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Tristan
Tristan swallowed hard. He would need to assemble a team of soliders who were all equipped with weapons, an assembly of torture devices on their person, encase they needed to apprehend someone, or something. He opened comms to the shuttle bay "Prepare a ship and a team. Dr Eon will be down with you shortly" He said with firm authority in his voice. He swung his chair back to face Dr Eon. Tristan needed to command his emotions otherwise this could very easily go sideways. He too prepared himself to depart with the doctor on this so-called rescue mission, but he was sure that was the full extent of whatever lay beneath the surface of whatever the doctor had planned. There were many cruel intentions on this ship and he was certain if anyone got caught it would be hell. |
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Experiment 42
Never did a creature as feared as this experiment, no.42 flinch or reconsider it's options. But it did all the same. The omnious approach of the entity approaching its head felt like an eternity. 42 felt a sudden calm as it entered its body with such ease. It could feel its freedom within reach but yet, also a sense of dread befell this creature as if he had just paid his freedom with his life, now bound to this entity. The chip broke, a scream pierced from the maw of 42. The entity retracting its energy like trendils from its form. 42 shook its head, as if it could both feel and yet not feel what had just happened. A victory rumbled in 42's throat. It studied the entity again. The noise quietened with the invasion of the entity's trendils within 42. 42 open its maw and roared in satifisation and freedom. |
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Eon watched Tristan closely, his expression unreadable as the commander issued his orders. A glint of something unreadable passed over his features, but only for a moment. He leaned slightly forward, hands clasped neatly in front of him. "You don't trust me," Eon said, his tone calm but with a certain weight to it, as though it wasn't a question but a simple acknowledgment of the truth. He could see the tension in Tristan's posture, the way his inferior was fighting to hold his composure. It wasn't lost on Eon, this careful restraint, this dance between necessity and suspicion. He hadn't expected anything less. The plan, however, was simple in its own way— a rescue mission, but one that would likely spiral into something far more dangerous. Eon wasn't foolish enough to pretend that the mission would go according to Tristan's idea of clean-cut and precise. It never did, especially when Eon was involved. Tristan, in his mind, had the unfortunate tendency to see things in black and white— Eon saw them as they were: shades of gray, often darker than one cared to admit. "If you're worried about the intentions of anyone on this ship," Eon continued, his voice quieter now, almost amused, "perhaps it's because you, too, know what you're capable of." He tilted his head slightly, an unreadable gleam in his eyes. "But you needn't worry, Tristan. I'll ensure everything goes according to plan." He didn’t say that his plans often had a way of evolving, nor did he mention how deeply those plans were tied to his own desires, which were far from altruistic. For now, however, the mission would proceed as directed. The truth would come later, as always. |
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Neoma's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her eyes steady on Quixor. His smirk made her stomach twist with a strange mix of fear and determination. She didn’t know what he wanted from her, but she wasn’t going to let him see how scared she was. The soldier’s grip on Neoma was tight, and Neoma could feel the older woman’s body stiffen under the pressure, but it wasn’t enough to make her break. Not yet. Neoma swallowed hard and took a slow, deliberate breath, trying not to let the rising storm in the air rattle her. When Quixor spoke again, it felt like the words were more for her than anyone else. Like they were all just pieces in some game, and she was the smallest one and in the hands of the enemy nonetheless. She glanced briefly at Neoma, then back to Quixor’s silhouette against the setting sun, hoping he wouldn't notice the shift in her eyes. A low wind blew through the city ruins, kicking up dust as if it, too, was ready for something to happen. Neoma's lips pressed into a thin line as her fingers twitched toward the small hidden blade tucked in her sleeve. If it came to it, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. |
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The Voidcrawler lingered just beyond the threshold of understanding, where even the might of experiment 42 could not fully grasp the depths of its actions. It had freed the creature—yes, but not without cost. There was a symbiosis between them now, an unspoken bond woven in the stillness that followed its intrusion. It was not the first time the Voidcrawler had taken such liberties with another’s essence, but this one... this one *felt* different. As 42’s howl reverberated, a satisfying resonance echoed within the Voidcrawler’s very being. The creature roared in what seemed like triumph, but the Voidcrawler knew that the freedom it had tasted would not come without its own brand of emptiness. There was no victory, no conquest—only the unsettling hum of a binding that had been forged. The entity, for its part, had no true form of satisfaction. It did not hunger for power, nor did it crave control. It simply *was*, and in that being, it offered liberation, only to leave the creature with a silent burden it would never understand. 42’s freedom came at the expense of its very nature. The Voidcrawler could feel the soft tension between them, a delicate fracture where the creature's own will might someday break against the weight of the Voidcrawler’s relentless existence. The chip shattered, yes. The scream followed, an inevitable release—but it was the silence after that defined the creature’s fate. The Voidcrawler, having once again altered the fabric of the creature’s existence, observed, patient and unyielding. Freedom and fear, two halves of the same coin, nestled within 42's body as the Voidcrawler withdrew, already preparing for what might come next. |
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Quixor
Quxior studied Rosaline and looked around him as the dust started to build up. "A storm is coming, there isn't anything more we can do right now" He said to Rosaline. He nodded to his soliders to head back to the shuttle. The soliders holding Neoma, moved her along, almost half carrying, half dragging her as they went. They boarded the shuttle, putting her in a seat, plugging her in. A hand remained there, holding her. Quixor followed, he commanded the pilot with authority to take them back to the Vanguard. He swung his gaze over Neoma, pausing momentarily, pondering what to do with the little creature. He looked at Rosaline before taking up a seat in front of Neoma. The shuttle door closed and the rattling of the engines as the kicked back to life. The dust creating an eerie unsettling sound as it rasped against the hull. The force of the ascent, settling Quixor into his seat, his gaze firmly on the Vanguard now. "Ok to approach" spoken across the comms by the pilots now working their vessel. Experiment 42
42 tilted its head before looking towards the door. Their conversation wasn't over but it wouldn't be long before they were discovered. Alas, a few crew members with cattle prods were now peering in from the hall way through the slashed up door to the captain's quarters. 42 growled, moving fast out into the hallway before they could have time to react. The screams of the men, the cattle prods clanking with the metal floor as they were being dropped as 42 devoured the nearest crew member and whipped its tail to slice the second in half, as they began to retreat. It swung its head round, eyes sparkling in the chaos. Tristan
Tristan swallowed again. "I never said that" He forced out, a bite to his tone. He gazed at Eon, his expression changing to something of a mix of confidence and anger. He grabbed his equipment for the field, and stood up from his chair. He narrowed his gaze as Eon kept talking. He knew what the Coalition was capable of, he'd seen it, he just didn't need Eon to justify his reasonings. He felt his blood turn slightly cold at the mention of Eon having a plan. He turned his body towards the door, gesturing. "Shall we?" He said, his tone sharp. A new side of Tristan appears, when he goes from his desk to being a science officer assigned to the field, to follow where the doctor goes and causes chaos, trauma, devastation... He'd seen it all, it was only a matter of which way this scenario played out. |
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ROSALINE
Rosaline’s eyes followed Neoma as the soldiers half-carried, half-dragged her to the shuttle. There was a coldness to the scene, the way they treated the girl like a broken object, something that could be discarded once its usefulness had expired. She didn't like it. But there was nothing she could do. Not yet. Quxior’s words barely registered at first. A storm? Yes, the storm. The one that had been brewing in the distance for hours now, dust swirling in the air and the wind starting to pick up. His tone was final, like always, as if he had already decided what the next move would be. And yet, he still looked to her for some kind of acknowledgment. "Fine," she said, her voice flat. "Let’s go." The shuttle's interior was a blur of sterile, cold metal as they moved inside, the hum of the engines a constant reminder of how little she truly controlled here. She couldn’t help but notice how carefully Quxior looked at Neoma, his eyes flicking over her like a predator calculating whether it was worth the effort to strike. A shiver crawled up Rosaline’s spine at the thought. Neoma was still just a girl, even if she was... different. She took her seat without a word, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her thigh as the engines roared to life. The shuttle shuddered, the dust outside scraping against the hull like the world itself was trying to claw at them. But they were safe—for now. The Vanguard loomed ahead, its towering presence a reminder of the empire’s power, the cold, mechanical grip it had on everything. "You're thinking too much again," she muttered to herself, then cast a sidelong glance at Quxior. His gaze was still fixed on Neoma, but he didn’t seem like he was looking at her—more like he was assessing something, weighing options. If Rosaline didn’t know better, she’d say he was... hesitant. But that wasn’t Quxior’s style, was it? He never hesitated. "Approach confirmed," the comms crackled. The shuttle jerked slightly, the momentum building as they shot upward, the heavy weight of their ascent pressing her back into the seat. Rosaline couldn’t tear her eyes away from Neoma, still unconscious, helpless in the hands of men who didn’t care what they did to her. What are you going to do with her, Quxior? The thought gnawed at her, and yet, she already knew the answer. EON
Eon’s gaze sharpened as Tristan stood, the tension crackling in the air between them. There was a moment, brief but palpable, where Eon could feel the shift—the subtle tightening in Tristan’s posture, the way his voice cut through the conversation. The anger, the edge of defiance—it was all too familiar. Eon didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. But the coldness in Tristan's eyes didn’t escape him, nor did the bite of his words. He had seen that before too, the way Tristan could mask his fear with a sharpness that only heightened when he was uncertain or unwilling to confront the truth. Eon allowed the silence to stretch for a beat longer than necessary, his fingers still lightly resting on the edge of his desk. "You never said it," he repeated, a soft edge of amusement in his voice, though it held no warmth. "But you know as well as I do that intention is just as telling as the words we speak." He gave Tristan a long, unreadable look before nodding toward the door, a motion that felt almost like a dismissal. “Shall we,” Eon echoed, his tone lighter now, though a dark undertone still lingered beneath. He knew the game they were playing. And he was prepared to lead it. As they moved toward the door, Eon’s mind worked furiously. The plan was set, the Coalition's reach was undeniable, but this... this could be different. Tristan’s reaction, his hesitance, was the wild card. That, Eon knew, would either be their undoing or their greatest advantage. It would be up to him to decide which. There would be chaos. There always was. But Eon couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of anticipation. This time, maybe, it was going to be Tristan who would see what the true cost of defiance was. |
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Nightcrawler watched the carnage unfold with a twisted sense of satisfaction, its predatory instincts taking over as it tore through the unsuspecting crew members. The sounds of their screams and struggles only fueled its hunger, bloodlust coursing through its veins like liquid fire.As it feasted on one victim's life force, another fell to its deadly tendrils, meted out in swift, brutal strokes. Once done, Nightcrawler surveyed the grisly scene with a clinical detachment before turning to make its escape.It slithered down the corridor at an alarming speed, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The ship's alarm klaxons began to wail as damage control teams rushed to contain the breach. But Nightcrawler was long gone by then, vanishing into the labyrinthine depths of the vessel like a phantom.Its work here was done... for now. It watched as 42 got its revenge, We need to escape, else they find a way to confine us again, it reminds into the other's mind. |
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Neoma could feel the cold metal of the shuttle seat beneath her, the subtle hum of the engines thrumming through her body, and the oppressive weight of the moment pressing in on her chest. She had no choice but to sit there, helpless, her limbs still heavy from the force of being dragged onto the shuttle. The soldiers’ grip was unyielding, but there was no fight left in her. Not now. The dust storm outside continued its relentless assault on the shuttle, but it was the silence inside that made her uneasy. Every breath she took felt as though it might be her last. The sound of Quixior’s voice echoed in her ears, distant yet cutting through the tension. "A storm is coming," he had said. And it wasn’t just the dust outside—there was a storm brewing in the air, an energy that felt colder than the metal walls of the shuttle. She glanced around the cabin, her eyes lingering on the soldiers who held her captive, their faces unreadable. Her pulse quickened as Quixior moved past her, settling in front of her, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure what to do with her. Neoma could feel it—the way he measured her, weighing her worth or purpose. And then he turned to Rosaline, his mind momentarily distracted. He was a man who thrived on control, but there was something in the way he glanced back at her, something uncertain. Neoma wanted to speak, to protest, but her throat felt raw, her voice nothing but a distant echo. Instead, she clung to the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—this would be the end of it. That she would be discarded, left to die alone in the cold shadows of their ship. But deep down, she knew better. They were not done with me yet. The shuttle's ascent made her stomach lurch, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to stay still, to remain unnoticed. But as the vessel climbed higher, a new thought began to unfurl in her mind: What would they do with me once we reached the Vanguard? |
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Quixor
The shuttle bay docked inside the Vanguard. Quixor made a motion for him to depart first, followed by Roasline, his men and thus Neoma within their grasp. He turned to them, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes weary. "Take her to the brig, make sure she is secure" The last part of his words sharp with caution. He turned back to face Rosaline as his men took Neoma deeper into the ship towards the brig, where they would keep her in a cell with an energy wall as the barrier in and out. Once she was out of sight, his shoulder's sagged and he heading towards the lift, to take him to his quarters. Tristan
Tristan ignored the doctor. Both of them entered the lift that carried them towards the shuttle bay. The tension thickened, palpable in the air as they were two forces of nature in a tiny pocket of metal inside a bigger metal container. The pressure playing on Tristan's mind. Eon's words always got under his skin. He knew, that Eon knew that he would more than likely play up on this mission towards any ethical dilemma's should they occur. They travelled downwards in silence. Like the force of the downward motion, it opened a pit in Tristan's stomach. Tristan pulled his equipment closer to his chest. The doors opened after what felt like an eternity. He swallowed when he saw the vessel that would carry them down to Alpha-7. The guns were the first thing you could say that really stood out on this particular vessel. (Sorry its short, I'm off to bed) |
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Sunny
