Blue Fox dumps Endings and Grunt right into a massive hole in the Buchenwald!  The two fling through space only for them to reach an artificial gravity field once inside the massive ship.  They hit a black steel catwalk with enough force to drive the air out of any Exalt's lungs- well, any exalt except for Lucifer.  There doesn't seem to be air in here.

Once they reorient themselves they don't see any sentient being, just rows upon rows of massive machines, stretching for possibly miles.  Each resembles the long legs of some hideous spider.  A block of solid black steel the size of a small building sits in the midst of all the arms, and as they watch the arms spin around the block.  Necromantic energy chips away steel in arcs of purple-blue.

Then, when all's done, they see a missile just like the one the Buchenwald has been launching off at the squadrons outside.  The missile fizzes and joins three others as it launches off out of the hole they'd just been flung through, no doubt to wreak more havoc outside.

"-not pos-" 

"drons return - field"

Their radio isn't working too well.

Grunt spent the first few seconds after impact orienting himself to the inside of the death machine. Once he had his bearings he checked the laptop's protective case for signs of damage. Nothing apparent. So far, so good.

He looked to Endings.

"Everything on my end is intact, although the ride home is going to be rough," he said, "You good to go?"

Iapetus looks at Grunt and nods.
"I'm good. So let's go look for we came here for."

They advance along the catwalk, both intensely aware that they're not only the only living people on the ship but that they're distinctly unwelcome.  Both likely feel like they're being watched by thousands of eyes.

Somewhere along the midpoint of the ship (which continues to shudder ominously under numerous attacks) they pass by more of the spider-like machines and the huge blocks of black steel.  Here they see the steel being turned into more Tripoli-class Neverborn fighters being assembled.  Far at the bottom of the catwalk they then see hundreds more fighters, just waiting to be put into use.  The ship is positively packed with them.  Either the Neverborn don't have enough ghosts to pilot them or the Buchenwald is waiting for something.

At the end of the catwalk, they spot a ladder.  It leads either up or down.  Looking down they hear whispers and feel the cold of the void.  Up is a bit more brightly lit and warmer.  There's a good chance that means 'bridge'.

Grunt made a circling gesture with his free hand to Iapetus before he pointed upwards and cocked his head. The decision was for the more senior Chosen.

Iapetus also points up and nods, and then gets close to Grunt.
"I am probably not going to be very silent in this armor, so be prepared for action at any time. We should still try to be as stealthy as we can. I still think I should take point so we have a better chance of keeping that hardware as safe as possible."

Grunt shook his head.

"If I see it coming I'm faster, but if we get ambushed you're more likely to survive the first strike," he replied, "So I proceed on the assumption that something will take a shot at our back."

He set off up the ladder as silently as possible, given the alien nature of their environs.

The two head up the ladder.  The air feels cloying, close, thick.  Silence isn't much of an option, not in the dead silence of the Buchenwald.  Every step rings loud as a bell.

The ladder leads to an antechamber, spreading out to a large open room with a row of consoles in front of a curving viewscreen.  For an Abyssal ship, it's very well-lit.  They see a cot, table, and a small kitchen, all furnished as if it were the late 19th century.

The Abyssal they find sitting at a table sipping a cup of tea doesn't look like they'd expect.  A latino gangnbanger, covered in prison tattoos, with a handlebar moustache.  The fine suit he wears is accented by an ancient-looking bowler hat.  The air feels faintly steamy, like he'd just gotten dressed after getting out of a shower.

"Ah, guests."  The Abyssal stands up and bows to them, "Please, come in.  Cup of tea?  We have much to discuss."

Iapetus reflexively answers to the bow with one of his own, but then stops it halfway, making the gesture very slight. At the same time, another reflex places his hand on his sword.
"I would not classify us as guests, and I am not convinced that there is anything to talk between us, but I will allow you to state your business before we proceed to the inevitable conclusion of this meeting."

Grunt is less politic, instead drawing his kbar and shifting his stance to shield the laptop case.

"Ah, so be it.  A pity about this age, so barbaric."  The Abyssal shakes his head and blows air through his antiquated moustache, "I'm referring, of course, to my surrender and request for asylum."

The Buchenwald goes silent.  Before they were aware of the thrum and drum of the ship's heavy weapons.  Now it's stopped.

"My ship has stopped firing as a gesture of good will."

"This is.. Unexpected."
Iapetus releases his hand from his sword.
"In this case, I hope you don't mind my friend here getting familiar with the ship while we talk. Are you responsible or in control of whatever makes outgoing communications difficult"

Grunt scanned the room for a viable data-port. The juxtaposed decor made it difficult for him to sort the pertinent from the superfluous.

"Not a worry, not a worry,"  The Abyssal waves a hand towards the consoles at the far back.  Grunt can see a few things that could be construed as data ports; the Abyssals apparently still use USBs!

"As far as the communication problems, we've installed dampening armor all over our ships since your little DJ friends decided to start beaming their infernal music into our communications.  I'm sad to say that most of us are no longer blessed by that racket they call music.  I'm not entirely sure how to turn it off, or if it can be turned off.  He can always try to use our comms to get through, but..."  The Abyssal trails off, "That's assuming that Project Thanatos hasn't jammed everything out there."

"I see. Grunt, see if you can establish communications with our command while you do your thing."
Iapetus now actually bows to the abyssal.
"Iapetus Hyperion, Chosen of Endings. Now I am really interested in who you are, why would you surrender, what will you offer in order to be granted asylum and what are your requests."

Grunt moved to the USB ports. The Core would probably do whatever its version of sighing was, maybe lowering the air pressure in sequence between sections?, at such archaic technology. It also meant that any real data would be slow to acquire unless it was prepackaged as, oh, a digital warfare suite meant to kill them all. Ah well, he plugged the laptop into the things anyway.

He tried to ignore his pessimistic streak while looking for the communication array controls.

The laptop boots up.  A graphic of a skull and crossbones appears on the screen.  "HO HO HO HO HO."

"Well, that's not ours," The Abyssal muses as the computer whirs and emits smoke.  "You may call me many things, but I prefer Henry Howard Holmes, at your service."  The gangbanger doffs his bowler to Iapetus, "I surrender because I was defeated before, you understand!  Two of your luminaries saw fit to tear me to pieces atop a skyscraper, and the Neverborn saved me from certain dissolution.  But that sort of thing comes at a cost, and that cost was my efficiency as a servant.  To put it simply, I'm just not enough of a threat to be worthwhile.  So they've saddled me onto this floating prison, then used me as bait.  My life means nothing to them, of course!  I simply wish to continue my life peacefully.  In return, I give you whatever you want from this hunk of scrap, whatever information I may dredge up from this old mind of mine, and my confidence."

There is no communications array.  At least, not anymore.  Where one should be only reveals a single speaker, it looks one-way only.

But the laptop continues whirring and smoking.  Then there's a 'Ding!  Access Granted!' and a pentagram rotates across the screen, the different quintrants displaying symbols of the Yozis and the Gods.  The screen scrolls down to reveal a list of commands:

>COMMUNICATIONS [OFFLINE]
>
>WEAPONS
>>>TURRETS
>>>SUPERMASSIVE BEAM CANNON
>>>SLAVED MASSIVE MISSILE SYSTEM
>
>DEFENSIVE SYSTEMS
>>>VOID PRANA SHIELD
>>>ESSENCE SHIELD
>
>SHIP SYSTEMS
>>>ENGINES
>>>SENSORS
>>>GRAVITY WAVE ENHANCER [OFFLINE]
>
>THIS FLAGSHIP HAS BEEN HACKED BY R.S. + M.F. + C.O.J.!
>SH-SH-SHA

Grunt has full control of the Buchenwald.  He can act whenever he wants with the Buchenwald in the main thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:52, Sun 09 Oct 2016.

"In theory I have control. Hunting for any technical data or deployment records but it looks like this thing may be running on just enough code for combat. No communications," Grunt said as he stayed bent over his laptop, "And I'm glad I don't have to tell the Core about you."

He started testing the systems carefully. Didn't want to accidentally open fire on his own.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:09, Sun 09 Oct 2016.

"Good work Grunt. Let's try and bring this thing home, we could use the resources."
He looks back to the Abyssal.
"For now, as a response to your good will so far, I am willing to bring you in for questioning but your fate is not entirely up to me to decide. Are there any other threats inside this ship? And are there any usable fighters?"

The test goes nicely- a shot across the bow, as it were, on the Bathory.  The Buchenwald is very, very responsive after being pummeled into submission by the laptop.

After a few moments the OS opens up a secondary window.

>Data Stores
>>Prison Ships
>>Breeder Ships
>>Fleet Composition
>>Sleeper Agents [LOCKED, CURRENTLY DECRYPTING]
>>Personnel Files [LOCKED, CURRENTLY DECRYPTING]
>
>Limewire
>>Music
>>>Waltzes
>>Erotic Video
>>Viruses
>
>Realplayer
>
>Photoshop

"The whole thing is rather teeming with ghosts, but they probably couldn't do you and yours a scratch of damage.  They're rather mindless, I'm afraid." Holmes sips his tea, "That would make them a major threat to the UnExalted, of course.  There are other small things hidden within the Buchenwald even I don't quite understand, so I wouldn't tamper.  Mustn't tamper, mustn't tamper.  To say usable fighters- you'd have to clarify.  Usable by you?  Usable by the ghosts?  If the former, no.  The Buchenwald only has the capability of making Tripoli-class fighters, which has a cockpit small enough that your hand would barely fit inside.  If the latter, yes.  The Buchenwald was prepared to launch a second sortie of fighters at any moment, up until I decided to... tip the scales, as it were."

Iapetus looks around for a moment, pondering what the Abyssal said. He then decides there is little he can do and walks over to the table and sits down.
"How much control do you have over the ghosts? If we send them to battle, would you be able to make them turn against their own? And is there any easy way to get rid of all the ghosts and make this ship in any way a reasonable resource?"

"Okay. They've basically destroyed some of the systems, this ship is unreasonably still trying to make those work. Let's see," Grunt muttered under his breath as he kept typing, one eye on the decryption progress and the other on the combat feed, "Powerful but not exactly well designed."

"It's a Mark I ship.  We built this to chase down the Last Refuge, what did you expect?  Did you think they'd give me a better ship?" The Abyssal chuckles at Grunt.

There's a blip on Grunt's laptop.

>Data Stores
>>Prison Ships
>>Breeder Ships
>>Fleet Composition
>>Sleeper Agents [DECRYPTED]
>>Personnel Files [DATA CORRUPTED]

"No control.  For all intents and purposes they're wild," The Abyssal explains, "But one thing's for sure, they loathe the living.  Letting them loose will only mean bad things for you.  As for getting rid of them?  The hard way, I'm afraid. Sequential removal via wards, exorcism, or ghost hunts."

"It was Mark I years ago. What stops you from upgrading? Health hazards?" Grunt shot back.

Prison Ships first.

>Prison Ships
>>Pyongyang
>>Auschwitz
>>Buchenwald
>>Andersonville
>>Cleveland

Grunt pops open each directory, more to glance at contents and get a feel for where useful information might be buried than an in depth reading.

>Prison Ships
>>Pyongyang
>>>Current Prisoners
>>>>Swan Dragon
>>>>Takehiko Isakawa
>>Auschwitz
>>>Current Prisoners
>>>>Population of Hamburg, Germany
>>>>Population of Berlin, Germany
>>>>Population of Warsaw, Poland
>>>>Population of Moscow, Russia
>>Buchenwald
>>>Current Prisoners
>>>>Hateful Herald of Horror
>>Andersonville
>>>Current Prisoners
>>>>David Smitters
>>Cleveland
>>>Current Prisoners
>>>>Population of Cleveland, United States of America

"Really, they have enough sense of humor to keep your initials the same across titles?" Grunt asked their host as he pulled open the Hateful Herald of Horrors directory.

Iapetus nods at Holmes.
"But you are able to keep them within this ship?"
He looks at Grunt and the laptop.
"What is the situation outside, and of this ship? Do you think you can keep this thing flying until the enemy is destroyed, or should we prepare for an extraction?"

"The cavalry just arrived. I'm providing some fire support but they did a number on most of the combat systems," Grunt replied as checked one last time for files that hadn't been transferred to the laptop, "Technically we've finished our mission here."

"That would be my sense of humor.  This ship hasn't been upgraded simply because it's been the farthest from the fleet.  Yama decided the advantages gained by upgrading were lost due to travel time and opportunity loss." Holmes responds to Grunt, "Mr. Hyperion, I can point them at targets and let them loose, but that is it.  I'd refrain from docking any ships to the Buchenwald; at least decide to quarantine them afterwards."

The laptop gives a few beeps.  Looks like it's done.

"Understood, thank you for your advice and cooperation, Mr. Holmes. Is there any short route to the outside from this room? I would like to go and inform the others of our situation here. And we should all be prepared to leave this vessel at any moment."
Iapetus rises up from the chair and looks to Grunt.
"And Grunt, do not do it yet, but see if you would be able to overburden the engines and weapons of this ship, if we need to blow this thing up."

"Not anything you'd consider to be a true route out,"  Holmes answers in bemusement, "The only one outside of the ship is through that hole you blew in it."

"Sure. We pelt it with missiles while the active defenses are disabled and keep the main cannon charged for a prolonged period. There'd be something left but nothing usable," Grunt told Endings, "Note, I can't control anything remotely. Once we move the systems offering fire support shut down."

"Very good, keep everything working here Grunt, I will head for the opening and see if I can get communications trough to our fleet. Holmes, I will have to ask you to accompany me. And Grunt, if anything goes wrong, and we can't communicate, put this ship offline if you can and head for the opening. If things go well, we will be back shortly to tell you if we will want to blow this ship or try to save it as resources for the fleet."
Iapetus takes a few steps towards the exit of the room and turns to look both of them.
"Do you both agree to this plan?"

"I am your dutiful prisoner,"  Holmes doffs his hat, looking quite ridiculous.  "I'll lead the way, as well.  That way you have no worries about me attacking your back.  So long as you promise to at least attempt to abide by our agreement and my work in good faith?  I have a history with your Core."

"As you have shown nothing but good will and you have aided us in our attempts, I will speak on your behalf to the rest of the command. But I trust you understand the suspicion from me and that of the rest of the command, as deception is what is to be expected from your kind."

"Understood," Grunt said as he adjusted the laptop so that he could keep an eye on the entrance while he kept working, "I assume your servitors don't have access to this sanctum."

"Otherwise I wouldn't get an ounce of sleep." He nods, "Follow me."

Grunt's work with the Buchenwald finds some more interesting things in the system- a complete and total lack of any sort of safety regulations.  If he wanted he could force the thing to shoot inwards and make the whole thing explode like a supernova.

Holmes leads the way with a jaunty tune on his lips and a bounce to his step.  A ghost shimmers in front of him and hisses.  He stares at the ghost until its corpus falls apart like wisps of tissue.

Eventually they reach the great rent in the side of the Buchenwald.  By now it's covered with a thin webbing of ghost-stuff, like the beginning of a scab.  Holmes waves a hand and the ghost corpus falls apart.

"After you, good Iapetus."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:37, Sun 16 Oct 2016.

Iapetus nods at Holmes and carefully makes his way to the opening, making sure to magnetize his armor boots in order not to fall to the endless space if something shook him from his position.
"This is Endings, calling the living command. Situation has changed from mission parameters."
Iapetus repeats the message several times, and listens to the comms, trying to find out how much he actually needs to poke his head out of the ship in order to get messages through.

Grunt, by sheer coincidence!, ended up bringing up the tail of their group. He kept issuing periodic commands via the laptop but they were largely desultory. The Buchenwald was designed for a very different task than what he was turning it towards.