Ep. 2 - Firewatch – (Closed)
Oct 31, 2014 20:00:54 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2014 20:00:54 GMT -5
Set Week 1, Day 1, at roughly 2am!
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The medical bay was silent.
It was the early hours of the morning, not long after midnight. The sky was deep dark blue, and glittered with stars. The eastern edge of the great South American continent lay underneath the Nemesis, its southern and northern coasts smattered with tiny electric lights.
The ship cruised at the edge of the troposphere, coasting with ease through the thin high altitude air. The patrols were out, the rest of the ship engaged in routine surveillance and maintenance tasks. It was a quiet night. Little to be seen, little to be reported upon.
In the medical bay the only sound to be heard was the muted rumble of the ship's engines as they propelled the vessel at a low cruise airspeed. Things subtly creaked behind bulkheads, in the hull. The dull blue glow that suffused the lab ebbed briefly as the warship shuddered through clear air turbulence, then settled.
Above the biobed that supported the prone figure of Buffalo Dump the monitors flickered as well. Cables connected them to his battered head and chassis to provide a twenty–four hour readout of his systems. Most of his frame had been powered down, partly to allow him to run its own self–repair, and partly because Knock Out was in little mood for company.
However, for the moment the medical bay was empty, save for its handful of injured, off–lined patients. They lay on their own biobeds in shadow and in silence, as still as the dead. A machine beeped coldly somewhere in the gloom.
In his half–dead, half–dreaming state, only Buffalo would be able to hear the medical bay door hiss open, then shut. Footsteps clicked across the metal floor.
A moment later he would sense a shadow looming over him. A sharp talon tapped his between his closed optics.
“Buffalo Dump,” said a voice. “Wake up. This instant. And be quiet about it.”
The guttural growl was unmistakeable.
It was Commander Starscream.
––––––––
The medical bay was silent.
It was the early hours of the morning, not long after midnight. The sky was deep dark blue, and glittered with stars. The eastern edge of the great South American continent lay underneath the Nemesis, its southern and northern coasts smattered with tiny electric lights.
The ship cruised at the edge of the troposphere, coasting with ease through the thin high altitude air. The patrols were out, the rest of the ship engaged in routine surveillance and maintenance tasks. It was a quiet night. Little to be seen, little to be reported upon.
In the medical bay the only sound to be heard was the muted rumble of the ship's engines as they propelled the vessel at a low cruise airspeed. Things subtly creaked behind bulkheads, in the hull. The dull blue glow that suffused the lab ebbed briefly as the warship shuddered through clear air turbulence, then settled.
Above the biobed that supported the prone figure of Buffalo Dump the monitors flickered as well. Cables connected them to his battered head and chassis to provide a twenty–four hour readout of his systems. Most of his frame had been powered down, partly to allow him to run its own self–repair, and partly because Knock Out was in little mood for company.
However, for the moment the medical bay was empty, save for its handful of injured, off–lined patients. They lay on their own biobeds in shadow and in silence, as still as the dead. A machine beeped coldly somewhere in the gloom.
In his half–dead, half–dreaming state, only Buffalo would be able to hear the medical bay door hiss open, then shut. Footsteps clicked across the metal floor.
A moment later he would sense a shadow looming over him. A sharp talon tapped his between his closed optics.
“Buffalo Dump,” said a voice. “Wake up. This instant. And be quiet about it.”
The guttural growl was unmistakeable.
It was Commander Starscream.