Another Bug Hunt - Chapter 1

Location:
Barnaul Jump-1 Cluster
Samsa VI Orbit
J2C-II Executive Transport, Metamorphosis

       One by one, the cryopods aboard the Metamorphosis hiss open, spilling cold mist out onto the floor. Your strange, months-dreams in cryosleep gradually recede into nothingness as your vital functions resume. As you sit up in your pods’ bed, it hits you. Your head feels ready to split open. Your vision is blurred, and you can barely see through the thick mist. It feels like the room is spinning out of control. Your stomach is tied in a knot; cryosickness is a real bitch.

       Atlas, after several weeks of nominal ship operations during hyperspace travel you initiated the standard program for waking the organic crew members. Per protocol, you woke the corporate liaison for Armitage Polystellar Enterprises, Incorporated; a male in a pod labeled Maas. He is nearly incapacitated with retching before you offer him a stimpack and color returns to his face. He grabs the case of stimpacks from you without a word of thanks and proceeds down the line of cryopods. Atlas notes the appropriate corporate policy is followed; the liason first wakes the flight crew from pods labeled Anders, Renfield, and Delaney; followed by the marine contingent in pods labeled Pax, Lamontagne-Singh, Castillo, Belvedere, Schmitt, and Kimura.

      As each of you slowly regain your senses, a man approaches you with a case of medication and without warning jabs you in the arm with a stimpack. With a rush of warmth, your sickness subsides and the world snaps back into crisp focus. You are greeted by the sight of a man with a blocky head who smells faintly of instant coffee and could use a shave.

https://i.servimg.com/u/f14/20/07/71/58/abh_ma10.jpg

      “Alright team, up and at ‘em,” he says in a nasal drone, just a little bit too enthusiastic for the cryosickness still working its way out of your body. “Welcome to Samsa VI… population 25… present company excluded… home of Greta Base and the Heron Terraforming Facility… an Amitage Polystellar enterprise. Anders, Renfield? How about you get us all set up for orbital insertion. Everyone else, let’s meet in the briefing room in mmmm… let’s say 10 minutes. Chop chop people, we’re on Company time!”

       Anders, a stocky man, hops out of his cryopod with the steady legs of an experienced space traveler and heads towards the bridge. Renfield follows suit but takes a moment to rummage in his jacket for a pack of gum and pops a few pieces in his mouth. He holds the package out to Sʹyuzen. “Want any? Helps with the nausea.”

      The rest of the marines set about their personal routines for shaking off the rest of the cyrosickness. Some stretch out their stiff joints, some check their personal gear, several light up cigarettes.

+++++

       A short time later, the four of you make your way to the briefing room, joined by the other four marines, where a handful of chairs are bolted into the floor in front of a podium and video screen. Maas makes his way to the front of the room, holding a steaming cup of coffee that looks so light there might be more milk in it than coffee. He wears a padded zip up vest over a dress shirt that has somehow developed sweat stains under the arms despite its wearer only being thawed out for a few minutes.

      “Alright, good morning team, ” he drones on. “You might have been briefed already when you took the assignment, but I always like to go over these sorts of things again just in case… if you had any burning questions… or if some of you forgot… mmmkay” he gestures vaguely at the audience, then turns to the screen. A picture of a green and blue planet covered in white clouds flickers onto the screen, rotating slowly.

      “Anyway. Ten years ago the Company detected evidence of biochemistry on Samsa VI. The follow up scout probes sent back scans that showed that it’s mmm… a pretty good planet for terraforming… pretty wet, lots of rainforest coverage… stuff like that. So approximately one year ago, a skeleton crew of scientists, engineers, and marines were dropped onto Samsa VI to establish the initial colony, which consisted of Greta Base…” the screen changes to show a schematic of a boxy, prefab habitat. “And the Heron Terraforming Station…” the screen flickers again to display a schematic of a dam stretching across a river with facilities at either end.

       “So that all went fine more or less. Initial reports noted some native arthropod life forms, which the security team pretty much terminated on contact. About nine months ago the science team reported that they had captured the larval form of species for study, but mmm that was pretty much that. Six months ago, the colony went silent and hasn’t been heard from since. Aaaand basically that’s where we come in. Your mission is this:

First priority: Rendezvous with Second Lieutenant Kaplan, the marine commander of the colony and assist them in repairing the situation, whatever it might be. Next, you all are going to have to re-establish satellite communications with the colony and get that terraformer back running. If you’re all having a hard time accomplishing all that and the situation looks unsalvageable, then at a minimum the Company would like you to evacuate Dr. Edem, the mission specialist, as well as the synthetic science officer, Hinton… or at least his logic core. There’s a couple other colonists down there but umm… yeah Dr. Edem and Hinton are the big ones… So anyway, the eight of you are going to check things out down there, starting with Greta Base where the main habitats are located. I’ll be heading down with you to direct the operation from the dropship, of course.” He shuffles some papers around. “Oh, yeah… if you’re wondering about compensation, you’re getting two months standard pay plus one month of hazard pay at double rate. The company is also throwing in some equipment, which you can find in each of your crew lockers. Mmmm I think that just about covers it. Any questions? If not, lets hop to it!”

+++++
       A few hours later, your dropship punches through the cloud layer towards the colony below. All of your hails have been met with complete silence. The passenger cabin of the dropship is dimly lit with red lights and smells like sweat and motor oil. Winds buffet the ship, causing it to creak and shake. The other marines stoically grip their weapons while Maas grips the overhead handholds for dear life. Suddenly the entire dropship lurches, setting loose objects bouncing around the cabin. Loud alarms blare from the cockpit. Sʹyuzen, you grapple with the controls as you unexpectedly find yourself fighting against a tropical storm.

[Cryopods]

The beach sun blared down at him, not a could in the sky, but the warm sand felt good on his toes. The water was cold, as was the beer in his right hand. Hud sat in a fold up chair, sun glasses on, shirtless, sipping the ice cold beer. Real stuff too, not that cheap imitation bullshit they tried to pass off on deployment.

He sighed. Life was good. He was done with the Corps and had finally saved up enough to invest a little and leverage his pension into a life that wasn't complete dog shit.

Life. Was. Good.

Then the sky went black. He blinked. It was normal once again, but something was off. There was a hissing noise and the sky went black again. He looked down and his hand was empty, the beer gone. The sun was replaced with a frigid cold paleness. His heart dropped as his brain function resumed to standard operating capacity.

Fuck.

He shivered and sat up, holding back the retches and rubbing his temples. Swinging his legs out of the crypod he steadied himself as the stimm was pumped into his veins. The headache subsided, but he remained seated. This was nothing new. Hud had been on dozens of combat drops, which you could extrapolate into hundreds of cryfreezes.

This was nothing new but it fucking sucked every single time. He looked at the pod next to him. There she was. His partner in crime.

"Hey, Mara. You look like I feel." His signature wise-ass grin was already breaking across his face. He shuffled around in the small kit of belongings next to him and pulled out to cigarettes, tossing one to her.

He wasn't going to start doing push ups like some of the younger grunts here. He planned on sitting until the absolute last possible second, then putting on pants, and eventually making his way to this briefing.

+++++++++++++

[Briefing]

Hud listened disinterestedly at the presentation. At least until he heard those key words. He had learned a long time prior that you could basically eliminate 95% of what any corporate dickwad said to you. But there was a 5% window of keywords that one always needed to listen to:

"Six months ago the colony went silent//That's where you come in//Hazard pay at the double rate."

Fuck. He thought as he tossed a knowing look to Mara. The company hated paying their people what they were worth - but double hazard pay? This wasn't just a snatch and grab.

He raised his hand indicating that he had a question.

“Uhhh yeah, Corporal…” Maas glances down at his crew roster “… Pucks? Do you have a question?”

[Pre-Drop]

"It's Pax. She's 'Pucks,'" he said pointing at Mara mockingly.

Hud cleared his throat. He sat on his bolted down chair, leaning forward and chewing on the stir stick for his fourth cup of coffee.

"My question, Mr. Moss, is how do I get out of this chicken shit outfit?"

And again, across his face spread the widest shit-eating grin.

++++

With the briefing done, Hud and the Marines gathered to brief. They were checking their kit and/or working out. Getting a pump before a drop was how some people coped. Belvedere gave him a nod as he entered. Some of the newer boots looked nervous.

He instinctively got a bit closer to Lamontagne-Singh, whom he referred to more-often-than-not by her first name. The two of them had developed a very comfortable friendship in the months that they had known one another, and the fact that she was every bit as capable in combat as he was - if not moreso - made him swoon for her even more. But he kept his emotional distance. This job often ended quickly, and the retirement party was usually a burial in space.

"Yeah, so mission briefing from my point of view. Everyone shut the fuck up and listen up. We got a terraforming station that's fucked because the local eggheads decided to play with the local wildlife. Could just be that comms are down. That's best case scenario, but we don't train for best case scenarioo. Apparently everyone but head egghead and the droid are expendable; which means, we got the company telling us a whole lot of Marines are fucked - assuming they're still breathing - unless we can figure out how to get them off the rock.

My thoughts are that they should be our first point of contact, again, assuming they're not ten-toes up. We go in cold as ice - assess the situation. This ain't the time for heroics. I miss anything? Anyone got anything to add?"

[Cryopods]

Delaney gingerly placed a few toes onto the cold hard floor as though testing the water before pulling herself out of the pod. She shivered and tippy-toed, hopping from one foot to the other while she got used to the temperature. She looked dumbly around for a moment as she recalled what she was doing here and who these people are.

“Thanks Ren.” She said with a weak smile and took the offered gum. “I’m going to hit the shower.” That was her routine after cryo sleep, not coffee, a work out or a smoke but to get the stink off her skin. Only then would she feel normal and she could attend to her bodies other functions and needs.

[Briefing]

Refreshed and armed with a black coffee Delaney slid into a seat in the briefing room. While she did listen to the briefing she was more focused on what she would be doing, the marines would be doing the heavy lifting with her getting them from A to B. She leafed through a clipboard which had the local weather report (light clouds and a mild wind) which didn’t show anything to be concerned about and then over maps of the site and the local area. While Maas droned on she prepared her flight plan which she would run by Anders and also noted alternative landing zones in case the facilities landing pad was compromised in some way.

[The Drop]

Delaney resisted the urge to shout out in exhilaration as the drop-ship was released and it plummeted through the upper atmosphere. With a big grin on her face she glanced over the cock-pits instruments; air speed, altitude, course deviation were good…

The control stick was almost wrenched from her hand when they hit the storm. What the fuck. Warning lights flashed demanding her attention as she wrestled with the control stick her knuckles white. Air speed was now not good with the swirling winds and they were being pushed off course. Rain lashed making visibility almost none existent.
She exhaled to try to steady her self before speaking up through the flight mic “unexpected localised storm.” a pause as the ship is buffeted violently by a sudden cross wind “… flight down will be bumpy” she glanced again at her instruments “a few miles off course. ETA currently 5 minutes.”

Iron and Metal wrote:

[Pre-Drop]

Hud cleared his throat. He sat on his bolted down chair, leaning forward and chewing on the stir stick for his fourth cup of coffee.

"My question, Mr. Moss, is how do I get out of this chicken shit outfit?"

And again, across his face spread the widest shit-eating grin.

Maas bristles slightly. ”As far as I’m concerned… you’re here until the jobs done. I hope I don’t have to remind you… Corporal… that the contract you signed specifies payment after successful completion of your mission mmmkay? Once we’re done here I’d be more than happy to let you off at the next port. Thank you for your insightful question… anyone else?”

[Briefing]

"No. Thanks for the extra gear." His smile disappeared as others asked any questions. He would rather the Company shit-heel think of him as a smartass than know how fired up he was about a contingent of Marines planet side being labeled "expendable" without even having the common decency to use the word.

It was nothing new. This was how the system worked. Those who represented a significant investment in company dollars were the ones worth saving. Tech was worth saving. Run of the mill scientists? Colonists? Marines? Hell, they were a dime-a-dozen.


[The Drop]

Hud was two minutes into a 7 minute power nap when the drop ship lurched violently one way and then another. His eyes jerked open and he stared straight at Atlas. The 'droid had said the weather was going to be clean and crisp.

This was definitely not that.

He took a deep breath and then cocked a big grin and yelled out to the cabin, "We're on an express elevator to Hell! Going down!! Wooooooo!!"

Cryopods
Atlas, being an android, doesn't require as much maintenance as a human might need. Only needing 72 hours to charge at 100%, which can last for awhile before needing another charge. Atlas takes note of the brief interaction with the Corporate Liaison named Maas. Atlas, not having emotion and thinking logically, doesnt take it personally. They understand from a logic point of view, why common courtesies towards androids are non-existent. Humans are extremely xenophobic to anything that they cant fully understand or simply just different, even if its something that they themselves created.

++++
During Briefing
As the briefing goes, Atlas does an internal check of objectives, makes a list of the most important individuals on top, taking detailed notes of the schematics that were briefly shown and lastly calculate success/failure percentages for a number of situations of the crew. Otherwise has a blank stare, focused on the general area where mission details are being displayed.

++++
Landing
Atlas taking note of the weather ahead of time, initiated protocols activating their gyros to compensate for most of the turbulence. Atlas looks at the marine ranked and named as LCpl. Pax, William H. With a cold dead stare, focused onto the back part of his retina inside of his eyes to make it look like they are making eye contact, Atlas states,"There is no such thing as an elevator to hell, Lance Corporal. I suggest you speak to a therapist after this mission.". Projecting its voice over the noise of the environment making sure that the marine can hear them, taking note this marine might have mental issues and adjusts success/failure calculations based on the new information as fact.

[CRYOPODS]
“Lucky you; I look great,” she rasps, her vocal chords still needing to warm up. Having taped her lighter to the side of her cryopod months previous, Mara plucks the cigarette out of the air, lighting it without sitting up.  She thanks Hud with a wave of the hand reminiscent of the flourish of a bow and scrape.  Mara fucking hates coming out of cryopods; despite the fact that it was a universally miserable experience, somehow there was always some jagoff expecting that everyone immediately hop out and have fucks to give.

Kobras_Aquairre wrote:

“Alright team, up and at ‘em,”

“Ah, the jagoff in question,” she chuckles under her breath before taking another haul of her smoke.  “Ten whole minutes! That's almost enough time for a shower.”  The rest of her cigarette and one ruthlessly efficient cold shower later, Mara makes her way over to the briefing room feeling ready and able to hold her tongue when Mr Jagoff Esq. inevitably ends up telling her and her fellow marines that they should be grateful for this opportunity to die on the clock.


+++++

[BRIEFING]
Mara smothers a laugh when Maas describes the planet as pretty wet and waggles her eyebrows suggestively at Hud. Is it juvenile? Absolutely. But the timeline of the Samsa VI mission alone was bad juju, and so it was worth keeping things as light as possible for as long as possible for the sake of morale, especially once Maas fills them in about their compensation.  Hud’s knowing look is met with a nod; hazard pay at double the rate is a bad sign.

Iron and Metal wrote:

"It's Pax. She's 'Pucks,'"

With mouth agape and a wide-eyed look, Mara is the picture of airheaded confusion as she points to herself, switching to her middle finger without changing expression; then it is back to her coffee and mission notes.

“Lamontagne-Singh, Sir.  Just to be clear, our primary objectives are, in order,  to secure Hinton’s logic core and to evacuate Dr Edem. The secondary objectives of, again in order,  re-establishing satellite communications, getting the terraformer running again, and rescuing anyone else from the Samsa VI mission roster,  are all contingent on the situation on the ground, and thus subject to our professional assessment. Correct?”

Getting Maas to commit to well defined objectives and mission prioritization now would make things easier once everything inevitably goes to hell.

+++++


[THE DROP]
No stranger to a rough dropship descent, Mara sits silently judging whoever was responsible for APE Inc’s safety and/or logistics. That there were loose objects in the dropship at all is a mark against the whole operation; regardless of anticipated environmental factors, everything should have been strapped down or in locked bins.  This is sloppy even for a Civ-op.  

She gives a “wooooo” of her own as if Hud’s exclamation was the first part of a call and response, and soon their fellow marines are whooping, laughing, and stomping their feet. It beat brooding over what awaited them on Samsa VI.

Another AKA wrote:

“Lamontagne-Singh, Sir.  Just to be clear, our primary objectives are, in order,  to secure Hinton’s logic core and to evacuate Dr Edem. The secondary objectives of, again in order,  re-establishing satellite communications, getting the terraformer running again, and rescuing anyone else from the Samsa VI mission roster,  are all contingent on the situation on the ground, and thus subject to our professional assessment. Correct?”

Getting Maas to commit to well defined objectives and mission prioritization now would make things easier once everything inevitably goes to hell.

Maas clears his throat awkwardly. “Well ideally… you’re able to get the colony’s communications up and running again and ensure the terraforming station is functional. If for whatever reason there’s you’re not able to accomplish this… we don’t know exact what the status of the base is… then yeahhh the most valuable personnel to extract are the lead scientists. But if you could go ahead and make sure the terraformer keeps running… that’d be great.”

The drop ship pitches from side to side as blinding flashes of lightning cast the cockpit in ghostly light. Delany battles with the controls, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. Visibility is nearly zero as the instruments inform you the ground is approaching quickly. You consider aborting the landing entirely, but you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to make it out of the storm if you turn around. You continue your blind descent. 

Finally though the whipping wind and rain you catch a glimpse of the colony below. Engaging the landing gear, you set the drop ship down on the overgrown landing platform. Not your prettiest landing, but you all feel a wave of relief as you thud down onto solid ground. Many of you have been in rough drops before, but nevertheless everyone in the crew compartment looks eager to get off the ship (Except Atlas, who seemed completely unphased by the predicted weather patterns).

Maas groans and relocates himself to the dropship’s computer terminal. “Good lord, I thought the company hired a pilot,” he mutters, just loud enough to hear as he fires up the terminal and tries to get a read on Greta Base’s signal. “Mmm yup… looks like the powers out. Better get out there team! You too, Top Gun,” he shouts into the cockpit. “The contract’s for boots-on-the-ground work. I’ll supervise from here.”

]Your boots splash in the mud as you step onto the landing zone. The earthy smell of the forest mingles with the ozone scent of the engines, which hiss as the rain beats down on them. The prefabricated landing platform stands in a wide clearing that looks like it was carved out from nature by flamethrowers and vibchetes. The jungle is already reclaiming the area and vines choke the platform. It appears completely deserted. The wind whistling through the trees makes it tough to hear each other without shouting and atmospheric conditions are interfering with comms and scanners. A set of deep tread tracks in the mud leads up a short hill. The rain is still coming down like judgment day, and ahead of you sits Greta Base, silent as a prayer. 

The muddy path ahead of you splits halfway up the hill, with a set of tread tracks leading around the rear of the base, while a well worn footpath leads up to the main airlock.

As soon as the shuttle touched down, Hud was up and barking. It was business time now.

"All right, sweethearts. Up and at 'em. Wedge out the door, let's go."

He was the first out, and intended to be the last back in if all went well. The fact that Tac-Command would be run from the shuttle by Maas was a joke and they all knew it. He moved ahead, weapon up and scanned their immediate LZ.

Per his orders, the Marines formed a Hollow Wedge as they opened up the perimeter and began covering their sectors. The wedge was ideal in an unknown LZ, as it maximized the fireteam's situational awareness and firepower if need be.

Mutually supporting lines of sight, and mutually supporting overlapping arcs of fire. It was like he always said, "Mutual Aid saves communities." He tapped the area under his armor where his "Eat the Rich" patch was sewn into his fatigues.

When Atlas steps off of the dropship, they start analyzing the general area. Quietly watching the human marines rush off the loading ramp and listening to their speech patterns. Taking note of each users unique speech patterns to their associated contact file. Noticing the tread tracks, Atlas looks to see if there is a spare vehicle nearby to shorten their walk towards the facility....

Atlas does not spot any vehicles in the immediate vicinity. It seems there will be no respite from the pounding rain during the short, soggy walk ahead of you up the hill. The deep, mud filled tracks lead around to the opposite side of Greta base from the main airlock.

Once Atlas comes to the conclusion that they are stuck on foot, and possibly being the slowest bi-pedal there, starts to walk up the muddy path. The crew will follow suit, knowing they will easily catch up to Atlas.

Delaney was much more casual as she exited the ramp compared to the marines. As she got to the bottom of the ramp she waitied for a few moments for the marines to advance and spread out and so took the opportunity to look around. It was disappointing to see the poor state of the landing pad which gave an indication that whatever had happened here still wasn't resolved. Perhaps she'd hoped that it was a 'simple' issue of colony loosing the ability to communicate off planet, but she guessed not. Which is why the marines were being sent.

That thought brought her back to the present, Hud's squad were quite advance now so she quickly moved up taking up a position at the back of the hollow wedge.

Maas, like most corpo jagoffs, has an entitled attitude that is rubbing Mara the wrong way.  She knows that she should appreciate how transparently shitty he is being, after all it was the nice ones that had you mistaking strong HR skills for a sense of decency. Those were the ones who could remember to ask about your family while considering the cost savings of a staggering number of casualties - between unclaimed death benefits and the lower remuneration for new recruits, it could even move a project into the black!

Either way, he is far too cavalier for her liking, but at least that meant that he would try to avoid seeming disorganised or incompetent if given the out.   "In our excitement, we almost left without a detailed layout of the base.  I wouldn't want us to waste company time not knowing ass from elbow out there just because we went in without the most recent, accurate building specs, right?" Her tone is polite and her smile just shy of predatory.  

Maybe Maas would surprise her and not claim some BS about IP, or confidentiality, or insufficient security clearance to justify them going in blind.

Maas shrugs noncommittally, “Yeahhh… I don’t think we have anything super detailed of the interior… these prefab modules just get dropped from orbit. The colonists set them up pretty much however they want.” He looks out the cockpit window, seemingly noticing Greta Base for the first time. He points at the main airlock. “That looks like a way in, doesn’t it? Maybe you could start there?” 


He sounds very proud of his assessment of the area.

There were plenty of blind spots from the outside of the prefab colony, which meant inside would be just the same. It was no bother; the Marines were no strangers to clearing out dwelling units if need be. It was dirty work, and it sucked, but it came with the job.

He didn't have high hopes that this would be a run-of-the-mill "oops our comms are down" type job. It was far too quiet.

"All right, team, let's check the perimeter make sure there aren't any surprises lurking. Belvedere, take Kimura and sweep right. Sing-Song, you're with me to the left. Castillo and Schmitt, stay with the civvies and cover our asses. Quick sweep - no sleeping on the job."

The group fans out as it approaches the base.


The team heading towards the main airlock soon find themselves in front of a large, reinforced steel door. Rust creeps over the surface, rain runs in small rivulets down it. Sitting just next to the doorframe is a control panel with a keycard swipe. The blinking light indicates it is running on emergency backup power only.


HUD periodically checks the other camera feeds as Belvedere sweeps right. Nothing but mud and rain on the right side of the base, not many exterior windows. The wind and rain make the body cam videos lag and blur. 


Mara and HUD push forward, following the heavy tracks as they circle around the left side. Made by something with treads, probably a colonial utility vehicle or maybe a marine APC. Turning the corner of the base, you can see them leading to a roll up door. Several other tracks stretch away from it, many of them leading down the other side of the hill deeper into the jungle. The ground here is fairly well worn down with the exception of two muddy lumps just outside of the closed garage door. As you approach, you identify a few alarming shapes in the mud. One lump possesses a pair of legs. Other other, arms and a head. A body, bisected in two, lies on the ground before you. 

Kobras_Aquairre wrote:

He points at the main airlock.[/color] “That looks like a way in, doesn’t it? Maybe you could start there?” 
He sounds very proud of his assessment of the area.

"Yes, the main airlock certainly does look like a way in. We absolutely could maybe start there. Thank you for pointing that out."
The knowledge that that man was probably getting paid more than any of them, maybe even more than a few of them combined is so galling that all Mara can do is chuckle to herself ruefully. It was that or scream in that little man's face until she died of an aneurysm, and where was the fun in that?

+++++

Upon seeing the bodies Singular body? I guess body parts would be more accurate Mara bristles.  "Fucking hazard pay's going to go into drinking this image away," she mutters to Hud.  "First of fucking many."

"Fuck me, runnin'. You got that right." Hud scanned the perimeter once again to make sure they were alone while he called it in to the fireteam.

"Heads up. Got a body here. Gonna try and get an ID and head back."

Hud glanced at Mara again, and for a brief second couldn't help but think about how fucking good she looked in full kit covering his 6. He realized how batshit crazy that thought was with the corpse next to him, but their coping mechanism over the last few months had been to give in to the primal urges - fighting, feeding, fucking. The Marine Corps holy trinity.

Hell of a coping mechanism, you weird fuck he thought to himself.

He moved closer to get an ID on the body, careful to visually inspect before actually touching anything. He had no idea what was going on here, and was going to play it careful.

He was looking for any form of ID: uniform, badge, ID card, indication of sex, age, identifying features, and... aside from the fucking obvious... anymore indications of how the body died.

She panned her lamp around the area looking for any sign of life or what might have happened here, looking up at the structure and not just on the ground. She checked over the two marines and gave them a friendly smile if they happen to look her way although it didn't matter if they did. She finally turned to the android "Atlas, you know how to bypass one of these things" she looks over at the airlock controls illuminating it with the hazzard suits headlamp. "I know some basics but I'm not rated in electronics."

Delaney was feeling nervous, clearly something bad had happened here and this was not her normal kind of assignment. She was a pilot and wasn't sure if this was in her job description although she had of course not read the small print.

"The body in question has been cut in half," she specifies rather pointedly, refraining from getting into how it could also be two disparate halves from different individuals rather than a single bisected corpse as it seemed unlikely.

"Complete the sweep and avoid engagement."  The last thing that they needed is a marine running off half-cocked wanting to play the hero.

Carnelian wrote:

She panned her lamp around the area looking for any sign of life or what might have happened here, looking up at the structure and not just on the ground. She checked over the two marines and gave them a friendly smile if they happen to look her way although it didn't matter if they did. She finally turned to the android "Atlas, you know how to bypass one of these things" she looks over at the airlock controls illuminating it with the hazzard suits headlamp. "I know some basics but I'm not rated in electronics."

Delaney was feeling nervous, clearly something bad had happened here and this was not her normal kind of assignment. She was a pilot and wasn't sure if this was in her job description although she had of course not read the small print.

Atlas was in the middle of analyzing the physical features of the facility until their name was called and snapped out of the protocol.

VOICE RECOGNITION: SʹYUZEN DELANEY, PILOT
REQUEST: ASSISTANCE WITH OPERATING EXTERIOR DOOR CONTROL PANEL
FAILURE RISK: 38%

Atlas turns towards Delaney and makes eye contact. While having a stone cold bitch face on, Atlas' chosen default facial expression, they replied, "I will see what I can do, Pilot Delaney. I can not make promises since the failure percentage is at 38% if done by myself."

Hud reaches down to inspect the body. The corpse looks badly decomposed. It looks like it has been here a while, and the jungle has taken its due. Only a faint, lingering smell of rot remains. The muddy remains of military fatigues adorn the body’s rotting bones. It’s tough to know exactly what killed the marine, the decay is too severe to tell without a full forensic evaluation. But the corpse was clearly torn in half by something, and you see no evidence of heavy weapon fire in the area. The first place you instinctively check on the fallen soldier is the neck. As expected, you recover a set of tarnished dog tags. They belong to one “PFC Olsson.” There is little else of value that can be salvaged from their remains, except for a fairly intact patch sewn onto a scrap of jacket. It reads “Eat My Dust” in bold lettering.

Atlas begins typing on the control panel of the door. A standard Armitage colonial module. Secure, but straightforward to someone who knows what they’re doing. With a few deft keystrokes you reboot the keypad and exploit a startup glitch to gain administrative access. The airlock hisses open within a few seconds.

Rain quickly soaks the interior of the short muddy corridor as the wind moans in through the open doorway. At the far end of the airlock is another, similar steel door. The lights are non-functioning in the airlock, but through the gloom you can make out the shapes of a handful of storage lockers lining one of the walls.

Hud lifts the dog tags and tosses them to Mara.

He clicks back to the group. "Everyone be on high alert. The deceased is a Pfc. Olsson judging by the dogtags. The area is greenlit for potential hostile encounters."

Hud moves away from the body and back to Lamontagne-Singh. "Great start to our get-away vacation. Don't see any signs of heavy weapons fire. Could be an accident of some sort with heavy machinery... but why leave the body out like this? Doesn't track." With a nod of his head, he indicated they should start moving back.

Delaney was alarmed at the report of a dead body and it was outside where they were. "Err... Hud, how'd they die?" while waiting for a reply she gets the SMG at the ready, it was not something she was trained in but had the nouse to had worked out where the safety was at least.

Once the doors were open, Atlas recognized an error. It was dark. As a main compartment corridor, lighting should be on 24/7 to prevent unnecessary injury in-case of an emergency. Atlas turns on their flashlight and is already thinking where the greatest place to improve the lighting here.

Your lights illuminate the airlock corridor. No hostile creatures that you can see as you sweep the small area with your weapons. Several of the lockers on the wall appear to be dented in. One bears a large claw mark across its door.

"I'm not a doctor, but my guess is that it had somethin' to do with being cut in half."

Hud made a note of the chatter on the line that wasn't from the team of Marines. That could block communication if things got bad. They'd need a private channel.

He moved back to the front and his eyes went serious as he surveyed the open door and claw marks. "Who the fuck thought it was smart to make entry without the entire fireteam present? You ever seen a horror movie? This dumb shit is how you fuckin' die."

Without waiting for a response he gathered the civvies behind them and waited for the rest of the Marines to regroup.

"Well, I guess the mystery is solved," pointing at the claw marks. When all the Marines are gathered he let's them know that channel 4 on the radio would be for the fireteam alone, in case of separation or an emergency.

"Kimura, you're on point. Schmitt and Castillo, rearguard. Looks like we got another fuckin' bug hunt."

Castillo and Schmitt keep their pulse rifles raised as Kimura proceeds down the passage, passing the closed lockers. He reaches the far door and after a quick inspection calls back, “It’s an airlock. This door’s hard wired not to open while the exterior door is open.”

Delaney went a little white as she considered being cut or ripped in half and what might be able to do such a feat so took her a moment to respond to Hud. She was a little sheepish. "I er... asked Atlas if he was rated to open it, so I suppose it was me." she a looked little peevishly at the marines who were present at the time and considered saying that they hadn't stopped them but she stayed silent as overall Hud had made a good point.

While the marines did their thing she tried a few of the lockers to see if any weren't locked confident that anything that could rip a person in half wouldn't be in one of them.

The lockers rattle noisily as you open them in turn. In one, you find an intact hazard suit. In another you find two pulse rifle magazines, a flashlight, and a rosary. The others are empty.

She picked up the rosary. Delaney had been baptised and went to church some as a child but she turned out an atheist, it did however remind her of her mother. She played the beads through her hand briefly before pocketing it and the flashlight; she already had a few headlamps (one on her haz suit and another basic headlamp) but a hand-held could be useful and there was also the batteries. "Hey guys, there's some ammo here." she didn't know what type of ammo it was so she picked a clip up and waved it helpfully at any marine looking her way. Then she pulled the haz suit out of the locker and looked over it for defects. It looked fine but it kept her mind occupied.

Hud clicked on his shoulder mounted flashlight and took in the entry corridor. He hated it. This was a kill box and it looks like something else got that idea too. Luckily, the airlock was keeping them safe for now.

He turned and took in Delaney. He hadn't known her long - just the time before entering cryo, and he hadn't really given her much thought. Having said that, she owned up to her shit, and that meant a lot in his book.

"Delaney, right? Don't worry about it. We're alive, so nothing is too fucked here. Consider it a learning lesson." He gave her a wink and then turned an cast a quick glance at Mara that said, Fuckin' Civilians.

He nodded at Belvedere and Castillo to take an extra mag.

"All right, we need to breach. Guns up, Civs back. Close the outer door and make ready. Let's see how fucked this fucker is."

She appreciated that Hud didn't give her any shit and so he gets a genuine smile in return. She made a resolute commitment but what would also quickly become a more vague idea that she'd be more careful. Hells, this was the worst shit she'd been in up to now so she would definitely be more careful... but still.

Despite her personal stuff she clearly saw that Hud's main weapon wasn't a pulse rifle and that the clips she'd found matched the other marines weapons so she forced those two clips onto whichever other marine was closest.

The airlock door hisses open. Through the doorway, you see what appears to be the colony’s commissary. It is dimly lit by flickering emergency lights, as well as small beams of light cast from small holes in the ceiling.

Bullet holes. 

Rainwater drips from them onto the floor below, creating light tapping noise. The room is a mess. Its floor is covered in empty cups, broken dishware, and bullet casings. A banner droops from the ceiling; “Happy Birthday Ollson.” The furniture is in disarray and covered in blood splatters, bullet holes, and more large claw gouges. Your lights pan across the room. Staring at you from the middle of the floor is a woman’s head, lifeless eyes staring directly at you, mouth agape, neck roughly severed. 

There is an upturned table underneath the birthday banner, coated in a sweet smelling fuzzy white smear, the uneaten remains of a cake. Protruding from under the table is a human arm. 

The room has three visible exits. The right wall of the commissary is dedicated to a small kitchenette, and in back of it is a doorway. There is a door on the left wall, where a couch, a table, and several chairs have been pushed to form a makeshift barricade. There is another doorway on the hall directly across from the airlock, marked with a bloody handprint

Carnelian wrote:

Delaney went a little white as she considered being cut or ripped in half and what might be able to do such a feat so took her a moment to respond to Hud. She was a little sheepish. "I er... asked Atlas if he was rated to open it, so I suppose it was me." she a looked little peevishly at the marines who were present at the time and considered saying that they hadn't stopped them but she stayed silent as overall Hud had made a good point.

While the marines did their thing she tried a few of the lockers to see if any weren't locked confident that anything that could rip a person in half wouldn't be in one of them.

Atlas interjects, "No, Pilot Delaney. If I have been more observant on the comm's instead of our surroundings, new safety procedures would have been followed." It's not Delaney's fault at all. Atlas being so focused onto their surroundings, must've knocked the process for comm's onto a lower priority when hacking the control panel.

Fuck. Ollson sure had a shit birthday.

"Civs hold back - fireteam, clear the room."

Kimura was point man so he lead the way; Hud would be second. He assumed Mara would be sweeping whichever way he didn't and Belvedere doing similarly. Schmitt and Castillo would cover them from behind. The fact that there wasn't a trace of an enemy body didn't give him a ton of confidence.

His flashlight panned ahead of him, and the scene was a straight from a horror movie. That heavy bitch in his hands never felt better as he made ready to wax anything walking on more than two legs.

Hud's instinct told him the bloody-handprint door was their best bet.

"See if we can get any sort of posi-ID on the head and the arm."

The makeshift barricade had to have been made from inside this room, meaning whatever they were trying to barricade against was coming from the door on the left. The bloody handprint gave him a tinge of hope that whoever's hand it was at least made it through. The kitchenette door was a complete wildcard.

"Atlas - just based on the powers of deduction alone and from what we've seen of this place on the outside, can you guesstimate what types of areas/rooms these doorways lead to?"

He knew Atlas didn't have an internal map of the place, but from what the 'droid had seen, he was reasonably certain its computing power could make some educated guesses here as far as layouts.

Delaney was more than ok to hold back as she took in the scene before her. The head, the bloody hand print, the large 'what the fuck where they' claw gouges into the walls. The happy birthday banner, drooping, wet, bedrangled summed it up and she tried to stay focus on that as opposed to the body parts and the signs of worse to come.

The claw marks on the furniture do not resemble any animal markings you’ve ever seen before. They’re big, caused by something human sized or larger. The marks occur in pairs as most, indicating that whatever appendage made them has two primary cutting implements. Several pieces of furniture have been severed cleanly in half.

As you sweep around the room, you see the rest of the body attached to the arm underneath the upturned table. At hud’s direction, Kimura checks the human remains for identifying features. It wears fatigues, and lacks a head. Its neck is a gaping hole. Kimura gingerly reaches down to retrieve the body’s dog tags. “Lance Corporal Xavier” he reads. “Hey, does anyone else want to take a look at this? What the hell happened to her?”

She was entirely cool at not coming over and 'taking a look at this'. Delaney looked left, right and centre; a barricade and another door with the bloody hand print. The third a kitchenette with a door, likely a store room/pantry she assumed, a dead end? It seemed like the safest spot which she moved towards while she hoped other people would be 'taking a look at this'.

Iron and Metal wrote:

Fuck. Ollson sure had a shit birthday.

"Civs hold back - fireteam, clear the room."

Kimura was point man so he lead the way; Hud would be second. He assumed Mara would be sweeping whichever way he didn't and Belvedere doing similarly. Schmitt and Castillo would cover them from behind. The fact that there wasn't a trace of an enemy body didn't give him a ton of confidence.

His flashlight panned ahead of him, and the scene was a straight from a horror movie. That heavy bitch in his hands never felt better as he made ready to wax anything walking on more than two legs.

Hud's instinct told him the bloody-handprint door was their best bet.

"See if we can get any sort of posi-ID on the head and the arm."

The makeshift barricade had to have been made from inside this room, meaning whatever they were trying to barricade against was coming from the door on the left. The bloody handprint gave him a tinge of hope that whoever's hand it was at least made it through. The kitchenette door was a complete wildcard.

"Atlas - just based on the powers of deduction alone and from what we've seen of this place on the outside, can you guesstimate what types of areas/rooms these doorways lead to?"

He knew Atlas didn't have an internal map of the place, but from what the 'droid had seen, he was reasonably certain its computing power could make some educated guesses here as far as layouts.

Atlas takes the time reanalyzing it's imagery of the base trying to provide any information they can. A few moments pass along with a blank stare and then life comes to Atlas' face along with the intent to speak, "LCpl. Pax, from what I can deduce there's a door behind the kitchenette which should be a colony sized pantry. Commonly speaking, the crew habitat should be relatively close of where we are now, the commissary. There's also other immediate areas that should be nearby but those departments are along the lines of speculation. These include so far but not limited to, a vehicle workshop, the med bay, and of course the command center."

Atlas moves forward into the room inspecting the areas of foreign damage. Bullet holes and claw marks, distributed chaotically throughout the room. It must have been a frenzied battle. The most obvious area of foreign damage is the corpse of LCpl Xavier. You move towards the Kimura and inspect the area of the corpse he is indicating. The entire body is covered in small, shallow cuts, almost like paper cuts. Bending down to inspect the neck wound, you realize that the chest cavity has been completely hollowed out, as if something burst out from the inside.

"Copy that, Atlas. Kimura, Mara, Belvedere, whoever is closest - check that pantry. Anything in there even slightly not human comes out, light it up... unless it's a puppy. No mistakes, people. Do it by the book."

Hud kept his eyes scanning - he looked for anywhere anyone could have hidden, and anywhere something could make its way into the room outside of the doors (vents, ducting, etc).

HUD surveys the possible exits, but finds no vents or other openings large enough for whatever caused these marks to travel through.

You move towards the door in the back of the kitchenette and open it slowly. As expected, you find a large walk-in pantry. The room is in a state of organized chaos. All of the selves have been emptied, and their contents have been meticulously arranged on the floor, categorized by type of nutrition. Slumped over in the far corner at the end of a row of opened but otherwise untouched MREs is the emaciated corpse of a marine. There is a thick metal freezer door on the wall to your left, bearing a locked keypad

"Hate to break it to ya Hud, but with three bodies dead in what looks like three different ways, if I see a puppy, it's getting shot."

Mara takes in the strange scene before them, struggling to make sense of the marine's actions. Had they simply cracked? "I hope that this doesn't change your mind about us going steady," she quips with an exaggerated pout before gesturing to the structured mess.

"What do you make of this - section eight?"

As Mara examines the body, she notes it wears a set of dog tags indicating this is 2ndLt Lange. She also notes this body bears similar small papercut-like marks on its body.

Hud moved back from the central area, knowing the other Marines would at least have unchecked doors covered for the time being.

"Steady is my favorite speed," he responded as he made his way to Mara. He sighed and took in the scene.

"So... 2nd Lt. Lange here hides in the pantry while the mayhem occurs outside and... starves to death... with perfectly good rations surrounding him? Yeah, that makes about as much sense as a nipple on my elbow."

Seeing the locked refridgeration unit, he called out to Atlas. "Have a digi-locked door here, Atlas. Need you to break us in."