Event | Satellite | Spectres!

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all!
Date: May 23 - 26, 2013
Location: Keeliai, turtleside, ARSHEPHELIOS cluster remains
Situation: Repairs and salvage operations operating innocently have triggered an invasion of spectres that possess and wreak havoc upon all they see.
Warnings/Rating: Please put CW in your subject lines

Satellite Crash Event

Crash Landing | Salvage Party | Shocking Spectres


Questions | Keeliai | ARSHEPHELIOS


Salvage is sweet, but not all is well on board the ARSHEPHELIOS cluster. The seamless cylinders salvaged from debris and the cluster, now being frequently traded, turn out to be pods the first time one is penetrated or cracked open. Each breached pod releases a flood of energy-based apparitions hellbent on world domination -- or, more accurately, person domination (and it's not the fun kind).

These apparitions -- spectres, if you will -- are driven by a need to protect the technology of the satellite cluster that their pods are associated with. They will stop at nothing to see this through. Each is immune to physical attacks, but seem to be injured or dissipated entirely by things like electrical shock or other energy-based projections. If people touch them, there is also a brief window of vulnerability, but it acts also like a door that swings both way. Through contact, these spectres can and will invade one's psyche, take over their body and cause them to attack friend or foe alike! Should the possessed body be subjected to sufficient electrical shock, the possession should fade. Strong natural will can also drive the spectres out, but it is no walk in the park to do so. Possession is not the only tool in the arsenal, for these spectres use electricity as their main offensive weapon. They'll leave deep-tissue burns on anyone they fight, and show no degree of fatigue after constant use of it.

Ten thousand of these creatures will be freed from pods, resulting in a veritable flood of Keeliai, the turtleside, and the satellite cluster. With such a driven enemy, it comes down to killing or being killed.

Meanwhile, those taking shelter indoors may notice that the spectres will get into the biomechanical functions of Keeliai. Consoles will be malfunctioning during this time, with lines of mysterious code and strange, ghostly images. One might hear people screaming for help or hours of patchy radio static.

Comments

[imaginate]

[Kyle is tense, and alert. No telling if the things can fly, or walk through walls. He's been through too much with those damn zombies (he remembers checking the barrier, trying to tell himself nothing could get through) and too much from the supernatural to expect anything to be as easy as just zapping them to make them go away.

And there's the mounting worry about those who can't shake off the possession. He knows what it does.]

How many civilians?

[Brisk, businesslike.]

[jirk]

Not many. It's out of the city. Five or six kedan. Maybe double that in our people. It's a hundred and thirty metre square area.

[Jim's a leader, but he's used to relying on a support network, a team. Not having that here's taken its toll on him in all the worst ways it used to.

He doesn't know what Kyle is, besides a kindred spirit and some jackass who broke his nose his first night in the city, but he's familiar, and there's a part of him that's willing to rally to that familiarity.

It's not something he needs. He can operate alone. But there's strength in having a crew, and Jim's not too proud to recognize it.]

Let's go.

[It's half a question. Allies?]

[imaginate]

You don't want to get that checked out?

[He gestures to the torn uniform. He's used to seeing people in much worse states (and usually, at the worst), but if they're going to be a team he needs 110%, because that's what he's bringing to the table.

He's used to being alone. Even with a Corps, they'd put Ion in him and driven him to his limits. Even here, he'd showed up by himself. But there's value in having an army behind you.

Colour him sceptical (and maybe a little hypocritical), but he did need proof beyond that swagger.]

[jirk]

[Jim points at him.]

Did I need my nose checked out?

[It's a challenge and a reminder both, and his tone is one of warning. Every second they argue, they're endangering lives, and he has no problem making his displeasure about it known.]

[imaginate]

Look, I don't know you. [Calm, he bites down on the fury, on the I don't need attitude. He knows what's happening out there and he's not stalling on purpose. It's useless to go into battle when you're not all there.] It's a yes/no question, and I'm taking that as a no.

[Which means he's just going to head towards the location, Jim in tow, in total silence.]

[jirk]

[Jim stows the tri-c, and lapses into silence as well. But it's a belligerent silence, and that's too much like letting the guy win. The worst part is that he recognizes the attitude.

It feels like being back at that table with Pike. Cosmetic differences, but the similarities outweigh them. And it clicks.

That's why he's pissing this guy off.]

For future reference, [his tone is mild, but perfectly serious] don't ask. As long as there are people in danger, I'm at my best.

[He doesn't often sidestep into the more stringent veneer of his captaincy, but it's there nevertheless. Because as cocky as he is, as lucky as he gets, he always, always knows the stakes. Back home there's a memorial emblazoned with the names of roughly ninety percent of his graduating class, and in his mind there's the death of Vulcan.

I don't believe in no-win scenarios.]

[imaginate]

110% and nothing less.

[It's mild, and it's agreement. Somebody this sharp would have noticed his fatigue, but Kyle's pushing himself onwards too. He can take it.]

Got a plan?

[Jim is a rock, and Kyle is the river. He finds a way around.]

[jirk]

[He surveils their surroundings, noting landmarks and structures and open ground. It'll all be relevant sooner rather than later.]

Working on it.

[He jerks his head at Kyle, indicating his ring.]

What've you got on tap?

[imaginate]

Whatever you need, short of putting a planet back together or raising the dead.

[Casual, no hint of sadness. He's learnt to bury those things, deep.]

[jirk]

[Whatever I will it to do, it does. Jim gives him a sideways look.]

Then we make sure it doesn't get that far.

[He turns his phaser over in his hand. Maximum results, minimum effort. For both of them. They're both running on empty and he knows it. It's not about brute force, it's about the right tool for the job. He licks his lips. ]

Give me a broad spectrum dispersive prism. Ten feet high, six and a half wide, ten inches off the ground. I need the Brewster's Angle facing this way. And then I need you to hold us steady.

[imaginate]

[Kyle does exactly that. If there's one thing he's good at, it's optics. You learn, when you have a light-based weapon. (Not that he'd ever tell anyone.) A few seconds later there's smoke rising off the ground, and no spectres in sight.

Kyle nods approvingly.]

Nice.

[jirk]

[His phaser's beeping with its overheat warning, and the sink's red hot. Jim grimaces, switches it from hand to hand. He's not willing to holster it, not yet, even if it's getting hard to hold.]

That won't work again, this thing's gonna blow up. The next big grouping's thirty-five degrees north by north-east.

[imaginate]

[Kyle rings up a small holder for him to put it in, and then he approaches, studying it curiously.]

I can make one for you. May I scan this?

[jirk]

[He doesn't like the idea of Federation tech in the hands of someone who can do what he's seen Kyle do, but. Allies. Right. He looks down at his hands (they're a mess, really, Bones is gonna kill him) and then reaches out to set the phaser into that holder.]

Go for it. You really think you can replicate the power source?

[imaginate]

Have a little faith.

[A screen comes up as he scans, showing Kyle details of the phaser, annotations pointing to where the parts fit together, a glowing core for the power source. He flexes his fingers; he's built warships before. This is easy.

Build from the inside out. Nothing could be hollow, or it would break.

The phaser comes into view, a sketch slowly coming to life. Kyle gives it a final once-over before handing it to Jim. It's solid as stone, light as a feather.]

Give it a try.

[jirk]

I've got all the faith in the world, Angel.

[He watches the process, and all he can think of is Spock saying fascinating in the back of his mind. And it really is. One eyebrow goes up, and he gives Kyle a faintly impressed look as he takes the phaser. He flicks it between stun and the killshot, back to stun. Federation officers don't kill unless they have to.

The weight of the construct is going to throw his aim off a little, but he'll adapt. He grins. It's in exultation, adrenaline. The weariness is there too, but it's tempered by determination and will.]

Let's find a target first.

[He's trusting that Kyle did it right the first time. Leaping without looking.]

[imaginate]

[He stretches and watches, uncertain which setting is stun and which is kill, but honestly, he's not too concerned: he's not here to judge. Lanterns came from all sorts of moral systems, it was surprising they managed to agree on anything at all. Stubborn jerks. He allows himself a smile.

Then, he rings up two motorcycles.]

Thirty-five degrees north by north-east, right? What say we travel in style?

[jirk]

[His grin is answer enough. It's bright, despite his exhaustion, and it has all the energy of a supernova.]

Race you.

[imaginate]

[Already on his bike and riding off. Catch him if you can.]

[jirk]

[Lantern, pls. Ain't nobody in this 'verse better at racing motorcycles than Jim Kirk.

Even if he's a little out of practice. He catches up and yells into the wind,]

Hey! Could you electrify these things?

[imaginate]

[Jim pls. You've never raced against people who can run faster than the speed of light.

At the question, Kyle frowns slightly, and puts a forcefield around Jim, before the construct starts to crackle with electricity, the force of will flowing through them.]

That answer your question, Princess?

[jirk]

[Well that. Is a thing that happened. Jim holds one hand up, studying the glow of that-- force field?

Sure. He won't question it. In fact, it just makes things all the more interesting, as far as he's concerned.

They reach the newest congregation of spectres at roughly the same time (Jim's a little in the lead, he thinks, but hey, he's not one to rub it in) and Jim aims straight for the biggest group with the motorcycle, and at the last possible second, he puts it into a sideways slide and jumps off of it.

Testing that force field out? Maybe a little. But the devil-may-care is all Jim, and there's a memory of doing nearly the same thing to a Stingray once upon a time.

The force field holds (he's going to feel that impact in the morning, though) and he comes to an inelegant tangle of limbs a short distance away. He shakes his head a little - hard landing, even if he's not bleeding - and then pushes himself back onto his feet. His little bowling for spectres trickshot cleared them out for a half-dozen metres, and he grins, recklessly triumphant.]

[imaginate]

[Kyle lets him get into the lead. He's done the same with others, too, he's quite subtle about such things. This man - Captain, whatever - he needs to be in charge. He must be alone, without a crew, without a ship. It's no blow to Kyle's pride or dignity or anything like that. It's just him taking charge of the situation, in his own way.

He simply hovers upwards and the motorcycle disappears: he takes care of the remaining spectres quickly and effectively with a simple discharge. No need for anything fancy when there were civilians in other areas. Sora must be running herself ragged with the burn victims. He makes a mental note to check on her immediately after he's done with everyone else.

His brow furrows a little, as he studies Jim on the ground. A daredevil. Something to prove. It's familiar, and it's also disconcerting.]

You win. [Calm. Light. He's no sore loser.] Planning to claim a prize?

[jirk]

[Jim rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. He can taste blood - must've bitten something when he hit the ground.]

You sure you didn't let me win?

[It's what he would have done, but there's no rancour in the comment. Maybe he can work with this guy after all. If he's good enough to design a pitch-perfect phaser, and motorcycles on the fly, he's good enough to win a race.]

[imaginate]

[He holds up both hands.]

If I had, you'd know, wouldn't you?

[A shrug.]

I prefer flying. My best friend back home can outrun pretty much anything I make, and I kind of got tired of losing to him all the time.