<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/D6yF5Gu.jpg)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Drop</strong> (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=243890.msg12052519#msg12052519)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Context</strong></td><td>Moving back inside, Having a small episode</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Tagging</strong></td><td>Group</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Fate Points</strong></td><td>1</td></tr></tbody></table><hr/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote from: Forklift</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"><strong>Forklift:</strong> @Drop Really? I'm pretty sure I've worked for a couple of the people watching. And there's nothing new in my actions! <br/></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote from: Antimony</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">*sexy noises*<br/></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote from: Puppeteer</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> <strong>Puppeteer:</strong> @Drop; And... You're welcome for gaining you maintenance access to the airlock and that shiny corp cover ID... ;)<br/></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote from: Anima</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">(´°ω°`) ー=≡Σ( ε¦) （‐＾▽＾‐） ԅ[ •́ ﹏├┬┴┬┴ ┌༼ σ ‸ σ ༽┐(▰˘︹˘▰)  (=ↀωↀ=)✧ (●´ω｀●)ゞ (•́⌄•́๑)૭✧ (๑♡3♡๑)<br/></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Jane dropped her sniper rifle, letting it dangle by the shoulder-strap while she clutched her hands to her head and released a long, prolonged groan of anguish. What was wrong with these people!? Furious, her eyes jerked about within her helmet, bringing up her chat with their Router, where she began typing the following words.<em>'Though, while we're at it, I don't know why the FUCK you think it was a good idea to put me in a cell with a bunch of depraved bangbots more focused on sex than the mission, but if I were to guess I'd say it's because you really can't tell the difference between that and normal people, you MORONIC, GHOST PROGRAM SHADOW OF A HUMAN-FUCKING BEING I SWEAR TO GOD WHEN I DIE ON THIS STUPID RUSTY PLANET BECAUSE OF YOU, I WILL COME BACK FROM THE DEAD AND'</em><br/><br/>Jane trailed off on that last phrase, finding herself unable to finish the sentance. She closed her eyes, sitting on the dome for a second to collect herself. Usually she could deal with this sort of thing, but the threat of TITAN tech was making this stuff more and more unbearable. All the talking, the flirting, the emotes. All this... acting like nothing was wrong, when clearly everything was. It stressed Jane out more than she wanted to admit. At any moment, any one of them could be killed because they were too busy to even notice. Didn't they care about staying alive? Would they be flirting when they were dead too!? That was the problem- they really<em>could</em>, couldn't they? So long as backups existed, transhumanity could never understand the gravity of their own mortality... At least, not until the TITANS returned and showed them exactly how fragile their minds still were...<br/><br/>Jane was thankful she couldn't be seen atop the Hab. Any peeping toms would have been treated to the sight of a fully-armored exoskeleton with its arms wrapped about its knees; holding itself like some prissy, angsty teenager who had decided to get all tearful on the roof of its house. Jane released a long sigh, looking back to the scathing message she was half done with. No... this sort of thing wasn't important. There was a job to do. Whining about it wasn't going to result in anything remotely survivable.<br/><br/>Jane flicked her eyes to the side, deleting the message to their Router before she could send it. She had to get back to the mission, get back to dealing with the programs again. She was beginning to feel that drain of energy, sapped every moment she spent outside her apartment. At least staring at a wall didn't make her want to shoot someone.<br/><br/>Silently, Jane stood again, shouldering her sniper rifle for the trip back down. She wordlessly began uploading the recording of what the Scope on the Rifle could capture to the Jabber. In her frustration, she forgot to scrub the last few seconds of the feed where she'd dropped her rifle minutes earlier. Anyone viewing it would see the sights tremble slightly, before dropping to show a brief image of a massive, black robotic leg. The video would cut out a second later.<br/><hr/>#Accurate Video Feed Of Abandoned Area#<br/><strong>Drop:</strong>You all should have several hours to collect data. Do what you will.<br/><hr/>She could respond a bit further but... Whatever. All this talk was taking its toll on Jane, who much preferred the much more calming duty of over-watch. Besides, everything was still in the data-gathering phase. She knew full well her own idiocy in suddenly shutting down like a child mid-mission, but most of the group was in a low-sec situation anyhow. They could handle themselves. Even if they couldn't, Jane would be safe- well,<em>safer</em>up here.<br/><br/>On the other side of the airlock, Jane would slowly descend the wire until she was at the same massive mesh hub as before. She set up again, lowering her sniper rifle onto the city, and continuing her watch, drinking in the silence she held so dear.