First: Noise.

The slow wash of indistinct sound that resolved to distinct tones: staccato bursts of percussions, the shriek of tearing metal, the hollow woosh of fire-retardant and the low baseline of implacable torsion stress.

Then taste and smell: bitterness and acrimony mixed with ash.  Burnt electronics and charred steel.

Only then did sight come into it.  Blurry, colours-washed out.  Everything too bright or not bright enough at the same time.

They were in a long corridor.  Dark blue walls and steel conduits.  Corrugated steel flooring.  Rows of metal and glass pods lined up side by side like some sort of standing observatory.  And almost everything was covered in a fine grey-green powder.

The hallway was lit by red strips of light along the floors and a pulsing red light at the far end of the hallway, some thirty meters away.

A face loomed close as a layer of obfuscation is removed.  The stasis-pod door released.

The sound became immediately overwhelming.

Two men.  Black and red uniforms.  Hairless.

One bleeding from his ears, moving methodically down the row of stasis cannisters, flicking switches to start the quickload reboot process.

The other's blue uniform was blackened and torn.  One arm hung limply, useless at his side, while he discarded a spent fire-retardant cannister.  "--so?  we're done here." he said.

The other one, moving down the row of stasis-pod cannisters shook his head.  "twelve."  He said over his shoulder.  "Twelve of forty-five.  What a fucking waste."

"They're cargo." the first one called back.  "Expendable.  'sides. there isn't enough space for them in the pods.  We need to go...  Now, technician.  You want to live?  Move!"
This message was last updated by the player at 22:27, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

Even as the technician turned to leave you, blurry and disoriented on the floor of a metal corridor while everything around you rocked and swayed, heaved and groaned, another enormous crash echoed down the corridor.

A huge crash of metal and plateel sheeting crashed through the ceiling of the space they were in, separating the commander from the technician and the rest of you.

"Commander Amin!"  the technician yelled, startled.

Amin did not respond.

The technician leapt up and moved to the twisted steel that had crashed through the ceiling.

"Shit.  shit shit shit."  The technician muttered.  "Don't have time.  Forgive me for the steps I must take..."  Then he girded himself and turned back.

"If you are awake enough to understand.  You must get up.  Follow me if you want to live."

He wiped his one good arm across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow, and leaving a relatively clear spot in the soot and fire-retardant that had covered him.
This message was last updated by the player at 22:27, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

Technician:

• Life-Support Technician
• M:[X][X][_], P:[X][_][_]
• Consequences(+4): Broken Arm
  

Ptolemen Station
Scene Aspects:

• Zenda-Meier Outpost Orbiting a Gas Giant
• Destruction is Imminent

If something mentioned in the narrative, it becomes a candidate to become an Aspect--no need to roll.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:42, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

In reply to Control (msg # 3):

Viper quickly became aware of the situation.
1) A ship is falling apart.
2) Some people, like her, are waking up in pods.
3) Some guy, already injured, is telling them to follow her if they want to live.

Viper wanted to live. She clumsily walked like a zombie to follow the guy.
Then a thought hit her hazy mind : women.
1) There may be women in the canisters.
2) Desperate men in this situation would abandon the women without a second thought (she herself almost did that).

Viper forced herself to pull an 180 and tried to get all the women out of the canisters, which were looking so much like coffins now...

<sup><sub>*throb* We... Feel... Your... Pain... *throb*

*throb*  *throb*</sub></sup>

*throb*  *throb*

 *throb*  *throb*

The older man's first flicker of awareness came not from sound, or taste, or smell, or sight.

He felt the waves of stress, and fear, and pain, and death swirling around him, washing over him, focusing his awareness as if he had been physically slapped in the face.

By the time his stasis-pod door released, he was mentally alert, though thoroughly disoriented.  Physically, he was somewhat less prepared.  He looked up from the floor of the corridor, grimly took a breath, and pushed himself into a sitting position... just in time to see the ceiling collapse upon one of his rescuers.

His own physical discomfort faded, as well as his own mental discomfort.  Confusion faded.

He focused intently upon where he had just seen the man, stretching out his extraordinary senses, seeking...

Thoughts of who he was, or what, or where, or when, were absent.  Thoughts of extraordinary senses were absent as well.  What he did came as naturally as hearing, or tasting, or smelling, or seeing, or touching.  It was instinctive.

He was aware of the other rescuer speaking, and did not stop to question how he understood the words spoken.  But he could not leave without checking upon the others in need around him.  That also came as naturally as breathing.  It was who he was... whatever that was...

She staggered as she shot into life. Sitting up too quickly made her head spin. Staggering out of the container made her nearly trip. Gripping her swirling forehead and gritting her teeth, the next thing that happened was vomit. Acrid bile burned her throat as her chest heaved and whatever had been in her stomach violently found its way out. Her eyes bulged and her chest heaved drily for round after round. She leaned heavily against whatever she had been in feeling like the worst bender ever had been last night.

Squinting as her body finally returned to a semblance of working order, she stood tall. Or as tall as her 160 centimeters allowed and eyed the broken man trying to tell her what to do. That felt off. Why did he have no bloody hair?

"滚蛋! 肏你祖宗十八代, 屌絲!"
(Translation: Fuck off! Fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation, loser!)

Groaning audibly at the effort it took to express her opinion of the man, she staggered a bit then leaned against the whatever-it-was and looked around to see her situation.

A click and a hiss, and with a gentle experimental push from the inside the pod door opened; upon which the occupant, bereft of support and startled by a sudden lurch of their surroundings, slid bonelessly out of the pod to hit the floor in a puff of grey-green powder.

Get up, someone said nearby. Follow me if you want to live.

The occupant, a lanky dark-skinned figure in an ill-fitting drab coverall, grinned and then sneezed twice and broke into helpless laughter. “That sounds like,” they gasped out in between giggles as they reached up from their inelegant sprawl to grab the empty pod and haul themselves upright, “An offer I can’t refuse!”

Sneeze. They managed to get both feet underneath and in the right order again, and once back up to their full not-inconsiderable height looked around the area, still swaying slightly and holding onto the pod just in case. “We,” they corrected upon seeing other blurred shapes moving in the area. “We can’t refuse.”

One of the shapes retched and said something unintelligible, though from the tone it was very angry and probably highly obscene, a thought which brought on another fit of giggling. “Hey now,” the tall figure chided gently, punctuated by a sneeze as the room shook again and set dust clouds stirring, “You can’t expect everyone to be witty in an earthquake. It’s not his fault he sounds like a bad holo. And we’re all in this together. At least, I’m all together. Not missing any parts, me.” Another sneeze and giggle, and they pushed themselves off the pod to lurch to the next one, narrowly missing the emerging occupant, and then the one after that until they reached the original speaker.

“Are you all together? Because you look like hell . . . “ They trailed off and leaned a little bit closer to squint at the nametag on the technician’s chest. “Barrett. Where are we, how many of us are there, and where do we go,”-- giggle-- “If we want to live?”
This message was last edited by the player at 05:05, Sun 07 Mar 2021.

Spohr tumbled out of the pod like so much dead meat.

He felt like dead meat.  And the last he remembered... no.  maybe he'd been dreaming.  There were guns involved.  And fire. And a hologram.  Something about flexible nipples?

Zero-G drinking cannisters didn't leak...

Spohr groaned and rolled to his side just as a sizable portion of the ceiling collapses, shutting out the only exit he'd seen.

Something was wrong, though.  The ceiling collapse should have roused more emotion, more startlement.  But Spohr felt himself remaining coldly dispassionate, disconnected.

"Follow Me If you want to Live."  the little guy had said.   He had a broken arm and didn't look like he could fight his way out of a paper-bag.

"Uh..." Spohr groaned. "Where?"... but his mouth felt full of cotton.  His jaw wasn't working right.

His brain wasn't working right...
This message was last edited by the player at 04:56, Sun 07 Mar 2021.

"Ptolemen Station."   the technician said over his shoulder.   "The first stop out of hell.  That crap blocks our way to the lifepods.  Looks like we have to head that way."  He pointed down the other direction out of the corridor.

"A level down, we can get to one of the landing bays.  Tech teams were dismantling a puddle-jumper.  Might have lifepods of it's own..."


He lifted his wrist and tapped it once. "Give me a read on Commander Amin."  he said.

CSX:
But I'm not going to give that away until Chang decides whether to intuit whether Amin is still kicking.

You gave me a narrative.  Please confirm what you're doing.  Are you trying to intuit Amin's presence/life?  Are you choosing to "Take Zero"?  I need more details and explicit driection on what you're doing.  OOC is just fine.

@VIPER
Most of the stasis cannisters were damaged.  Several beyond repair, shattered glass, torn palsteel.  Some of the bodies inside were shredded and burnt.  Others seemed pristine in condition but simply showed no life-signs on the display beside the cannister.

Two of them, one man and one woman had expressions frozen on their dead faces of horror, a grimace of shock.  It looked like they'd been aware of their condition and were helpless in the face of the rising heat inside their cannister.  They'd died, cooked and unable to escape.



In message #2, this thread, The Techician noted "Twelve of forty-five.  What a fucking waste." in message 2, so this--to my mind--establishes that only twelve cannisters were viable.).  There are six PCs and one GMPC from the cannister.  So it stands to reason that there are five other NPCs waking up.  For our purposes, I'm going to treat them as a mob.  But they are individually unnamed, so you--all--have full authority to give them names and personalities if you want.

Technician Barrett didn't wait.

He wasn't looking for gratitude or even compliance.  He was following policy as laid down by Zenda-Meier for station evacuation.

They'd done evacuation drills before, but they'd never done one live.  And, as would be expected, things went sideways.  They always went sideways when it came to reality.

He'd done his duty--released the inmates.  Policy said nothing about ensuring that they got off the ship.  It was pretty clear that his policy-associated duty ended there.  Except that Barrett wasn't, actually, an asshole.  Commander Amin might've scoffed, but he let these people out.  Murderers and Villains they might all be, but he wasn't prepared to have their deaths on his conscience.

It was an irony, of course.  Many of them were scheduled for eventual execution.  But Barrett was no executioner.  If he'd stopped to think through the ramifications of unleashing a score of murderers into the galaxy, he might've reconsidered.  But desperation makes heroes and villains of us all.

"Thirty meters forward.  Through the sanitation core, down a level and 100 meters to the docking bay we need." Barrett said to noone in particular.
Thanks for the name, Bek.

She opened her mouth to spit yet more acid out and only bent double to heave again. The contracting and releasing of her whole body's muscles was really getting on her Nerves. The dry heave was enough to refocus her though and she glanced toward the direction indicated. "Dren. Fine. Let's be about it then."

She moved toward the exit and, presumably, safety steadying herself against various pods. She peeked in each as she passed and blanched before hurrying on even as her shoulders quaked again. She held it this time and made it through the door and along the corridor toward the lift. "Will the lifts be alright in this.. uh, situation?" She glanced at the motley lot that trailed after her with a distinct grimace on her long features. She found herself with a flavor in her mouth and, for the first time, wondered about more than the immediate situation.

Grunting angrily, she moved forward once more.

Just narrating myself along.

Five people to help to extract. Four men, one woman. The proportion of violence hadn't changed for millennia.
Viper helped the woman to extract herself from the pod. She was fat and ugly and heavy and Viper wondered what crime the prisoner hat committed - helping herself to too many plates?
She half-carried the half-conscious fat girl and followed where the others were going.


This message was last edited by the player at 07:27, Thu 11 Mar 2021.

^{_{:: Sovereign Lord, please guard and guide us now... ::}}

The thought came naturally, but the older man did not pause to ponder it.  He was dimly aware of others exiting their pods, dimly aware of vividly contrasting bursts of emotion, but his focus was upon the man who had disappeared beneath the collapse of the ceiling nearby.

One heartbeat.  Two...

An inkling.  A growing hunch...

He took an unsteady step toward the metal debris.  Another...

His footsteps became steadier, his face more certain.

He reached the debris, stepped toward one side, moved a metal panel, moved another behind it.

He ducked into the exposed hole, and disappeared.

One heartbeat.  Two...  Three...  Four...

He backed out slowly, moving something heavy.

A groan.  An unsteady head shake.

"Commander Amin!  We have to go now!  Can you stand?"

@BLL & MH
"Will the lifts be alright in this.. uh, situation?"

"Wouldn't trust them.  Power-relays through this part of the station were shredded.  Too many of you, and I'm not getting trapped in a tin-can if it shorts."

Commander Armin Ami located.  A small voice said.  The AI unit on Barrett's wrist had a pleasant female voice.  Section Four. Level five. Prisoner Storage.  Warning.  Commander Armin Amin appears to be in need of medical attention. Shall I alert station Medical?

Barrett laughed a mocking, bitter, tone.  "Yeah, you do that."

Message relayed.  Station Medical has advised that an estimated response time could not be generated due to system errors.  Shall I alert the system Administrator?



--
Just like in a modern world with elevators, I imagine that it's part of evacuation procedures to avoid the use of lifts.  They'd probably be programmed to stop at the nearest level, depending on threat-levels, and allow passengers to disembark before shutting down.  Of course, He's a technician... he might be able to do something about that.

This message was last edited by the player at 01:23, Thu 11 Mar 2021.

"Sanitation core?" the tall one asked with another giggle. "Sounds fun!" Then, slightly more seriously, "You know where you're going, Barrett, you're in front. Why don't you go wait by the right door so everyone knows which way to go?" The directive-- it wasn't really a request-- was punctuated by a gentle hand between the broken-armed man's shoulder blades, and a slight push in the right direction.

Two— no, three— women were already heading towards the corridor Barrett had indicated; a stocky dark-skinned man was looking around confusedly, and another, also bald, was digging through the debris blocking the other corridor. A curious impulse made the tall, slender figure run a hand across their own head; bare as a baby’s bottom. For some reason, that fact was both reassuring and very, very funny, and they giggled again.

"Not that way, Shiny," they said to the digger, tone gentle and amused at the same time. "Our friend Barrett said out's over there. Hey, Bruiser," the tall one continued, not waiting for acknowledgment as they pushed off their supporting pod and over to the dark man, "Help me check the rest of the pods, get everyone up and moving in the right direction. Start on that side, I'll get this one. Oh, this one's dead, moving on . . . dead, dead, very dead--" giggle-- "Watch out for the sick, don't want to slip, good morning!"

Not seeming to pause for breath as they narrated their lurching journey down the row of pods, they paused and chirped happily at finding a live one. "Did you sleep well? Tell me later, it's time to go now. Follow Barrett if you want to live!" With an unbalanced smile, they helped the person out, turned them towards the group gathering by the exit, and gave them a small pat on the back before moving on to the next one.

@The PODS
Close inspection of the remaining pods makes it pretty clear that Technician Barrett has--actually--released all the living survivors in this area.  Those that remain in the pods are flatlined.  Some very gruesomely so.

"Put me down!"  Commander Amin cried.  "I'm not some sack of shit to be carried around like some sack of grain."

But, apparently, he was.  Unsteady on his feet,he wobbled in place for a moment, eyes looking around unfocussed.  The blood that had been on his face earlier was now profuse and glistening in the low-red light of the emergency beacons.  "Where are you going? Life-boats aer...  Oh."  he turned, noticing the sheer pile of smoking and twisted metal from which Sheng-Xin had just pulled him out.  "Okay."

@CSX:
I am assuming that CSX has not yet applied his healing Stunt.

Not seeming to pause for breath as they narrated their lurching journey down the row of pods, they paused and chirped happily at finding a live one. "Did you sleep well? Tell me later, it's time to go now. Follow Barrett if you want to live!" With an unbalanced smile, they helped the person out, turned them towards the group gathering by the exit, and gave them a small pat on the back before moving on to the next one.


The woman Bekand Viper freed had hair.  Blonde hair tied back behind her ear, greying at the temple.  There were also extensive tattoos down one side of her face, extending all the way down her neck into her jumpsuit.

The woman stood there, slack-jawed and gazed at Bek.  She seemed to be tracking him, btu didn't, actually, make any move to follow Barrett.l  Nor, for that matter, did she make any move to interact with anyone.  She just stood there watching everyone.

Elsewhere in the corridor something twanged, and a low white fog started to seep in from the hole where Sheng-Xin had recovered Commander Amin.  It smelled of sour milk and spoiled fruit.

"Okay."  Barrette said.  "I've got a route to the Sanitation Core.  "  And he started moving down the corridor.

A sudden burst of noise roared from overhead, nearly deafening.

Lifeboat four away.  System Administrator Torvalds is no longer on the station. Error logged to Information Support.

"Lucy.  Calculate best evacuation route from Sanitation Core for sixteen human passengers on foot." Barrett said.

Calculating.  Warning: Coragel gas detected.  Proper Protective equipment is required." Barrett's AI offered cheerfully.  This is now a Level-1 PPE zone.

"Oh, for frak's sake!" Barrett swore.  You need to move!  Now! Take deliberate steps with no unnecessary movement.  Don't stir up the cloud above your heads and don't breath it in!  It's a bonding agent for the fire-suppression system.  And it's toxic on it's own."

The woman they'd released cocked her head to one side.

Most of the other survivors, having gained some semblance of cognizance, moved towards Barrett, and down the corridor...

Commander Amin growled and  hobbled after the technician, obviously favouring his right side.

---

Fate Pool: BLL 3/3, Bek 3/3, CSX 4/3, Mai 3/3, Max 3/3, Zef 2/2
This message was last edited by the player at 18:31, Thu 11 Mar 2021.

She rolled her eyes as shit went from bad shot right past worse and skidded into right fekking awful. Grunting at all the go-gooders and wanna-be heroes, she waited extremely impatiently. Growls of annoyance and scathing looks of accusation filled the room. Finally, finally, it seemed like the freak show was getting its move on. If she'd been able to reach the pods herself, she'd have made like Torvalds. As it was, she needed the tech to get through the ship maze if the gas didn't get her first.

"blast and curse this ship to all the thousand hells. Let's be about it then."

Taking the warnings to heart, she made to move through the fog as carefully as possible to avoid stirring the heavy looking gas up into her breathing air. She headed for this Sanitation Core.

The path to the Sanitation core was mostly unimpeded.  In fact, they didn't come across anyone else.  Everyone, it seemed, was on other levels.  The Prisoner pods were stored on lower-levels of the station, Barrett explained.  Some parts weren't even filled with atmosphere.  Apparently the cold of space made a great deep-freezer for a lot of the food that the station needed, too.