All the little lost boys and girls (Update: 26/5/12)

[xt828]

I'm not sure what you mean by 'zombie-esque' things. If you're referring to Primal's crew, I'd assumed it was clear that that was the earlier stage of a Turned (recall the Watcher's video diary of what happened to his love).

The tribes pretty much have to work around them. They try and push back the infestations when and where they can. As for the Turned themselves, we'll get more into them very shortly, but recall that to date we've seen scout, hunting and praetorian forms - there's definite predatory behaviour there. Territory plays a role, but so does their interest in killing things.

i.e. that datapad wasn't left out for Veers and Mackenzie by jolly ol' St. Nick.

Yeah, for some reason I'd made a disconnect between the Turned and the zombie-stage. The reason that I ask about the Turned is that in the parts we've seen on them, they've been fairly relentlessly aggressive, and capable of breaking through some pretty serious barriers, but the sense I got of the tribal camp was somewhere between the survivors camp from Mad Max 2 and the sealed-off area in Aliens - sturdy, but only up to a point, and fairly slapdash.

[Grimnosh]

Molotov Cocktails are extremely simple to make and use and as fire is one of mankind's best weapons against virtually everything.....

You want to be really careful how much fire you use in a confined space. Even on something the size of DROP 47.

Considering that the Turned will just regenerate any damage done by bullets and blades (and the fact that any parts would slither togeather and reattach if dismembered) fire IS the only way of making sure that if one goes down it stays down. Too much might be bad, but you don't really want to leave a Turned sprawled in its own blood do you? Plus its still (or should be) effective at keeping the larger beasties at bay... take that named one the Watcher mentioned when Hayes and company encountered it, the Praetorian. If it was hit by a Molotov it would know that fire hurts and would avoid anyone carring open flames or bottles stuffed with rags givng one a deterrant to the somewhat more intelligent beasties.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Yeah, for some reason I'd made a disconnect between the Turned and the zombie-stage. The reason that I ask about the Turned is that in the parts we've seen on them, they've been fairly relentlessly aggressive, and capable of breaking through some pretty serious barriers, but the sense I got of the tribal camp was somewhere between the survivors camp from Mad Max 2 and the sealed-off area in Aliens - sturdy, but only up to a point, and fairly slapdash.

Well, everything's sturdy up to a point. The question is, what point is that? For most attacks - probes from small groups of hunters, raids from other tribes, or the occasional instances when the "eyes" pay them attention, it's quite secure. But a dedicated assault/siege might be able to break through. However, something of that scale would get noticed and the Masks would be able to prepare for worst-case scenarios. Plus, they do have some pretty impressive defences: i.e. the station's own bulkheads, rather than simple barricades made from crates and debris. Getting through those would be no simple task and any other route in would be a choke point.

Likewise, they've had decades and centuries to find out all the potential weaknesses of their chosen home, driven home by some potent learning experiences (you can imagine the kind of carnage just one of the Turned could cause if it got loose amongst the 'civilians' in the habitat or worse - if a scout found a way in and brought hunters with it...)

... you don't really want to leave a Turned sprawled in its own blood do you?

There's the question, isn't it? How much time do you spend on making sure your kill is actually a kill? Are you just trying to escape? In which case, disabling the attacker is good enough and staying around to make sure increases the chance of you being found by something/someone else. You also risk the fire chewing up the oxygen in your area (possibly even cutting off your avenue of retreat if something gets ahead of you).

If you're defending a position, do you really want to start hurling flames about - the smoke and fire will impair your vision, the blaze may flow back to you.

Now, this isn't to say that fire isn't good at double-killing zombies, but that you want to be really careful about when and how you use it. If you use fire willy-nilly, it's as much a hazard to you as it is to them. Rather more so, in fact.

...that named one the Watcher mentioned when Hayes and company encountered it, the Praetorian.

Just a note - it was named Unity, but it was a praetorian.

If it was hit by a Molotov it would know that fire hurts and would avoid anyone carring open flames or bottles stuffed with rags givng one a deterrant to the somewhat more intelligent beasties.

No, it wouldn't. It recognized guns when they were pointed at it and had no qualms approaching Shannon and the survivors then. It already knows the tiny squishy things have means of damaging it. That they have one it can't immediately heal from won't slow it down that much. Fire won't instantly kill it, so all you've done is make it even madder and raised the possibility of both burning to death and be ripped limb from limb. Using it as a barrier might work. Might. Of course, that presumes that a) said fire will be hot enough to seriously injure or damage it if it just says 'fuck it' and charges/leaps through and b) that it won't just wait patiently for the fire to go out, or c) circle around while you think it's retreated (not saying that these options are a bad thing, since they would buy time, just that using fire might give one a false sense of security).

Again, just to reiterate: is fire a good idea if you have the time and precautions necessary to use and control it? Absolutely. But it's those two corollaries that keep it from being a cure-all. If you're in a pinch, if you're secure for the moment, then by all means - use it. I'm just saying that there's good reasons Molotovs aren't Weapon #1 on DROP 47.

[Bladed_Crescent]

In this chapter, Shannon and her team prepare for their mission. Calvin and Jane's partnership is put to the test.

Coming up: day two of Primal's expedition

Chapter 37:

The inside of the air processor was, like the massive chamber it dwelt within, completely overgrown by the flesh-moss – what Godfrey had called the spread. It was completely dark; whatever lights there were had been broken, burnt out, or simply covered by layers and layers of the ugly, meaty substrate long ago. The only illumination came from the troopers’ own helmet lights and the flashes of their weapons.

Filaments – some finger-thick, others fine and hair-thin – hung from the ceiling as veins the circumference of a man’s forearm crisscrossed the infested walls. Around doorways and air vents, the metal had rotted away in places, centuries of decay breaking down even Imperial steel. Pustules burst foul-smelling blood and chyme onto the troopers as they passed, splattering their armour, the rotten chemical stench seeming to stoke their pursuers into greater fury. A cloud of insects, disturbed from their normal routine, buzzed and flitted about the mercenaries. Calvin cursed as yet another biting gnat whizzed through his broken visor, and landed on his face to take a blood meal. In front of the trooper, a lurching figure still wearing a petty officer’s tunic shredded under a burst from his weapon, as did the thing behind the noncom.

Calvin had only a flicker of a moment to realize that that he’d just killed another of Primal’s people, but the ceaseless assault gave him no time to dwell on that fact. He didn’t know how many of these things he and Jane had gone through, only that it wasn’t enough. They never stopped, never showed fear or reacted in pain. Losing an arm, they charged. Legs torn from their bodies, they crawled. Decapitated, they flailed, backtracking the shot. They kept coming, ignoring injuries that would have killed any other creature ten times over, ignoring losses that would have broken even a Coalition army. On the floor, dismembered and destroyed bodies twitched as slick, slithering tendrils found one another, rebuilding more frankensteins from their own dead.

God help me, what are these things?

Your future, that same voice in the back of his brain whispered and the image of a pretty girl with red eyes and clawed fingers flashed through his mind. Red rover, red rover...

All around them, grotesque shadows leered and capered in the shifting light, concealing threats from every angle. Thin membranes covering doorways and air vents burst as nightmare forms leapt out and slashed from behind them. Calvin felt himself slowing as his armour’s damage mounted. Acid had slowly but steadily eaten away at the plates. Gooey, hardening bile was on his joints, reducing their movement. Repeated attacks at the same parts of his suit were widening and deepening what had once been only scratches. His ammo reserves were falling steadily and he fed another cartridge from his waist clip into his weapon as it ran dry. One left.

Something fluttered and screeched overhead, thick ropes of drool spattering down on the troopers as strange bat-like monsters leered out of holes in the ceiling, lamprey mouths ringed with teeth glistening wetly before they vanished, darting away whenever one of the soldiers’ raised their cannon towards the twisted creatures, but he could hear them – always staying out of the line of fire, squawking and calling to one another.

Then, a new sound: not the roaring exhalation of Leviathan’s breath. Not the high-pitched calls of the fluttering, stalking things. Not even the wet, warbling cries of the hunting things behind them. Low and loud, from a powerful set of lungs, rising into a hateful screech. He didn’t know what was making that noise, and he didn’t want to find out.

“Here!” Jane’s voice cut through the cacophony of screams and shrills; a stairway. Their path to the processor’s upper levels. “Hurry!” the Ghost shouted as she cut down another loping assailant, cleaving it from shoulder to hip.

Calvin turned and pounded towards the glimmer of salvation. Behind him, he could hear this fresh nightmare getting closer and bellowing with hunger, but all he heard was a playground rhyme.

Red rover, red rover...

Why won’t you come over?

~

Emily heard the approaching footsteps, looking up as the door to the Watcher’s lair yawned open, and two armoured women strode out of the ancillary server core. The doctor felt herself flush with relief as she caught sight of Shannon, the corporal’s helmet cradled in the crook of one arm, bangs of dark red hair stuck to her forehead.

Delphini gave in to temptation and rose to meet Shannon, putting her arms around the mercenary, ignoring the tackiness of the drying gore on Shannon’s cuirass. Emily’s smile widened a bit more as the Halo’s arms encircled her in return, one hand patting her on the back. “How did it go?” the doctor asked. Her nose tickled, the scents of the horrors of this place filling her nostrils, but beneath it, she could smell Shannon’s skin and the salty aroma of her sweat.

“We’ve got a mission,” Hayes replied, pulling out of the embrace. “It’s going to be a dangerous one, so I want you to stay here.”

She said that, but she was lying. It was in her eyes. In the way her hand found Emily’s and tightened. Lutzberg and Bujold didn’t notice and looked equal parts relieved and concerned. Hernandez cocked his head. “We can trust our new hermano, then?”

“As much as we can trust anyone who lives in the pale moonlight,” Abigail quipped.

Louis didn’t react. Not much, save for a tightening around his eyes. In the pale moonlight was a code phrase for Artemis’ ground forces. They were compromised and any issued orders were not to be followed until informed otherwise. “You want us to leave the civilians behind?” he asked carefully, shooting a glance towards Lutzberg; the PO was shipcrew; he might be familiar with the term. Then again, he might not. “I know we’re supposed to be getting buddy-buddy here, corporal, but I gotta say-”

“I’m going with you,” Delphini interrupted, looking from Louis, back to Shannon. The Halo squeezed her hand a little tighter and gave her a tiny, relieved nod even as she said the exact opposite.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Shannon lied.

“No? You and Abigail have kept the rest of safe so far,” Emily continued, playing her part. “You got us away from the feral tribe, you’ve helped us stay alive this long. Right now, I’d rather better on you than anyone else, no matter how many mechs he has.” She looked up at the ceiling, towards the nearest watching camera. “No offence.”

Bujold nodded. “I’m not a professional skull-breaker like you are,” he said. “But you could probably use an extra gun on whatever mission you’re planning. Seems like that’d be helpful.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, I’m not about to let you knuckle-dragging mercs show up us professionals in Hadley-Wright’s security corps.”

Lutzberg looked from Emily to Mack and back again. “You’re both insane, you know that?” The doctor nodded sympathetically, still holding onto her mercenary friend.

“This is going to be dangerous,” Shannon repeated the warning, tightening her grip on Emily. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Emily replied without hesitation, Bujold echoing her affirmation a half-second later.

Five sets of eyes turned towards Petty Officer Lutzberg. He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Fuck it. All right. I’m not going to be the odd one out here. Besides, if Mack’s an extra shooter, I can be your back-up tech. Strength in numbers, right?”

Hernandez clapped the crewer on the shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t leave us hanging, PO. Artemis sticks together.”

“Yeah. Sure we do.” Armin didn’t meet Louis’s eyes, remembering a moment not too long ago when he’d put the lie to those words.

~

They’d fought their way through the processor’s stairwells and elevator shafts, using their thrusters to bypass several levels. It should have been easier and maybe it was; Meyers couldn’t tell. It was all one red, washed out blur to him. His breath was hot, burning his throat – a side effect of the drugs his suit was pumping into his system. But they were nearing the top. Now, they were in another junction of massive air vents, powerful winds roaring through the infested tunnel, battering the troopers and their enemies alike. Gouts of blood sprayed downwind, splashing against the dull, churning blades of an ancient turbine. On every available surface, the strange stalked growths stood or hung in the air, other creatures casting filamentous nets into the channel, catching whatever detritus was pulled into their grasp, waving in the constant wind.

Calvin was panting, feeling his heart pound in his chest. His ammunition reserves were critical and his armour was failing. He shot a glance over at Godfrey; he couldn’t see anything of her beneath her own suit, but if she was feeling any hint of exertion, he couldn’t tell. What kept her moving? What was the point?

To live five more minutes, he told himself. There was a story he’d heard once... something about a man on a cliff, a tiger below him and a tiger above... enjoy what you have for as long as you have.

That would work.

Five more minutes? Hell, let’s go for six.

~

The Watcher was as good as his word. Perhaps even more so, since he no longer had the burden of additional, potentially troublesome, charges to care for. Ammunition and supplies were delivered to the survivors, supplementing the few resources that Emily had stolen from the Masks’ trophy room. Shannon knelt by a crate of medical supplies, checking the ingredients and seal on each vial before inserting them into the dispenser in her IDS. Most were expired, but the ‘best before’ dates on military-grade pharmaceuticals were conservative – usually by a factor of three, but sometimes much longer. Some of these were Wilshire Pharmaceuticals and they consistently under-reported the expiration of their medicines by an order of magnitude. She’d prefer to have her own medical equipment back, but the ferals had confiscated that. Competition between tribes and DROP 47’s own nature doubtless made medical supplies valuable. That the Watcher was willing to part with even this much bespoke his desperation and, one might think, his commitment to their partnership.

There was a rustle of movement out of the corner of her eye and Shannon looked up. Two children were peering at her and the rest of the survivors – a boy and a girl. He couldn’t have been more than twelve and she was younger – perhaps nine or ten. She smiled at them and they shrunk back, the boy standing just in front of his companion, as if protecting her. Shannon’s smile faltered and she turned away. Of course they’d be frightened of her. Nothing in this place is pure.

Abigail tore into a decades-old MRE, still perfectly preserved. The Watcher had stockpiles of the things – one of the other sources of conflict between him and the feral humans. None were from Primal; Shelby’s lockdown had prevented either faction from looting the ship until D Company had opened it up. Now it was just another hulk to be stripped, another corpse for DROP 47’s own mass grave.

Louis was feeding shotgun cartridges into the catches on a bandolier; he’d eschewed the offers of different weapons, preferring to remain with St. Cloud’s prized shotgun. Unfortunately, since Betsy was both modern and custom-modified, none of the Watcher’s magazines fit, so each cartridge would have to be loaded into the only drum the weapon had. Hernandez was supplementing Betsy with a heavy pistol. Like the rest of the group, he’d come to the conclusion that penetration wasn’t what mattered with the Turned – stopping power and sheer, brute-force damage was what counted.

Bujold had a pair of pistols and Shannon’s head canted towards the security man. He was a cross-draw. Curious. She’d never have expected that... curious. The redhaired woman crouched beside Emily; the doctor had shed her lab coat and at Shannon’s insistence and had donned a knife-resistant vest, knee and elbow-pads and protective vambraces. Shannon wasn’t sure how well they’d hold up against attacks that could cut through armour and metal, but they were better than nothing. “How are you doing?”

Emily flashed her a smile, trying to be confident, but there was worry in her eyes. “I’ll manage.” Shannon wanted her to stay here. She wanted it to be safe here, wanted them to be able to trust their ally. But she wouldn’t hand him hostages, wouldn’t give him her people. Not until she was absolutely certain they’d be safe. And she wasn’t. So she had to risk their lives on this wild-goose chase instead.

God surely did have a sense of humour.

~

“This was a really good idea!” Calvin shouted through gritted teeth as he jammed his disruptor into the belly of another monster, cleaving it up to the neck. Nearly bisected, the once-human thing flopped to the floor, arms trying to pull itself back up, the sides of its torso burned and cauterized.

“Isn’t it?!” Jane cried out, exhilarated and oblivious to Calvin’s sarcasm. The upper body of something charging her vanished in a spray of tissue, her blade following through to the creature behind that one, taking its head from its shoulders and kicking the suddenly frenzied body back, into yet another walking horror, knocking both to the ground.

“Yeah!” Calvin all but roared to be heard over the cacophony of battle. “Glorious!”

She was laughing. Laughing.

You sure know how to pick ‘em, Calvin.

Shut up!

Her back’s to you. Take it. Take the shot.

I still need her!

No you don’t. You’re almost free. She’ll come after you again. Hunt you. Kill you. Unless you kill her first. She’s fast. Do it. You’re almost there. Do it. If not for you, then for the people who’re counting on you. The people the colonel told you to watch out for. She has to die. Take the shot. Do it. The cadence pounded in Calvin’s head, over and over: Do it. Do it.

Do it.

Calvin let his eyes slide towards Jane. Almost in slow motion, he felt himself pivot, turning the barrel of his gun towards her, taking an instant to shift his attention from the battle. His finger tightened on the trigger-

-up above, something screeched and with a flutter of movement, launched itself at him-

-it was one of the creatures hiding in the ceiling, and its membranous wings wrapped themselves around his head, thin, strong limbs tightening on his helmet-

-a forest of tendrils snapped out from a slit on its underside, winding around his shoulders, throat and torso, pulling it to him-

-claws scratched and probed at his armour-

-a thin, lamprey-mouthed proboscis forced itself through his visor, drool and thick fluid dripping from its rings of teeth-

-he screamed in panic, falling to the floor and trying to pry the awful thing off his face-

-something stabbed into his cheek, hard and sharp, more things slithering into his skin as the creature’s round mouth sawed through his flesh-

-he could feel it sucking up his blood and skin, he could feel it feeding-

-the attack stopped, but he couldn’t breathe as the tendrils – how could they be so strong? – tightened on his throat, a high-pitched shriek of distress coming from the creature as Jane pulled at it, her fingers dug into its ugly flesh.

The creature’s wings beat frantically, though whether it was trying to knock the trooper away or merely escape, Calvin had no idea. He gasped for breath, his vision dimming...

..something snapped. One of the appendages around his shoulder; others were sliding away, losing their grip on his torso. But the ones on his throat...

shkkt-kzz

Calvin swept his blade across his chest, slicing through the tendrils. The pressure was gone and he could breathe again. He coughed, climbing back to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jane throw the creature to the floor and smash one heavy boot down upon its center of mass. It spasmed, still twitching weakly, bloody drool oozing from its proboscis. Jane sprayed a few bursts down the hallway, clearing it for another few seconds. “Are you fit?”

“Yes,” he said, massaging his throat. “I’m fit.”

Her helmet twitched towards him. “Your face-”

“I said, I’m fine,” Calvin snapped, pushing past her. “Let’s go.”

Jane stared at the Eta trooper’s back. “Yes,” she agreed. “There’s no point in staying.”

~

“Are you ready?” Shannon moved from person to person, asking each of them in turn. Like Emily, Bujold and Lutzberg had supplemented their duty uniforms with protective vests, air masks hanging from their hips. With each of them she got a worried, but assertive nod. They trusted her. They had no reason to, but they did.

Hernandez had turned himself into a walking armoury – in addition to Betsy and his pistol, he’d added a second bandolier stocked with grenades, carrying just enough not to compromise his mobility. Perhaps a bit more than that given the rate that they used ammunition. Like Delphini, Bujold and Lutzberg, he also carried a simple breather mask. He was more confident in his agreement, but Shannon still worried about his injury. He was holding on, though. For now, the pessimist in her said.

Abby was carrying just as much firepower as Louis, though she’d preferred fewer grenades in exchange for the anti-material rifle now slung across her back. It had precious few shots, but it was powerful enough to punch a hole in a tank. Just the thing in case of a run-in with Unity (or another praetorian): they’d need more than small-arms fire to hurt it. In a similar vein, the Darkknell was keeping her new disruptor close at hand. Her helmet back on, Abigail had her carbine cradled in her arms and gave her ‘little sister’ a slow, predatory nod. I’m ready.

Hayes smiled. She knew she’d never have made it this far without Abby “We’re going into the enemy’s territory,” she said aloud. They already knew this. “We’re going to find one in particular and take back what they stole. We’re going to do this and we’re going to survive. No one dies. No one gets left behind. We’re all coming back from this. What happened to DROP 47, what happened to Primal and everyone else who came here – it won’t happen to us. I won’t let it. I want everyone to understand that. We’re going to survive. Help is going to come and we’re going to be here when it does. All of us. We’re. All. Coming. Back.” She took a moment to steady herself, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. We’re all coming back, she repeated the mantra once more, just for herself. We are.

“Are you ready?” she asked a final time, addressing the group.

“Ready, ma’am!” Louis and Abigail’s shout drowned out anything the others might have said.

“B Company, are you in this!” Shannon shouted, remembering Donowitz’s familiar demand.

“Like pigs in shit!”

Shannon Melinda Hayes, corporal, Artemis Private Security Services, pulled her helmet back on. “Then let’s move out,” she said, praying that everything she’d just told her people hadn’t been a lie. I will get them through this. I will.

~

The sound of the rusted hatch squealing open was the most wonderful sound Calvin had ever heard. He pulled himself into the fresher air of the atmosphere processing chamber, the railing bowing under his feet. Behind him, Jane’s gun spat, disabling their closest pursuers. The Ghost slammed the hatch shut again, augmentic muscles twisting it, warping it in its frame and jamming it shut. “A few moments,” Jane said. “No more.”

They’d made it.

They’d actually made it.

Godfrey’s helmet turned towards him and Calvin suddenly became aware of just how close he was to the woman, who until very recently, had been hunting him like an animal. Had killed his people. You shouldn’t have waited, that same voice whispered. Now it’s too late.

“Friends?” he asked cautiously, slowly shifting his weight. This platform wouldn’t them for long, and if they started fighting again...

The woman stared back at him for a few seconds. Then, her helmet dipped once in a short, curt nod. “Friends.” A beat. “I want to thank you,” Jane said, her comment surprising the Eta trooper.

Something pounded at the mangled hatch.

“For what?” Calvin asked. His fingers twitched, wanting very badly to scratch at the wounds on his face. To move, to run. To get away. I hate this place.

“For not being weak.” The Ghost raised her head. “This place... it eats at you, takes pieces so slowly that you don’t even know what you’ve lost until it’s all gone. My team... We weren’t infected. We were spared that. But Acheron... it still gnaws at you. You held on. Reminded me.”

“I don’t remember being that eloquent,” Calvin muttered, sticking one armoured finger through his broken visor, trying to get some relief from the burning, crawling sensation under his skin. He didn’t even feel the ragged, wound that thing had chewed in his cheek, but the skin all around it burned. Itched.

“Eloquent enough,” was Jane’s reply.

A scythe-blade jabbed through a hole in the seam, twisting back and forth as its owner sought to pry the warped hatch further open.

“We should go,” Calvin said. “There’s other survivors – there’s got to be – and we should find them. We can save them. We can hold out until help gets here.” For the first time in (God, how long had it been?), Calvin felt the faint glimmering of hope. Just the two of them had fought their way out of this hive, escaped a ‘Leviathan’. It might just be the combat drugs, but he almost felt like punching the air and flipping off both the voices that had whispered and laughed at him and the girl that had told him she’d ‘have’ him. He’d beat them all. Every last one of them.

“Yes,” Jane said, her voice low. “It’s time to go.” There was a note of something in it, something Calvin couldn’t quite place...

shzzzzzkt

And, just like that, Calvin was looking down at the glowing blade of Jane’s disruptor where it had sprouted from his torso. “What...” he managed to gasp as every nerve in his body screamed in agony. His knees buckled, but her other hand was on his shoulder, helping keep him up. “Why...”

“I’m sorry,” Jane’s voice hitched – was she crying? “I am. You reminded me of what I was, Calvin. What I want to be. But you can’t go back to that. Acheron took you.”

Calvin tried to speak, but couldn’t make himself form the words to ask what she was talking about. She’d cut through his chest cavity and his lungs – what was left of them - had collapsed. His vision was greying out and only the drugs flooding his system were keeping him conscious. But she understood what he wanted to ask her.

“Most of the time it’s a bite, Calvin. A slash, a rip. Drooling their poison into your blood. But sometimes... sometimes it’s a spore. One breath is all it takes. One breath and Primal died. That’s what the infectors do. Living poison. You want to save the others, but you can’t. You’ll kill them. Just like Veers did to us.” Calvin fell to his knees as she withdrew the blade, tottering on the edge of the abyss. “I’m sorry,” the Ghost repeated. “I promise I’ll find the others. I’ll save them if I can. I’ll save them and... I’ll keep this contained. Two promises. One... one for you.”

Calvin no longer heard Jane; her words were an indistinct murmur, as if coming from a great distance. A final breath passed out from his burned, ravaged lungs and, before the blackness took him, he thought he heard someone calling for him. Red rover, red rover... will you have me? You’ll join us. Everyone does in the end.

Jane closed her eyes, feeling the Eta trooper go limp at last. “I won’t let them have you, Calvin. You were... you were my friend,” Jane said the word as if it were alien. She had no time, no fire and the only burial she could give him was a single push, sending Calvin’s body plummeting to the depths. Behind her, the hatch squealed and shrieked as its ruined metal was forced open.

With a burst from her thrusters, the Ghost was gone, landing back on the mezzanine. She sheathed her blade and strode into the darkness, her pale grey form swallowed by the gloom. She’d find the others and she’d save them, too.

One way or another. She’d keep that promise. Both of them.

[Night_stalker]

Well, it's offical. DROP 47 is now the scariest place this side of Innsmouth. Seriously though, WTF is up with this place? Why in the name of Cthullu is this place making everyone go nuts? Is it the lighting? Is it some form of psychic field that really amps up paranoia and aggression, and over a long period of time mutates the listeners?

[Darth Nostril]

Re-read from the beginning, the answer is in one of the flashback chapters.

Alas poor Calvin we knew him well, at least he died still human.

[The Vortex Empire]

Damn. Poor Calvin. At least he wasn't eaten alive.

I think this was one of the best chapters yet.

[LadyTevar]

I'd hoped Calvin would make it. I wonder if we'll see him again ... or parts of him

[Swindle1984]

Things to do if I ever end up on a tactical team/mercenary squad in one of Bladed Crescent's stories:

1) If an underground laboratory/deep space research facility/remote island/spaceship ever goes silent or sends out a distress signal and I'm ordered to investigate it, I will refuse to go on the grounds that whatever punishment I may receive for disobeying orders (job termination, prison, execution) will surely be better than whatever is waiting for me on the mission.

2) If I do somehow end up going on the mission (maybe my milk was drugged ala Mr. T), I will remember to never be the first, never be the last, never volunteer for anything, and never tell anyone about my sweetheart back home that I intend to marry after this mission is over. If I'm less than a month to retirement/ending my enlistment, I will consider myself a dead man walking and just eat a bullet here and now.

3) If I can just barely get back onto my feet again after falling over, then I'm carrying just enough ammunition. I most certainly won't carry a single magazine for my gun like they do in most horror/sci-fi movies.

4) If I suspect the enemy is crawling above the ceiling, I will not lift a ceiling tile and inquisitively stick my head up there. I will shove a grenade up there and haul ass.

5) Unidentified noises/silhouettes are not to be investigated by calling out, shining my light around, and wandering away from where my friends last saw me. They are to be investigated by shooting at them and running in the opposite direction.

6) If my squad/team/friends/fellow survivors have all disappeared one by one or I have become separated from the group, I will not wander around aimlessly searching for them and shouting their names. I'll write them all off as having died horrible deaths alone in the darkness (or not alone, which would be even worse) and concentrate on unassing the area as quickly as possible. If they're late for a rendezvous, I will also assume that they're dead and leave them behind; they knew where to be and when to get here, and it's their problem if they can't be punctual.

7) If I must pass an open air vent or dark room to reach my destination, I will not shine my flashlight into it and stick my head in to see what's in there. I will throw a grenade in as I run past; if something was waiting to ambush me in there, it's probably not happy now.

My preferred method of advance down a dark hallway will have two people in front, hosing the hallway down with gunfire and grenades every three steps, a third person hauling a cart loaded down with ammo and explosives, and two more people in the back hosing down our rear with gunfire and grenades. Take three steps and repeat. In a well lit hallway, the same will be practiced, but take five steps and repeat.

9) If I die, it will be because I broke my neck trying to look everywhere at once.

10) I will stay behind the guy with the flamethrower and duck every time it looks like he might turn around.

11) If anyone disappears for a good length of time and then comes back without any explanation and is acting suspiciously, I'll save us all some time and shoot him in the head now.

12) If anyone in the group dies, their body will be cremated if possible. If cremation isn't possible, then I will leave a motion-triggered claymore next to the body. If my dead companion reanimates or something comes to feed on the corpse, that will at least take care of one more problem for me. I am not above looting their corpses for spare ammo/weapons/food; it's not like they need it any more.

13) If my body armor is useless against whatever enemy I face, I will remove it so I can carry more guns and ammo. If my guns are also useless, I'll keep just one on me so I can shoot myself if necessary; otherwise, all dead weight will be removed so I can haul ass more easily.

14) If I am someplace that is supposed to be contaminated with a biological or chemical weapon of some sort or a disease/alien spore, I'll think twice about removing my gas mask.

15) If anyone betrays the group, I will not immediately execute them, nor will I insist that they be allowed to live so they can face trial when we come back home. I will restrain their arms and put them on a leash so they can be dragged along. As soon as they start slowing us down or we are pursued by horrible abominations, the leash will be tied to something so they can serve as bait while we run for our lives.

16) If I and a friend are pursued by horrible abominations, I will seriously consider the fact that I don't have to outrun the abominations, just my friend.

17) If my mission is to place a nuke in the center of the facility/space station/spaceship/island, I will place the nuke by the front door and leave. Surely, that's good enough to get the job done, and it means I don't have to risk my life in the process.

18) If the doors lock/spaceship leaves at a certain time, leaving me trapped in the hellhole I've been assigned to, I will set my watch ahead by twenty minutes to make sure I'm back on time.

19) If I'm escorting some scientists or someone else who seems to be way too interested in whatever abominations are attempting to devour us, I will not hand them a gun or trust them with anything important as they will surely betray us in the name of science/profit/politics at a critical juncture.

20) I will not go into any body of water I cannot see the bottom of, nor one that is deeper than my knees.

21) I will think twice before attempting to travel through air ducts; surely whatever pursued me there can move faster in that environment than I can.

22) Ammunition is cheaper than my life; anything worth shooting is worth shooting repeatedly. When in doubt, dump the magazine and follow it with a grenade.

23) In addition to looking all around me, I will remember to look up periodically.

24) If whatever enemy I am facing is invisible to my thermal/night vision/radar/sonar, I will evaluate just how useful that piece of equipment is to me and ditch it if it's just useless weight.

25) I will remember to bring a fresh pair of underwear and clean socks. I will also make sure to wear unscented deoderant and leave the cologne at home; hygiene is important, and I don't need to make it any easier for something to track me by smell.

26) If there is an attractive female in the group, I will stick as close to her as possible. This makes sense because all the men will be throwing themselves in harm's way to protect her, and subsequently me. When she and I are the last ones left, I can throw her in harm's way while I run the fuck in the other direction.

27) I will remember to bring a good knife or machete with me. Not only are they invaluable tools in a variety of environments, but blades never need reloading.

28) If all else fails, set it on fire. If the choice is between being eaten/dismembered alive and burning alive, at least I can die knowing that whatever I just set ablaze isn't too happy either. Unless it's a robot.

29) I will petition Congress to require all secret research facilities to have easily-accessible armories, magazines, and consumables in clearly marked locations and all exits identified as such.

30) If the map my employer gave me has things like a secret genetics lab labeled "cafeteria" or a number of passages and rooms that were left off the map, I will leave the area and ask what the hell.

31) If I come across a series of cages with the steel wire/bars bent or torn apart and nothing inside them, I will think about how strong those cages are compared to my frail meats and what sort of strength it would take to get through them. Then I will think about where those exits are located.

32) If I find any books lying around, I will never read them aloud, especially if they're in Latin or ancient Sumerian.

33) Night vision, rations, extra ammunition- I don't care if we're not going to be here long enough to need those, I'm bringing them anyway.

34) I will ensure as much as possible that my body armor provides protection against bullets, knives, shrapnel, fire, acid, poison gas, and the vacuum of space.

35) I don't care if I have to pop pills 24/7 until I get out of here, I'm not sleeping until I'm somewhere safe. "Safe" is defined as "as far from anything that might eat/infect/murder/mutate/maim me as possible" and not "well, I'm fairly certain nothing can get to me for a couple of hours, at least not without me hearing it coming".

[Darth Nostril]

#b) "We'll take off and nuke it from orbit. It's the only way to be sure" is Plan A, NOT some improvised emergency escape strategy.

[Swindle1984]

#b) "We'll take off and nuke it from orbit. It's the only way to be sure" is Plan A, NOT some improvised emergency escape strategy.

There is no such thing as overkill, only "open fire" and "I need to reload".

[Junghalli]

#b) "We'll take off and nuke it from orbit. It's the only way to be sure" is Plan A, NOT some improvised emergency escape strategy.

I think DROP 47 supposedly had some technology in it they wanted to acquire.

But if so you're going to need a lot more men and equipment then these people brought with them. Based on the description of how huge the station is (big enough to have its own appreciable gravity field) you're basically invading a small country here. And that isn't getting into the unique health hazards...

[Swindle1984]

Clearly, we need a shitload of highly-automated drones, as well as infantry in powered armor equipped with flamethrowers (either the napalm-spewing variety or the plasma jet variety; both have advantages and disadvantages.), explosives, heavy automatic weapons, and more. And only send the infantry in after the swarm of robots have done their part in depopulating DROP 47. Maybe some biological weapons or nanites could be used to kill the Turned, or at least weaken them.

I wonder how useful hydrofluoric acid would be against the Turned; it's not only very corrosive, but is readily absorbed into tissue where it is highly toxic, causes calcium deprivation, and damage to the nervous system, the last meaning that many people who get splashed with hydrofluoric acid don't feel pain immediately.

Of course, like oxygen-depriving fire (hmmm... couldn't oxygen deprivation via combustion be used against the Turned too?), hydrofluoric acid is not without its own dangers; namely, the fact that it etches glass and dissolves metals fairly easily, so you don't want to be throwing the stuff around willy-nilly. Still, might be useful for permanently dispatching, or at least crippling, some of the Turned if you squirt them with it.

[Deebles]

What do you do when your drones turn on you?

[Swindle1984]

What do you do when your drones turn on you?

Why would my robotic drones turn on me? Are they going to balk at their casualties within DROP 47, refuse to deploy any further, and start protesting for robotic rights?

[Bladed_Crescent]

WTF is up with this place? Why in the name of Cthullu is this place making everyone go nuts? Is it the lighting? Is it some form of psychic field that really amps up paranoia and aggression, and over a long period of time mutates the listeners?

You'll find out in due course. Not that there haven't been hints here and there...

Alas poor Calvin we knew him well, at least he died still human.

Damn. Poor Calvin. At least he wasn't eaten alive.

I'd hoped Calvin would make it. I wonder if we'll see him again ... or parts of him

Calvin got about the best kind of death one can hope for on DROP 47. Relatively quick, and before going mad. Remember the Primal crewman Abigail found and what he said? There's no way out. Except for one.

Okay, two. But that one would be telling.

As to Lady Tevar's question - that would also be telling.

I think DROP 47 supposedly had some technology in it they wanted to acquire.

There's been a rumour or two, and some idle speculation there may be one or two trinkets worth a penny or two on the station...

Why would my robotic drones turn on me? Are they going to balk at their casualties within DROP 47, refuse to deploy any further, and start protesting for robotic rights?

Hey, it's what the Exocomps did...

Next chapter up shortly.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Day two, it’s quiet and now there’s just you.
Spoiler

There's at least three of them; the one from Jason and Gemma's encounter, the one that Lutzberg nearly ran across and the one Calvin met in the atmosphere processor are all different individuals.

Coming up: every decision has a consequence. That, and adventures in EVA!

And a return of the graffiti!



Chapter 38:

Day Two:

“This is where it happened?”

The woman didn’t look up. “Yes. This is where it happened,” she said in a tone of voice usually reserved for overworked school teachers with particularly stupid pupils. She was squatting on the balls of her feet, resting her arms on her knees as she looked over the scene. “Hmm,” she mused, standing in a single smooth movement. Her flashlight played out over the area; this was where Petty Officer Veers had been mauled and Petty Officer Mackenzie had gone missing. Colonel Paclan and Captain Shelby were going over the data from Veers’s recorder, but so far, they hadn’t found anything that could tell them where their missing crew member had gone.

She could have told them what had happened, quite easily, in fact. Thanks to her... associate’s brainstorm, Veers and Mackenzie had blundered into an ambush. The Planning Board hadn’t put this much time and effort into the DROP 47 project without knowing something about the station. In this case, “something” was also “a lot”. Not that Artemis was going to benefit from that knowledge .The who, how and what of the situation were information she wasn’t eager, authorized, or ever intended to share, although it seemed that some of it wasn’t quite up-to-date.

She didn’t know which was worse; that her supervisors had withheld relevant data, or that what they had was dangerously outdated. That the R-series was... developing could be troublesome. More than that, actually. This ‘crying girl’ – I don’t know which explanation I like least. She could just be a new R-form – which is bad enough on its own. I don’t think she’s an I-7, but it’s possible. If the R-type has managed to contaminate them, then we’re all fucked.

“What did you expect him to find?” she asked as she moved around the ‘crime’ scene, taking readings and samples for her own study. There was a lot of blood. More than one person could lose and survive. How fortunate then, that there were two luckless mercs.

The man’s eyes were on the carnage. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just thought that it would be useful to have extra eyes looking for-”

“You don’t even know what I’m looking for,” the woman interrupted, squatting again, touching her fingers to the cool metal and the dried blood covering it. “You just think you do.” DROP 47 was something of a candy store. There were many different treats, something for every appetite. Unfortunately, it was a candy store with a psychopath behind the counter. She frowned. No, she didn’t like that metaphor.

This was where Able Three and Four had found Veers, shooting off a parasite – what they believed was a parasite, anyways. From their description and the highlights of Veers’s records, it was clear she’d have to pay the petty officer a visit in sickbay. Sooner, rather than later.

Her nostrils flared as she took in a breath. The stink of blood and weapons fire filled the room, almost overriding the sickly, acrid scent beneath it.

Some of the blood was from Veers. Some from Mackenzie. Some from the former’s assailant; Primal’s medical personnel (and some loaners from Hadley-Wright, of course) were studying what was left of it, but they wouldn’t find a match in their databases and anything they discovered would just be rehashing the work of greater minds. Not that they knew that, of course. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to peek at their progress.

Her companion didn’t answer right away. “So what happened here?” he said after a moment, his voice sullen. “I may not know, but I’m guessing you do.”

There were scratch marks in the floor, made by PO Mackenzie as she’d been dragged away, up into the open air vent. Able Three and Four had never seen her at all; something had been able to overpower the petty officer, disable her and carry her off in a matter of seconds. Pitcher plant, the woman thought with a small nod. That was a better analogy. Filled with sweet nectar, but any insect that tried to get it fell in and was slowly digested.

But there were also spiders that lived inside the plant, diving into the digestive juices to feed on the captured insects...

“Yes,” the woman replied, standing again and rubbing her hands on her pant legs. “I do.” She didn’t deign to share what that was with her companion, instead drawing out her comm. “I’d better let the colonel know that I haven’t found anything. After that, I’ve got some work to do. In the meantime, keep your eyes open for any sign of Mackenzie. If she turns up, get on the scene as fast as you can.”

The man nodded. “And then?”

“Shoot her in the head and vent the body into space.”

“Might be a little tricky to pull off if I’m not the one that finds her.”

“Find a way. If you can’t get to her in time, I’ll work something out. But if you can – under no circumstances is she to be allowed back aboard Primal. Veers is problem enough.” She tapped one finger against her chin, thinking.

“Wait – what... what happened? You’re talking like they’re carriers for something.”

The woman held up a hand to forestall the conversation as she radioed Primal, reporting back to Artemis command. “No, I’m sorry. My scans didn’t turn up anything other than what you already got, colonel. I’m sorry, I thought my equipment might be able to get something that had been overlooked. I’ll forward my results to you, just in case. You’re welcome. I wish I had been able to do more. How is Petty Officer Veers? Still critical, I see. No, I didn’t know him very well, but it’s just... yes. Yes, exactly. I hope he pulls through and that we find PO Mackenzie as well. You’re welcome. No, I’m heading back to the hangar now. All right, yes. You’ll have the data shortly. Goodbye.” She flicked off her comm and nodded her head back up the corridor. “Let’s go.”

“Are you going to answer me?” the man demanded. “Is there some disease we should be worried about?”

She stopped and sighed, turning back to him. “As long as you make sure Mackenzie never comes back, there’s nothing to worry about. That is something you can get creative for.”

~

Gemma couldn’t see, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Something was moving in the darkness. More than one something. She could hear them, the heavy, liquid sounds of their breathing, the scuffing and padding of their feet over the deck, the unpleasant burbling and gurgling of other things that she couldn’t identify. She was laying on the deck (at least she thought she was), but there was something atop it – it was almost soft, like... like ground meat laid over a concrete block.

The air was humid and stinking, thick and redolent with tainted life. There was the scent from the corridor – meat and chemicals, magnified a thousandfold. But overpowering it was another odour – growth. Like a field after a spring rain, the scent of plants, but... wrong somehow. Not rotten. Almost... too lush, like... like more than a rainforest. (Was that even possible?) She tried to pull herself up, but her right arm wouldn’t support her weight; she couldn’t feel anything from it, except for a dull, wet throbbing sensation that ebbed up and down the limb.

The Sandman’s coming in his train of cars, with moonbeam windows and with wheels of stars, the words came out of the darkness, but Gemma was too foggy-headed to tell where they were coming from. Slowly, her eyes adjusted – there was light here. Almost nothing, but just enough that she could make out the outline of something squatting close to her. It wasn’t Jason.

So hush you little ones, and have no fear, the voice continued and a thrill of fear ran through Gemma as her mind finally identified the speaker, the words growing clearer as adrenalin burned away the fog in Mackenzie’s head. “The man-in-the-moon, he is the engineer.” There was the faintest glint of red as her companion’s head turned towards her, continuing the nursery rhyme. “The railroad track is a moonbeam tight, that leads up into the starry night.

“So put on your ‘jamas and say your prayers.”

Gemma managed to sit up and scoot away, clutching at her arm. She could feel the ragged edges of her uniform and her own skin, along with the wet ooze of coagulating blood and weeping pus. It didn’t hurt. Not even a little. It tingled. Itched, almost. “Where – where is this?”

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” the crying girl crawled closer to Gemma. “With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids, all in a row.” Her face was just inches from Gemma’s own. “You’re pretty, too.”

“Please,” Mackenzie begged. “Please, just let me go. I- I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear. Just... let me go.” She flinched as the girl’s taloned fingers cupped her cheek, the mutated woman inhaling deeply, taking in her scent.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” the girl continued, putting a hand on Gemma’s chest, pushing her gently back down, laying her head between the petty officer’s breasts, holding her like a child with its mother. “They told me I was pretty. I was special. I knew how to hunt, I knew how to move, where to touch. My children would have been strong and beautiful. But I made a mistake. One mistake. It was just a bite, but then... nobody told me how pretty I was. Not after that. I don’t know what I did.”

Gemma’s mounting panic constricted her throat, all but freezing her in place, but she managed to use her good hand to pat the young woman on the head. “It’s all right,” she somehow managed to rasp the words out. “It’s all right. You are pretty. Just... let’s get out of here, okay?”

“It is all right,” the young woman whispered. “I’m not alone. Not anymore.”

There was motion behind the women, more indistinct shapes in the darkness, but the way they moved, the sounds they made... those weren’t people. “Please,” Gemma begged. “Please, let me go.”

Red eyes turned up to stare at her. “You’re just like them,” something horrible entered the young woman’s voice, something raw and angry and betrayed. “You don’t care about me. You’ll send me away, too.” She lifted herself off Gemma, deadly fingers flexing in agitation. “I thought you’d be different. And I was hungry...” she reached towards Mackenzie.

“No, I swear!” Gemma tried to pull away, but with the girl still straddling her legs, she couldn’t move far. “I’m sorry, I do care about you. You’re still beautiful. I just... I just don’t like it here.”

It was impossible to tell, but the woman’s face seemed to slacken with uncertainty. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, Yes! No one... no one should be alone. They shouldn’t be sent away for something that wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

The girl touched one blackened talon to her lips, thinking. “Gravel and stone will be washed away, dance over my Lady Lee. Gravel and stone will be washed away, with a gay ladye.” She looked over her shoulder at something in the darkness, her head turning further than it should have been able to and she made a noise, an awful, liquid growl. There was an answering call from nearby. The young woman repeated the cry: louder, more forceful.

The response this time was lower in pitch, almost submissive. Seemingly satisfied, the girl crawled off Gemma. “I don’t like it here, either,” she admitted. “But the gardeners don’t want you to go. They only think about feeding and growing.”

Gemma bit back on a fresh bout of panic. Feeding and growing... what was being fed? What was being grown? “Then we can go?”

The other girl paced back and forth, a manic edge to her movements. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whimpered.

“You won’t. You won’t, I promise,” Gemma said, the words coming out in a rush. “I promise. Just... just help me out of here, okay?”

The mutated woman paused, touching the tip of one claw to her lips as if she were chewing on a fingernail. ‘Bugged’ didn’t even begin to cover what was wrong with the crazy bitch, but something in her really was the frightened girl she said she was. “Day five, and you’re glad to just be alive. Day six, and you’re lost, trapped in the Styx. Day nine, and you swear you feel fine,” she murmured. “I don’t want to be alone.” She looked back at the petty officer. “Okay.”

Gemma managed not to scream in pain as her companion pulled her to her feet. The younger woman was stronger than she looked. Faster, too... she remembered feeling those claws cut into her body, fingers wrapping around her ankle and dragging her away as she screamed for Jason, that awful thing, ripping into him...

I hate you. I hate you.

Finally on her feet, the girl slung Gemma’s good arm over her shoulder, helping her move. Mackenzie’s right leg was just as useless as her arm. Meters away, the shapes in the darkness bristled closer. Gemma could just barely make out their forms – thin. Too thin. That was all she could see of them as they withdrew at the crying girl’s approach, backing into the darkness, making noises that Gemma could almost swear were reproachful and angry. The scent in the air thickened, the aroma of growth swallowed by the other odours.

The girl gnashed her teeth at the others around them, making unpleasant tearing-skin sounds from deep in her throat. “Come on,” she said, as if Gemma had any choice in the matter. As they moved between the hissing wraiths, the petty officer caught glimpses of their warped bodies. Red eyes, and glistening teeth. Thin, almost skeletal, arms and legs, as if they’d been flensed of all but a thin layer of flesh. She could just make out other shapes, tall and reaching up out of sight, hear the bird-like calls of other animals. Insects buzzed around her face.

“Where are we?” she whispered, limping along with the girl.

“A garden,” was her reply. “A garden of the lost.”

~

He squawked in fright and spun around, trying to bring his pistol to bear, but something slammed into him, bearing him to the floor under its weight. He howled in terror and emptied his gun into the quivering flesh of the thing atop him. Bat-like forelimbs were hooked into the fabric of his tunic as something reared up above him. All he could see were glimpses of its teeth and ugly flesh. The stink of it filled his nostrils-

-Gem was shouting, the report of her gun barely loud enough to overcome the ringing in his ears-

-he beat at it with his empty weapon, frantic as it clawed and gnawed at his chest-

-out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gemma, her eyes wide and bulging in terror as she was dragged out of sight-

-screaming, someone was screaming-

-slippery, thin tendrils cocooned his limbs-

-teeth were grinding through his flesh like a lamprey-

-he could feel something sliding into the wound-

-why wouldn’t the screaming stop-

-he was being jostled and there were sounds he knew he should be able to recognize but couldn’t-

-there was nothing but the pain-

-it convulsed amidst flashes of light and heat and suddenly its grip slackened as it oozed off his chest, twitching weakly-

-there was light on his face, sounds that shifted into voices he couldn’t understand-

Jason awoke, bolting upright with a scream – or, at least, he tried to do both of things. His body wouldn’t obey his attempt to do the first, and the breathing tube in this throat prevented the second. He tried to raise a hand to his mouth, but it felt like he was caught in mud. His vision was blurred and he squinted against the lights shining in his eyes. “Whuh...” he mumbled around the tube in his throat. “Whuh goa on?”

A blurry white form leaned into his field of vision. “He’s awake,” someone said. “Easy, petty officer. You’re still in bad shape, but you’re safe now. You’re back aboard Primal. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Whuh hahpun? Whur Gemma?”

There was a pause. “You were attacked; Able Three and Four managed to rescue you, but... we haven’t been able to find Petty Officer Mackenzie.”

“Whuh! Thus bulshet! Whur is she!”

“Easy!” the doctor said. “You’re being held together with spit and duct tape as it is. We have teams out looking for PO Mackenzie right now. We will find her. The best thing you can do is rest, all right?”

“Uh right,” Jason agreed, sagging back against the bed. He suddenly felt so tired...

He just wished whoever was scratching on the walls would stop.

~

They didn’t seem to be leaving the garden; if anything, the ‘foliage’ was getting thicker, the scent of growth stronger. So heavy, in fact, that it was almost causing Gemma to vomit and she had to gag back the oxygen-rich air. “Is this the right way?” she managed to gasp out. She didn’t think it was, but then, she hadn’t seen how she’d gotten here to begin with. Had they come this way before? She didn’t think so...

Her lips were twitching as she tried to think and she felt wobbly, uncertain in her steps. If she hadn’t had the girl to lean on, she would have fallen down. “Is this the right way?” she asked again.

“Yes,” there was an excited note in her companion’s voice. “I knew I was right. I knew you were different.”

“I’m glad...”

“You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like,” the girl continued. “Alone with only the whispers, singing songs to stay yourself. Watching for the eyes – if they see you, you die. And the others... they don’t know anything, can’t remember songs. All they do is follow scents, hunting in the dark. But you’re here now. You’re here. I won’t be alone.” Gemma heard the girl’s stomach rumble and they paused, the young woman taking a deep breath through her nose. “Day nine and you swear you feel fine,” she repeated the phrase over and over. “I feel fine. I feel fine. I don’t need to eat. I don’t, not yet.” But when they began to move again, there was an urgency in the girl’s movements that hadn’t been there before.

Feeding and growing...

It wasn’t long before Gemma became aware of a new sound; not the calls and growls of whatever creatures filled this place. It was the heavy breathing of something massive, the growth-covered bulkheads quivering with each powerful exhalation. “What, what’s that?” she demanded fearfully. “What’s making that noise?”

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,” the girl singsonged. “She had so many children she didn’t know what to do! So she gave them some broth without any bread and she whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.”

Feeding and growing...

“I don’t think I want to go this way,” Gemma said, suddenly panicked. “I don’t want to go this way.” She tried to dig her heels in, but she couldn’t get any traction. “Let’s go somewhere else. Come on, let’s go. Please. Please, let’s go.”

“You promised,” her companion said, now all but dragging Mackenzie along. “You said I wouldn’t be alone. You promised. We’re almost there.” The breathing was much louder and very close. “Don’t worry. You won’t be mulch. You won’t be another hunter. We’ll be together, just like you promised.”

Gemma was now trying to physically pull away – she’d crawl to freedom if that was what it took – but the other woman didn’t even seem to notice her struggles. And then, they were there. The girl let go of her charge and Gemma fell to the infested ground, panting with exertion, her vision going blurry for a moment before she caught her breath. Something moaned, low and rumbling and there was the sound of movement. Gemma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to deny reality, hoping against everything that when she opened them again, she’d be in her bunk aboard Primal, the victim of a bad dream. She’d tell Jason about it in the morning and he’d tease her...

Please, she beseeched any god that would listen to her. Please, make it go away.

But it didn’t and she opened her eyes, a sob of terror escaping her mouth as used her good arm to pull herself away from the horror before her.

“Mother,” her companion said she knelt beside Gemma. “I want a sister.”

The noise that came from the abomination could have been assent.

“Thank you, mother,” the girl said, stroking Gemma’s cheek with the back of her talons. “Ssssh,” she whispered to the sobbing petty officer, pushing her down to the ground. “It’s all right. You won’t be alone.” Her mouth opened far too wide and something within it, past her teeth, glinted.

As the girl’s jaws found Gemma’s throat and something sharp slid into her flesh, all the young woman could think was a final, desperate thought pounding in her brain.

Please. Please. Please.

Please.

[Night_stalker]

Why does Hadley-Wright think that the mercs can hold DROP 47s residents without being told key things, like what they're up against and what their abilities are? I mean, who are they going to leak it to, the walls? Holding info back like that results in you being demoted from "Corporate Liason" to "Meat Shield" pretty damn fast. Any takers on how long this new group of mercs last before they get ripped/turned/killed?

[Bladed_Crescent]

Why does Hadley-Wright think that the mercs can hold DROP 47s residents without being told key things, like what they're up against and what their abilities are?

That is an excellent question.

I'll leave it up to you to figure out why.

Any takers on how long this new group of mercs last before they get ripped/turned/killed?

Seven days. That's how long it took before Artemis Command lost all contact with Primal.

[The Vortex Empire]

DROP 47 is looking more and more like a great vacation spot! We should plan an SDN meet there, it'll be awesome.

[Swindle1984]

DROP 47 is looking more and more like a great vacation spot! We should plan an SDN meet there, it'll be awesome.

I'll bring the napalm. Who's bringing chips?

[[R_H]]

Watching for the eyes – if they see you, you die.

The eyes kill whichever of the DROP's inhabitants that they encounter? Are they there for that reason, to hunt on the DROP? Are the eyes human, or were they human?

Why does Hadley-Wright think that the mercs can hold DROP 47s residents without being told key things, like what they're up against and what their abilities are?

That is an excellent question.

I'll leave it up to you to figure out why.

Idiocy? Incompetance? Or some dastardly, mustache twirling plan?

[LadyTevar]

Why does Hadley-Wright think that the mercs can hold DROP 47s residents without being told key things, like what they're up against and what their abilities are?

That is an excellent question.
I'll leave it up to you to figure out why.

Idiocy? Incompetance? Or some dastardly, mustache twirling plan?

Test Subjects.

[Grimnosh]

That is an excellent question.
I'll leave it up to you to figure out why.

Idiocy? Incompetance? Or some dastardly, mustache twirling plan?

Test Subjects.

Considering this paragraph:

She didn’t know which was worse; that her supervisors had withheld relevant data, or that what they had was dangerously outdated. That the R-series was... developing could be troublesome. More than that, actually. This ‘crying girl’ – I don’t know which explanation I like least. She could just be a new R-form – which is bad enough on its own. I don’t think she’s an I-7, but it’s possible. If the R-type has managed to contaminate them, then we’re all fucked.

Quite likely.

And defensively fire would be an excelent weapon against the Turned, Bladed.

... you don't really want to leave a Turned sprawled in its own blood do you?

There's the question, isn't it? How much time do you spend on making sure your kill is actually a kill? Are you just trying to escape? In which case, disabling the attacker is good enough and staying around to make sure increases the chance of you being found by something/someone else. You also risk the fire chewing up the oxygen in your area (possibly even cutting off your avenue of retreat if something gets ahead of you).

If you're defending a position, do you really want to start hurling flames about - the smoke and fire will impair your vision, the blaze may flow back to you.

Now, this isn't to say that fire isn't good at double-killing zombies, but that you want to be really careful about when and how you use it. If you use fire willy-nilly, it's as much a hazard to you as it is to them. Rather more so, in fact.

Considering the size of a defended tribal home (plus the size of the station in and of itself) and the multiple (guarded) ways into said area, oxegen wouldn't be depleated that badly, plus you'd need a hell of a large fire (such as multiple corridors ablaze) to get that bad. Plus as a defended tribal home, there is no way for an opponent to flank you unless they broke though elsewhere. As for smoke/flames imparing vison, well it works both ways. You might not be able to see through it, but neither will they. As for backflow, you'd need a rather large amount of fuel for that, as in 55 gallon drums full not single gin bottles.

If it was hit by a Molotov it would know that fire hurts and would avoid anyone carring open flames or bottles stuffed with rags givng one a deterrant to the somewhat more intelligent beasties.

No, it wouldn't. It recognized guns when they were pointed at it and had no qualms approaching Shannon and the survivors then. It already knows the tiny squishy things have means of damaging it. That they have one it can't immediately heal from won't slow it down that much. Fire won't instantly kill it, so all you've done is make it even madder and raised the possibility of both burning to death and be ripped limb from limb. Using it as a barrier might work. Might. Of course, that presumes that a) said fire will be hot enough to seriously injure or damage it if it just says 'fuck it' and charges/leaps through and b) that it won't just wait patiently for the fire to go out, or c) circle around while you think it's retreated (not saying that these options are a bad thing, since they would buy time, just that using fire might give one a false sense of security).

Again, just to reiterate: is fire a good idea if you have the time and precautions necessary to use and control it? Absolutely. But it's those two corollaries that keep it from being a cure-all. If you're in a pinch, if you're secure for the moment, then by all means - use it. I'm just saying that there's good reasons Molotovs aren't Weapon #1 on DROP 47.

About the best reason I could gather that Molotovs and flame throwers being (somewhat) rare might be the lack of a petrochemical distillery, not because of choice. Defensive positions with a crate or 5 of molotovs, an ignition souce, and an array of beartraps lining the hall in front? Definately workable and usable. Single person carring an open ignition source (torch) and a couple of dozen glass bottles full of flamable fluid strapped around his chest? Not quite so workable. An open igintion and prehaps 2-4 bottles however would be a bit more managable.

[xt828]

Is fire really that effective against entities with a higher pain threshold and ability to regenerate wounds? What's to stop them killing everyone while on fire?