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.