ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Question Mark on 19-03-2013, 04:52:44</h2>
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				Title: <strong>ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>19-03-2013, 04:52:44</strong>
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				OOC (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=168730.0)<br>Brief (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=168731.0)<br>Dossiers (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=168732.0)<br>Interest and Recruitment (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167396.0)<br><br><hr><hr><br>(http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2009/345/e/0/SFP___an_arctic_station_by_Count_one.jpg)<br><br>"From heaven above and hell below, the earth is under siege.&nbsp; We just don't know it yet."<br>- Dr. Charles Gustav<br><br><hr><hr><hr><br><strong><span style="font-size: 28pt;" class="bbc_size">ARCTICA: Vostok</span><br><span style="font-size: 16pt;" class="bbc_size">Hell Hath No Fury</span></strong><br><br><hr><hr><hr><br><br>Greetings Expedition Personnel!<br><br>My name is Doctor Benjamin Czeremin, but you may call me Ben.&nbsp; I will be the Liaison, representing the civilians and soldiers in matters concerning the Powers That Be.&nbsp; I am <em>not</em> your commanding officer, but you can think of me as your collective lobbyist in the command structure of this expedition.&nbsp; I will vouch for you, and if you stray into danger, I will be there to protect you.<br><br>This flight is long, and, frankly, I am bored stiff.&nbsp; As are you, I'm sure.&nbsp; You're all currently on communications blackout, but I am able to communicate to all of you via the tablets those black-suited men gave you; the Mobile Brief and Communications Assistants (MOBAs).&nbsp; So, indulge an old man.&nbsp; I tend to ramble.<br><br>The year is 2013, the month April, the day the fifteenth.&nbsp; A Monday, of course.&nbsp; No more than twenty-four hours prior, you were contacted.&nbsp; If you are a soldier, then your commanding officer summoned you with strict instructions: drop everything, say nothing, and bring only one personal object.&nbsp; Upon reporting, you found your CO flanked by grim-looking men in black suits.&nbsp; "You've been reassigned," they'd say, or some version there-of.&nbsp; "Effective immediately, you are attached to a transient NATO unit under the authority of Commander King."<br><br>As they escort you from the building, the men list off a variety of obscure NATO military laws.&nbsp; Their penalties are strict -- death or indefinite detention -- and the offenses serious.&nbsp; "Speak of this project to anyone not involved with the project, and you will be judged by military tribunal subject to NATO penal code A-9912, immediate termination."&nbsp; They spoke like robots, their voices carefully trained to hide any accent or emotion, the laws and codes memorized and recited like a mantra.&nbsp; "Distribution of materials or information regarding the project to anyone not involved with the project is forbidden by international military law, and violation resultant in consideration of NATO penal code A-9912, immediate termination."&nbsp; Even if you are well versed in military justice, these are laws you have never heard of before, at least not officially.&nbsp; They are very real, and you'd be do best to follow them to the best of your abilities.&nbsp; Trust me.<br><br>If you are not a soldier, your "rendezvous" was likely much more abrupt.&nbsp; Apologies.&nbsp; Regardless, you were approached by black-suited men and offered a significant sum of money to accompany them to Paris, where you would be incorporated into a top secret government project run by the EU and NATO.&nbsp; They were very polite, and provided ample evidence that they were indeed government agents.&nbsp; If you still disagreed, then I must apologize again for their rude treatment of your person.&nbsp; The tingling in the extremities should have worn off by now, as the knock-out drug they injected into your system has a rather short biological halflife.<br><br>Soldier or civilian, you were flown non-stop on an empty jet to Paris.&nbsp; During the trip, you were informed that you would be traveling to Vostok Station in Antarctica to investigate a radio blackout, as well as geological, archeological, and biological events of currently indeterminate nature (you will be told more during the official brief upon our arrival).&nbsp; You were asked to name any equipment you needed dependent on your specialty, and assured that whatever supplies you requested were immediately being airlifted to the site of the project, so long as they do not allow for intercontinental communication.&nbsp; That plane should arrive slightly after we do.&nbsp; You were then delivered to a second airplane: a C-130 Hercules (http://www.seeandavoid.org/images/aircraft/c130j.jpg) military transport.&nbsp; The interior cabin had been divided into two-dozen insulated cubicles, each a roomy nine cubic meters and supplied with enough water bottles and rations to support you for the trip.&nbsp; Each cubicle also has a pair of full Arctic body suits.&nbsp; C-130's tend to be breezy, and when it's forty below outside, it's reasonable to dress warm.&nbsp; I suggest you suit up immediately to prevent frostbite.&nbsp; As you know by now, protocol mandated that we assign one person per cubicle.&nbsp; We understand this process could be alarming, so at this point, you were further reassured by the gentlemen in black suits that this was indeed a government project, and that your safety was their paramount concern.&nbsp; You were given a simple touchscreen tablet (the aforementioned MOBA) and a portable battery charger, and then locked inside your cubicle.&nbsp; Again, we apologize for the actions we must perform due to protocol.<br><br>Since this flight will last just over eighteen hours, you will have plenty of time to get to know your MOBA: the Mobile Brief and Communications Assistant.&nbsp; At the cost of it's wireless/satellite connectivity to the internet, the MOBA sports a ridiculous battery life and a powerful narrow-frequency short-range transmitter, allowing for a direct connection to all other MOBA's in use by the team.&nbsp; It is enabled for text, audio, and video communication, and has the best universal translation software our combined governments can produce, so don't worry about the language barrier.&nbsp; With the MOBA, one can engage in binary conversations or group discussions, record personal logs, tag samples, take video, upload to the <strong>Brief</strong>, and really anything else civilian PDAs can do.&nbsp; Since the project in Antarctica will likely spread the team over a large area, the MOBA will be an essential tool to keep in touch with Commander King, your commanding officer, as well as your fellow personnel.&nbsp; Note that Commander King will have access to all communications through all MOBAs.&nbsp; <br><br>Also on your MOBA is the <strong>Brief</strong>, an incomplete file that summarizes the findings of the expedition so far and provides various files for your review.&nbsp; As you collect data, please upload your findings and notes to the <strong>Brief</strong> database.&nbsp; Unfortunately, due to red tape, the "official" <strong>Brief</strong> is being updated piecemeal as various files are summarily reviewed and released by the Powers That Be.&nbsp; I hope you understand.<br><br>A note for the military: all enlisted personnel will receive a full brief on their role upon arrival.&nbsp; With the exception of the naval divers, your role will largely be supervision, oversight, communication, and, if needed, enforcement of the NATO codes that provide our security.<br><br>Aside from that, I wish you a calm evening!&nbsp; We're passing over South Africa now, so I'd suggest donning those thermal suits soon, since the temperature outside is already dropping fast.&nbsp; Consult your MOBA's, perhaps record a diary or video log.&nbsp; And, most importantly, allow yourself to relax and feel happy!&nbsp; After all, you were chosen for this trip because you met some very stringent criteria.&nbsp; You would not be here on this (remarkably uncomfortable) plane if you were not an outstanding individual.&nbsp; So relax, cheer up, and get excited.&nbsp; This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.&nbsp; One day, you can say that you were at Vostok, that you stood on the frozen wastes at the crossroads of destiny and discovery.&nbsp; You can say that you unlocked the secrets of ARCTICA.<br><br>Sleep on that, my friends.&nbsp; We will be landing in six hours.<br><br>Sincerely,<br>Dr. Benjamin Czeremin<br>Liaison
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>19-03-2013, 05:28:26</strong>
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				<strong>Your Cubicle<br>C-130 Hercules Airplane, Designation [REDACTED]<br>Somewhere Over Antarctica</strong><br><br>You've been locked in this small room for seventeen hours straight, with nothing but the roar of the propellers and the constant numbing cold to keep you company.&nbsp; The room is cramped, a cube two meters on the edge.&nbsp; The walls are constructed from a steel frame filled with plywood and what appears to be some kind of insulating, sound-cancelling material.&nbsp; Despite it, the propellers are a constant drone in the background, and the temperature is a frosty -20 Celsius.&nbsp; A single circular light is set into the ceiling, controlled by a switch set into one wall next to a door.&nbsp; There's a bed with ample blankets that takes up one half of the room, and a plastic chest in which two thermal (http://i196.photobucket.com/albums/aa248/Impervium2401/8b81d344-b5ef-43e5-818b-ae2bd588d670.jpg?t=1363662583) suits (http://i196.photobucket.com/albums/aa248/Impervium2401/f9e8831a-3b44-4aa2-91d9-7e87fc814177.jpg?t=1363662390) in your size are stored.&nbsp; The door to the room is simply a section of wall that had been cut so it could swing outward.&nbsp; However, something outside is blocking the door from being opened, and the steel frame of the walls themselves makes it impossible to simply rip through.<br><br>Of course, you also have your MOBA on you.&nbsp; It resembles an iPhone, although slightly smaller and thicker.&nbsp; It's surprisingly dense, and you have a feeling that it would take some serious force to break.&nbsp; There's an antenna built into the case that can be extended, as well as a small cubby where a simple rubbertip stylus is kept.&nbsp; On the back, your name and a string of seemingly random alphanumeric digits are etched into the plastic.&nbsp; When turned on, you have the choice to access either the Brief or the Communications modules.&nbsp; Only the Brief is currently accessible.<br><br>The aircraft suddenly lurches, and a brief moment of weightlessness engulfs you before vanishing just as quickly.&nbsp; The turbulence started about an hour ago, and has been getting progressively worse since.&nbsp; After another lurch, you hear someone call out over a PA system, "Beginning descent.&nbsp; Prepare for disembarking and briefing.&nbsp; If you have not done so already, put on a thermal suit.&nbsp; Brace for turbulence."<br><br>The message repeats in French, then Spanish, and continued through a number of other languages.&nbsp; Russian.&nbsp; Mandarin.&nbsp; Finnish.&nbsp; Swedish.&nbsp; Portuguese.&nbsp; Italian.&nbsp; Arabic.<br><br>Your ears pop as the aircraft begins to drop through the Antarctic sky, but the turbulence gets worse.&nbsp; The C-130 is almost constantly shaking now, and it sways back and forth in a disconcerting manner.<br><br><hr><hr><hr><br>Alert!&nbsp; The next <strong>EVENT</strong> will occur 20130320!&nbsp; Make your posts are up by then, or risk [REDACTED]!
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Karasu</strong> on <strong>19-03-2013, 11:32:34</strong>
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				Kyari Takanami was rattled.. this much was certainly true. She was locked in this small room and had just listened to a man speak of military things she knew nothing about and explaining a bit of why they were all there, or at least her..<br><br>She used the time to study the small tablet she held,&nbsp; before finding a record button and turning it on, using boxes to record her voice while she donned the thermal suits.<br><br>"Date.. April Fifteenth, the year is 2013. I am Dr. Kyari Takanami. I, and as I am to understand, a group of other individuals have been contacted and chosen to be a part of a group to Antarctica.<br><br>My own reason for being chosen, as they mentioned in their meeting with me, was my studies in the fields of Hydro-geology and Geological Oceanography, This Vostok station.. I am not too happy to come, but at least I know, if I survive, I will walk away with enough funds to live comfortably and maintain my studies with renewed vigor.. I hope I do survive.<br><br>Kyari, signing off."<br><br>Her voice is hesitant, not sure of her survival, but who would be? Even on her dives, she is never sure of her survival 100%, and this was even worse! She finds herself surprised that she is not absolutely panicking at the thought of this but takes a few deep breaths as she dons the gear she had been given, and recommended she don at this time. "Well Kyari.. you signed up for this.. Even if it wasn't really a choice.." She speaks to herself, even her dossier pointed this out, it was just how she worked with her thought processes. "Lets see, These are.. Rations.. Water bottles, good there's enough here for a good span of time, so at least I know I'll be set in that regard, provided one of my co-workers for this trip isn't a giant bully, which, knowing my luck, one of them will be." She said slightly frustrated. "I may as well make the most of this, at least it's a new trip, and I've been wanting to study Antarctica anyway.." She said in an attempt to cheer herself up, it works slightly.
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				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Eleah</strong> on <strong>19-03-2013, 12:11:14</strong>
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				A small, cramped, cold cubicle; that’s exactly what Harper needed. A mild claustrophobe and a bad flier (she was so much more comfortable below the water than above the ground), so far this ‘special mission for outstanding individuals’ felt like a tailor-made hell for the young Naval Diver. So far she’d spent most of the flight sitting on the bed back against the wall, wrapped in all the blankets they’d given her, eyes shut and listening to her iPod and trying her best to block out the small quarters, the cold, the turbulence or that ceaseless drone of the aircraft engine that was stopping her catch up on sleep.<br><br>When they’d unceremoniously woken Harper in the middle of the night and told her to make ready for departure, this was the one personal item she’d brought with her out of the grand total of one that she’d been allowed. She was sure as hell missing her hairbrush, what with her dark, brown hair looking all tousled and messy. But, given the choice, she’d have taken the iPod every time. Music helped her relax, especially before a dive. She’d switch on something she knew and murmur the lyrics as she ran over her gear. Her superiors swore that one day she’d be distracted and make a mistake, but Harper always felt that softly singing along to one of her favourite bands and going over the routine checks blended together well and kept everything cool and learned-by-heart.<br><br>“<em>… Oh in the sun, sun having fun, it’s in my blood. I just can’t help it, don’t want you here right n-</em> Fuck!” USND First Class McAdams swore as she felt her stomach drop and jolt in the rough turbulence, her blue-green eyes snapping open reminding her that, yes, she was still trapped in this little box. She heard the crackle of a vox message and tugged an earbud out to catch the last part of a pilot’s message informing her to put a thermal suit on and brace for turbulence.<br><br>“You don’t say…” She muttered to no one in particular, massaging some of the life back into her cold legs. She wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to get changed amidst all the bumps and drops but she figured they’d be a little better if she was warmer.<br><br>Sighing she swung a lean leg out of bed and staggered to the plastic chest in the corner, feeling for all the world, like she’d been drinking half the night with all the staggering she was doing. She pulled out the first, plastic-wrapped, vacuum-packed suit she found and threw it on the bed, trying her best to unbutton whilst the small room to’d and fro’d around her.<br><br>The young woman shivered as she slid out of her PT uniform, goosebumps springing up instantly on her smooth, pale skin. Harper decided to keep on the white tee she had underneath her uniform and started pulling on thermal under-layers, wondering if anyone was covertly watching her get changed. After that came a dark, woollen pullover, matching stockings and mittens and the thick, bulky, orange thermal suit, pants and gloves that went over the top. A whole bunch of harnesses, clasps and devices remained in another bag, but she figured she’d worry about them later. That she was cozy and warm was good enough for her now.<br><br>She jumped back on her bed and sat cross-legged, taking the little PDA they’d left on her pillow for her in her clumsy, gloved hands. After struggling to turn the thing on in the thermal layers, she tossed it aside, too frustrated, distracted and lazy to take her gloves off and deal with it properly. Over and over in her head, Harper puzzled over what exactly was going on. They’d told her to relax and that she was safe here, but being told that by mysterious, black-suited men wearing sunglasses indoors is never quite as reassuring as intended.<br><br>Harper figured that having dived in Antarctic waters on military business previously was what had singled her out for this, but it still left an awful lot of questions unanswered. Then again, she was a military girl; she knew when to keep her mouth shut and trust in the authority. <em>Still…</em>&nbsp; This entire business, even now, unsettled her somehow in a way no other mission had before and Harper McAdams wasn't a stranger to 'TOP SECRET' orders.<br><br>On a whim she stepped up to the side partition and quickly hit out the Morse Code for ‘Hello?’ with the side of her gloved hand, wondering if there was even anyone on the other side at all, let alone whether they understood Morse, or would reply in kind.<br><br>((First come, first serve for whoever wants to be next door!))
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 04:19:30</strong>
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				She had no loyalty to the job; just an itching curiosity that tingled like a sixth sense. It was what led Aibhlinn to China and her discovery of the lost temple hidden within the Five Sacred Mountains. The findings were stated to be the ‘greatest unearthed secret of our time’, and promised to throw her career back into the spotlight, producing scholarships, fundraising and sponsors that would promise no shortages for at least a decade. That had been before the Chinese government decided to slander her name, marking her as a ‘grave robber’ while being charged with crimes that had been committed only in self defense. She had been mistaken in assuming that all Chinese knew some form of martial arts or another, but those with scrapes and bruises (and a few broken ribs and noses) got what they had coming.<br><br>Alaska had been a hopeless investigation from the start; funds were meager, equipment had been minimal at best, and the only thing that came into fruition was her skill at running across the ice when she had startled a walrus, and that savage 20,000 kilogram beast gave chase. Another shining moment in the life of Professor Aibhlinn Isold Bannon.<br><br>Now here she was with a piece of technology in her hand, dressed in the provided cold-as-fuck gear she had grown to love and hate, blankets piled over her head and draping over her form in an attempt to remain relatively comfortable. At least there wasn’t ice-spray hitting her face. At least there weren’t pissed-off ice-fiends sniffing at her tent, or stealing their food and pissing all over the place. At least she was thousands of feet off the surface of the ocean, bouncing around like one of them crazy beans she saw while in Mexico, hoping that the next lurch would disrupt the woman from puking all over place by forcing her to swallow it all down.<br><br>Another shining moment in the life of Professor Aibhlinn Isold Bannon…<br><br>“Nábac seo…” Another bump, this one caused her to grow warm as nausea threatened to test the casing of the MOBA. Apparently, it promised a long battery life even in the harsh climate of Antarctica. Batteries were notorious for shorting out in frigid temperatures; it was a hardship they faced in icy-wasteland of Alaska. She didn’t hold much faith in it. In fact, she was feeling downright miserable and settled with pushing aside researching and re-reading the provided information on the mobile, and took to distracting herself with a new project. Maybe this thing had Fruit Ninja…
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				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 10:30:18</strong>
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				Thomas awoke with a yawn and stretched out his imposing frame on the narrow cot as best he could, wrapped in his thermal suit and a heavy blanket. The sedative they'd hit him with in the brig had worn off hours ago but from his perspective there was nothing much to do but wait until he reached whatever fresh pit the higher ups were sending him to, and he didn't need to be awake to do that. Almost as soon as they'd boarded him on the Herc' and the little civvie briefing was finished, Thomas geared up for the serious business of taking a nap. For nearly twelve hours he slept, waking for only a couple minutes every three or four hours to tighten and relax his muscles to keep from stiffening up in the cold. Around hour nine his stomach started to grouse, but changed its mind when he tore open one of the small MRE packets and threatened to choke down the thin, dry cardboard of a 'HAMCHEESESANDWICH' and he resumed his slumber.<br><br>He dreamed as he slept, twisted images and unpleasant memories playing on the big screen of his unconscious mind. Dylan on point, scouting the target area. Halloway radioing their findings back to CC. Juarez, screaming in terrified Spanish as he fired blind into the trees until his rifle emptied. Doubletiming through thick jungle brush with snarling nightmares on their six. And fire. Fuck, so much fire. Almost real enough to make him forget this goddamn cold. Fire and ice blended together, burning snow and frozen flames filling his mind until the droning roar dragged everything into darkness. Thomas woke with a start as the plane lurched, clearly hitting some of that peaceful arctic weather the area was so famous for. He rubbed his eyes and sat up with a groan; apparently his legs and back had decided his two-minute warm-ups weren't enough to keep from cramping.<br><br>Thomas rose to his feet and shucked the blanket onto the small cot, stretched his limbs to satisfaction and picked up the little comm device. What had Czeremin called them? MOBIs? MOBAs, that was it. He thumbed through the limited menu and skimmed over the available files. Research reports, dig findings, survey results and biology articles, nothing that jumped out at him. The artwork was a little more interesting, but it didn't give him any new clues. He turned the device over and over, studying its casing and design; it looked tough, airtight. Thomas slipped the MOBA into a pocket on the thermal suit and returned to the bed, intent on returning to his interrupted sleep.<br><br>Before his head hit the mattress a soft tapping sound echoed into the cubicle and a slight grin etched over his face. Sometimes, the old tricks really were the best tricks. Thomas looked around for a tool to answer with but came up short until he remembered the MOBA. He pulled it out and gave it a satisfying test tap against his palm, then replied to his fellow cargo.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">.--.... .- - .----. ... / ..- .--. ..--..</div><div class="spoiler_body">"What's up?"</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 17:43:14</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: God knows where.<br><strong>Time</strong>: See 'Location.'<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Entry Post<br><hr><br>James Endast should have been out of commission for at least a few more months. The physical therapy was over, but the psychological therapy was still slow going. All he could think about was getting back out into the field, out on the front lines. That's where he belonged.&nbsp; He knew he'd return to service eventually, and that's all he wanted. Everything on the 'outside' was temporary, nothing about it seemed real or meaningful. When the offer came to take a job, any job, James agreed quickly. It wasn't until he was in the cramped quarters flying towards Antarctica, that maybe he realized he agreed <em>too</em> quickly. The cramped quarters were actually comforting. Only in a military environment or a jail cell would somebody live in such cramped quarters. Even though nothing else about this was familiar to him, at least the cruel bureaucracy that ran the military was evident here. <br><br>The thermal suit was completely new to him. Thankfully he had way too much time and nothing else to do to try it on. He worked on unloading what medical supplies they gave him and seeing how to best fill the pockets. Trying to memorize where things were placed, and making sure nothing fragile was in a place that required movement. Once he felt confident in that, the MOBA was picked up and played with. He had wished he had seen the MOBA first, as the articles in the Brief offered some distraction. There was very little to read, which made him read into everything that was listed. He laid back on that cot and played with the device to grow accustomed with it. Like experimenting with a new computer, just trying to find what options and settings were available. It was hardly fun, but it was more so than counting how many times his teeth chattered. <br><br>The turbulence was worrisome. He had been in large planes before, and they never flew smoothly. He told himself that was just the case with this one. Each bump and bounce of the plane was punctuated by James telling himself that this was perfectly normal; though he had no grounds to assume such. The warning about the descent was met with a loud groan of relief. He looked around for any way to strap himself in; if the ride was this bumpy, he could only imagine the landing would be worse. The process couldn't be short enough. Even if the plane just nose-dived directly into the ground, James would think the process of landing took too long. The cold wasn't welcoming, but he was anxious to get to work, anxious to get back on the field. <br><br>He had to do something, had to accomplish something. He had to be somebody. He had to make his life worthwhile. He owed that to them. If walking into the freezing cold, if this job was how he could do so, then he would. Even as he's bounced around in that seat, it's the only thing on his mind. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>21-03-2013, 04:59:27</strong>
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				<strong>Your Cubicle<br>C-130 Hercules Airplane, Designation [REDACTED]<br>Somewhere Over Antarctica</strong><br><br>Through the ever present roar of the engines, you can hear the superstructure of the plane groaning as it's tossed about by the vicious Antarctic winds.&nbsp; The turbulence was getting worse.&nbsp; The aircraft begins to shake violently, jostling up and down like a beast possessed.&nbsp; A particularly sharp jolt threw Harper away from the wall where she stood and onto the cot behind her.&nbsp; Fortunately, a clump of blankets prevented her head from hitting one of the reinforcing steel bars that lined the room.<br><br>Through the poorly insulated walls of your cabin, you hear the roar of the engine and the shriek of the wind growing louder.&nbsp; Despite the din, you hear a distant rumble as something inside the airplane breaks loose from its straps.&nbsp; Without warning, the plane drops out from beneath you, and then rises back up just as quickly, threatening to throw you to the floor.&nbsp; Somewhere nearby, a woman screams.<br><br>"Three thousand meters and descending.&nbsp; We're almost there, people," the pilot says in English, and just English, with no further translations.<br><br>After the crackle of the COM faded, an incredible and sudden shriek tore through the aircraft.&nbsp; The engine's roar, deep and rough, began to ramp up in pitch, becoming a smooth high-pitched whine like nails on a frozen chalkboard.&nbsp; The shift was slow at first, but accelerated at an alarming pace.&nbsp; When it seemed the engine couldn't get any louder or more shrill, there was a flicker of immense heat, and then it all vanished, leaving nothing but the howling wind and numbing cold.&nbsp; It was then that the floor dropped out from beneath your feet, and never came back.<br><br>The din of the wounded engine had been nothing compared to the sudden clamor that assaulted you as you fell.&nbsp; Roaring,&nbsp; &nbsp;The sound was a physical thing, attacking and beating you with its sheer volume.&nbsp; It threw you about in freefall, hurling you around the room like a doll in a box, shaken ferociously by an angry child.<br><br>After a moment that seemed to last for hours, the barrage fades&nbsp; You would enjoy a moment of peace as you hung weightless in the air amid the twisting blankets, your cubicle twisting slowly around you as you plummeted unhindered through the blizzard.<br><br><hr><hr><hr><br>Alert!&nbsp; The next <strong>EVENT</strong> will occur 20130325!&nbsp; Make sure your posts are up by then or else [REDACTED]!
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>22-03-2013, 22:12:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: HOLY FUCKING SHIT<br><strong>Time</strong>: Hard to tell.<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Entry Posts<br><hr><br>James stumbled to the ground with the first set of more severe turbulence. He looked around the room frantically, occasionally looking back at the speaker system, waiting for orders on how the hell somebody is supposed to prepare for the shaking around. The more serious shudder that leaves James free floating for a moment for landing hard against the metal floor on a shoulder. The blow was shocking, but still he narrowed his eyes to look for some way to secure himself. He moved over shakily to grab the pillow off the bed before gripping one of the metal support beams, using the pillow to keep him from a shake making him crack his skull against it. The warning told him that at least the pilot wasn't dead; at least somebody was trying to land this thing still. <br><br>The comfort was short lived, that shriek making every muscle in James' body respond in a primal way. Every muscle tightening up and every hair on his body standing on edge. His eyes darted around to see what the cause of the sound was, and how it was going to attack him. The heat was something he wouldn't even process until later, too busy looking around for a more tangible threat. As the floor was no longer there to support him, his hands gripped the slick support beam. The force of the wind under him were simply too much, and James' fingers couldn't keep purchase on the beam, falling down into the open air. The cold, the noise, the sight of the plane growing smaller above him as he fell from the sky simply couldn't be processed, shock taking a moment to process before his body could pump enough adrenaline into him to give him back his facilities. <br><br>He flailed at the air around him before managing to turn himself around so he was facing the ground, his arms and legs sagging up behind him as he careened towards the ground. It was difficult to breath, with the air flying past him, and what little air he got was icy cold. It was a combination of sick morbidity and survival instincts that made him look to the ground, trying to steer his body to hopefully land in something soft versus the jagged ice his brain was already assuming. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>LtFox</strong> on <strong>23-03-2013, 17:35:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Carl stretched out on the cramped bed as best as he could.&nbsp; His mind was whirring with questions as he processed his current situation.&nbsp; When he got up in St. Petersburg 24-hours earlier, he certainly didn't expect to find himself in a small cube aboard a cold aeroplane a day later.&nbsp; Looking back, he again wondered what really was going on.&nbsp; He'd started his day normally enough, but before midday, he'd gotten a call directly from Pori Brigade's commander, which was highly unusual.&nbsp; Even more unusual was the immediate recall order he was informed of.&nbsp; Usually he got at least a week or two of warning when he was required for duty.&nbsp; The urgency meant something truly odd was going down, so he'd placed a call to his office, informed them of his immediate recall order and left his second in charge of the labs until further notice.<br><br>After boarding the first Allegro bullet train to Helsinki, he was immediately airlifted via military helicopter from the Capital's garrison to Pori Brigade FRDF (Finnish Rapid Deployment Forces) headquarters.&nbsp; After receiving an extremely sparse briefing which screamed "COVER-UP" he was immediately reactivated as a Sergeant First Class and shipped of to the rendezvous in Europe.&nbsp; He'd only brought his old Leatherman multitool he'd been gifted during his tour as a peacekeeper as a good luck charm, so when informed that he should choose his equipment, he went to work during the trip.&nbsp; After considering what little he knew of the mission parameters, he figured he'd better be prepared for as much as possible so he began putting together as comprehensive signal and data analysis kit as possible.&nbsp; <br><br>He ticked the items off in his mind as he listed them:<br><ul class="bbc_list"><li>Full m05 Combat System equipment, Artic configuration</li><li>Rk-95 FS with VV2000 and UB 40mm</li><li>Model 241 VHF radio with datalink and extra batteries</li><li>Backup HF radio with datalink and extra batteries</li><li>V5 Toughbook with C/C, ECM/ECCM, signal and interference analysis and comm trace software installed.</li><li>Multi-frequency miniCOMROD</li><li>Multipurpose solar charger for all electronic gear.</li></ul><br>The list went on to be fairly long, but he was fairly certain he'd hit the main points.&nbsp; With the kit he put together, he should be able to survive just about anything, and even though Arctic conditions were new, he'd operated in conditions below -30 celcius before.&nbsp; He'd also included every piece of signal and communications analysis equipment he could think of since his function was apparently keeping people connected and also to figure out if there were problems in comms systems present.<br><br>After some more musing, he snapped back to the present in the small cube in the cold cargo hold, which was getting colder.&nbsp; He quickly went to the equipment chest and after some head scratching, managed to get the arctic survival suit put on properly.&nbsp; After that he munched on a few meal bars, and shoved more into his pockets for later.&nbsp; He'd learned to always conserve food when possible in his prior military experience.&nbsp; You could never be sure when the next meal would be coming, after all.&nbsp; Having completed his preliminary preparations, he sat down on the bed in a Tai Chi meditation posture in the large and warm suit, and took a moment to look at the MOBA and go over the information in the brief once more.&nbsp; After that he secured the MOBA in a different suit pocket from his leatherman and food and set out to get some lat minute rest.<br><br>He was unsure how long had passed until the turbulence and announcements woke him up.&nbsp; He scrambled to a better position, and made a few quick stretches to get blood flowing again after his nap.&nbsp; He got more than a little worried as the turbulence got worse, but in general he believe in the safety of air travel.&nbsp; Of course, he'd never been that fond of military planes.&nbsp; After the extremely threatening noises from the plane he began to curse mentally, which turned into audible cursing in four different languages as the floor dropped out from underneath them, while still keeping them locked in their cubicles.&nbsp; He almost froze instantly with an overwhelming fear; how does one defend from freefall?&nbsp; After a moment of tumbling about and almost hitting his head, he got himself under control and grabbed all the blankets and futons and wrapped around himself before curling into a ball and bracing his head&nbsp; as safely as possible for impact, biting a blanket to keep from biting his tongue in the impacts.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>24-03-2013, 00:11:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She might have screamed. As embarrassing as it was without anyone there to witness it, Aibhlinn was pretty sure that the sound had been squeezed out of her throat amidst the tumbling and churning of the containment she had found herself in. What was once an annoying chicken-coop closed off to the outside world now became a gerbils’ wheel. And some ass-hole had kicked her down the stairs. Bodily she slammed into the wall or ceiling or perhaps it was the floor, flailing as she tumbled, but curled small on impact. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was grateful that the bed had been bolted down and didn’t collide with her in the mess, but damned her hatred of the cold and burrowing under the blankets. They left her blind now, unable to see when the impact would strike next or even what direction she had originally associated with ‘up’ had been. Maybe that was best? Maybe it would have been further terrifying than it already was?<br><br>Another shriek tore from her throat; this time in the form of “Fuck you!” for no other reason than to make herself feel better as she yet again slammed into the wall and felt the jolting shock of it flair throughout her body. The blankets hooked with a leg of the bed, suspending her momentarily with the tangle before the direction shifted and Aibhlinn slid free. There was little she could do, and while she was terrified she felt the fear slipping away, replaced by near-hysterical laughter as she came in contact with a hard surface once again. She was going to be squished like a sardine in a can; or better yet, land in the water and either drown or freeze to death in under three minutes. Aibhlinn couldn’t swim. And she hated sardines.<br><br>Yet another shining moment in the life of Professor Aibhlinn Isold Bannon. She should have stayed in Alaska.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Karasu</strong> on <strong>25-03-2013, 02:36:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As her cubicle fell, Kyari screamed. Gods she wasn't even terrified of the tight space, but the free fall, her mind knowing that she woudl fall and crash, that terrified her to no end. "Oh gods.. Whats happening.. I knew I shouldn't have come.. I knew it.. I knew it.." She muttered to herself, as she tried to keep herself as small as possible.<br><br>As the cubicle landed, she tentatively climbed out,&nbsp; "H-Hello? Is anyone here?" She called out, she was scared, she had no weapons, she wasn't a fighter.. Where was everyone...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>25-03-2013, 09:01:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The makeshift conversation was abruptly interrupted as the turbulence ratched up to 11 and Thomas shoved the MOBA back into one of the deep pockets on his thermal suit. As the loudspeaker clicked on to reassure them they were less than 3k out from their destination he was gripped with a sense of impending danger. It was a familiar feeling, the kind you got when there were insurgents hiding just out of sight on the road ahead or when your foot was about an inch away from setting of an IED. Thomas gritted his teeth and looked around the room with a renewed sense of urgency; he didn't know whether he was looking for weapons, supplies, or just a safe place to hunker down, he only knew that he needed it soon and he wasn't finding it.<br><br>Kinkaide leaped to his feet and raced toward the far end of the cubicle as the heat blossomed over him; a large cargo net covered the wall and held the few crates of MREs and water rations steady. His feet left the floor as the plane went into its dive and he fell the last few feet toward the net. Most of the equipment in the cubicle was fortunately bolted down or otherwise secured, and the last thing Thomas wanted to be was unsecured himself. He snapped the safety harnesses attached to his suit onto the cargo net and held on for hell or high water just as the engine's roar fell away and the whole damn room went into total freefall.<br><br>Thomas could hear the loose metal bolts holding the cot in place shriek in protest as the metal frame warped under the centrifugal force of the freefall until they snapped and the bed flew back and forth in the middle of the cubicle. It slammed against the walls again and again, often missing Kinkaide's head by mere feet. The screaming rush of air blowing past outside began to dim and he realized impact was coming soon. <em>'I wish I spoke German,'</em> Kinkaide thought as the ground raced up to meet them. <em>'Maybe then I'd have the vocabulary required to describe just how enormously fucked I am...'</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>31-03-2013, 05:54:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Your Cubicle<br>Falling<br>Somewhere Over Antarctica</strong><br><br>Before the airplane had thrown your cubicle loose, the pilot had said that your altitude was three kilometers.&nbsp; Perhaps you had retained a clear enough head to perform the appropriate calculations, and determined that it would take just over half a minute for you to hit ice, smashing yourself to bits in the process.&nbsp; Even if you survived impact -- even if you survived uninjured -- you would be trapped in the desolate wastes of Lake Vostok in a freak blizzard.&nbsp; At least the burning wreckage of the plane may provide some temporary warmth before the unending polar night claimed you.<br><br>Thirty seconds came and went, and still you were falling.&nbsp; A minute passed, and then two, then five, and yet you and your cubicle still hung suspended in freefall.&nbsp; Even if you were not well versed in the equations of motion, even if you were too panicked to wonder how long it would take before you became a bloody smear on the ice shelf, you would have to know that if you've been falling for over five minutes and still have no hit the ground, something was not right.&nbsp; Snow, lit by the light in your cublicle shining out through a small tear in the wall, could be seen as small white blurs streaking by against the inky blackness of a night blizzard.&nbsp; Sometimes the snow streaked up, other times to the right or left.<br><br>Another five minutes passed uneventfully.<br><br>The cubicle vibrated, a slight tremor you probably would not notice unless you were touching one of the inner surfaces.&nbsp; And then you hit the unseen ground, but it was not nearly as vicious an impact as you had imagined.&nbsp; One moment you were floating, and the next you fell to the "floor" of the cubicle.&nbsp; The force of your fall was no greater than if you had just jumped off a low hanging tree branch.&nbsp; Definitely not hard enough to cause injury, excepting sprains from an awkward landing of course.&nbsp; Even the best athlete could roll her ankle if she landed on the side of her foot.<br><br>Now settled on the ground, you'd notice that the door had been wrenched loose during the release from the airplane and the ensuing fall.&nbsp; It bulged outward slightly, revealing gently falling snow through the cracks; no wind.&nbsp; A good shove or kick could force the door open.<br><br>Outside, you'd find other cubicles scattered around you: the rooms of the other passengers on the plane.&nbsp; Not all of them were present; the plane had held dozens, but there were only ten cubicles here that you could see, scattered around you in an area smaller than a square acre.&nbsp; From the outside, they looked much the same as they did on the inside, although they each had a number between 1 and 30 painted on their side.&nbsp; It was pitch black outside, but you could see the immediate area relatively well from the light that leaked through the cracks of your cubicle and the others.&nbsp; Beyond the cubicles, the area was pitch black. The ground underfoot was flat and covered in nearly a meter of snow, but the air was surprisingly calm.&nbsp; Above, the sky was paradoxically clear, revealing a pristine tapestry of stars that ran from one horizon to the other.&nbsp; There were no clouds or any source of the blizzard and snowfall.&nbsp; Nonetheless, the air was bitterly cold, probably colder than you'd ever felt before.&nbsp; Warmth was a priority, lest you freeze to death.<br><br>To the west, a miniscule red smear of light marred the horizon, easily several kilometers away.&nbsp; It looked like fire.&nbsp; To the east, a pinprick of light blinked between red and white on top of a thin tower.&nbsp; It was much closer, but still at least a kilometer away.<br><br>Four of the cubicles remained closed.&nbsp; Numbers painted on the outside labeled them as #1, #7, #18, and #19.<br><br><hr><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Just so everything is clear: You and the other five players are able to leave your cubicle; you're all in the same general area.&nbsp; The cubicles are scattered about, no more than a dozen meters from the others.&nbsp; Despite the lack of clouds, a thin snow is falling, and there's no wind.&nbsp; I'm assuming all of the player characters leave their cubicles, which means that four of the ten cubicles remain closed.&nbsp; Is someone (or something) in them?&nbsp; Are they empty?&nbsp; Only one way to find out...&nbsp; BTW, unless you've worked out some kind of backstory prior to the events of this game, none of your characters have ever met.<br><br><br>Hint: Those of you who've explored your MOBA's may recall that they have a built-in compass.</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Eleah</strong> on <strong>31-03-2013, 11:21:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				((Sorry this has taken so long! Harper is back though!))<br><br>Harper was on the verge of replying to the surprising response when metaphorical shit hit the fan. She had her hand raised and everything when suddenly a jolt like a bucking bronco threw her off feet and back onto her bed, the young woman involuntarily letting out a squeal of fear.<br><br>The impact knocked the wind out of her, the suddenness of the planes violent shaking stalling her brain, rendering her incapable of thought as she watched her cubicle rock and shake around her; as though, in her preoccupation with sending coded messages, someone had swapped her room for a an empty can and put her into a paint mixer.<br><br>“Fuck,” she finally managed to gasp. Everything was going to Hell real fast and all Harper could manage was a quiet ‘fuck’. Instinct made her grab onto the rails of her cot, bracing herself as best she could as she tried to cope with what was going on. The roar of the engine seemed to obliterate everything, making her wish she could cover her ears but Harper knew she couldn’t remove her hands from the death grip she had on the rails. She could hear herself hyperventilating but there was no way she was about to stop right now. Every time she shut her eyes she was suddenly trapped in the darkness of a sinking sub and a horrible feeling of doom clawed at a stomach that was invariably filled with lead or butterflies as the plane alternated between rising and falling.<br><br>Somewhere she heard the noise of a scream all muddled up with the roaring and crashing, somewhere she heard the garbled voice of the intercom. Somewhere, she prayed, someone was trying very hard to get them out of this situation because God knew, Harper was fucked right about now.<br><br>Then the heat, the cold and she was suddenly falling for real. Harper shut her eyes, let out a scream and blacked out…<br><br>…<br><br>…<br><br>Harper awoke to the soft whistling of the light breeze that passed through the cracks in her cubicle wall. She hadn’t seen the cracks yet though, all she could see was the legs of her cot as she lay there, splayed on the cold, metal floor. It was a good thing she had her hood on, or half her face would probably be frost-bitten.<br><br>She stirred, pushing herself up feebly on shaking limbs, her whole body feeling weak, sore and cold, her mind feeling dazed, slow and confused. Crouching on the floor of the now stationary cubicle, Harper cast her gaze through the cracks in the wall, watching flecks of snow falling gently outside. Through the haze of shock and a sudden fatigue, Harper still knew something wasn’t right.<br><br>Where was the storm? There was a storm, right, the one that had knocked them out of the sky? She rose to her feet and stepped over to where the door to the compartment hung slightly off its hinges. Harper rattled the handle but it seemed like it was still locked. Gritting her teeth, she leant against the frame and put her weight into it, causing it to pop open after a moments effort, sending her sprawling into the snow outside.<br><br>Coughing the cold ice out of her mouth she rose to her knees, seeing the other cubicles that surrounded the softly lit area, all close together, all undamaged. Something wasn’t quite right. Harper cupped her hands to her mouth and cried out, “HELLO?!”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>01-04-2013, 08:50:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kinkaide grimaced and held on tight to the cargo net, bracing for impact as he anticipated meeting the ground at near-terminal velocity. And waited. And... waited. He opened one eye and looked around in confusion as the cubicle continued its journey toward impact, a journey that should have ended ten, fifteen, twenty seconds ago. And still he fell.<br><br>What the everloving fuck?<br><br>Thomas released his grip on the cargo net and stretched out toward a small hole in the cubicle wall; after six minutes of solid freefall he was already dead. It was just a matter of his body catching up with the physics. All he wanted now was to satisfy the curiosity of where the hell his corpse was about to crash and he strained to see through the dark and the wind and the whipping snow, but even the slowly fading adrenaline that flooded through him wasn't enough to grant superhuman vision. Kinkaide snarled in frustration at his own helplessness and pounded a fist against the wall, furious that this should be how it ended.<br><br><em>'Shoulda just bought it in Nicaragua,'</em> he thought bitterly as he pushed off the wall and angled his body to return to the cargo net, his finely honed survival instincts unwilling to simply surrender even in this completely hopeless-- *WHUMP* The cubicle finally touched down, with a fraction of the force it should have developed during its flight. Thomas was thrown from the net and went sprawling across the cubicle's floor, his head cracking against a loose crate of MREs. He rubbed away the soreness on his crown and rose to his feet, found the little MOBA still in his pocket and knelt back at the small hole in the wall. Yeah, he'd touched down, all right, but unless there was a convoy waiting outside for him with a fifth of bourbon and a Big Mac he was still dead. Just slower now.<br><br>The cubicle door was stuck shut, probably jammed from the impact. Thomas took a couple of steps back from it and suddenly lunged forward, bringing up one heavily booted foot in a solid side kick. Two more strikes convinced the door to swing free and Kinkaide walked outside to see what fresh hell he'd been dropped into. "What in the fuckin' name of Jesus and the Mexicans...?" the Staff Sergeant muttered as he wandered among the other cubicles, as ragged and beat-up as his own, and the slightly impossible cloudless snow. The air felt cold, but not just cold; it felt... <em>sick</em> wasn't quite the right word, but it would have to do; Kinkaide wasn't in the mood to freeze to death while playing Scrabble.<br><br>The sound of tortured metal giving way snapped Kinkaide's attention to another cubicle and he ducked behind one of the unopened boxes. He watched, wary, as another suited figure stumbled out into the deep freeze. Part of him relaxed a little as the figure shouted and he realized it was a woman, but he remained on guard; just because he wasn't armed didn't mean she couldn't be. On the other hand, a nice peaceful bullet wasn't exactly sounding unwelcome at the moment.<br><br>Thomas stepped back around the cubicle's corner and leaned against the frozen metal before she turned to see him. It was too dark to see her face even if it wasn't completely covered by the suit's hood and goggles, but he had a feeling she was surprised to see him anyway. "I don't suppose you've got an Icebreaker cruise ship or a Black Hawk chopper stashed in your pocket," he called out, then took a couple of easy steps forward. "I'm Staff Sergeant Thomas Kinkaide, U.S. Army Rangers," Kinkaide said, introducing himself. "Who are you, and do you know what the hell we're doing out here?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Eleah</strong> on <strong>01-04-2013, 09:35:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Though she had just been calling out in search of another living soul, it still came as a shock to find her summons answered so readily. He came out from behind one of the containers that surrounded her and though he moved slowly and steadily, Harper couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she’d been snuck up upon.<br><br>Rising into a half-crouch, her body tensed and ready, she looked up at him as he approached. The similar design of their thermal suits suggested that he’d also been in one of the containers, but right now Harper wasn’t in the mood to trust anything. Surviving a thousand feet drop from a crashing plane onto an Antarctic plain with messed up weather does that to you. He said he was a Marine though, that might potentially put them on the same side.<br><br>She paused a moment before slowly getting back to her feet. From the ground she knew he was tall, but now she’d risen she realised how physically imposing he was. The thought didn’t exactly reassure her.<br><br>“Harper McAdams. US Navy Diver, First Class,” she murmured. She gave him a limp salute but didn’t quite relax. “I’m just as lost as you Staff Sergeant. One moment I was putting on a thermal suit and tapping out some Morse code, the next minute the plane was going down. At least, I think it was? I blacked out...” Harper cast her gaze around their immediate vicinity, noting for the first time the absence of any plane wreckage, save for the multitude of cubicles. Her voice took on a slightly firmer edge as she turned back to regard him closely, almost suspiciously. “Come to think of it, do you know what happened to the plane? Were you part of the crew or were you in one of the-these b-boxes?” She shivered as she finished the sentence, drawing the thermal suit closer around her. It didn't keep her quite as warm as she'd hoped.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>01-04-2013, 17:15:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A human’s body could only support so much adrenaline before the fear had to melt away. Aibhlinn was used to the jolts it usually delivered to her, it was better than any high that coffee could ever give but now this was ridiculous, having stretched out for far too long and burned her veins dry. Fear was replaced with anger and annoyance, frustration as she had yet to hit the ground. There was no way she was wrong about how much time had passed; the ground should have turned her into jelly by now. When she was sky-diving in Chile it took only ten seconds to reach terminal velocity and cover the first thousand feet. In a box, in this weather, she anticipated the final plunge to be shorter than that. Alice down the Rabbit hole, that’s who she was, should have fuckin’ stayed in Alaska.<br><br>The impact was a doubt, but because she didn’t believe in it, it chose that precise moment to come. The archaeologist did finally land but not at all in a graceful heap on the ground. She hit what had been the ceiling, cursing as she exhaled and was sandwiched between frigid metal and the containers of food, what had been her bed, and frozen bottles of water. To add to insult, the blankets scattered everywhere else but near her to provide cushioning for the snow, and in one case, for the MOBA which was far from arm’s reach.<br><br>“Fuck.” She was calm, dizzy but at ease. A slow breath in, a slow exhale. Access the situation. <em>Mild pain in the skull, either from tension headache or residual effects of the adrenaline. Most likely a concussion. Chest and stomach are fine, limbs are pretty achy, nothing feels broken.</em> Breathe. Exhale. Push.<br><br>One of the frozen bottles of water slipped free and rolled towards an open corner of the room, but everything else just shifted and groaned. Aibhlinn tried rotating her hips, patiently wiggling and adjusting until she realized that she wasn’t getting any heft because she was so damn cold. Everything was worse in the cold; sex, stubbing your toe, going Hulk when you were pinned down by a pathetic assortment of shit. “Aibhlinn Bannon: killed in action by some bits of wood and MREs.” She kicked, she wiggled, she cursed in every language she knew and finally came free with a wince and a noisy thump against the door. Not much room to go LAPD on the door and kick it down, but like an irritated cat who wanted to get into another room, she was able to push an arm out, wave it around, and wiggle her face through.<br><br>Wait… did she hear voices?<br><br>She paused, holding her breath. There! “Oy! Me doors a wanker and won’t budge, a bit o' help here!” She pulled back, snatching the MOBA with her and stuffed it in her pocket. "You guys ok out there?" Not that she was in any position for saving, but hell, she'd give anything a shot, once.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>01-04-2013, 20:38:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: Middle of nowhere<br><strong>Time</strong>: Late. <br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Open<br><hr><br>James was thrown to the floor as the cubicle landed in the ice and snow below. He laid there for a moment, waiting to see what else might happen. He didn't know what to expect, like crashing through the ground, or maybe he had more to fall. There was a level of shock that made it difficult to analyze the situation. It felt like an hour, but was only a couple of seconds before he pulled himself up onto his feet. He gave himself a quick once over, not trusting his body to actually feel pain with the adrenaline through his system. Nothing seemed to be protruding from his skin, thought he heavy suit he was wearing made it difficult to really prove that anyway. He patted himself down, to make sure he still had his MOBA, before moving over to the door. The wind howling outside made it difficult to be certain he wasn't still falling, but he pushed aside that primal fear and began to kick at the door. A few hard kicks that echoed inside the cubicle, before a shoulder slam sent the door flinging open. <br><br>He stumbled out a few steps, eyes darting around quickly before he managed to resist tumbling into the cold ground. There was some comfort in seeing other people out there, even if it meant others were just as screwed as he was. He cocked his head to the side with a little surprise at seeing Thomas, but it didn't seem like the moment for a reunion. He stepped out of his cubicle to head towards the two, "Is everybody alright?" He eyed each of them over, as if their actual response meant less than his own quick analysis. He turned his head at the sound of somebody still inside their own cubicle. He cleared his throat, tightening up his hood now that he could actually feel the wind against him, "We need to check the rest of these... things for more people, and then we need to get moving somewhere... Unless anybody knows that plane is coming back, we should move out."<br><br>He was already moving towards Aibhlinn's cubicle at the sounds, gesturing for the others to check out cubicles. He wasn't really a leader, he wasn't used to giving out orders. He was just terrified, and not happy with being outside in the snow. He knocked on the door to the cubicle, "I'm going to get you out." It was a brief automatic encouragement, even if James didn't necessarily know that 'out' was better than 'in.' He gripped the handle and brought a foot up to the side in an effort to wrench the door free. The exertion of sore arm muscles was one thing; the real painful part was the quick inhales that came with it, rushing icy air right to his lungs. Once the door was open, he rested his hands on his thighs, "A-are you okay? Are you injured?" 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>02-04-2013, 00:43:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aibhlinn wasn’t under any guise that as soon as she got out of this little cage all would be well, there were more questions than answers out there in the snow, and she wasn’t entirely certain that she was ready to face them. But freezing out in the open was better than freezing in a prison cell, so the moment the door swung open she stumbled out and caught her hand on its edge, trying to resist the urge to lick at her chapped lips. “I’m fuckin’ pissed is what I am!” To demonstrate, she kicked the side of her container with no reserved aggression. It echoed loudly, but the pitch was dull and died quickly from the snow.<br><br>“’Come to Antarctica’, they said, ‘forgotten history unlike anything ye’ ‘ave ever seen’! What a load of horse shit!” Her brogue thickened with her anger, and the green of her eyes flashed with venom as she scanned the icy wasteland for someone to blame. If that unfortunate sod ever showed themselves, they were going to get a taste of her temper and bare-knuckle boxing. It was just snow. The four of them, their containers, and snow. Not even a Yeti.<br><br>Damn though, if her head didn’t hurt.<br><br>It took a few seconds for her anger to calm down and the unease to return. There was no burning debris to suggest a crash, but there was a faint glow on the horizon, and if the stars were telling her right it was to the west. The plane? She didn’t remember a boom or any sound of impact other than their own. Would have been so strange, even after their fall? And what of the sky? Bannon frowned, staring up at the clear smear of ebony above them. She felt like she was standing in a fairy circle, the little tiny hairs on the back of her neck and arms were climbing up to attention and it wasn’t only due to the cold. This felt… off. She doubted that came from the concussion, Aibhlinn knew she could trust her instincts. So she did. Caution, always.<br><br>“Blimey if it isn’t cold…” She allowed herself the opportunity to shiver, but found herself stepping forward instead of standing in one spot. Standing still would only drop her body temperature, and there were still a few cubicles left that might hold survivors. Or not. Best to check them and press on. “I don’t suppose any of you happen to have a gun, would ya?” She called over her shoulder, treading through the snow and to the box closest to her, marked ‘#1’. “I’d feel a whole lot better if one of us sorry sods had something that went bang.” She reached the cubicle, giving it a knock, then felt stupid for doing it. "Marco?" With a boot planted on the edge, she took the door with both hands and wrenched it open.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>02-04-2013, 01:31:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Cubicle #1<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>The door was undamaged, and it popped open with only slight resistance when Aibhlinn tugged.&nbsp; The sudden movement sent snow swirling through the frigid air.<br><br>Inside, the cubicle looked much as the others: completely wrecked.&nbsp; MRE's, water bottles, and various debris was thrown about.&nbsp; The chest with the thermal suits had broken loose from its restraints and, as told by the various dents in the foam of the walls, had apparently bounced around the room during freefall.&nbsp; The cot at least was still secure, and the lightstrip on the ceiling continued to burn bright; any warmth it may have given off was immediately smothered by the frigid cold.&nbsp; A knot of blankets took up the corner of the room where the chest had been.&nbsp; An asian woman in a thermal suit, no more than thirty years old, lay halfway inside the mound of fabric with her stomach on the bare floor.&nbsp; Her head rested in the center of a sizable pool of blood, already frozen into a crimson rime.&nbsp; When Aibhlinn looked in, she could see the woman's lifeless eyes staring back out at her.<br><br><hr><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Your view of the night sky</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://mdparker46.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/milky-way.jpg)</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>LtFox</strong> on <strong>03-04-2013, 16:29:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Carl was nearly paralyzed with terror for a moment as the freefall continued, but eventually his brain thawed enough that he realized that something was seriously wrong.&nbsp; Aerodynamics weren't his specialty, but elementary physics were apparently being violated at the moment, as the minutes flowed by, and still no impact.&nbsp; Questions began circling his mind, and just as he was about to voice more curses, his downward journey came to an end.<br><br>After recovering from the shock of the cubicle actually coming to a stop, Carl slowly unwound himself from the mattresses and blankets, confirming that he had nothing worse than some fairly serious bruises in some places.&nbsp; &nbsp; He began hearing some voices outside after a while, so he filled his pockets with all the MREs and water he could find in the cubicle, checked that he had the MOBA and his lucky multitool, then began working the door.&nbsp; It took some grunting, followed by curses, but eventually he managed to pry, kick and ram the door enough to get outside.<br><br>The situation outside the cubicle was not at all more comfortable.&nbsp; He briefly noted the people that were also milling outside, mainly military types like him from their movements, but others too.&nbsp; All that was eclipsed by the seriously freaky weather, though.&nbsp; Even if it was the Antarctic, he was familiar with snow, and this didn't really look normal at all.&nbsp; That weird glow wasn't helping either.<br><br>Eventually, he tired of fruitlessly analyzing the situation without more data, and jogged over to the others near some of the cubicles.&nbsp; He kept himself alert in this unknown situation, and sized each man and woman up in a threat analysis as he neared them.&nbsp; After getting there he stopped for a moment and gave his name after looking at all the others.<br><br>"Sergeant First Class Carl Edelfelt, what have we got thus far?&nbsp; After we've verified the number of survivors, we should probably pool our knowledge and equipment.&nbsp; We won't last long out here in this weather, so we need to get moving after securing this site."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>07-04-2013, 20:08:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The dead had no reflection. If you’ve noticed it once, you’ve noticed it a hundred, maybe a thousand times; light didn’t twinkle in the eyes of the dead. They sat there like empty dead pools, accusing you as you bear witness to their life-stuff being snuffed out. The looks had never been comforting, it often placed a sickening twist to her guts but Aibhlinn was used to it, if nothing else. What was the difference between a corpse, fresh or new? At least it didn’t stink. At least the woman was found and not left here to be discovered by scavengers and scattered across the ice.<br><br>Aibhlinn frowned, standing in the frame for nearly a solid minute before she released an irritated sigh and stepped into the cubicle. Any hopeful whisper at the back of her mind was turned down another notch. “Sorry to disturb you, lassy.” Dead or not, the Irish woman spoke in a low murmur, as if the dead had only been sleeping and needed nothing more than a familiar voice for reassurance. Sometimes people got funny with the dead, but when you crawl through tombs that were supposed to be sacred resting places, she came to the conclusion that voicing some respect, even if they couldn't really hear it, never hurt anyone. “I’ll just be a tick, jus’ relax.”<br><br>MREs weren’t useless at this point; a few were stashed in her pockets, while the heating packs and Tabasco sauce of others were tucked in separately. Their combined forces, added with some ice and water, wasn’t enough to take a hand off; but if they needed to scare away some polar bears it acted as a great, noisy bomb. Wait a minute... Were there polar bears? Or just an army of pissed off penguins? She hesitated for half a second, trying to wrack her brain on the indigenous animals to the area, and settled on a few more packs when she remembered the elephant seal. She hated those things.<br><br>Satisfied, Aibhlinn turned to the body and frisked her down; everyone was entitled to one, personal item, and if this woman had decided to bring a knife or even a laser pen, she wasn’t going to leave it behind if it could save their lives later. She was thorough, searching down into the woman’s pockets even in the first layer of clothing, before she repositioned her as best as her stiff limbs would allow, and covered the woman with the blankets.<br><br>Her MOBA clattered to the floor, screen adding more illumination to the room as the large black font of whatever she had been reading blinked up at her. Aibhlinn picked that up as well, glancing at the name on the back of the device, before reading the contents with no less confusion. “Hey!” Aibhlinn left the cubicle with a little more energy, feeling her guts warm as a new series of riddles presented themselves. This was familiar to her, this at least, she could confront head-on. “Guys! Turn on your MOBA’s. Any of you get this same message?” She lifted the pilfered item up like a beacon, "and does this thing have GPS?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Karasu</strong> on <strong>07-04-2013, 20:16:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As Kyari got out of her own cubicle, she shivered and called out. "Hello?!" Nice and loud as she tried to get someone's attention. When she saw a few people she grabbed some MREs and water bottles, stashing them inside a bit of sheet to carry with her for now, maybe someone had a better storage about. Though when she'd get close, she wouldn't say much, but nodded when Aibhlinn mentioned a message. She checked to confirm that she had gotten it as well, gods this was curious.. "Umm a-anyone else besides me think this hadn't gone according to plan?" She said softly, almost impossible to hear thanks to the wind and her own small voice.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>08-04-2013, 00:54:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Cubicle #1<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>The body was still warm when Aibhlinn searched it, indicating the woman had died when they landed.&nbsp; She found a number of MRE's and half-frozen water bottles stuffed in the woman's suit.&nbsp; Apparently, she had been as eager to be prepared as Aibhlinn was, for as much good as it had eventually done her.<br><br>It took a minute to find, but eventually Aibhlinn found the woman's one personal item: a heavily creased photograph (http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2744/4504501560_566611d802_z.jpg) tucked into the woman's front left pocket of her button-down shirt.&nbsp; None of the people in the photograph were her, but there was enough of a similarity between her and the older woman and man to suggest that they were her parents.&nbsp; Something was written in mandarin on the back, but it had been smudged into illegibility.<br><br>Her MOBA was undamaged.&nbsp; The text on the back read,<br><br><div align="center">"GUO, DIANE T&nbsp; <br>552962AKKGSBXH827352DITGU"</div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>09-04-2013, 09:46:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"So that was you bangin' on my wall, Squiddy?" Kinkaide nodded as he took another look around, sparing a glance upward as he too tried to puzzle out why the hell a bunch of boxes in free-fall took more than ten minutes to terminate. He grimaced as she questioned him, the same questions and more bouncing around his dented skull. "No idea what happened to the bird. I was too busy pinballin' in my little cubbyhole, same as you."<br><br>Further conversation was interrupted as another survivor burst out of one of the containers and approached them. "No injuries here, if that's all you're asking," Thomas said as the man drew near. Something about his voice seemed familiar, but the Staff Sergeant couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before. He turned with the others toward the sound of a woman shouting in what sounded like garbled English inside another box, and as the other man headed to investigate Kinkaide tapped McAdams on the shoulder and pointed toward two more unopened cubicles, his meaning clear: 'you take one, I'll take the other.'<br><br>He jogged toward the nearby container, #19, and studied it briefly. Banging on the frozen metal with one gloved fist got Thomas no response, and the doors were already stuck shut with a thickening glaze of ice. Another strong kick shattered the ice and dented the door in slightly, but not enough to give any indication what lay within. "Hello! Is anyone in there!" Kinkaide shouted through the makeshift opening, but again no reply came. Another chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept down his spine and he backed away from the silent cubicle, his expression grim.<br><br>A fifth and sixth survivor were already near the center of the 'crash' site when he returned. Kinkaide glanced over to McAdams to see if she'd fared any better, then nodded toward Edelfelt. "I didn't hear any booms when we touched down, so if we figure everyone had about the same landing we can probably assume everyone's here who's comin'. Looks like we've got our pick of a long walk," he said, pointing toward the red and white blinking tower in the east, "and a longer walk." He turned and pointed at what looked like distant fire light to the west. "Anywhere else, I'd suggest splitting into teams and investigating both sites, but given our situation that doesn't appear too feasible. That tower is likely to be Vostok; somebody check their mobile toy and correct me if I'm wrong. If it is, we need to head there and get the comms working to call for evac and brief the higher-ups on mission status."<br><br>The accented woman (Scottish? Welsh? Kinkaide had no idea, but he was pretty sure of two things: it was a UK accent, and it was not one of the sexy ones) stepped out of another cubicle and rushed toward them, waving her arms at them. Thomas narrowed his eyes as he reached for his own MOBA and read through the cryptic warnings. The Hornsounder, huh? Kinkaide had played enough X-Box to recognize freaky shit when he saw it, and they'd just entered Game of the Year territory. The Asian woman mumbled something about a plan and Thomas shook his head as he slid the device back into a pocket.<br><br>"I don't know about you, sweetheart, but I sure as hell <em>hope</em> this ain't part of any plan..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>10-04-2013, 00:53:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: Not Sure<br><strong>Time</strong>: Not Sure<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Open<br><hr><br>James smiled wide and gave a relieved sigh at somebody else with a higher rank being in the situation. He wasn't sure there would be more military men, but he was glad he wasn't in a situation where he'd have to take charge. He gave a brief salute to Carl Edelfelt, "Hospital Corpsman Third Class James Endast, Sir." The rest of Carl's instructions seemed in line with his own, and he didn't find any reason to continue debating them. He glanced around as he saw two out of the cubicles were already being opened. Nobody ordered for a medic, so he continued towards his own.<br><br>He gave a long glance over at Thomas, mostly just to confirm that the man looked familiar. A chill running down his spine from the air around him made him draw his attention back to the task at hand. He jogged over towards the #18 Cubicle and proceeded to work on getting it open. The rest of the conversation happening around him was ignored, the medic yelling at the potentially empty cubicle, "Hey! We're getting this open!" James gave a few hard kicks at the handle before trying to wrench it open to free whomever might be inside -- presuming that there was somebody inside. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>10-04-2013, 04:26:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Outside Cubicle #18<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>The door was jammed tight, but a few solid kicks dislodged the warped metal from its frame.&nbsp; The door swung inward, revealing an interior similar to the other cubicles.&nbsp; An older man sat on the overturned cot at the far side of the small room, a bloody hand clapped to his forehead.&nbsp; He was dressed in a thermal suit, with a shock of graying brown hair that may have been neatly combed before the crash.&nbsp; His exhalations were short and quick, sending out small plumes of mist with every breath.&nbsp; He didn't look up when the door was kicked open.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>12-04-2013, 19:56:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: Antartica: At Cubicle #18<br><strong>Time</strong>: Not Sure<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Open<br><hr><br>James couldn't help but notice the injured man as soon as he opened the door, he had been trained to seek out that kind of thing. The rest of the room got only a cursory glance, mainly for anything that might cause more danger or risk to the potential patient. He nearly slipped on the ground with his urgency, his boots tracking in ice and snow. He closed the distance and dropped to his knees next to the older man. He offered quiet consolations to the man, "Hey, Hey! Look at me... I'm here to help, we're going to get you out of here. What's your name? Where are you hurt?" <br><br>It was obvious the man had at least the blow to his head, but the conversation was more to get a gauge for his faculties. He had no pen light to test the man's eyes, and the lack of reaction made him nervous the man was in shock. He reached up to gently grip the man's wrist, pulling that hand away to get a quick look at the extent of the damage before letting the man reapply the pressure to the wound. He looked quickly at the rest of the man's body, looking for blood soaking through, tears in the suit, or anything bending the wrong way. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>18-04-2013, 02:02:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Cubicle #18<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>The man's hand came away feebly, the bloody glove shaking.&nbsp; Underneath, James would find a vicious crescent gash that arced from the man's left eyebrow across his forehead into his hair.&nbsp; It appeared to be shallow, fortunately, but was nonetheless bleeding profusely.&nbsp; The rest of his body seemed unharmed, although it would be impossible to know if something was fractured or bruised until he tried to move.<br><br>James only had a second to assess the wound before the man clamped his hand back over the gash.&nbsp; He didn't respond or look up when James spoke, even as a rivulet of blood snaked down the bridge of his nose and around his mouth.<br><br><hr><br><strong>Cubicle Field<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>Outside, Carl, Aibhlinn, and Kyari stood near the cubicle with the dead woman.&nbsp; The light snow continued to fall from a clear sky, but the air was still, and they could see the band of the Milky Way stark against the blackness of space.&nbsp; Across that heavenly stairway, a shooting star fell.&nbsp; It originated directly above them, falling to the north.&nbsp; It was a delicate white streak at first, but it quickly grew into a fiery gash with a burning head.&nbsp; For two heartbeats, it shot across the sky so brilliantly that their bodies and the cubicles sent hard shadows gliding smoothly over the pale snow.&nbsp; <br><br>The falling star exploded silently halfway above the horizon, forming a fireball as large as a thumb held at arm's length.&nbsp; For a single breathless moment, they stood beneath an artificial sun twice as bright as Sol at noon.<br><br>The light quickly faded, leaving several dozen red and orange streamers arcing gracefully towards the horizon, each one it's own miniature star.&nbsp; A person with particularly keen eyes may even be able to pick out the dark gray trail of smoke against the Milky Way -- if they had not been blinded by the flash of course.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lockepick</strong> on <strong>18-04-2013, 19:19:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v140/Lockepick/Character%20Pictures/6e6c4fa8-8c63-426d-8be2-dff93c9e04cd_zps0d60e44c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: <em>Hospital Corpsman Third Class</em> <span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">James Endast</span><br><strong>Location</strong>: Antartica -- Cubicle #18<br><strong>Time</strong>: Not Sure<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Open<br><hr><br>James winced at the sight of the gash. It wasn't about the gore of it, but more a silent curse that the wound was as bad as he was expecting. He didn't have any supplies out here, nor did he know what supplies were available at whatever base they were heading to. The lack of a reply just painted an even worse picture for the wound. Still, he couldn't waste any time in thinking about the worst case scenario, he had to think of what he could do. He spoke to the man, even if he wasn't sure he could be heard, "Listen... You're going to be fine. We're going to get you out of here, okay?" <br><br>James got up from the spot, as the man seemed to be conscious enough to keep the pressure on the wound. He looked around the room to find anything he could to assist with keeping the man alive. He grabbed the sheets of the cot, ripping a strip free with his teeth before moving back over towards the injured man. He moved the man's hand once again to apply the strip of fabric around his head like a crude bandage before once again letting the man put the pressure on the wound, in a crude hope the material would help the wound clot even a little, "Stay right here, I'll be right back for you."<br><br>He pushed up from his spot and went back to the door to the cubicle, the cold outside making him wonder if that would help or hurt. He left the door open for the meantime and jogged back out to the center. He yelled out to the crowd, not even really sure who he was talking to, "We got a really hurt guy in there, he's in shock. I'm going to need some help carrying him. We need to finish searching and get him out of here!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>22-04-2013, 03:34:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kinkaide floundered for a moment between surprise that anyone else had actually survived and annoyance at being proven wrong so quickly. He hurried toward the medic and the newly opened container, unsure of what he could do to help but determined to lend whatever aid he could render. There didn't look like much around they could make a stretcher out of, so if the injury prevented the man from walking he was pretty certain he was fucked.<br><br>He stepped into the container and looked around, uncertain. "Where do you want to carry him to? Seems like it might be better to just get him back on that cot and let him rest in here. It's not much, but he'd be out of the weather at least," Thomas muttered as he knelt gingerly beside the older man. At least in the light from the cubicle he'd finally recognized the younger medic. It was some small comfort seeing a familiar face all the way out here, but mostly he was just sorry the cute little nurse had been dragged into this with him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>22-04-2013, 04:30:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aibhlinn frowned, unable to stop the sudden feeling of frustration getting the better of her. It seemed as if no one was in the mood to start making sense of any of this, they were still undergoing the shell shock of their drops. But could she really blame anyone of them? Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she stepped foot out into the snow, and that wasn’t only due to the cold or the likely concussion ringing in her ears. Not only had their ‘employers’ delivered them a nasty surprise, the survivors were stuck in the unfamiliar wonderland of the unknown; complete with the skyline she only photo-shopped inside of magazines. “Well Diane,” the explorer mumbled to her dead ‘friend’. “Looks like I’m on my own.”<br><br>The younger kid and the unenthusiastic American were occupied with a survivor in another cubicle. It gave Aibhlinn a sense of encouragement, but little hope. She moved onto Cubicle #7, stuffing the MOBA and photograph belonging to Diane inside one of her cargo pockets. Maybe this time she would have a little more luck than a cold corpse staring at her with unjust accusations for their demise. “This is why I prefer tombs. The dead have more interesting things to say. Come on, Lass. Let’s see what’s behind door number three.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Question Mark</strong> on <strong>09-05-2013, 04:16:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Cubicle Field<br>??<br>Somewhere in Antarctica</strong><br><br>The shockwave slammed into the unsuspecting group of stranded explorers.<br><br>It appeared on northern horizon moments before it struck, a bulbous white mass of swirling snow and compressed air.&nbsp; It raced towards them at Mach 2, and when it struck, it hit hard.&nbsp; For those still outside -- Aibhlinn, Kyari, and Carl -- the world suddenly went white and quiet.&nbsp; Gravity vanished, and a great invisible hand slapped their body like a cat batting at a dangled toy, knocking the breath out of them.<br><br>Standing as they were waist deep in snow, they were not thrown by the blast wave.&nbsp; The <em>whoomph</em> of the impact made their ears sound like they were full of cotton, and Carl and Kyari suddenly found themselves chest-deep in snow, their cheeks bleeding from thrown ice.&nbsp; Aibhlinn was shielded by the cubicle and suffered the less for it, with no cuts or burial in snow.&nbsp; However, had the cubicle not been in deep snow, she likely would have been crushed when it tipped over.<br><br>The air was white with swirling ice kicked up by the shockwave.&nbsp; Visibility had been reduced to a handful of meters: good enough to see each other and the other cubicles, but bad enough that the rest of the world could have blown up and they wouldn't know it.<br><br>A woman began shouting in the cubicle next to Aibhlinn.&nbsp; It sounded distant and muffled, as if the shouter was standing opposite from her across a football field filled with cotton.&nbsp; The door vibrated repeatedly, and she'd likely realize that someone was pounding on it from the inside.<br><br>In cubicle #18, Kinkaide and James found themselves well protected from the blast.&nbsp; The cubicle prevented them from being deafened, but they nonetheless heard the shockwave as a painfully loud thunderclap.&nbsp; Aside from the contents of the room being shaken about for a few seconds and the ringing in their ears, they were almost entirely unaffected.<br><br>The injured man had not fared well.&nbsp; The surprise of the meteor's impact had sent him to his feet with a surprisingly loud shout, whereupon he tried to run outside despite his significant blood loss.&nbsp; His face was incredibly pale, and he swayed as he ran towards the door, one hand clamped to James' makeshift bandage.&nbsp; "No, no, no!" he moaned as he tried to shove past the two men.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: ARCTICA: Vostok (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 20:42:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She must have pissed off the gods; any one of them, she wasn’t particular; it wasn’t as if she believed in any one of them so why be choosy? Being biffed by a pissed off deity was far more realistic in Aibhlinn’s eyes than the notion of a comet crash-landing on earth. What were the odds; they already crashed down into the arctic, now she was hunched over in the snow, struggling to get her diaphragm to release so that oxygen could flood back into her lungs, all because of some freak-shockwave decided introduce itself to their already tire state.<br><br>She should have stayed in Alaska. She would have been happier if she had found some horrendous native who didn’t speak English, was missing all of his teeth, and married him on the spot. Aibhlinn’s head was pounding so hard she almost retched, but the only sound she could make out was the annoying cries from the other side of pod 7. Even those sounds were faint, as if her ears were packed full of snow and the cold made them ring ever so slightly. Concussion, now upgraded to possible ruptured eardrums. The woman swore more fiercely than before, somehow managing to reach up with her heavy limb and grab the handle to the pod. Both to help her find her footing again, as well as to jerk the damn thing open, releasing the prisoner inside. She hoped she was shouting, but she couldn’t be sure, “It’s alrigh’, I’m gettin’ you out!” She hoped whoever it was, was an upgrade compared to her company thus far. Preferably someone who had a gun. Or a rock. She’d feel better with a weapon. “Christ, the next person who screams near me will get punched in the throat.”
			</dd>
		</dl>
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