The Furry Forums
Creative Arts and Media => Roleplay => Serious RP => Topic started by: Kyle MaJoi on March 13, 2016, 02:07:47 PM
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"Squad 23.... Squad 23! Do you read me!?"
The ship had crashed by the eastern side of a UAC warehouse on Mars. The trip to the planet had been smooth sailing all until it was shot down; it was a miracle that the ship was still in once piece. To make things better, the small squadron aboard the ship was still alive, yet bruised from the crash. The reason behind this squadron of space marines being so small was because they were sent to infiltrate the UAC research facility on Mars. Before hand, the facility was attacked by an unknown threat, in which the space marines were sent to fight them off. What was supposed to be a normal mission turned into an absolute bloodbath; Earth lost contact with the space marines and satellites suggest that whatever battle took place on Mars had ended. Squadron 23 was sent with a simple task to infiltrate the facility, report in their findings, and locate a scientists by the name of Dr. Olivia, a very important woman who was the head of the UAC research crew.
"Squad 23, do you read!?" The radio said franticly on in the ship, hoping for survivors.
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Ray groaned, as his consciousness returned. "R-Ray here, command. What hit us?" He looked around the cockpit, hoping to find his comrades alive.
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((I wanna give everyone a chance to post, but I'm just gonna post next for now))
"Oh thank God." A sigh of relief escaped the radio as it then said, "We're unsure of what hit you, though. Satellites didn't detect any rockets coming your way, so whatever hit the ship wasn't of our technology. Are there any other survivors on board?". The ship made an eerie creaking notice that sent a small wave of concern down his spine.
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Private Foxtrot stirred slightly, then woke up with a soft groan. He found himself lying on his back, and buried in boxes. It appears the restraints keeping him in his seat wasn’t enough with all that force. Or it was just simply defective. Yep… the level of quality on some of this mass produced garbage would definitely explain why he was suddenly hurled across the ship.
Reguardless, he ached everywhere, but the monitoring system in his helmet said that he was just fine. Nothing broken… nothing critical. Still the rookie was sure he’d rather be killed in the crash than possibly get killed by whatever was waiting in side.
Olaris slowly pulled his pistol from his holster, and slowly propped the boxes off of him. He held the gun pointed out, when he was sure he was safe, he quickly pushed the obstructions off of him, and collected his assault rifle. He then turned the light of his helmet on, and took a look around the dark room he was in.
“Private Foxtrot reporting in….” he groaned to the voice as he took a few steps. Each one was a limp… but as he began to set in motion, it eventually corrected it’s self. “I’m messed up but I’m up. Don’t suppose you’re sending another ride home? Because the only place this thing is taking anyone now, is to hell."
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(Nice pun XD)
The voice coming thought the radio couldn't help but chuckle in relief. "Golly, for a recovery squad you guys are pulling off pretty well. Now, to get to the nearest UAC building, you folks should put on your oxygen helmets to help you breath."
The room where the helmats were stored as in a room in the back of the ship, where the bunk beds were. However, since the room was filled with some debre, getting to the helmats will be a bit tricky.
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Clarice slowly opened her eyes as she heard voices and the radio blaring. At first, it sounded distant, but slowly came to focus as the rest of her came to. She looked around the cabin to assess her situation. The two privates were busy with the radio, commanding officer is dead, Supervisory Sergeant is dead and HER Supervisory Sergeant is also dead. The terrier groaned as she tried to get up, but the strap pulled her back into her seat. She fumbled with the buckle, but it was no good so she pulled out one of her combat knives and cut herself loose.
Clarice had already heard the latter half of the message and looked around as she got up, "Alright. No problem." She walked over to the wreckage that was the back of their ship and cleared some of the smaller stuff to get to her locker at the base of one of the bunks. With her hand print identified, it opened up and she pulled out her pistol and assault rifle. As she picked each one up, the electronic voice could be heard, "Hand print identification confirmed: Cleared for use. Code name: Slayer." She then holstered her pistol and slung the rifle over her shoulder as she dug further into the mess. From there, the terrier fished out the four flares from the emergency kit and dismantled them, pouring all the powder from them into a beat-up can of beans. "You greenhorns better step back a bit..." Clarice herself backed up towards the steering console, readied her rifle and fired. The little can exploded and created a small hole.
Clarice gave a sigh as she slung the rifle back over her shoulder, "Well, fennec-boy. Suck in that stomach and squeeze through. It's not getting any bigger than that. I'll work on the hatch while you get us some helms. And make it quick. Ship's life support is leaking air faster than piss at a horse stable." With that, she double-checked her gear from mags to the condition of her knives before heading over to the hatch console.
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Ray retrieved his own equipment, which was nothing more than the standard issue handgun. He sighed, and tightened his grip on the pistol. "S-So...we're trapped in a slowly leaking ship, and our survival gear i-is in another part of the ship?" Ray groaned. "Oh, great..."
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The fox turned around, his helmet’s light illuminating the room, the light was bright enough to pierce through the tinting of his visor to reveal a pair of glasses over his eyes. The fox tilted his head as he received his orders from the veteran in the room. A second later, the masked soldier glanced down to the hole and back up to the woman. “Er… right…” he grunted. His mouth was twisted in a grimace and his teeth was gritted. He was the only marine that wore his stupid helmet, and now HE’S the one fixing everyone else’s mistake.
“Also, ma’am. I wouldn’t open that hatch without the helmet,” The fox began as he got down onto his stomach and began to crawl through the hole. It seems that his helmet had automatically switched to a close range radio to allow him to continue what he was saying. “If we’re leaking air at a fast rate, it means the ship’s hull is breached somewhere, and that hole is plugged just enough. This could very well be the only way this room remains atmospherically stable. Opening it up... could very well do two things. Implode the ship... or create a vacuume force that sucks everything from the back of the ship outside. Annnd since I’m the only one wearing a helmet… hope would be lost if the two of you die.”
A few moments of seemingly endless crawling, he made it into an opening and rose to his feet. He sighed as he looked on to the dark corridor, and made his way down to where the helmets were stored. His eyes inspecting the damage.
“Given that we hit the planet harder than the European Beagle 2 mars rover… I’m willing to put a bet on that. That reminds me...”
The fox continued as he opened up the locker, and grabbed a bundle of helmets. He stuck them into a dauffle bag and slung them over his shoulder. "We're the recovery team... that got shot down. So who recovers the recovery team?"
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The ship continued to creek and spark as the radio continued to speak in a nervious tone. "Once you folks get your helmats, you can exit the ship through the escape hatch above the cockpit."
Although the cockpit wasn't as damaged as the bunker room, the windows were very cracked and the escape hatch would most likly cause the windows to shatter once opened. It could end up being problematic, but since the crew had begun equipping their air helmats, they'll be able to survive the surface of Mars once they've left the imploding ship.
"Also, you folks should keep in touch with me," the radio also added, "Your helmats are also built in with walki talkies you can use to contact me. Oh, and when *ZZZZZZ* you get to a UAC *ZZZZZZZ* make sure that you folks *ZZZZZZZZZ*" The radio suddenly bursted into sparks.
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Clarice caught the helmet that Olaris tossed over to her. She double-checked it and adjusted its size and settings before putting it on. Upon snapping into place and sealing up with her combat suit, the Heads-Up Display came to life as it synchronized with her rifle and pistol. The terrier set her radio comms to be constantly on squawk so she didn't have to press that godforsaken button every time she wanted to say something. Experience had taught her that that kind of protocol gets people killed all the time. "Comms check. 1, 2, 3. Listen up, maggots. We don't know the current situation so keep your comms set to squawk. I know they teach you to use the comms button to speak. Ignore that training. If you have knack for talking, shut the hell up unless it's necessary."
With that, Clarice went back over to the seating area that was behind the pilot/co-pilot seating, and jumped up to grab onto the emergency hatch and started dialing into the panel to activate it. "Alright, huddle up with whatever gear you have. As soon as I turn this sucker, we're springing out of here. I'm pretty sure those windows are going to burst as soon as I open this." She readied herself as the two Privates finished whatever they needed to do.
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Ray quickly threw his helmet on, and made sure everything was in tact. Aside from a stress fracture in the corner of the visor, the helmet was undamaged. The young raccoon ran a paw against the crack, and breathed a sigh of relief; the fracture didn't go all the way through, just a surface fracture. He checked his pistol, and then nodded at Clarice. "O-On your go, ma'am." Ray set his radio as Clarice ordered, and looked about the transport, waiting to exit. "So...we've lost contact with HQ? Maybe...maybe we should check the facility comms? Hopefully, the long-ranger's are still working." He wasn't to speaking to anyone in particular, moreso speaking to keep his nerves down and clear his head; an unfortunate habit.
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The Mars tarrain looked exactly how they expected it to be; barren and unnervingly quiet. The sky had an orange atmosphere while red sand and rocks blanketed the earth. A UAC warehouse was about a half a mile away from the crash sight, and was built into a large Mars mountain. It began to feel strange that UAC station located on such a lifeless planet would be attacked; the UAC was a neutral orginization that kept its connections deep under wraps.
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Olaris also handed the other private an assault rifle. Though... given that the thing came from a severed hand, he couldn't find any spare magazines for it. With that in mind... that one clip in the weapon was pretty much all the private had. Besides the few clips that he had on his body at the moment, which... really was only about three refills. Not much to waste, even if you shoot sparingly.
"Bright side is... as long as we can get to some portion of the UAC's networking setup, I can patch us in temporarily until we find a more permanent solution."
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(I'm gonna wait for the others to post before I make my next move)
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Clarice gave a nod and turned the crank on the escape hatch. Air escaped quickly, forcing the hatch to fly open. She quickly gripped the side and pulled herself out, the sound of the shattering glass echoing through the hull of the ship. The terrier took a deep breath and let it out slowly after they landed next to the ship, after jumping off the top. "Damnit.I was really hoping to bring those bodies back out with us to give them a proper burial... well, two of them anyways." Clarice had some sour moods against her supervising sergeant because he was a pompous asshole who had a big head because she used to be the CO for his basic training. "So did either of you catch everything that they tried to tell us?"
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Ray shook his head. "Interference cut the trans short. Solar radiation maybe?" He sighed, and looked out towards the base, checking his rifle again. "So...priority one is the base, right?" The young raccoon was obviously still shaken from the crash, and the loss of contact with HQ wasn't doing anything to help his nerve.
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Suddenly, the sound if a flair gun being fired could be heard. A flash of red light shot up from where the UAC warehouse was, followed by a savage, almost cybernetic screech. With that, an explosion could be heard as the flair continued to shoot up into the air. Something was very wrong.
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“We all heard the same dang thing, sir,” Private Foxtrot chirped as he stepped after them through the Martian enviorment. His suit adding on to a bit of Darth Vader white noise to the com chat with the closed air filters in his helmet. “Soo… I know only about as much as you do here.”
Then the fox looked to Ray. His helmet’s visor darkening as the sun entered view. “What ever the priority is that doesn’t get us killed?” The fox asked with a bit of a nervous tone. Of course, that priority would probably be getting into an enviorment with a more substantial air supply than whatever these helmets were supplying.
Just then, the fox heard the explosion. Well… mostly felt thanks to the thin atmosphere. His eyes followed the flare up into the air with a frown. “Well… others are still alive. However I think this means we’re going to be in a fight. On an unrelated note. I know this is morbid but um… if I die, could one of you go to the post office near our Dispatch Outpost and tell them to go ahead to send my letter early? Yeeaaah… I did a bit of a pre-emption to have that letter sent within a year.”
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As the flare went up, Damian's gut went into freefall. He hadn't been the one to shoot it, but he'd been close enough to hear the roar as if it were within feet of him. It sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, it made him reflect on his mortality. He was alone in a megacorp warehouse on a planet full of things that wanted his head, with just a handgun to defend himself. For all that training and experience, he was quite alone and vulnerable.
Damian took a deep breath and peeked from around the corner. The metal corridor stretched around ninety degrees, coming from north to east sharply and then opening into a wide, tall room. A flex-glass window overtook the room's arching ceiling, giving Damian a perfectly clear view of the red of the flare against the twilight-esque Martian mid-day. To his immediate right was the warehouse exit, a massive metal door certainly large enough to fit a freight truck through, which was stuck in a mostly-open position leading to the closed outer airlock. Immediately to his left was the only path in the building from his position that would lead him towards the source of the flare.
He wasn't suicidal. He'd need to be better armed and preferably in a group before even considering going back the way he came or through the other path. He needed to get outside first; find other survivors in the major points of interest on-base, if anyone else had indeed survived. The fact that he had evaded detection up until this point was in part thanks to practice, sure, but it had been mere coincidence that his usual tricks had worked against this new and unknown enemy. His luck had to run out sooner or later if he kept playing it solo.
The wolf reached around for his helmet, attached initially via a one-point anchor on the low side of his vest. Sweat stung his eye and blood still dribbled across his forearms and gloved hands, even still. Swallowing back the urge to puke, the old wolf donned his sealed helmet and prepared to exit the warehouse in search of anything living that wouldn't try to kill him first.
What had he survived the first minutes of...?
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Ray sighed, nervously. "Well...I guess that's a good priority." He checked his rifle again, and waited for the order to move. He was obviously nervous, and shook slightly. To think, the young raccoon was ready for space travel, but wasn't counting on getting shot down and left on the red planet. Ray looked around, and checked the light conveniently inlaid in his helmet.
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As the flare went up, Damian's gut went into freefall. He hadn't been the one to shoot it, but he'd been close enough to hear the roar as if it were within feet of him. It sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, it made him reflect on his mortality. He was alone in a megacorp warehouse on a planet full of things that wanted his head, with just a handgun to defend himself. For all that training and experience, he was quite alone and vulnerable.
Damian took a deep breath and peeked from around the corner. The metal corridor stretched around ninety degrees, coming from north to east sharply and then opening into a wide, tall room. A flex-glass window overtook the room's arching ceiling, giving Damian a perfectly clear view of the red of the flare against the twilight-esque Martian mid-day. To his immediate right was the warehouse exit, a massive metal door certainly large enough to fit a freight truck through, which was stuck in a mostly-open position leading to the closed outer airlock. Immediately to his left was the only path in the building from his position that would lead him towards the source of the flare.
He wasn't suicidal. He'd need to be better armed and preferably in a group before even considering going back the way he came or through the other path. He needed to get outside first; find other survivors in the major points of interest on-base, if anyone else had indeed survived. The fact that he had evaded detection up until this point was in part thanks to practice, sure, but it had been mere coincidence that his usual tricks had worked against this new and unknown enemy. His luck had to run out sooner or later if he kept playing it solo.
The wolf reached around for his helmet, attached initially via a one-point anchor on the low side of his vest. Sweat stung his eye and blood still dribbled across his forearms and gloved hands, even still. Swallowing back the urge to puke, the old wolf donned his sealed helmet and prepared to exit the warehouse in search of anything living that wouldn't try to kill him first.
What had he survived the first minutes of...?
Suddenly, a loud cybernetic screech echoed across the warhorse as the sound of cargo crates being thrown around could be heard. Followed by loud stomps, another loud explosion could be heard as cargo was flung into the air. Whoever or whatever this enemy was, it knew that Damian was inside the building, and it wouldn't stop until it found him.
A second explosion could be heard from the warehouse, startling the squad. At this point, they knew that something was going on, and that they may run into a fight sooner than they initially thought...
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Clarice was about to answer when the explosions went off. She looked over in the distance where the flare was up, "Well, looks like that's our first destination. Let's see if we can't find any survivors, or at least some more equipment. I only have 2 spare mags on me, and my pistol only has the one." The terrier then turned a quick glance at the fennec before heading towards the direction of the warehouse, "Save the 'sir' shit for the male persuasion. These tits aren't just for show. Now double-time!" She started running, rifle at the ready. Clarice's HUD was flickering in and out due to the damage from the crash landing, but at least it was still sealed. However, it really did annoy her quite a bit to see the sonar motion detector on the top right blipping in and out. Half way to the site, they were finally on some even ground, and it started looking more like a UAC facility than barren martian boons. As they closed in, Clarice stopped behind a corner outside the warehouse, readying her rifle. She banged her helmet a few times, and the HUD just shut off. Finally... at least I don't have to risk anymore eye strain. From there, she signaled for the Ray to cover left as they moved in and for Olaris to cover the rear. She took cautious steps, closing in on the warehouse's door. "If you see munitions on fire, just run out. We'll know to follow."
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Ray blinked, completely lost in thought, before he began following Clarice. He was happy someone knew what to do, and followed her orders to a 'T'. He kept his rifle ready, as he swept the left side of the warehouse. The young raccoon spoke quietly, hoping not to anger the woman in charge. "S-So...this isn't concerning at all..."