(no subject)
Somewhere, in the Nexus, there are doors. They are large doors - as tall as a two-story building, at least, and nearly as wide, all metal and split down the middle to retract to either side. They are quite solid- and heavy-looking.
They begin to open (kathunk thunk thwhiiirrzzzzthunkthunkwhirr). This looks like it could be a slow and lengthy process. You might want to get a magazine to read.
But - oh, wait, don't go yet! Those doors aren't opening all the way, it looks like. They part only about ten feet before halting with another few mechanical whirrs and thunks. Through them one can see a fairly large room - something like a cross between a small aircraft hangar and a large metalworking shop, crammed with oversized equipment and metal racking. In the background ring out faint strains of foreign ballad-rock.
Suspended by extremely thick-gauge chains and partly in view is something that might seem to be a tank turrent, without the cannon - a very large one, in fact, at least the size of a full armored military vehicle, and all a dull metal-grey, spots here and there the flat-white of the material sealed and buffed in to repair what would otherwise be wounds in the metal.
Behind it, on the opposite wall - if that hanging piece of monster machinery is anything to judge scale by, the place might be just big enough for a full vehicle of matching size to maneuver in and out of - is what would seem to be some kind of rifle. Rather unlike most rifles, however, it's the length of a large car, and a good four feet wide. (Whatever caliber it loads must be tremendously large... enough that it would would probably qualify as a moderately-sized antiarmor cannon.)
Perhaps more immediately of interest than any of this - for some people, anyway - is that there's someone coming out through these doors. A woman in her early twenties or so, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She's wearing blue-black coveralls, and, curiously, some kind of powered exoskeletal frame; it's bulky enough that she'd probably have a hard time navigating a standard-sized hallway, but the machinery moves smoothly with her. A pair of dark-shaded goggles rest on her forehead.
It takes her a few moments of rubbing at her forehead (while she uses her own arm, the matching exoskeletal limb "floats" in place, waiting for her to grip it again) for her to notice where she is. It's a few more long moments for her to regain any real comprehension, as those massive doors behind her start to grind shut.
"...what's your favorite color scheme?" she finally asks, mouth agape.
They begin to open (kathunk thunk thwhiiirrzzzzthunkthunkwhirr). This looks like it could be a slow and lengthy process. You might want to get a magazine to read.
But - oh, wait, don't go yet! Those doors aren't opening all the way, it looks like. They part only about ten feet before halting with another few mechanical whirrs and thunks. Through them one can see a fairly large room - something like a cross between a small aircraft hangar and a large metalworking shop, crammed with oversized equipment and metal racking. In the background ring out faint strains of foreign ballad-rock.
Suspended by extremely thick-gauge chains and partly in view is something that might seem to be a tank turrent, without the cannon - a very large one, in fact, at least the size of a full armored military vehicle, and all a dull metal-grey, spots here and there the flat-white of the material sealed and buffed in to repair what would otherwise be wounds in the metal.
Behind it, on the opposite wall - if that hanging piece of monster machinery is anything to judge scale by, the place might be just big enough for a full vehicle of matching size to maneuver in and out of - is what would seem to be some kind of rifle. Rather unlike most rifles, however, it's the length of a large car, and a good four feet wide. (Whatever caliber it loads must be tremendously large... enough that it would would probably qualify as a moderately-sized antiarmor cannon.)
Perhaps more immediately of interest than any of this - for some people, anyway - is that there's someone coming out through these doors. A woman in her early twenties or so, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She's wearing blue-black coveralls, and, curiously, some kind of powered exoskeletal frame; it's bulky enough that she'd probably have a hard time navigating a standard-sized hallway, but the machinery moves smoothly with her. A pair of dark-shaded goggles rest on her forehead.
It takes her a few moments of rubbing at her forehead (while she uses her own arm, the matching exoskeletal limb "floats" in place, waiting for her to grip it again) for her to notice where she is. It's a few more long moments for her to regain any real comprehension, as those massive doors behind her start to grind shut.
"...what's your favorite color scheme?" she finally asks, mouth agape.