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Unread 4 Mar 2005, 13:49   #251
flapjack
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Re: Doom

ooc/ Disrupter, please start reading other's posts... I already did my best to fix your nose, ofcourse I'm not as good with a medkit as a real medic, so I might have overdone the bio foam a bit /ooc
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 6 Mar 2005, 22:35   #252
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Re: Doom

If Slick, No Dachi and Inspectre would please post, though Inspectre now has a reason not to anymore... We could get on with this.

I also think Hewitt and Richpur could have used the last 7 days come up with a decent post, right?
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 7 Mar 2005, 11:59   #253
slick
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Re: Doom

OOC: Well, sorry guys for not being in the RP lately, but i have no internet at home anymore, so if it takes a little longer for me to post, please don't kill me off!

Slick, opening his eyes, sees the bullet that caused his body such pain. Feeling much better, he raises his body up, slowly blinking as his eyes take a few seconds to adust to the light. His weapons are not on him, they seem to be over the other end of the room, in a box saying "paitent's belongings" He gets onto his legs, which are still weak from the sedative, and he struggles to stay upright. Holding on to desks he manages to get to his box. He removes his armour, putting it on, as he does not wish to be caught armourless if such monsters come again.

Standing straight, now able to as the sedative wears off, he walks about the room, looking at his PDA, wondering whats going on, he speaks into it.

"(crackle) This is Corpral Slick (fzzt) whats going on? please reply (Fzzt)
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Unread 7 Mar 2005, 21:35   #254
Disrupter
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Re: Doom

ooc/ fj please QUOTE where it is you fixed my nose because im getting really ****ing tired of being yelled at for no reason half of the time and yes i am exploding at you, so i am sorry, but you ....(see my quote for the res) :P The rest of you have a nice day
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Unread 8 Mar 2005, 03:29   #255
Inspectre
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Re: Doom

/ooc While I'd prefer if the Three Musketeers of me, Heiro, Fluffie, and No Dachi were not broken up, it would seem that quite a few people are going on the comm array mission, and not very many at all on the guns mission. Therefore, I'll leave which mission Arlan goes on, and apparently by default Heiro, up to Bakan's decision. Expect a post in here sometime soon, once I've given this old computer a rest. ooc/
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Unread 8 Mar 2005, 08:25   #256
flapjack
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Re: Doom

Quote:
Originally Posted by flapjack
*Putting the generator on his back, Flapjack walked back over to Disrupter and quickly patched his nose up, hoping he didn't overdo his repair job, Flapjack put the medkit on his back as well as grabbing the toolkit and putting the more important tools on his utility belt.
Right there, post 245, near the bottom of the post.

Now next time, READ the other people's post, don't just skim them, READ them so you know what the hell is going on around you
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 8 Mar 2005, 21:04   #257
Disrupter
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Re: Doom

ooc/ Flapjack, once again im sorry and thankyou for showing the error. I really did just explode at you and you didnt deserve it, so i am sorry. Though next time can i respond to the mini-dm or dm before you decide to take charge for me, even though i know you meant well, youd get pissed if i did the same.
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Unread 8 Mar 2005, 23:03   #258
flapjack
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Re: Doom

ooc/ that depends, if you did a good thing to me and did it nicely, I could still respond to the DM and the good thing, you can still hit the ground if you want, just remember to get up afterwards so I can fix that nose :P /ooc
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 9 Mar 2005, 21:24   #259
Disrupter
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Re: Doom

ooc/ ok fine then, water under bridge etc etc/

Duke satt up so Flapjack could fix his nose, then got up to go on the mission with currently least amount of people going on it.
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Unread 11 Mar 2005, 16:49   #260
Hewitt
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Re: Doom

Quote:
Originally Posted by flapjack
I also think Hewitt and Richpur could have used the last 7 days come up with a decent post, right?
You like numbers FJ? How about these numbers...

- 4 9am starts
- 3 Pracs
- 1 Field trip
- 1 Term paper
- 1 Take-home exam
- 1 Pissup
- 7 Heavy beers
- 1 Kebab
- 1 Bad Hangover.....

1ST WEEK

*Smacks FJ for six with his trusty cricket bat.*

Oh and since this is now the end of week two, add four more pracs, an assignment and the flu to those numbers and hopefully you can work out why I cannot sit down for the three to four hours I would need to write a worthy enough post for this thread right about now.
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Unread 11 Mar 2005, 17:11   #261
flapjack
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Re: Doom

you take 3 to 4 hours to make a decent post?

Wow, I'm amazed, see that last post of mine, that's about 20 minutes worth, although I have to admit that once I have a little inspiration and start writing, I'm just typing non-stop. It won't work like that with everyone, understandably
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 11 Mar 2005, 17:33   #262
Hewitt
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Re: Doom

Heh, I can do that on rare occasions but mostly I'm a slow worker... I tend to check and re-check.
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Unread 11 Mar 2005, 18:14   #263
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Re: Doom

Snap, I've been known to spend upward of 8 hours on one post before... Of course I frequently end up rewriting everything at least once when I come up with better ideas several hundred words in.
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Unread 13 Mar 2005, 21:01   #264
Bakan
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Re: Doom

Okay, the past week or so I have taken a mini-vacation of sorts from DM'ing, while I work on Onslaught and get my creative mind working again.

As of this posting, I am working on the DM. Those of you that didn't really choose, well, you just got slapped into one of the two groups.

Expect the DM to appear in the next few hours give or take.
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Unread 13 Mar 2005, 22:06   #265
Bakan
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Re: Doom

ALL Due to the sheer number of people, 2 new things.
  1. If you do not post for 2 DM’s, unless your computer/Internet is down and you TELL me beforehand or through some other means, you will be killed off. 3rd DM post you can still continue in thread, but depends on the actions of your squadmates.
  2. Due to the number of people again, I’m making the DM’s more squad based.

DM #12 – “Explosions are Fun“

ALL: After No Dachi’s incident, and Disruptor nearly breaking his nose, you all hear noises in the air vents. Suddenly one of grates bursts and out flies out, from the little lighting provided by flashlights, what looks to be a baby. It even is making baby like sounds, until a flashlight beam focuses more on it, revealing its lower body. The lower body looks to have been taken and enlarged from a wasp. With a buzzing sound, a set of wings flutter, and the creature rises, revealing its hands to be more like another pair of legs. Several of you open fire, but it dodges and flies straight for the doctor, and stabs him in and through the chest with its stinger. Blood spurts from the gaping wound, and the Doctor screams in pain for obvious reasons. Looking at the creature, the Doctor grabs onto it, holding it in place, yelling at you to shoot it. Several of you do, perforating the creature with wounds. Its wings flutter briefly, and then it falls limp and disintegrates, leaving the Doctor standing there, with a wound large enough to see clear through. The Doctor, having taken some of the shots, stumbles back against a wall, and falls down slowly, trailing blood on the wall as his eyes glaze over.

The air vents then come alive with the sound of buzzing wings, along with pounding sounds as if things were crawling around them. Then another one pops its head out of the grate, only to be shot at. As it disintegrates, another grate bursts open, and several of the creature start pouring out. Judging from the numbers, most of you decide it is a good idea to leave, and sprint out of the medical bay, with one of you tossing a grenade into the medical bay, and another sealing off the door. The muffled explosion is barely heard, but you all can still hear the creatures flying about.

Briskly jogging through the main corridor, that according to your PDA’s should lead to a fork that leads to your respective missions, you all hear the creatures through the air vents, yet none of them have burst through the grates yet. Then all your flashlights dim, and the floor starts shaking. Behind you a orange portal opens up, and out steps something….. MASSIVE!!! First glance reveals it to be something that looks like a giant fat man, only about 12 feet tall and almost as wide. Instead of hands, your flashlights reveal it has some kind of….. metal objects grafted right onto the arm. It’s face is a mass of tendrils, with twin beady eyes glaring at you. Raising its arms at you, a universal thought enters all of your minds, RUN!

Sprinting, you split off towards your respective sections as the new creature opens fire, launching what appear to be two rockets. Thankfully they are of the non-seeking variety, and they explode on the ground, sending out spinning fragments of metal. Most of them miss or are harmlessly deflected by armor, except one bit, which drives into No Dachi’s leg, then spins out, covered with blood, bits of muscle and bone. Falling to the ground, his ruined leg unable to support him, No Dachi looks up to see another rocket heading towards his face.

The rest of you manage to make it into the twin corridors by this point as the next volley of rockets explode in No Dachi’s face, disintegrating him completely. By some strange chance, the spot where No Dachi fell was on top of a power conduit, which explodes. Despite the lack of power in the section, a alarm goes off, and bulkheads slam down, separating you into two groups, and more importantly, keeping the creature away from the rest of you, leaving you to your respective missions.
  • Squad #1 – To the Communications Station – Not hearing the baby-creatures anymore, you take a moment to regroup and see who made it into your section, while checking out your PDA’s to see the route you need to take. The PDA reveals that the communications station is fairly close, but you all hear various noises up ahead. Slowly scouting ahead, the lead of you leans over to the intersection to the corridor that should lead to the communications station, and sees several zombies, some of them dressed in marine clothing, others carrying various heavy objects. They haven’t seen you, and the corridor is large enough that a single grenade couldn’t take them all out at once. Your flashlights then start dimming again, and behind you another orange portal opens, and out steps one of the Imp creatures, followed by yet another, with more still following. The lead let’s out a strange hiss, and the zombies turn towards your squad, and come rushing, at you all, those with weapons opening fire, with the Imps launching fireballs at you.
    • Dunin Hemm – In Good Health
    • Flapjack – In Good Health
    • Hewitt – In Good Health
    • Slick – In Good Health
    • Disrupter – In Good Health
    • AcidK – In Good Health


  • Squad #2 – To the Armory and Security Cards – As you regroup from the explosions; you continue to hear the noises of the baby creatures in the air vents. From the last looks at your PDA’s before all hell broke loose, the Security Station is fairly close, with apparently the armory connected to it. Since grates that lead into the air vents are commonplace, you all decide that running like hell would be a good idea, and continue your mad dash towards the security station. Making your way through the corridors, you start to see what appears to be excessive amounts of blood on the walls, along with numerous weapon holes and shell casings on the ground, as if a major firefight occurred in this section. Up ahead, you hear the sound of gunfire. This observation is cut short as several nearby grates leading into the air vents burst open, and the baby-creatures come spewing out, their stingers moving about looking for flesh to stab into. The security station is just up ahead a 50 meter corridor and to the right, with that corridor rapidly filling with the baby-creatures.[/b]
    • Heiro – In Good Health
    • Inspectre – In Good Health (AFK due to computer issues)
    • Fluffie – In Good Health (AFK due to moving)
    • Richpur – In Good Health
    • Gokan – In Good Health
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Unread 13 Mar 2005, 23:11   #266
Dunin Hemm
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Re: Doom

Squad #1

Roxborough jerks her face up towards the ceiling when unsound noises begin to echo around in the vent system. She carefully steps closer to one of the grills as the noises grow in strength and suddenly it bursts open and something flies through swiftly. It takes a moment for her to fully take in the appearance of the critter, before the marines open fire. Roxborough brings up her flamethrower, but hesitates, seeing as how she would kill off a significant part of her comrades if she fired.

And then the wasp-toddler sits imbedded in the good doctor, and after a moment of hesitation, is blown off by gun fire, taking the man with it. Roxborough wastes no time and moves over to the closest grill to shove up her flamethrower and incinerate anything moving through the venting system. But then the room floods with the creatures and the marines find themselves forced to flee. Roxborough goes with the current and they run down the corridor, hunted by the sound of wasp-toddlers following their every move via the air vents.

And then another infernal denizen is introduced to them in the form of an RPG tottering beast that blocks their path by bulk alone. The group is split as they veer to teh sides for cover, though one man is not quite so lucky. The bulk door slams shut behind her, and Roxborough is left alone with five other marines, cut off from the threat behind them.

The unit finds time to collect themselves and see what objective they can reach from here, before moving on. Coming upon the intersection, they spot the threat of the restless deceased ahead of them, unaware of the approaching soldiers. Roxborough is about to leave this task over to the rifle carrying men, but then an orange glow appears from behind them. She only glances back over hetr shoulder before yelling: "Kill the demons!" before rushing forward to take cover in one of the corridors bisecting thier own, where she crouches down, aims and sends a river of fire pouring towards the zombies.
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Unread 14 Mar 2005, 12:11   #267
Heiro
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Re: Doom

Swearing outloud, he gestures to Arlan and heads off at a run toward the security station. Loading his shotgun under one arm as the noise begins to increase all around him, he begins to feel the familiar panic and nerves run through his system, gifting him with improved reaction and the addtion of adrenatline to his motions. Sighing, he clicks the last of the clip into the shotgun, and raises the plamsa rifle under his other arm. Pointing the light, he watches the blood on the walls drip slowly to the floor. The screeching in front of him nearly knocks him from his feet, as he skids to avoid the small baby in front of him.

"Sweet little cherubs aren't they?"

Pointing his shotgun at it, he double fires it into it's head. From behind him, fire begins to pour into the corridor, and loosing a few plasma rounds he joins the volley just in time to break into a run as it finishes...

...into a large demon. Raising it's claws in preparation to strike, he pulls both triggers, releasing a shotgun shell into it's head and a plasma round into its belly. Watching it fade out of his light, he hears the dull thump against the wall some yards away.
You've got to love the plasma kinetic push...
Breaking into a sprint, he tries to cover the last 30 yards, hoping for some cover fire...
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Unread 14 Mar 2005, 16:46   #268
flapjack
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Re: Doom

*Flapjack had been first out of the medical bay, him opening the door and all giving him a slight advantage and he rushed out just moments in front of the rest, only vaguely aware of the swarms of creatures that had by now flooded the medical bay and began charging after them through the vents, then a loud noise erupting behind him, 1 he had heard twice before now, in both cases imps came out but what he heard a moment later sounded bigger, MUCH bigger. Not slowing down, Flapjack felt the explosion of the first rockets more then he heard it, he ground under him almost visibly shaking as he ducked into the fork, putting a hopefully solid wall between him and the creature for now. As he continued on the move, both pistols now out and ready, the ground shuddered again.

Moments later the alarms went off and the bulkheads closed down, turning to look around Flapjack noticed that these weren't the wimpy variety, these where the kind that would be used in case a fusion reactor ruptured, nothing would get through it. Somewhat relieved at the first threat being gone, the group continues on. Flapjack taking the lead from the virtue of having a PDA in 1 hand and a pistol in the other, his second pistol safetied and dropped into a pocket, which was then zipped up to keep the pistol from falling out.

The first 2 intersections where clear, but at the third there where zombies. Luckily 1 of the other marines, 1 wielding a big flamethrower, jumped around the corner and gave em hell. Guessing that would be enough to deal with the zombies, Flapjack turned around and noticed the portal, 2 imps where out already and the portal was still open, more would probably be on the way. Not hesitating as he released his own PDA, the small device accelerating downwards rapidly, while unzipping the pocket and pulling the pistol out, flicking off the safety as it left the pocket.

A few moments later the first imp had a fireball ready, the PDA hit the ground and several parts flew off and Flapjack had both pistols trained on the lead imp as it hissed, pulling both triggers in unison Flapjack was satisfied with the result as the lead Imp lost an eye, gore splattering on the imps behind it as the lead imp toppled backwards, not disintegrating quite yet.
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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Unread 14 Mar 2005, 19:29   #269
Spritely Zombie
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Re: Doom

Gokan watches as the cherubian creatures spill out of the vents, stabbing blindly at each other. The creatures droning buzz fills his ears, interpersed with the high-pitched keening howl that the truly obnoxious babies are known for.

"There's only one thing I hate more than insects..."

He carefully unholsters his second pistol. The normally almost inaudible click of the safety seems to resound down the corridor, audible even over the crying buzzing mass.

"... And that's crying babies."

He runs, full out at the mass of creatures erupting from the vent, his arms snap up. Bang. One of the baby-faced creatures looks substantially less cute as it's face explodes inwards showering it's compatriots with thick purplish ichor before thrashing about and disintegrating into orange ash. Two more shots, a neat smoking hole appears in the middle of another baby's forehead, another's head flies off as the bullet catches it full in the throat. Crunch, he doesn't even look down to see the creature whose fragile baby skull he just crushed beneath an armoured boot, stinger spasming violently as it disintegrates from the ruined head down.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Each and every shot finds it's mark, each gunshot preceding by milliseconds the violent expiration of another cherub-gone-wrong.

Click. Gokan's curse is strangely muted by the membranous wingbeats of the nightmares. He lowers the empty pistol. Redoubling his speed he fires the last two shots in the other pistol's clip, knocking two more cherubs from their positions in the midst of the swarm.

Unbelievably Gokan's seemingly random firing had cleared a circular hole right in the midst of the buzzing monstrocities, a hole though which he now dove through, rolling expertly to his feet and skidding to a stop at the corner leading to the security station. He drops a pistol to the floor, hurriedly loading his last spare clip into the remaining gun.

"What the hell are you waiting for!? Bloody well run!!" with that he dives round the corner, disappearing from the cherub's line of sight. Stunned and slightly confused they turn their attention, en masse,, back to what seems to be easier prey in the form of the rest of the squad...

[ooc]Would be what I'd do with a Karma point. But I'm still going to attempt it without one [/ooc]
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 03:00   #270
Richpur
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Re: Doom

[ooc] Major catching up here… Part 1[/ooc]

In the last few hundredths of a second before the flaming mass envelops his torso Richard realises that his armour is not going to be much help here and starts to move. While his body would no doubt agree with the idea of getting out of the way, it simply can’t move faster than its own nerve impulses; barely has he started to turn when the first of the fireballs crashes into his shoulder, melting through the armour almost instantly. The first thing Richard feels is a feeling like pins and needles creeping up his neck and along his arm, then the second fireball scratches across his back, the heat searing into his flesh, turning the armour plating and skin into a single fused layer, blackened and flaking in the convection currents caused by the fireball’s passage.

Richard gasps, unable to breathe properly for the pain wracking his ribcage every time he moves; his breaths come short and sharp, each one sending another wave of pain crashing over the shores of his rapidly fleeing consciousness. Far too gradually the nerves start to run down, allowing Richard enough time to remember how to breathe; he concentrates on taking shallower breaths, using his diaphragm to draw the air in, keeping his ribs as static as he can.

As the pain recedes further it allows a certain amount of definition to seep into the feelings; evidently the blast only got his mid back, his waist still seems to turn properly and without pain.

Richard winces and stops breathing for a moment; make that with pain. Lots of pain. Still, there is a little bit of articulation there before it hurts too much. With the pain in his back seeping into a subconscious ache it comes to his attention that his shoulder doesn’t feel anything. In fact, he can’t feel his arm. He turns his head to look at his arm, just to check if it is actually still there. A sharp cracking noise comes from his neck as he moves and the tension on the fused armour carapace presses it against his shoulder forcing a powdery feeling like moist chalk down his side. His hand is empty and limp, the fingers ignoring his increasingly urgent mental pleas to respond. His entire upper arm looks like a grotesque mosaic of red and black, the skin long gone along with most of the nerves.

With another burst of crackling he lifts his arm, a strange absence of feeling causes him to overcompensate and put himself off balance for a few moments before getting his muscles back under something resembling control. The random signals flying up his arm certainly don’t seem to have anything to do with what it is doing though; Richard sighs mentally as his eyes drift off his arm to the rifle lying on the floor beneath the thin layer of ash raining down from his shoulder and back. He crouches down; for once in his life using the correct method of picking something up; with his left hand he manages to ease the rifle off of the floor. A brief spasm of pain later Richard determines that he cannot twist enough to reach the clamp fastenings on his right leg with his left arm so hooks one end of the strap around the spare ammunition canisters on his belt. Not the neatest piece of work, nor the most effective, but it will do.

Next he looks across to where the shotgun lies empty at the edge of the corridor. His first thought is the nigh on impossible task of retrieving it; his next the absolutely impossible task of aiming accurately enough to hit anything smaller than a barn with any of his other weapons. In a slow lope Richard makes his way across and half collapses into the wall; he really hopes he doesn’t have far to go before… before what? As he levers one of his spare pairs of cartridges into the shotgun Richard realises that he can’t actually remember what happened to the rest of the battle. He looks up and sees the orange remnants of what he can only assume was the remainder of the horde. Amidst the carnage are his other squad members, Hewitt seems to be in about the same shape he’s in, although underneath the thicker armour it is hard to tell; and Duke poking at his shoulder with something from his med kit. He also sees Roxborough motioning to advance.

The warning twinge of impending pain forestalls his laughter at this rather wishful thinking. Three out of four people currently have a non-integer number of arms, two can barely stand up and move at the same time; and she wants to hurry along! Luckily for her Richard’s breathing hurts far too much to waste air talking. Besides – she is right - they have to get to the airlock while there’s still enough of them to hurt.

“Uuuuup.” He groans, pulling himself to his feet; the burnt skin slides into place, actually easing the tightness around his ribs, it is almost a relief to be stood up. Walking comes surprisingly easily, his body getting used to the pain enough to cope with the agony of tearing apart charred flesh with every step. The corridors seem darker now, almost as though the last vestiges have fled. This feeling is only compounded by the fact that Richard’s flashlight was mounted on his right shoulder and is right now putting out almost as much light as an event horizon.

As the slightly battered squad makes its way through what seems like an unending maze of corridors; but according to Richard’s PDA is only about three hundred metres; Richard begins to feel that the darkness might have a point. Something just feels wrong. Of course the fact that so far today he’s been attacked by a madman with a dinner knife, had to terminate a bunch of scientists who promptly turned into orange dust, and has now been part boiled by a pyromaniac demon, this is probably a normal feeling. As the journey continues however it becomes increasingly obvious that there are two people running, two limping fast, and a large number of others behind those, but moving along rather faster than they are.

Richard slows down for a moment to listen but picks up the pace again as a crab flings itself towards him, missing by a few scant inches. Luckily the airlock is just ahead. As Hewitt eases himself into the airlock the noise rounds the last corner.

“Aw shi...Incoming!” Richard calls, emptying one barrel in the general direction of the first zombie. As the wall gains a pattern of indents that looks suspiciously like a shotgun blast, (and also happens to be Braille for llama sanctuary,) Richard begins to think he should have spent longer practising left handed. Quickly adjusting his aim by a several times what he needed to he lets off the second barrel, hitting the imp coming round the corner straight on; at this long range this is quite a feat, and also quite impotent managing only to turn one side of its head and shoulder into a mess of whatever passes for blood in these things. The imp turns and the flames begin to appear around its hands again. Feeling that he has had quite enough of this already today Richard pulls the trigger again.

At this point he discovers that a two shot weapon being fired for the third time produces a wonderfully hollow sounding click. Richard goes slightly cross eyed staring at the but of the shotgun, frozen for a couple of seconds as the imp’s fireballs swell up into fully fledged globes.

As Richard stands paralysed by the sight of the fires heating up a doctor hits him from one side, sending him crashing to the floor with a searing pain flashing up through his back. As he crashes onto the hard metal with the resident medic’s shoulder embedded in his armour, the air above them fills with bullets as the two corporals unleash their chainguns. Despite the blackness flickering around the outside of his vision Richard has enough thoughts hanging together to realise that bullets would hurt more than the floor and manages to grunt something in the way of thanks at his assailant. As the doctor rolls off and moves back towards the airlock to tend to Hewitt, Richard is left lying beneath the hail of exploding shells, watching the zombies disintegrate into orange dust as they come toward him. While getting his breath back Richard slides the last two shells into his shotgun.

“Two shots.” He mutters to himself. “Remember that this time.”

With a violent heave that sends ripples of tingling neurones firing across his back Richard turns onto his front and starts easing himself back towards the relative sanctuary of the airlock. Then the stream of lead above him flickers slightly and dies down to half its former intensity; the zombies surge forward into the lessened blast, a group of them heading in towards him. As he pushes himself away from them with his legs Richard can’t help but notice that Roxborough’s chaingun has been going for rather a long time now.

The last tracers rip through most of the group, spraying Richard with orange dust; as he shakes his head to get the stuff out of his eyes he focuses on the three left standing almost on top of him. He pulls himself up into the empty air, the tension in his back threatening to split open the remains of his skin. As he rises up from the floor he manages to lift the muzzle of his shotgun to shoulder height on the front zombie.

He strains against the suddenly oppressive gravity and pulls the trigger. The blast noise really doesn’t sound right. While the zombie’s head is rapidly joining the ceiling the flames certainly don’t look like they came from a shotgun. In a slightly frantic hurry Richard empties the last of his shells into the next nearest zombie, which his brain notes is also on fire. With the last of his ready ammunition expended he puts all his energy into retreating back into the shallow cluster of people. Once he arrives there It seems a lot less safe however; Hewitt is struggling against his own body, trying desperately to change weapons while Duke is trying just as hard merely to keep him conscious. About the only strong point at that point is Roxborough painting the corridor with a tight beam of fire, searing through the swarm of zombies like a blowtorch through human flesh… well, exactly like that actually.

Richard struggles to his feet on the doorstep of the airlock, propping himself against the wall while he untangles the machine gun strap from his belt. After a few painful seconds of twisting he manages it and with one hand raises it up to waist height and points it along the corridor. He squeezes the trigger down fully, hoping that it will do enough to hold them off just a bit longer.

Seven bullets later the clip is empty. Richard stops, swears and cradling the rifle between his right arm and hip reaches into the magazine storage box with his left. Having done this operation more than any other the swapping comes relatively easily, and in a few seconds he is ready to fire again. This turns out to be a few seconds they really didn’t have; the front row of orange dust cloud is almost on top of Roxborough as her rapidly emptying tank holds them at arms length. Hewitt, almost passed out from the pain of moving his arm is no closer to joining in again than he was when he first stopped, and Duke is far too busy with stabilising him to help out. Knowing that left handed he cannot aim well enough to be sure of missing her, Richard is forced to aim well clear of the hard pressed corporal, sweeping his fire back and forth across the crowd at head height, the butt held tight in against his left shoulder the slight kick sends shimmers of pain through his tormented back, but there is nothing to be done about it.

The wall quakes and an almighty groaning of tortured metal echoes through the airlock. Before Richard can even attribute the sound to a particular direction the doctor is once again airborne, hitting the airlock release controls in full flight. Roxborough begins to fall back, trying to bring her field of cover in around Hewitt while Duke tries to move him. Richard tries his best to help out, but really he has neither the firepower, nor the aim to suffice, they need more men.

As though an answer to an unspoken prayer, two marines lean out through the dropship doorway, each clasping a fully loaded chaingun in his hand. The hail of fire springs into life, driving most of the zombies back behind the widening flame wall of Roxborough’s rear guard. Finally Duke pulls Hewitt into the ship and Richard, judging his part played out, stumbles in after them.

Inside the situation seems no less drastic, smoke seeping out of a million tiny fractures in the internal hull; Richard doesn’t dare to think what condition the outside must be in. Nevertheless he does; while he never learned to fly one of these buckets, he does remember that they are not supposed to dock by ramming the front corner into the outer airlock wall.

One of the marines from the door pulls Roxborough in, large scars sweltering across her chest, while the other slams the door shut, shouting forward to the pilot. The ship leaps into the air; then falls. A blast shakes Richard from his already precarious standing position and he goes crashing to the deck. A feeling of vertigo washes over him and he cannot decide whether he is spinning or the rest of the world. A few glances around at people holding on to handles, cargo netting and each other suggests that it is probably the rest of the world.

Alarms mingle together into an undulating shriek of terror as the ship declares its intention to corkscrew down to its death; a fate the pilot at least appears to have no wish to share. The cabin shakes with the intensity of the brief battle between human and machine, cumulating in a mutually agreeable smash onto a landing pad. More alarms burst into life, adding their noise to the already indecipherable din. Then a totally different noise inserts itself, the sound of medics. They swarm into the ship, bustling around and sweeping people onto stretchers whether they like it or not. Being laid out flat on the floor and incapable of immediately protesting due to the pain from being moved, Richard just lies there as the roof moves past at a greater rate of knots.

The ceiling jolts to one side, or maybe the medics stumbled. Richard can’t tell, the shockwave that rippled through his ears made it impossible to tell which, either way, it sounds like the shuttle won its part of the battle in the end.
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 10:13   #271
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Re: Doom

OOC: Ok, i was in the medical bay, now running from monsters in some corridoor.... ok, quick catch up would have been nice (please)

Slick Grabs his weaponary, Still dazed from the anethstetic (spl?) and starts to run. As he runs, he quickly reloads his shotgun, with his spare clip. Seeing the imps attacking the resrt of the team, he runs up behind them and sticks the shotgun into one of the imps back. "This is for the gunshot wound you Bastard!" He fires, splitting the imp in half. Turning his attention to the other imps, he begins firing with a new rage, with an almost firey glare in his eyes, not caring about size or shape, just attacking without predjudice
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 12:38   #272
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Re: Doom

Quote:
Originally Posted by slick
OOC: Ok, i was in the medical bay, now running from monsters in some corridoor.... ok, quick catch up would have been nice (please)

Slick Grabs his weaponary, Still dazed from the anethstetic (spl?) and starts to run. As he runs, he quickly reloads his shotgun, with his spare clip. Seeing the imps attacking the resrt of the team, he runs up behind them and sticks the shotgun into one of the imps back. "This is for the gunshot wound you Bastard!" He fires, splitting the imp in half. Turning his attention to the other imps, he begins firing with a new rage, with an almost firey glare in his eyes, not caring about size or shape, just attacking without predjudice
Here is your (quick) catch up.

*Pulls out baseball bat and starts hitting slick with it.*

READ!*SLAM* THE! *SLAM* THREAD *SLAM*
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 14:39   #273
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Re: Doom

Your DM was quite long. There were some multi-sylable words going on...

Though a baseball bat is quite harsh.
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 17:46   #274
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Re: Doom

Would a cricket bat be more, or less suitable?
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 19:42   #275
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Re: Doom

I find it interesting how he can stand in those orangy portals, isn't that like, hazardous to your health?
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 21:08   #276
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Re: Doom

I suppose that depends on whether you use flat side or edge.
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Unread 15 Mar 2005, 23:38   #277
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Re: Doom

I'd say more suitable. It's got a reusable quality.

Shame he's an american, and therefore doesn't know what a cricket bat is...
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Unread 17 Mar 2005, 12:53   #278
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Re: Doom

Quote:
Originally Posted by Heiro
I'd say more suitable. It's got a reusable quality.

Shame he's an american, and therefore doesn't know what a cricket bat is...

1) Sorry, i did read it.... but anyway (bows to bakan)
2) A Cricket bat is used in cricket. I know what it is, and watch it every now and again
3) (Gets a rather large metal pole out) I *Crack* AM *Smack* NOT *Splat* AN *Crack* AMERICAN *Smack* I'm british. Although born in cyprus
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Unread 17 Mar 2005, 14:23   #279
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Re: Doom

Umm... Bakan is american and he was the one using the bat.
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Unread 17 Mar 2005, 21:52   #280
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Re: Doom

Sweat beginning to stream down his forehead, Arlan wrestles the dying shuttle through another set of wild evasion maneuvers, while Grave does his best to manage the shuttle's forward weapons and convince those blobs of sh*t that it wasn't a good idea to get too close.

They had already picked everyone up; all they had to do now was get to the landing point somewhere in the section labeled "Beta Labs". As the designated landing point appeared and safety seemed to be in sight, yet another thing went wrong: a lucky plasma loogie caught the shuttle on the port forward maneuvering thruster, destroying it in an astounding flash of light.

"F***!!!" Arlan screeched as the shuttle suddenly began to spin out of control, unbalanced by the sudden shift in thrust power. The Martian surface beginning to lazily spin up to meet the shuttle, Arlan rapidly hammered commands into the console, rebalancing the thrust distribution amongst the remaining thrusters and cutting off the starboard forward thruster entirely.

Roaring like a wounded animal, the shuttle suddenly stopped spinning and leveled off, only about five meters above the Martian surface. One of the blobs of sh*t, which had been following the shuttle all the way down, spitting all the way, wasn't able to react quickly enough, and slammed into the ground at near top speed. Even its toughed skin wasn't able to handle the impact, and it splattered over the ground like an over-ripe tomato, covering the iron-oxide rocks of Mars with a bright orange paste that quickly burned away into ash.

"Whoo!" Arlan whooped, and continued to maneuver the shuttle towards the last airlock, now only a short distance away. Another near-direct hit from a plasma loogie, and once more a thrust winked out, this time the port rear one. Instantly, the shuttle began to lose altitude again, seemingly intent on crashing before it could get to its destination. "No, no, no!! This isn't fair!!" Arlan cried, once again struggling to bring the shuttle under control. When he quickly found that he could not, he tore the flight stick back, jerking it back up in the air so that it flew for a few more critical seconds. Miraculously, the shuttle somehow managed to stay in the air long enough to reach the last airlock, and then it crashed mightily down onto the airlock, almost certainly never to fly again.

Of course, Arlan didn't particularly care at the moment, looking out his viewscreen in surprise as he realized that somehow they had made it. For whatever reason, the blobs of sh*t also withdrew, allowing the marines waiting on the other side of the airlock to dock with the shuttle's remains and pull the survivors from the wreckage. Exhausted by his rather insane piloting effort, Arlan weakly collapsed back into the co-pilot's chair, and waited for the rescuing Marines to work their way up to the cockpit. Eventually, they arrived, and although Arlan walked out under his own power, he did have his arm thrown around one Marine's neck.

************************************

Sometime later, Arlan felt much better, and much safer, in the medical bay of the Beta Labs. Many of the marines that had been wounded had received medical treatment, and thanks to modern science, most appeared ready and willing to go another round with . . . well, whatever the h*ll those things were. Having finished with one of the marines that had helped Arlan escape from his insane jailors, the doctor came over to him. With practiced ease, the doctor tried the moderate cut on Arlan's forehead, carefully cleaning the wound before covering it over with a patch of synth-flesh. His job done, the doctor then asked him for his name, so he could log it into his PDA as checked and treated.

For a moment, Arlan hesitated. If you give him your real name, they'll know that you were a prisoner, and that you had managed to escape. All of these people work for the UAC. You think any of them are going to think twice about turning you in again, regardless of what gratitude they might feel?, the cautious part of Arlan's brain hissed. For a moment, Arlan considered listening to the voice of caution, and either lying out-right, or simply refusing to give the doctor his name. But then Arlan considered how insane it would be for the marines to sacrifice a helper during this apparent crisis. Sighing, Arlan told the doctor his real name, and felt a shiver of fear run through his stomach as the doctor tapped the name into his PDA, and then paused, frowning. Looking up, the doctor said to him, "You might want to be careful who you tell your name to around here, son. The UAC hasn't issued a *cough* recall order for you yet, but I suspect that they might once they realize what's happened, and things get a bit more under control around here." Hearing a sudden, suspicious thump from the ceiling, the doctor glanced up, before adding "If that ever happens. In any case, be careful as I said before." The doctor tapped a new command into his PDA, and was able to go, before he suddenly stopped and turned back, showing the screen of his PDA to Arlan. The screen showed Arlan's medical file, along with the disturbing tagline: "Prisoner". Even more disturbing, however, were the words flashing across the middle of the screen: "Access Denied. You require a higher security clearance to access further information."

"Any idea what that's all about?" The doctor asked him in a nonchalant tone.

"No clue." Arlan replied truthfully, feeling the sliver of fear churning about in his gut once more.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm sure the higher-ups have good reason to classify most of your medical file . . . which probably doesn't mean anything good for you. Keep your wits about you out there, son." The doctor said, prompting a nod from Arlan. The doctor then stalked off, heading to check on a wounded heavy marine and leaving Arlan alone with his now-deeply troubled thoughts. The UAC had certainly gone to great extents to get their hands on him. What if there was something in his records that had gotten the UAC's interest, instead of the minor threat that he might bumble into something important during his private investigation of UAC's activities? Shaking his head, Arlan pushed himself off of the medical bed where he had been sitting, trying to fight off the air of menace that had suddenly filled the room . . . and failing.

Idly, Arlan reached down to his right armpit and drew the standard-issue pistol from its holster: built into the chestpiece of the Light Armor itself. By rummaging around with some of the marines earlier, he had managed to procure a small flashlight, which snugly fit into a slot on top of the pistol's barrel. This slot was usually used for a laser-sight, Arlan knew, but the flashlight fit in just as well, and he hadn't been able to find a laser-sight for the pistol. More importantly, it seemed likely that a flashlight would be of greater use to him anyway . . . from what he had heard from some of the marines, the power had a habit of going out frequently since the . . . aliens . . . had started attacking. No power, no lights, and little chance of survival if one of those monsters or zombies found you while the power was out and you didn't have a flashlight.

With a grunt, Arlan picked up the bulky plasma rifle from where he had put it on the floor, and slung it across his back. The thing certainly was heavy, much heavier than a normal rifle. Arlan had no clue why someone would want to develop a weapon that was heavier, bulkier, and more prone to failure than a good number of projectile rifles on the market already, although he did know that plasma rifles had one major advantage: little to no recoil. This alone made it worth carrying around to Arlan, otherwise, he'd have given the heavy weapon right back to Grave after lugging it around for a couple minutes.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life, and apparently the same guy who had given him orders to play busboy came on. He informed everyone in the medical bay that the situation was grim, and told them that they had two new objectives to take care of: obtaining more weapons, and apparently important key cards was one mission, while the second was reaching a comm station so that some sort of distress signal could be sent out. Arlan had no intention of doing either mission: he had done his little bit for these people, and he had had enough. The medical bay seemed a safe enough place, certainly a lot better than out in the corridors of the base, where all sorts of hideous creatures were roaming about. Unfortunately, most of the marines seemed to have a death-wish, as even most of the formerly injured pushed themselves off of medical beds and readied their weapons.

One of the marines who had rescued Arlan, called No Dachi by one of the other marines, suddenly cried out and held his head. Several moments pass, and then as he moved his hand away from his now-pale face, he shouted that they all had to get out of here. As if underlining his point, the power suddenly cut out, plunging the room in darkness.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .
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Unread 19 Mar 2005, 07:53   #281
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Re: Doom

ooc: I am so far out of my league here it's not funny
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Unread 19 Mar 2005, 14:23   #282
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Re: Doom

ooc/ I wish people would start posting.. /ooc
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Unread 21 Mar 2005, 00:54   #283
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Re: Doom

[Another placeholder for busy Heiro]
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Unread 21 Mar 2005, 02:05   #284
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Re: Doom

[ooc] Catching Up: Part Deux [/ooc]



The ceiling jolts to one side, or maybe the medics stumbled. Richard can’t tell, the shockwave that rippled through his ears made it impossible to tell which, either way, it sounds like the shuttle won its part of the battle in the end. A series of incomprehensible lurches later the stretcher wings its way into a larger room with a ceiling that probably started out life as white.

Richard is tipped unceremoniously onto a bed, an action that quickly reminds him just how little of his back doesn’t hurt. Before he can even catch his breath someone in a vaguely white coat is pealing off his armour; the clips on the left shoulder open with a barely audible click and the shell cracks open. As the front panel is removed dry flakes of charred skin tumble down onto the bed from Richard’s side, then with a muffled tearing sound the remnants of the backplate fall off, stripping his back of the burnt metal-skin charcoal. The conditioning vent in the ceiling above the bed sends a slow languid draft of cold air flowing down over the exposed flesh; for a few moments it actually doesn’t hurt. Then the nurse swings an ultrasonic cleaner over the area, brushing away the dead tissue with a gentleness totally lost on Richard as the exposed nerve endings scream. By the end of the process his flesh has been rubbed raw by the tiny vibrations, leaving it tingling and slightly numb; although the latter is more probably a result of the mild anaesthetic spray soaking into it.

While it seems to him to have taken an age for the increasingly damned nurse to finish up it certainly cannot have lasted more than a few minutes since the doctors are only just getting back into the med centre. After a quick, high volume, word from the seemingly senior doctor, one of them heads over towards his bed. Even in the slightly dazed state the anaesthetic left him in Richard recognises the suit coming towards him from the sheer number of times he had seen it soaring past at about shoulder height. He only hopes this doctor is better as at medicine than staying on the ground.

“Burn ointment.” He starts, extending a hand to one side. Obviously the nurse is relatively used to this since a spray tube hits his palm almost before the second word. For a few seconds a fine mist of vapour billows over Richard’s back, forming a thin membrane over the burns. The cylinder is discarded and replaced with a patch of synth-flesh and a syringe of bio-foam before he even has time to ask for them.

“Thank you.” He mutters before injecting a thin layer of bio-foam into the burn cavity on Richard’s arm, the foam settling into the jagged edge of the scar tissue and selectively dissolving it, at the same time removing the dead muscle and forming a gel like boundary for the synth-flesh to attach to. Before sliding the patch into place the doctor layers onto the reverse side a thin layer of whitish yellow tissue and a small, flat, grey box. Finally he places the patch into Richard’s arm, ripping away the excess with his fingers.

Inside Richard’s arm the gel seeps into the white layer, triggering a burst of rapid growth, the nascent nerve fibres branch out into his arm, searching for endings to connect with. Those that find one form temporary synapses, bridging the gaps between the arm and its owner; those that do not, die off, creating more food for the others to use while the surrounding tissue repairs their blood supply. All the nerves terminate at one end in the grey box, a miracle of modern technology that allows the pathways between sets of neurones to be reconstructed on the fly.

“Now,” The medic starts as he waves an emitter over the arm, “this might hurt a…”

“Shit!” Richard interrupts with a gasp as every nerve in his arm sends the build up of ‘we hurt’ signals from the last ten minutes flying into his consciousness before they realise that actually the pain has mostly gone away. Fortunately the anaesthetic lingering in his system takes the edge off the sensations clamouring to be heard above each other long enough for them to subside. Meanwhile the doctor attaches a strange collections of rods to the outside of Richard’s shoulder and arm and give a very fast overview of what he has done, that Richard in his pain cannot make head nor tail of, and hurries on to the next patient, leaving him alone with the tangled web of impulses from his re-found arm.

“Ok.” Richard says to himself, looking at his arm, then at the armour lying in pieces on the bed. “First things first.”

Heaving himself off the bed Richard lands on his feet and looks around for the appropriate sign, before too long he finds it above a door on the adjacent wall and heads towards it. Pushing his way past the few people around the doorway he gets up to the door itself and goes to open it.

A fraction of a second and a facial imprint on the door later he becomes aware that his arm has just swung up to the right and almost taken an engineer’s head off. On a second attempt the arm moves into the right position and pushes on the door; a little bit too hard, since it makes Richard take half a step back to recover his balance, and causes the door handle on the other side to embed itself three inches into the metal wall.

After a few moments on the other side freeing the door from its dent, Richard continues into the room. Finding a pile of large white t-shirts on the rail to one side he pulls one down and attempts to put it on, remembering how uncomfortable armour can be without anything under it. His arm doesn’t appear to be feeling helpful however, lashing about and overcompensating for every action he tries to make. Eventually it calms down, the neurones and split becoming synchronised and slowly getting used to each other’s input into the total force being applied. Unfortunately by this point the t-shirt is of little use as a shirt, so Richard wraps it around the outer layer of his split to stop it snaring on his armour and puts on a different one with a lot less hassle. Finally done with that Richard goes into the cubicle to do what he came in for.

Three attempts at undoing a zip and one high velocity impact from bad control later, Richard decides he would be better off using his left hand for this bit. With a relief almost as palpable as that from the painkillers earlier, he evacuates his bladder; zipping up left-handed with no problem, he then tries to push the cubical door open. As most people will tell you, toilet cubicle doors open inwards, and only inwards. Of course if you are still half way between unconsciousness from pain and unconsciousness from anaesthetic, you forget little details like this.

An overly forceful push from his assisted arm succeeds in opening the door, in a fashion, albeit one that leaves the door in two pieces and not attached to its hinges. At that exact moment his communicator chimes. After a brief embarrassed look at the door Richard remembers that so far that day half the base has been blown up by various means and the loss of one toilet door is unlikely to be important enough to get deducted from his pay packet right now. With this in mind he steps over the door, opens the channel and turns on the tap to wash his hands.

“Marines, this is Sergeant Kelly.” The transmission starts, causing Richard to listen a bit more closely. “We have limited power for this, so I’m making it fast. Alpha sector is completely lost, and if our indications are correct, you have lost your dropship. We need to regroup, for all survivors are sustaining heavy losses. You are to split into two squads,” Richard applies soap, “one of which head to sector B2, which should have the required security cards and spare weapons and ammunition.” Water. “The security cards will be needed in particular to gain access to the Monorail station in Sector B4. In addition, we need to send an emergency broadcast,” this water isn’t very hot, “and the nearest comm.-station that has access to the orbital boosters is in Sector B3. The second squad is to make their way there and send the transmission,” dry hands, “then regroup with the first squad and you all make your way to Delta sector via the monorail.” How are you supposed to get your hands dry around here anyway? “I know you all have been through hell,” too damn true, don’t even have an air dryer around these parts, “and ladies, it’s only going to get worse. Kelly out.”

“Ok,” Richard says to himself as the channel closes, and he dries his hands on the pile of t-shirts “to the transmitter then.”

As he says the last word the lights go out and a drumming sound can be heard through the ceiling; through the door from the main room comes a voice telling people to “get out, now!”

As the vent grilles start sounding with a decidedly ominous buzzing noise, Richard cannot help but feel that someone else is stealing his job. Then gunfire fills the room, echoing from the walls as the shots perforate the door and ricochet off the tiles. In a rush Richard charges off towards the main medical room, trips over the remains of the toilet cubicle and flies at about shoulder height into the separating door, which, being more sturdy than the toilet door, remains perfectly still. After a couple of seconds in a heap on the floor being surprised that his back didn’t complain about that motion, Richard pulls himself to his feet on the door handle.

“So that’s what it feels like.” He mumbles into the darkness and pulls on the handle. As it opens the body of the senior doctor falls in through it with a large hole in his chest and several bullet sized ones around it, the mangled form of a baby with wings and an insectoid lower half reminds Richard that this should probably not be surprising him today. When he steps over the body and into the larger open space of the first room he notices that it feels a lot smaller. Then the fact that it is half filled by a very fat giant man bleeds into his consciousness, followed by the fact that everyone else in the room is running away from it.

Yielding to the popular vote, Richard runs after them, glancing down to his rifle which someone has reattached to its holster on his right leg. No time for that now, he thinks as he runs towards the corner, listening to a sound that is alarmingly like rocket fire crashing into the floor behind him. The sounds roars again but is cut short my a loud explosion mingled with the last remnants of a cry; just then he rounds the corner, a second explosion filling the junction with a blue glow of electricity arcing between armour plates. Finally the corridor is split in two with the short, sharp wail of an alert siren as a pair of blast doors slam into place.

On the wall a sign reads “Security Station B4/2 Phi : 450m”

“Ok..." Richard mutters, "Slight change of plan.”
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Unread 21 Mar 2005, 05:37   #285
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Re: Doom

[ooc] Last part : On request from Gokan, this is not in 'readable flowing prose' [/ooc]

Having read notice and hence taken heed,
Of change in path and thusly of his need,
After his squad Richard now doest speed,
Through dark’ning corridor.

From ‘pon his hip his rifle takes he hold,
As blood gives tell of battles not yet old,
And from the front come noises of the bold,
Death drawn ever near.

From out infront he hears the wasp-babes squeal,
So dreading what the darkness might conceal,
He rushes yet to combat host unreal,
Another hellish horde.

Round corner sharp his passage now does whip,
As squad at other end loads one last clip
Into the droning swarm Richard lets rip,
In droves they fall

With wasp-babes screaming in pain as they die,
Still more fill up their place and toward him fly,
To sting him through, or at least to give best try,
Quickly he takes aim.

His rifle fires through a babe’s gaping maw,
Splat’ring those behind with cherubian gore.
Now ten removed, yet they press to the fore,
His passage to impede.

As the cherubs die with their cries most shrill,
But push forward so he their blood can spill,
Richard obliges and so does them kill,
Their numbers wane.

With last round gone the rifle makes a click,
And with still one last babe left to kick,
His rifle in both hands and held like stick,
In wait he stands.

Toward him the lonely wasp-babe flies,
And still he waits, watching his prize,
The smacks it right between the eyes,
The babe flies out for six.

“Is that all?” He asks in utter disbelief,
And when an answer comes with some relief,
Back in holster his rifle does he sheathe,
Filled with new magazine.
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Unread 21 Mar 2005, 13:41   #286
Spritely Zombie
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Re: Doom

[ooc] *Applauds Vehemently* [/ooc]
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Unread 21 Mar 2005, 17:03   #287
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Re: Doom

The corridor looked nasty. Just, plain, nasty. Not even slightly amusable, no, not at all. Nasty, sick, disgusting, the spawning of some insanely ill and delusional mind. Fiction, nightmares, the worst of both kinds, made into Fluffie’s reality. He hated his reality at the moment, he hated his job too. He signed up for... Well that he didn’t know anymore. He had just signed up, everything else was getting blurry now. This whole thing was getting to him, slowly creeping into his entire system and unnerving him.

He was fairly sure he had been shooting things, he was fairly sure he had been running along with a group of other Marines. He also was fairly sure they were doing something, most likely something important or vital to the whole concept of survival... But he didn’t know what. He was on auto-pilot, he was going with the flow.

So there he was, having gone with the flow. The flow, this evil, nasty and most likely sticky, icky and eewy flow, had led him here. This by God forsaken corridor, where more than just ****ing obviously bad vibes were hitting the floor, ceiling and both walls. He was loosing it. The part still concious was feeling that. From the edges of his conciousness and small amount of ability still able to perceive, he saw two of his squadmates had made miraculous attempts at trying to make it through this storm of... critters.

He noticed his weapon had stopped firing. Was it empty? Had he forgotten how? Maybe it had broken... Ack. This all was going down hill and considering this whole event (Hell moving into the Mars Base) could’ve only happened when Hell had frozen over, down hill didn’t appeal much to Mr. Fluffie.

C’est terrible!

Wondering why had started in French, this distracted him. With a thud, he fell on his back, landing not-so-very-softly on the ground. But was it really the ground?

Comme c’est curieux, j’ai perdu mes pieds?

Did he even know French? Had he completely lost all touch with reality? Had he entered Bat Country?

Egalité! Fraternité! Liberté!

Had he been sucked into a vortex of time, ending up in a Hell infested, crazed kind of French Revolution? Was he Napoleon?

Ah! Heureusement, mes pieds sont là!

Was he insane? Insane and down on the ground, to be eaten by these fiends in mere moments? Had the time for him to die come? Was this all just a wrong trip?

Les chiens et les chats! Ils sont fous, fous comme les Parisiens!

It didn’t seem like it. This whole French thinking thing was scaring him even more than the creatures attacking his party of five. He felt his hands moving and reloading the chain gun, he felt himself preparing to get up. He also felt and saw his head move forward, smashing one of the little critters straight on, tearing them apart, sending vital and less vital organs spraying all around. He wish he had wipers, like in that old computer game he had once played, Republic Commando.

But this wasn’t some fictional computer game, this was reality!

And in this reality, his luckily already seemingly disappeared French thinking abilities were scaring him more than Hell coming to pay a visit. He was fairly sure his chaingun had been reloaded in a awfully short time, his hands were working magic. His fists, knees and headbutts too. He was sure he was surrounded by the little creeps, all trying to hug and cuddle and kiss him to death, like any loving baby from Hell would do.

“Mais vous n’êtes pas en Kansas!” he softly, but vengefully whispered as he used his weapon to smash and send more blood flying everywhere, followed after a moment or so by the slightly heavier and slower body pieces. Had this been a cheesy animé, the attacks he had been pulling of would’ve been called “Fist Flurry of Destruction”, “Rifle Butt of WMD” and “Head Butt Supernova”. It wasn’t so though, the names weren’t there, nor the special effects, but the damage was...

Standing up, he let the barrel of his gun do the talking, instead of his now quite stained fists. He began moving too, not running, but moving towards the end of the corridor in a quick and firm pace. Wishing he had two chainguns, his thoughts continued to be in French. He realised this at the same time he realised he couldn’t read and understand English anymore. He knew this because he saw some words on the wall, but he found himself unable to understand.

So, he’d do what anyone would do.

He killed some more goons. And then some. Followed by some more. He had this big ass pulse chain gun, so it was the logical thing to do.

He was just happy he wasn’t in Bat Country.

Bat Country + Speaking, thinking and understanding solely French = Trouble.

He was still on Mars, making his way, firing, punching, reloading and dodging his way to the end of the messy corridor.
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Unread 25 Mar 2005, 06:12   #288
Bakan
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Re: Doom

DM'ing come Saturday (MAYBE friday, but fiancee comes tomorrow, hence odds are slim I will DM)

If you have not posted...... hope you like being zombie food.
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Unread 27 Mar 2005, 15:02   #289
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Re: Doom

*Hewitt coughed violently and painfully as he entered the airlock, spraying blood and phelm all over the cold hard floor before him. As he sat down on one of the utility benches something pinched solidly in his back that caused him to almost stand right back up again as a stabbing feeling shot right up his spine and into his brain. He got about halfway to standing again when everything started to get dark...*

Oh crap.

*As he started to blackout on his feet an electronic voice echoed in his failing mind.*

Code:
Physilogical failure imminent. Initiating booster sequence......
*Suddenly Hewitt was dragged forcably into clarity as his suit began to pump his ailing body with several stimulating drugs. Unfortunately however, as Hewitt's grip with reality strengthened so did the pain.*

"Arrrgh! F*ck! God f*ckin f*ck f*ck AH! Shitdamn! That f*cking hurts! Ow! God f*ckin damnit!"

*Hewitt's line of expelitives ended in another violent coughing fit. This time around, Hewitt saw the blood.*

Ok, now that's definately not good...

*By now the others had began to make their way into the airlock and Hewitt uses his moment of clarity to assess the situation. Only four of them were left now, two (NPC) marines lost sometime in the thick of the fighting. Roxborough appeared to be burned a bit... Richard appeared to be burned a hell of a lot - the man looked like he and merged with his body armour. He must've been the one that imp had been aimming at... that's gotta hurt. But Duke, that lucky b@stard (), the one that should've at least been blown up or torn to pieces as he danced back and forth between the demonic undead hordes playing around with grenades and gravity several times had but a lot of bruising on his left shoulder. Bruising.
As for himself he could already tell that he wasn't doing so great. Two other people had some pretty horrific burns, but that was superficial. Apart from the fact that his entire left arm felt like it was still on fire and that he now had an annoying twinge somewhere in his lower back, Hewitt was finding it painful to breathe - not good. Also not good, as Hewitt discovered by pressing his hands underneath the shattered part of his armour and then revealled by removing these hands seconds later to find them completely covered in his own blood, was the fact that he was bleeding quite profusely. He figured he had about a ten to fifteen minutes before he died from loss of blood.....*

"Um.... medic?"

Richpur: "Aw shi...Incoming!"

"No, medic! Medic god damn it! Not incoming! I f*ckin hate incoming!"

*Hewitt hurriedly stumbled to the enterance way of the airlock just in time to see private Richard write "Llama Sanctuary" on the wall next to a bemused zombie... at least it would be bemused if it still had any emotions or was still literate in brail for that matter. Thanks to the drugs coursing through his system, Hewitt is able to take a steady aim but unfortunately the only thing in his sights is Richard whom in is current state is doing more harm than good. He watches with frustration as the private blasts away at the new approaching group of enemies and only succeeds in pissing off another imp with a glancing blow from his shotgun.*

"God damn it Richard! Clear my line of fire!"

*Thanks to the tattered state of one of his lungs the yell is no where near as strong as Hewitt would like, the order coming out dry and raspy. As such Richard does not hear, but fortunately Duke does. The ever quick thinking doctor flies towards the private as he - stupidly () - tries to fire off a third shot from his two-barrelled shotgun. Just in time Duke slams Richard well out of the way giving Hewitt a clear shot at the imp preparing itself to give the already over-cooked private a second basting. Hewitt allows himself to grin.*

"Not this time a$shole..."

*Hewitt squeezes the trigger.

The imp seems to be consumed by it's own flame as Hewitt's shots catch it by surprise as they penetrate right into the dead centre of the creatures torso. It's thrown back into the advancing horde of zombies covered in it's own flames, consequencely setting the number of zombies it runs into alight. As the mobile inferno spreads, Hewitt raises his aim slightly and begin to straife back and forth, the first crossing seperating several more zombies with their demented skulls. Another series of dust explosions away from Hewitt's aim indictates that Roxborough is scoring plenty of hits as well, as she too mows away with the more effective chaingun. At this point he feels a series of jabs and is surprised to find Duke standing next to him administering medical attention to Hewitt while he fires away.*

"That's funny sir. I had no idea you were a doctor."

*Grimacing as he feels yet another jab which he is certain was intentionally just that bit too hard, he gets on with trying to survive for at least a few more minutes. Together with Roxborough, they quickly cut deep into the advancing demonic horde and manage to slow it's approach dramatically. But that's it, for whenever one or more imps appear on the scene, either Roxborough or Hewitt are forced to concentrate their fire on the fire ejecting suckers to bring them down which allows the preceding zombie mass to gain a few metres. Seconds drag on until they seem like minutes and Hewitt is so focused on blocking out the pain from his several injuries that he is able to pick out every single time a zombie is destroyed by his hail of gunfire. Then the inevitable happens, the bullets from his chaingun dry up.

Click click click. Empty.*

"F*ck."

*Hewitt watches with horrified facination as the horde of enemies surges forward. Ducking back out of the doorway as several bullets impact in his general area, Hewitt lets his right arm drop and lifts his left arm...

or at least tries to.

Instead as Hewitt grips the left chaingun with his left hand and tries to pull it up out of the armour slot all that results is the heavy weight of the gun pulling him to the ground as his entire left side screams out in agonising protest. This time Hewitt is not able to contain his pain.*

"AARRRCCCRRRAAAPPPP!!! Damn it to hell!"

*Hewitt quickly concludes that not only is he physically weakened from his injuries but the mechanical strength articulators in his left side must be malfunctioning - or at least in his left arm they are. This makes lifting the heavy chaingun that much more difficult and with his injuries protesting against any such efforts, damn near impossible.

At that point Roxborough too runs out of ammunition.*

"Off all the luck-"

*It is then that Hewitt hears the sound of a shot gun going off and he looks over at Roxborough who from the look in her eyes realises the same thing he does. Richard... the bugger's still out there! With renewed vigour Hewitt tries to get the loaded chaingun into a firing position. As predicted his body protests vermently, and after a few seconds Hewitt finds himself screaming in pain and frustration as he slowly drags the heavy weapon up into his lap. Roxborough is quicker however and has a better option. Discarding the chaingun for the flamethrower she lets loose at the zombie horde stemming the tide once again... even driving them back some at the surprising ferocity of the aggressive defence.

Richard staggers into the airlock finally and gets into a position to return fire with his machine gun. Meanwhile, Hewitt is still struggling with the chaingun...*

"Come... on... you... bastard..."

*The strain causes Hewitt's wounds to reopen covering the languishing chaingun in blood. He makes one last major attempt to bring the left gun to bear however just as Hewitt thinks he can get aim on the burning legion beyond the airlock he begins seeing stars again and his left arm fails completely, causing the gun to fall back down. Hewitt forces himself to maintain the grip on the chaingun as it agonisingly jars his arm and pulls back on the burnt skin - it's all he can do to prevent losing the weapon all together. He finds himself begin to lose touch with reality again until another jab from Duke begins him out of it. It was no use. There was no way his weaking body would let him fire that weapon, and now the zombie horde was virtually at the airlock enterence.*

"Where... *wheezes* is that bloody *gasp* shuttle?"

*No sooner had he spoke there was a loud bang and the whole room shook violently for a few seconds as the most hideous screeching rang out from some unknown source.*

This is it. The level is finally on the verge of collapse. We're done for.

*Becoming dazed and confused, Hewitt's world becomes a blurred picture of hideous creatures, gun battles and unforgiving steel bulkheads. Suddenly as Duke leaves his side to open the airlock, he finds himself losing his balance as the image blurs further. Something guides him towards a bright light as his legs seem to move beyond his control and before he knows what is going on he is surrounded by a swirling array of colour of light....*

So this is death. How quaint.

*With that last thought, Hewitt passes out.*

------------------------------------------

"....ok that's ten shell fragments so far, three from the kidney, two from the lung, and five from the surrounding flesh premeating the lower tissues. Just one more lodged in the spine... hmm... better administer some more antithetic..."

------------------------------------------

*Hewitt awoke slowly to the sight of the plain dull white plasterboard of the medbay ceiling, wodering if this is what heaven looks like. It takes him a few minutes, when the itching starts, for him to realise that this isn't heaven and that he isn't dead but had probably come near enough too it. However, a distinct smell reaches his nostrals that makes him doubt this line of reasoning. It is faint at first, but slowly becomes stronger as the sweet aroma gently wafts his way.*

Coffee. Sweet, energising, soothing, f*cking beautiful-

"Coffee!"

*Coming to fully to his senses, Hewitt sits bolt upright in his hospitial bed and spots it - the coffee maker - filled to the brim with deliciously brewed hot ration coffee. Yanking the filter tube out of his arm and brushing hurriedly past Flapjack whom is staggering under the weight of his armour and weapons, Hewitt makes a B-line for the coffee maker. Reaching the machine in record time, Hewitt ignores the assortment of cups, grabs the coffee pot full of delicious coffee, and takes an almighty swig. He quivers with pleasure as scalding hot, overly-bitter coffee burns down his throat.*

"Mmmm.... now that's good coffee."

------------------------------------------

Some time later....

*Hewitt has just finished suiting up and is in the process of reloading his recently cleaned chainguns when the message comes through.*

“Marines, this is Sergeant Kelly. We have limited power for this, so I’m making it fast. Alpha sector is completely lost, and if our indications are correct, you have lost your dropship. We need to regroup, for all survivors are sustaining heavy losses. You are to split into two squads, one of which head to sector B2, which should have the required security cards and spare weapons and ammunition. The security cards will be needed in particular to gain access to the Monorail station in Sector B4. In addition, we need to send an emergency broadcast, and the nearest comm-station that has access to the orbital boosters is in Sector B3. The second squad is to make their way there and send the transmission, then regroup with the first squad and you all make your way to Delta sector via the monorail. I know you all have been through hell, and ladies, it’s only going to get worse. Kelly out.”

"Well ain't that just peachy. *Slides the last ammo clip into place with a satisfing shinck!* Better get some more coffee..."

*Hewitt wanders back over to the coffee machine and grabs the pot once more. It seemed he was the only one interested in it since no one had really taken the chance to grab a cup as far as he noticed and was far too wrapped up in the whole situation for refreshment.

Which was fine as far as Hewitt was concerned, it meant more for him.

Hewitt looks around the room as he takes another swig of re-energising coffee. A number of marines were still suiting up or had only just started suiting up - slack asses - one marine in particular (fluffie) seemed to be mumbling to himself as he fiddled around with a chaingun.
Then even stranger another marine (ND) suddenly collaspes and begins having some kind of spasm attack. Remembering the last call out to the admin office right before all hell broke loose, Hewitt switches off the safety on his right chaingun and trains it on the collapsed marine.*

"If that f*cker turns grey, he's mince."

*After a few moments however, the marine comes around a gets back to his feet.*

No Dachi: "We have to leave, NOW!”

*Just then the lights go out.*

Heiro: "I guess we're still on mars then..."

*Dull roars are heard in the background.*

"Yeeeup."

Gokan: "Why couldn't it have just been the toaster again?"

Disrupter: “EVERYONE OUT OF HERE NOW!”

*Suddenly the dark silence is shattered as Duke attempts to blow a hole in the heavy metal door with his shotgun. This is soon followed by a sicking, bonecrunching whack! soon followed by a rather comical thud.*

"ffs..."

Although he can't see 'em, Hewitt can tell a number of eyes were rolling upwards at about that moment. *

Flapjack: "Looks like my generator shorted out. Hewitt, I'll take that generator.

"Here, maybe you'll have a better chance with the door than sir fly-a-lot over there."

*Just then, as several marines are turning on there flashlights, a faint buzzing sound echoes in the airducts. It grows louder and louder until something comes crashing out of one of the grates and zips around the room above the startled marines. It looks like some kind of baby but...*

"WTF!?"

*Hewitt shines his flashlight fully on the flying baby for a few moments, revealing it's hellish insectoid nature. Immedaitely he opens fire but misses as do several other marines. Watching on helplessly, the waspbaby dodges their scattered fire and rams itself, spike first, into the doctors chest. As he cries out in angish, the brave man grabs hold of the baby impaled in his chest, and yells out a request that will surely end his life. Raising his right arm, Hewitt takes careful aim and fires a short burst.

The baby is mincemeat. The doctor... swiss cheese. He falls to the ground, dead.*

"F*ck."

*There is no time for regrets however as the remaining airducts come alive with noise. He spots another waspbaby emerging from a nearby grill and fires again, turning the hideous creature into pulp before distingrating into a pump of orange smoke. Almost right away several more appear from a number of locations.*

"Er... now might be a good time to move on gentlemen..."

*Faced with great numbers, the group of marines exits the medical facility as fast as possible, with one marine lobbing a grenade into the growing numbers of enemy creatures while the area is sealed off with a number of emergence blast doors as the grenade explodes.*

What's next huh? the devil himself?

*Hewitt runs after the group looking around for any more enemies to appear. Sure enough as the group is nearing the fork in the road, the now familiar orange portal opens up and a huge, utterly massive thing arrives on the seen and instantly lets loose with a pair of RPG's.*

"Oh shit!"

*Hewitt runs faster than he's ever run before.

The resulting twin explosions as the two rockets impact with the ground causes Hewitt to dive for cover as a series of sharp metal fragments tear through the air above him. He hears a yell of pain from behind him and looks back to see the private that had warned them of all this impending doom upon the medbay now lying on the ground with half his leg missing.*

He's toast.

*Hewitt immediately gets up and starts running back to help the languishing private but he is too far away. He is forced to duck behind a nearby wall as a third rocket finishes the hapless marine off. Hewitt yells out a random curse. This is quickly followed by a second much biggest explosion that knocks Hewitt clear off his feet as yet more heavy bulkheads come crashing down in position. Mumbling a few more choice words as the dust settles, Hewitt gets back to his feet and heads off after his squad to tell them the bad and somewhat good news.*

------------------------------------------

*Hewitt meet up with the rest of the marines a few moments later. Surprisingly enough Roxborough was there, looking as tough as always, as was the techie, the flying doctor and two more faces the Hewitt didn't really know too well but had seen floating around in the medbay during the brief intermission of all hell breaking loose that they had been given. Hewitt let them know he was the last and about the unfortunate private now scattered over a number of square metres and then they moved on.

Along the way Hewitt inquired what exactly the mission goal was here since during all the excitment he had run up one of the corridors at random. It seemed to be the right choice since the buzzing of the waspbabies was no longer present and making a phone call didn't seem overly dangerous, but then again...*

"Shh! Did anyone else hear that?"

*Sure enough just around the next corner is another horde of zombies, busy doing what zombies do best - nothing.*

Great. Blocking our path too I can see... How typical.

*Hewitt grabs hold of his two chainguns and hefts them up to waist height. He takes a few moments to get used to the combined weight of the normally heavy weapons, especially the left one, before reloading a fresh case into the right weapon.*

"Ok, this shouldn't be too hard-"

*Just then another orange portal opens up behind them and out start spewing more of those fire-wielding imp beasties.*

"I just had to say it. I just had to f*cking say it!"

*Roxborough didn't hesistant. As the zombies became arroused by the imp's presence, she immediately unhooked her flamethrower and charged the zombie horde, shouting an order over her shoulder as she goes.*

Roxborough: "Kill the demons!"

"Oh yeah sure, right. Like I haven't had enough of that yet today ffs..."

*Turning to face this new threat and leave Roxborough face the zombies alone, Hewitt brings his chainguns to bare and immediately takes aim on one of the imps. It snarls at him viciously as it prepares to fire and Hewitt returns with a few expletives born of a rising bad mood and a full burst of twin chaingun fire that Hewitt let's ride up with the momentum, the result hail of bullets tearing up through the unfortunate imp and severing it into two bloodied lumps that fall to the floor. Not even a chainsaw could've made a messier kill.
Hewitt sidesteps quickly as a second imp lets loose with a couple of fireballs and is about to return fire when unexpectly it's midsection explodes outwards. Hewitt quickly finds the source, one of the other marines (slick) yielding a hi-powered shotgun now blasting away with pent up rage. Hewitt just watches with building frustration, the marine was in his line of fire. What is it with f*ckin' privates and wanting to get nailed by ME ffs...

"Private! Clear my line of fire god damn it!"

*Yes it was still going on to be a long long day...*


[*collaspes from fatigue* all done *checks watch, reads: 4:30am* now I'm off to bed ]
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Last edited by Hewitt; 27 Mar 2005 at 19:41.
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Unread 27 Mar 2005, 18:52   #290
Bakan
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Re: Doom

Damn man Hewitt, you are sick, funny, and cool!

*Awaits the conclusion of Hewitt's monster post*
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Unread 27 Mar 2005, 19:43   #291
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Re: Doom

Quote:
Originally Posted by Bakan
Damn man Hewitt, you are sick, funny, and cool!
Why a thankee, I do try
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Unread 28 Mar 2005, 05:21   #292
Bakan
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Re: Doom

ALL Due to the sheer number of people, 2 new things.
  1. If you do not post for 2 DM’s, unless your computer/Internet is down and you TELL me beforehand or through some other means, you will be killed off. 3rd DM post you can still continue in thread, but depends on the actions of your squadmates.

DM #13 – “No, medic! Medic god damn it! Not incoming! I f*ckin hate incoming! “
  • Squad #1 – To the Communications Station – Upon the meeting of humans and non-humans, the corridor is filled with the loud sounds of battles. At the front is Dunin Hemm, her face emotionless as she fires into the zombies as the approach, escorted by AcidK Behind them was the rest of the squad, working on the Imps that liked to teleport into the corridor to replace those that vanish into dust. While progress is slow, the squad is slowly able to make its way forward, with Hewitt in particular, wielding his duel chain-guns to keep the rear clear from the Imps, or at the very least preventing them from effectively throwing their fireballs, with Flapjack using his two pistols to pick off those that manage to mostly escape the barrage of bullets from Hewitt’s duel chain-guns.

    This goes on for several minutes, until Disrupter sees the sign indicating that they are close to the Communications Station, oh so very close, close as in 10 meters, with a nice army of Zombies standing around doing whatever zombies do, mostly munching on a few scattered corpses. Seeing the squad approach, they look up and start moving, arms outstretched. Disrupter, along the side, passes a door, which then opens. A really, really fat zombie them steps out, unarmed except for a chainsaw, the weapon of choice against zombies. The chainsaw is already running, and with a massive swing, the fat zombie brings it down on Disruptors right arm. The light armor holds against the chainsaw for a few seconds, before it bites through and into Disruptor’s flesh. Disruptoers screams as his right arm from the mid-forearm is mostly severed as he manages to jump away from the zombie, cradling his ruined arm that is barely hanging onto the rest of Disruptor via some muscle and flesh, which then tears and falls off. The fat zombie then turns and slams it’s chainsaw into the back of AcidK, who’s heavy combat armor does better at holding off the chainsaw than Disruptors. AcidK quickly spins around, slamming the fat zombies fast with the but of his weapon with bone-crushing force, before aiming and firing, sending the zombie into the land of dead dead zombies. This momentary turn however gives several of the approaching zombies a chance to leap onto AcidK. AcidK is able to at first hold them off, before one of them, looking particularly large and burly, somehow manages to twist AcidK’s left arm at just the right angle, and with a loud poping sound, dislocates AcidK’s shoulder.

    As of this point, the communications station entrance is right next to the rest of the squad, and they file in via an array of pushing and dragging. The station itself is free of zombies, and even appears to have minimal power. Hewitt, bringing up the rear as the rest of the squad files in and clears the room seals off the door, which then starts forming dents from the impacts of the enemies outside, but appears to be able to hold them off for several minutes. The communications station is cramped, barely able to hold everyone, but has an emergency medical kit on the wall, another door which is closed at the moment, and the communications equipment. As one of you heads to the station, an in-base monitor appears, and a strange man’s face appears on the monitor. He is balding, looking a little overweight and wearing dark expensive looking glasses.

    “Marines, this is Commissioner Hadley from the UAC home-offices. I know you have orders from Sergeant Kelly to send a distress signal. Under emergency order Alpha-01 of the UAC emergency acts, I hearby order you to NOT send the signal, repeat, do NOT….. *static*”

    The rest of the signal is filled with static, with the sounds of strange weapons fire in the background, and static-filled green flashes before the monitor goes dark. You now have a choice, obey the orders of Sergeant Kelly, or Commissioner Hadley. One of you then points out that the only way out would be through the other door, which should take you to the Monorail Station in B4 and the rest of the Marines you met earlier.

    • Dunin Hemm – In Good Health
    • Flapjack – In Good Health
    • Hewitt – In Good Health
    • Slick – In Good Health
    • Disrupter – Severed Right Forearm. – NO POST, BAD!
    • AcidK – Dislocated Left Shoulder – NO POST, BAD!


  • Squad #2 – To the Armory and Security Cards – As the cherub flood the corridor, Heiro leads the charge sprinting through towards the large doors of the armory, firing as he goes and punching through the swarm. Thus he is the first to see two Marines in front of the armory, clad in all black Heavy armor, firing twin chainguns at several large pink creatures with oversized jaws. Their movements are unnaturally fast and effective, despite a collecting pool of blood below one of them, which is coming from a missing leg. Judging from the blood on the ground, they have been at it for a while. Followed shortly behind Heiro is Gokan, who too was firing at the cherubs that were flooding the corridor with the sound of their wings beating.

    Behind them was Fluffie, who somehow in his fit of insanity was martial artist fighting the cherubs, his strength boosted to the point thanks to his heavy armor where he was able to deliver blows to instantly kill them, covering him with blood. Bringing up the rear-guard is Richard and Inspectre, the civilian using his new plasma weapon to hold off the cherubs, which seemed scared of the weapon, and strangely, Inspectre. Richard on the other hand uses his weapons effectively enough where cherubs to are afraid of him.

    One of the two Black Clad Marines looks over at the Squad, and waves and points into the open doors of the armory. Everyone turning and shifting their aim towards the rear, they all make their way into the armory, and the one Black Clad Marine that signaled you jumps in. The other is able to, but then several Cherubs swarm over him, stinging at his armor. The first blows are reflected by the armor, the rest then punch through, drawing blood. The Marine then pulls out a grenade, his face hidden by his armor as the other slams a control, shutting the heavy doors of the armory, through which a muffled explosion is heard. The other Marine looks at you, and then you hear his voice through an armor speaker.

    “You must be the reinforcements that Sergeant Kelly said were on their way. I’m Trooper A25, Black Hand defense of the Beta Labs. We are loosing ground all over the place here, we are down to about a dozen of us. These invaders are killing us with numbers. The security office is to the side there, you should be able to exit through it once you load up and upgrade and grab the security cards for your PDA’s. We also have 12 Mk X-5 Combat Environmental Armor’s here, I strongly suggest you get them on and grab some for those of you that are taking care of the communications station. Let me know when you are done switching out equipment, and I’ll let you through.”

    Turning away from you, Trooper A25 walks over to the exit in the security station section, which you clearly see the computer that would give you the security cards. In the section you are in now, you see 12 suits of armor mounted along the walls in charging units, 6 of them ready to be put on, 6 of them folded up into a container that would be easily attached to the rear of standard combat armor, like a backpack. Each of them is colored black like the troopers, and looked to be the same thickness as medium combat armor, but none of you have seen them before. Next to each of them is a datapad with their basic technical stats. Along the walls as well are enough spare clips and standard issues weapons that you all are used to, along with a few surprises. One rack contains several plasma rifles similar to the one Inspectre is using, and under it several plasma pistols and spare clips. There are several black containers, apparently designed to be attached to the armor, and able to hold a wide variety of equipment. While it appears you hit the jackpot, it might be nice to give the other squad of goodies to play with as well. There are also PDA’s, toolkits, power generators, power batteries, flashlights, and other nifty stuff as well. It appears the two Marines took good care of this Armory. By the exit stands straight the Black Trooper, weapon at the ready (no, he won’t say anything if you talk to him).

    Mk. X-5 Combat Environmental Armor – The latest in UAC defensive technology, the Mk. X-5 Combat Environmental Armor uses a new *classified* to provide protection equivalent to Standard Heavy Marine Combat Armor, while keeping the same mobility as if the user was wearing just their standard issue uniform. Utilizing a revolutionary *classified* user base-strength and speed is increased by a factor of 5. In addition a brand-new emergency medical feedback system will keep a user alive and mobile despite such injuries as (Spinal Damage, Cardiac Failure, Bone-Tissue Damage, Severed Limbs). Finally, in order to help those in emergency situations, the X-5 armor can be folded and stored into a space similar to a standard equipment pack, designed to be easily attached to all forms of UAC Marine armor on the back.

    Six Hard-points on the armor (1 per hip, 1 per shoulder, 1 per wrist) allow a variety of weapons to be attached, such as chainguns to the hips to provide increased balance and control over the weapons on the hips, plasma cutters, PDA to the wrists, and grenade launchers to the shoulders, with all able to have flashlights attached. The standard enclosed environmental system is rated to keep the user alive even in a vacuum or underwater or a toxic gas environment. Each suit is equipped with an emergency repair kit, containing enough emergency patches to repair the armor up to 25% damage.

    However, the X-5 suffers from significant power-drain after 1 hour of continuous use, requiring the use of a standard issue power-port and/or portable reactor to recharge the armor. When the armor is completely drained of power, the average user will be barely able to walk. The armor has limited recharging capabilities if deactivated for a period of 5 minutes, allowing minimal functioning. The X-6 model is planned to contain a mini-reactor to provide continuous power.


    Plasma Cutter - Standard construction tool. Creates a 2 foot long plasma torch that is used to cut metal and welding.

    Power Battery - Standard battery used by most armors and various other devices.

    • Heiro – In Good Health
    • Inspectre – In Good Health (AFK due to computer issues)
    • Fluffie – In Good Health
    • Richpur – In Good Health (AFK due to computer issues and schoolwork)
    • Gokan – In Good Health

  • Karma Points
    • Richard +2
    • Hewitt +2
    • Gokan +1

Last edited by Bakan; 28 Mar 2005 at 06:12.
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Unread 28 Mar 2005, 07:05   #293
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Re: Doom

Gokan takes one look at the X-5's. "Finally, something that both keeps the bullets out and looks stylish!"

Quickly and without hesitation he peeled off his rather battered, and certainly very dirty, ichor-smeared light combat armour. With the care and reverance such technology clearly deserves he gently lifted the X-5 unit away from the charging station. Carefully following the instructions on the technical specification PDA, Gokan donned the armor, carefully hooking up the numerous power connectors and feedback sensors, finally the helmet.

"X-5 Experimental Combat Armour adjusting to new wearer" spoke a cool digital female voice. Rather than stopping to wonder why nearly all such technology was distinctly female in tone, Gokan listened intently as the suit calibrated itself to his physiology. After a few moments, the readings ceased. He brought a matte black glove up to his helmet visor and flexed his hand, feeling almost no resistance at all.

He grinned. "If they weren't so silent, the microservos would purr." He clips his security PDA onto the hardpoint on his left wrist and is slightly surprised as a message appears on the inside of his helmet.

Synchronisation Complete... It blinked briefly, before vanishing. Lookin down at his PDA he saw that it now had several additional options, he tapped one and a semi-transparent copy of the map appeared on his HUD. "Damned cool." He turned the map off deposited his power-crowbar into a pocket that may well have been designed for it and walked over to the equipment racks.

"Only an hour of power, ey?" he said, eyeing a portable generator. He deftly pressed the control to open the battery storage compartment, and filled each of the battery charging compartments with a battery before sealing it again. He grabbed a PPG backpack and carefully inserted the generator into it. He paused for a moment, then took the generator back out. Grabbing a pair of cutters from the piles of assorted tools and double checking his measurements he carefully cut a hole in the backpack, then reinserted the generator. He nodded happily to himself, threw the cutters haphazardly back onto the pile and reached inside the small hole with his fingers. Seemingly satisfied, he grabbed a length of universal power cabling and attached one end to the X-5's power socket and the other, he fed into the hole, which clicked as the plug neatly lined up with the socket. He reached over and flicked the generator on switch. Immediately a low and barely perceptible humming noise began to sound from the generator and another small icon appeared on his HUD, shaped like a 20th century AA battery he'd seen in a museum once, three stages lit up consecutively, before vanishing, before lighting up, endlessly in a loop.

Sticking around a dozen plasma clips, a few grenades and a basic medipack into the backpacks many varied pockets, he slung the backpack onto his back, obviously surprised by how little effore it seemed to require. He grapped a pair of plasma pistols, paused momentarily to look into the blue-white incandescence of their primed firing chambers and holstered them. He slotted a grenade launcher into his left-shoulder hardpoint and a flashlight into his right. He rifled through the pile of assorted tools for a moment, pulling out a long cylinder that vaguely resembled one of the high-tech rifles on the racks. Slightly longer than his forearm and possessing one of the sockets compatible with the wrist hardpoints he slotted it into position on his right-arm.

"Plasma Cutter, active" said the feminine computer. Almost two feet of focused plasma erupted from the end of the cylinder, almost causing Gokan to incinerate his finger-tips. He settled down for a moment, waving the device around for a bit, experimentally he touched the tip of the plasma stream to the concrete of the floor. He was rewarded by a deep red-hot gouge.

"Mmmmm... Meleelicious..." he said, still talking to himself. It didn't take him long to work out how to deactivate the cutter and he did so.

He looked over at the folded suits, the turned back to the others.

"There are five in our group, and six in the other. Someone's going to have to carry two..." with that, he walked over to the packed suits, selected one at random, and clipped it around his torso, leaving it hanging beneath the power generator on his back.

Last edited by Spritely Zombie; 31 Mar 2005 at 23:13.
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Unread 28 Mar 2005, 19:22   #294
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Re: Doom

*Flapjack heard a loud shout behind him, however the sound of chainguns firing made it impossible to hear exactly what it was, a moment later another imp jumped out of a portal in front of him, immediatly dropping backwards as several small holes appeared in the front of the imp, followed almost instantly by an equal number of bowling ball sized holes in the back of it. Another moment later Flapjack was almost thrown aside by Slick as he moved past the imps, now attacking them from the front, unfortunately to little effect compared to the amount of rounds Hewitt was still spewing out.*

*after what seemed an eternity and 2 empty clips, Flapjack was pleasantly amazed at the amount of ammo he'd used, they arrived at the comm station. Flapjack was the second last in, followed moments later by Hewitt and the loud metallic clang of an emergency door closing up. They where designed to keep fires and atmosphere leaks contained and would no doubt stop the zombies, for a while at least*

*Looking over his shoulder, Flapjack noticed the medic was bleeding profusely from what appeared to be the remains of his right arm, while another member of the team seemed to his arm hanging at a rather strange angle, it didn't look broken but it was most certainly dislocated. Not wasting time, those dents in the door didn't look good, Flapjack almost jumped over to the consoles, tapping in a set of commands to check the array aligment before the transmission came in*

“Marines, this is Commissioner Hadley from the UAC home-offices. I know you have orders from Sergeant Kelly to send a distress signal. Under emergency order Alpha-01 of the UAC emergency acts, I hearby order you to NOT send the signal, repeat, do NOT….. *static*”

*As soon as the transmission is over, Flapjack looked around the room again, noticing there where in fact 2 doors, a dented and a quite undented version, the undented version was handily marked "Monorail"*

"I suggest we follow our original orders, send the distress signal, then go down to B4, when this is all over, we'll either need a pick-up or orbital bombardment, depending on how successfull we are. Look at it this way, if we don't send a signal, they'll come looking for us and they'll be unprepared. If we send an emergency broadcast, they'll know all hell broke loose here. Either way, someone should go and listen at that door, it leads to the monorails."

*With that, Flapjack pointed over to the door, before turning back to the console and preparing to send the emergency broadcast, it seemed like a good thing to do either way*
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Last edited by flapjack; 28 Mar 2005 at 19:41.
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Unread 31 Mar 2005, 21:17   #295
Dunin Hemm
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Re: Doom

Roxborough slowly advances together with thh squad, this time at the front, shooting lines of burning napalm at various zombies that get too close. It comes to her as no surprise, then, when the pressure in her one remaining tank begins to malfunction as a result of low fuel in it. She mumbles a curse as she looks down on the meter showing 4% in red angry letters, and at that moment the door opens close by.

The roar of the chainsaw echoes throughout the corridor as it comes down onto Duke's arm, grinding, slashing and severing it. Roxborough frowns and growls in annoyance as she hurries to remove the flamethrower from her person, it being only a burden at thsi point. Cid deals with the obese zombie in the mean while, hitting and firing at it, bringing it down. Then he is suddenly attacked by several zombies that grab hold of him and, after some struggle, succeed in dislocating his shoulder. Roxborough isn't slow and throws herself at the nearest of the attackers, taking a hold of its head with her strong hands.

"Need assistance!" she calls to the others as she breaks the zombie's neck with one powerful wrench. Whatever the assistance they get, they somehow manage to get Cid into the safety of the Communications Station. Letting out a short breath. Roxborough goes to lean against a wall on the opposite side of the room as the others get to work.

Marines, this is Commissioner Hadley from the UAC home-offices. I know you have orders from Sergeant Kelly to send a distress signal. Under emergency order Alpha-01 of the UAC emergency acts, I hearby order you to NOT send the signal, repeat, do NOT….. " and then the transmission is intrerrupted. Roxborough just looks at the screen cynically, before turning to the boys.

"Whatever he said," she says after Flapjack has finished talking. "Oh," she adds. "Does anyone of you guys have a gun to spare? I'm fresh out."

Last edited by Dunin Hemm; 5 Apr 2005 at 19:10.
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Unread 5 Apr 2005, 16:04   #296
slick
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Re: Doom

OOC: Ok, i'm back, apologies for being away for so long.....hmmz..... ok, here goes *Cracks Knuckles*

Slick, now feeling slightly better for his rage session, decides to run towards the monorail. His rational part of his brain still not active as this monorail is on the 'outside' of the ship, and if any zombies were to shoot at his body, he would depressurise. He decides to run to the emergency port first.

Running quickly, he enters the emergency room with shortness of breath, and grabs as many spacesuits as he can, throwing them to the other members of the squad. he grabs one for himself and puts it on. before doing the helet up, he runs back, trying to disable as many zombies as he can so he doesn't get surprised on the monorail. He also runs over to Cid and remembering when he had a shoulder like cids, re-locates his shoulder. (Don't hurt me, i'm being nice)

Running back to the monorail, he discovers there isn't one there, so he runs over to flapjack. "ARE YOU CRAZY??? Sending a distress signal is not a good idea at all!!!! Do you know what will happen? one of two things, either they come here and try and rescue us, which probably wont happen as the length of time for a rescue if emergency happens is three weeks, or they wait even longer until were all dead, and deny our existance, and then try and make the zombies part of a medical experiment, which means that they will be loose on earth, have you never watched old earth films? i say we trey and escape of the ship while we have a chance and then tell them when we are down there, because then none will be there......" Slick ducks as a chair flies at him from a nearby zombie, he aims his half empty machine-gun at the zombie and fires until there is no movement "Our best plan is to use the monorail, get to the contreol deck, find out if anyone else is alive, rescue them, and escape in the pods. its our best way out"
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Unread 5 Apr 2005, 20:46   #297
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Re: Doom

ooc/ Slick, if you keep that up, you'll be dead in no time, either by friendly fire or by DM intervention.

for your information:

1) We are NOT on a ship, we're on a planet-based installation on Mars
2) I doubt the monorail is outside, considering it's used on a more then daily basis by unarmoured personell. Maybe it runs outside, but the station is going to be inside
3) There's also a closed door between you and the monorail, as well a fair of corridor I'd assume
4) Bakan will decide wether there's a monorail waiting for us or not
5) There is no 'control deck' We're heading down to a Delta areas
6) There are no zombies inside the comm station, and no way out except for the 2 previously mentioned doors, opening the monorail 1 would mean waiting for the next DM, opening the other 1 would mean certain death.
7) There are no escape pods, since escaping from Mars orbit and heading back to Earth would most likely require a spaceship
8) There are FAR to many points on this list
/ooc
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Unread 9 Apr 2005, 03:25   #298
Bakan
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Re: Doom

Ladies and Gentlemen....

I figure I owe you all an explanation as to my lack of DM'ing.

Back in Feburary, I was asked by a fairly large company to co-op with them. A Co-Op is a program with my university here where I would work for a company for experience, and get paid, and these Co-Op's are required for graduation.

Now, this company said I would start early March when they made the offer, so I figured it was all good. I decided to take a vacation to relax and do some things, like this thread. However, then things started to change. I was told my start date would be "two more weeks", and this kept happening. Finally, as of THIS month, they finall gave me a start date, but load and behold, I got the "two more weeks" once again. Basically I and my department said screw it to the company, and since then I have been working on finding a full-time job for graduation.

Due to the stress of this job hunt and the various people coming down with computer troubles, and my depression that came with this situation, this thread has.... died. However, I intend to make it up to you. As of now, I'm working on Doom 2 thread, which I aim to keep DM'ing.

My apologizes about this.
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Unread 13 Apr 2005, 10:45   #299
Heiro
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Re: Doom

Just as long as my other character gets an X-5 suit to wear to make up for the 'momentary urge' to post....
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Unread 13 Apr 2005, 15:50   #300
flapjack
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Re: Doom

I think I'll settles for a cargo bay bot
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IRC quotes:
<Walrus> Let's all poke him next time he appears.
<Heiro> I think that is wise, Master Walrus

<Gryffin> ungrateful wretches
<Gryffin> they should be here!
<Gryffin> so I can grace them with my presence
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