sooner or later god'll cut you down
Who: Group 2.
Where: The dregs of the ship.
When: ~all weekend.
Warnings: Swearing, violence, general creepiness, references to loads of death of loved ones, Stephen King-esque monsters, etc.
Notes: This will be the catch-all log post for the group of characters going to the bridge. Sure we could assume, but what's the fun of unspeakable horrors ( Read more... )
Comments 77
It's directional guesswork, but the easiest way is through - they cut through steel bulkhead walls to reveal bilge chambers, dark and ominous; John thinks of the great rusted monoliths floating off the frozen coasts, hiding from the machines. He hopes they'd fare better against a laser cutter.
Things go all right until the noises start - while they're working, at first, vanishing into the dark like echoes as soon as they still. John's night vision is good, better than most, but he lights a flare anyway, casting them all with a pale yellow glow.
"You see anything?" Murmured to everyone near.
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And really, what about this wasn't ridiculous? He was crawling through the bowels of the ship in uniform, with a guy who looked like and acted pretty similar to Bruce, with a phaser armed and ready to stun whatever they encountered in the dark while some being had control of the prison ship they were supposed to be working on.
So he just focused on the task at hand, totally in the zone and ready for things to go south quickly, because this was the Barge, and things never went the way you wanted them to.
"Not yet."
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"I'm not really sure what we're going to see." He kept his footsteps light, his hands at his sides. He was ready to run at any moment, to flee into the darkness to escape whatever it was that pursued them.
"If-" He stopped, some quick shadow catching his eye. But it was gone in a moment and he instinctively moved closer to the others, hoping that it was just paranoia.
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Typically lacking in any sense of self-preservation, John moves ahead, flare held outward. "Stay still if anything comes at us," he says evenly, presumably for Capa's benefit. He knows Grayson's not gonna bolt.
Just at the edges of the pool of light, something growls. A dog? John tilts the flare forward, but there's nothing there. Scrapes - claws against metal - start to sound.
"...Keep moving."
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They must be getting close.
That's Connor's thought, wry, as the crawlspace suddenly expands around them, shooting the remaining travelers into a moment of gut-wrenching free-fall. When he hits the ground it's not the impact he expects--
--it's not real, is it? A great metal groaning noise blares out as the walls around them seem to twist. He swears, grappling for some kind of scoring in the metal floor to grab onto, feeling blood from his shoulder (fucking zombie crew or whatever the fuck) seep onto his wrist as he does. He's dizzy as he tries to get his feet under him.
"Okay?" Shouted - who's still here?
[ ooc: lmao okay GWEN TOLD ME TO GO NUTS, if this is too absurd shoot me a PM and I'll edit or rewrite. This is for terrors and mindfuckery; next thread they'll actually arrive at the bridge. ]
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Impact still hurts, but the suit does a decent job absorbing at least a small fraction of the shock, so while he's probably going to have some colorful bruises by the end of this, he's more or less okay. After he was sure the ground wasn't about to start moving again - or as sure as he can be, his sense of balance was slowly coming back - he carefully moved to push himself to all fours.
"Fine!" He quickly feels for the phaser, which is still on his hip before looking around, wondering about the other two. "Capa? O'Brien?"
[ooc: I'M A MONSTER I KNOW.]
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He stumbled for a moment, getting his balance, and then put a hand, slick with blood, on his head, trying to stop himself from shaking. It hadn't exactly been a fall he anticipated, but it could have been worse. His first instinct was to look up, but there was nothing to see but the walls around them. He felt more than a little sick watching it, as if they were children in some kind of horrific funhouse.
He wasn't having fun.
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"Auto-defenses," he theorizes, finally pushing to his feet (fingers off the trigger of his gun - won't do any good if he can't tell what he's aiming at, even if something does appear). "We haven't been teleported out yet."
No they're just. Being fucked with. Excessively.
One step, then two, and John feels all right again; if they can get to the next solid wall and break through, surely they'll be properly close. The ground lurches but he doesn't fall, just sways on his feet, feeling a bit queasy from it. A low rumble sounds, and then the floor begins to glow-
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Connor puts his away, too. For a moment there - hadn't O'Brien left days ago? But that's insane. They haven't been down here that long; the more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to piece together a timeline how long - has he ever felt tired? Hungry? Have they slept? He's short with O'Brien over the communicator.
"We're losing time," he murmurs, and he's not wholly sure what he means by it. Moving too slow? Or is something pulling away from them?
He's injured, exhausted, his chest hurts; he's short of breath and he can feel his pulse in his throat, weak and erratic. John knows he shouldn't be pushing himself like this, not yet. He tells himself he doesn't have a choice, but shouldn't he be guarding the heart that isn't really his with extreme care? He walks ahead of Grayson, one gloved hand trailing against the nearest wall for something like orientation.
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