now, he thought.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't blow your head off, impostor."

The muzzle of a laser rifle rustled [Shadowcat's] hair.

Error, on the other end of the rifle, grinned. "Safeties off, Larsa. Now you, good sir, are who? And believe me, being a medic has done shit-all for my itchy trigger finger. Not sure about Larsa, and Ramilius seems to prefer the ship's guns, but I'm the one with an incredibly overpowered gun to your head."

"Speak fast, I tend to scratch itches."