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Main OOC Board / Re: STORY WORKSHOP 2025 | EPISODE 03, SEASON 2
Last post by joshs1000 -
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Main OOC Board / STORY WORKSHOP 2025 | EPISODE 03, SEASON 2
Last post by Ellen Fitz -Opening Poll for Next Episode Storyboarding – Your Input Needed!
Hello writers!
Following our long-standing tradition for new episodes, we’re officially opening up the poll for storyboarding input. As always, the goal is to gather broad creative desires, potential plot beats, and character-driven moments so we can shape the next episode together.
Before you vote or submit your ideas, here’s a quick reminder of the major story beats already in motion that will influence Episode 03:
- Federation in Turmoil:
With Dr. Marlowe’s broadcast and President Bacco’s first-hand encounter with an Infested, the Federation is scrambling. Some believe, some deny, and the Infested are feeding the uncertainty. The President remains in office, but the seat of government is unstable as everyone searches for answers. - The Savi Mystery Continues:
Our Savi allies vanished without a word, and survivors of the Savi Scions were found at Hobus—an unresolved thread we can tug on if we choose. - Theurgy’s New Status:
The Theurgy is no longer considered renegade, but neither is her crew welcomed home yet. The Federation’s political climate is far too fractured. (Reminder: the second-most-voted option in the previous poll was to keep the Infested active, but trending toward a future “mop-up” threat.) - Romulan and Klingon Instability:
Romulus lacks leadership after Tal’Aura and Donatra were neutralized, while the Reman-Romulan faction has yet to gain control. Qo’noS remains in flux as Martok contends with Mo’Kai renegades and growing resentment toward Federation influence. - Rising Threats Beyond the Borders:
Elements of the Breen, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholian, and Orion factions have been quietly gathering—likely encouraged by the Infested—to consider forming a new alliance, potentially a “Typhoon Pact.” - A New Captain Incoming:
A new commanding officer will be brought in by the end of the Epilogue, with their procurement forming a key epilogue objective.
What We Need From You
For this first round, we’re asking for your open-ended “grocery list” of things you’d like to see, encounter, explore, or develop in the upcoming episode.
Big arcs, small moments, unresolved threads, personal character beats—everything is welcome.
Timeline
The poll will remain open for two weeks.
Once the window closes, we’ll gather the results and move forward into the next phase of detailed storyboarding.
Jump in, brainstorm, speculate, and help shape the direction of our next chapter!
---
Season 2 Episode 3 Poll
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle
Last post by Dumedion -He had to see it for himself.
Amidst the wreckage and ruination of what was once a place of healing, Arven walked through a scene of complete carnage. Exhausted violet eyes surveyed the remains – the shattered consoles, the scorched walls, the blood-stained carpet – all while his mind fought the fatigue and the creeping sense of déjà vu.
“Doc,” a voice called, drawing Arven’s attention. He turned his tired gaze to one of the security escorts as the armored man emerged from the flickering darkness of the small ICU ward.
“Any others,” Arven asked with a sigh.
PO Deveraux shook his head. “We’re clear.”
Leux took one last look around, then nodded his head. “I’ll get some people down here to set up another aid station until we can get the equipment repaired.”
The security officer shrugged, the movement mimicked with a whine of artificial muscle fiber and servos as he made his way to the door, which was a half-blasted, jagged sculpture of twisted metal. “If we find more, we’ll send ‘em your way.”
Arven grunted as he half-bent around the jagged ruined entryway, back into the main corridor of the deck. “No – we’re taxed to capacity,” a hand ran through his sweat and grime caked hair, then down his face as they walked. “Stabilize them in place as best you can. Sickbay is in full triage mode.”
“The dead,” Deveraux asked.
Arven grimaced and shook his head. “Ours go to the morgue. Theirs can bloody burn for all I care.”
“Doc?” The security officer asked incredulously, almost with a laugh of disbelief.
Arven spun on him without warning, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You heard me,” he snarled at the man, who nearly matched the Trill's height incased in his armor. “In case you haven’t noticed, we just lost over half of our medical personnel – doctors, nurses – people who posed no threat to – “
“Lieutenant,” Deveraux interrupted calmly, a hand on his shoulder. “I know damn well how many we lost today. Better than you,” the man nodded, and Arven noticed the pain in his dark eyes, the gashes on his brow and lips, and the scorch marks adorning his armor. “I’ve lost more than a few friends today, too – but that doesn’t change who we are. It can’t. Otherwise, they win, and all of it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
For a moment, Arven couldn’t manage a response. In the end, he was simply too tired to argue, as the anger faded and took the fight with it. He shrugged Deveraux’ hand off as he turned and walked away towards the lift. “Bag and tag them then,” the Doctor grumbled, “storage will have to do until we figure out how to return them to their own.”
Deveraux sighed where Arven left him, then nodded and followed.
Arven’s badge chirped as the doors to the lift closed; he tapped it, resting his head back on the wall. “Leux, go ahead.”
[“Doctor, your presence and assistance are urgently needed in cryo-stasis.”] Vi-Nine stated in a hurried blurt of semi-emotive panic. [“Please proceed with haste.”]
The Trill’s face scrunched up in a grimace of fatigue before he answered. “On my way.”
[Moments later…| Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2]
Arven caught a surprising nod from Dr. Nicander as he passed, followed by two security escorts. He didn’t have time to stop and ask the obvious questions, but moved past with urgency into the mostly pristine cryo-stasis compartment; where Vi-Nine stood centered around four hovering bio-beds – each with a casualty being prepped for stasis.
“Report,” Luex asked, moving to the closest bed console, where the color-bleached body of LT. V’lana lay unmoving – grievous wounds held in synth-flesh patches across her torso and neck.
Vi-Nine was a blur of motion; the android’s limbs and torso rotated about in a stream of movement as her head and ocular sensor stayed fixated on Arven. At her sides, Leux recognized the bright-red hair of Dr. Pax, and the slab of muscle that was Dr. Kobol – or what remained of them.
“Casualty reports and diagnoses are filed for later review,” the android replied rather curtly, “for now I would appreciate your assistance in preparing cryotubes twelve and thirteen for Doctor’s Pax and Kobol before their vitals crash – again.”
“Alright, alright,” Arven huffed as he moved to comply. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“Irrelevant. LT Kingston, Ensign Murphy, LT Havenborn still await stasis. I cannot perform miracles alone, Doctor.”
Arven powered up the appropriate systems in sync, pairing each tube with the life-sustaining apparatus of the hovering bio-beds without hesitation. The droids words stung, however – more than he’d care to admit. “Alpha-wave stabilizers initiated. Queing vitae transmitters for injection,” he reported, keying in the process codes to Dr. Kobol’s stasis tube before glancing at Vi-Nine. “What was Nicander doing in here,” he asked.
The droid emitted a blurt of noise that sounded incredibly mechanical yet disturbingly emotional. “Saving Captain Ives’ life,” Vi-Nine answered quietly. “Patient ready for interment,” she added the next second, moving away from the bio-wreckage that was once Dr. Kobol.
“Got it,” Arven grunted, lifting the bio-bed to slide into the misty interior of the stasis chamber and sliding it into place. It locked with the internal systems with a series of clicks, then sealed automatically as the systems came online. “Stasis online – systems optimal. Time and vitals logged,” he reported.
The pair worked in silent determined synchronization while they repeated the process with Dr. Pax.
Then the other casualties were brought in.
Charred uniforms were cut from bodies. Wounds were sterilized, sealed. Bones were reset, bonded, re-grafted. Flight suits and armor were removed. Vitals were brought within stasis-tolerance, just on the edge of death. Through it all, Arven ignored the fog of exhaustion that made him feel ten times heavier. He fought through doubt, confusion, the aches of self.
Most of all, he refused to dwell on the future; all that mattered was the here and now.
Kingston. Pax. Kobol. V’lana. Murphy. Havenborn, Arven noted, already preparing a mental list of injuries and possible future treatments, if they were afforded some time to research and preparation. He already knew that without Vi-Nine, and a great deal of luck, their odds of returning to duty seemed slim at best – but that was nothing new. He also knew they wouldn’t be the last patients of the day they couldn’t save. In the end, Vi-Nine swiveled her ocular node to him with a nod. Appreciation, perhaps? Or simple acknowledgement of a shared duty successfully done? He couldn’t know for sure.
Arven simply wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of one elbow with a sigh. He was beyond tired, but the job wasn’t finished. Not yet.
“Right,” he sighed, “who’s next then?”
In that moment, a female voice crackled over the coms, and Arven couldn’t help groaning at the prospect of even worse fighting to come. He thought, hoped, that there might have been some relief on the day that Starfleet finally managed to catch up with the Theurgy – that maybe by then the Federation would know about the Infested and sort themselves out – but after everything they’d seen and been through…
It's not over, he knew, somehow, it might never be.
Dr. Leux rubbed his tired eyes with a sigh, picked up a hypo, and pumped himself full of another dose of stims with a frown.
He had work to do.
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...
Last post by Stegro88 -[Show/Hide]
“Wolf-06 to Theurgy, confirming distraction of the shuttle from bearing 111 mark 14,” Chance reported in as she brought her Valkyrie up and over in a gentle turn back to towards the Helmet. Checking her stores, she was down to about half of her micro torpedo load and only had 4 of the regular torpedoes that she had left the fighter bay with. Checking her sensors, she had a rough location of where the Ranger and her Den was, but she wasn’t confident in leaving the Helmet alone without any support.
“Confirmed Wolf -06,” the voice came across the channel. “Return to holding pattern and await further instructions.”
“Roger,” Chance responded, trying to remain focused on task and not letting her mind wander. She could have injected more sarcasm into her tone, she was already on course back, but that wouldn’t have got her anywhere. Or, she could have asked for a status report on her pack mates. But she didn’t. She had held off in checking the squadron status screen on her console, going so far as to make it display other information. She needed to focus now. There would be time enough later to find out how her pack fared in this shitstorm.
And how many wouldn’t return from it.
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Interregnum 01-02 S2 / Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island
Last post by P.C. Haring -Hathev held her silence for an extra moment as she considered Cross’s question. The answer was not simple nor was it easy and, perhaps for the first time, Hathev understood just how complex the emotional experience could truly be and the irony of that self-realization in the wake of being the ship’s counselor was not lost on her. She was not so naïve to believe the answers would come quickly or easily, nor was she of the belief that she would find a single answer that would persist and sustain her for the remainder of her life.
No. This would be the latest step in the ongoing and unending journey that was life. To a certain extent the idea of traveling this road appealed to her, but at the same time she knew she needed clarity and calm, that through a centered mind she would find the way. That implied mediation which brought a sense of comfort. Yet she did not wish to leave Cross’s side.
There were other forms of meditation and while the various techniques might not be among the approved techniques taught to Vulcans, Hathev decided that an alternative technique was appropriate this time.
Wordlessly, she slid back on the mattress and leaned back into the feeling of his hands on her shoulders. Gently she lay herself down, her back to Cross but leaving enough room for him to hold her. She made no motion to engage with him sexually.
“Lay down with me and rest,” she finally replied.
She settled in on her side, shifting her position as needed to accommodate Cross as he got himself comfortable and as their ship made their way back, Hathev closed her eyes, and tucked in under his embrace.
-FIN
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...
Last post by ob2lander961 -
Ens. Via "DixeBee" Wix | Cockpit | Wolf-16 | Triangle ] Attn: The Birds[Show/Hide]
"AHHAHAHA HAHAHA AHHHHHH!!!"
Via let out a blood-curdling battle cry as she let loose the full might of her Valravn's weaponry inside the Fighter Assault Bay. Strafing from one side of the hangar to the other, the young adrenaline-drunk pilot didn't discriminate with her fire. Everything suffered Wolf-16's wrath. Romulan soldiers were vaporized where they stood. Various types of equipment and shuttles were destroyed and or scrapped, leaving only burning debris to remain. By the time her weapons overheated, the hangar bay was decimated, no Romulans in sight.
"Fuck ya'll, eat lazer dumbasses!!" Via said, forcing every word out of her mouth while losing consciousness.
Calls for assistance started to flood her ears again, prompting her to turn her fighter around and head back into the fray.
"Our asses...ain't done yet, beachhead." She spoke weakly and received no response. As she pushed forward on the accelerator, Via's vision started to narrow. Her eyes felt like someone stapled 50 lbs weights to them. In fact, everything seemed harder to do.
"No...not..." Fear invaded her mind. She was going to die. There were so many things to do, and it was all going to be cut short. The young pilot tried to fight the encroaching darkness with all her might. "Not...yet...I'm not...done..."
"Ma'am?! MA'AM!!" Charles yelled in a panic.
It was unwinnable no matter how hard she tried. The blackness flooded her vision, fading the chaos of the battle to a simple, quiet nothing.
"Fuck."
10 minutes later...
[IKS H'apehk | Fighter Assault Bay | Triangle]
From the still blackness, Via began to hear her faint murmurs; they were deep, too low to ascertain what was being discussed, but they were voices; most likely deep in nature. Then, suddenly, quite violently, everything: her senses, her hearing, her sight all came rushing to her.
"Qapla'!!! Your life is saved, human."
A burly Klingon was kneeling by her side, holding a hypospray and looking jubilant as he witnessed life return to Via's eyes. Several others were standing over them, pilots, by the look of it, some curious and some showing slight disdain at the small human lying on their deck. Alarms blared, sparks flew, and the chaos of an active flight deck in the combat zone consumed Via's senses.
Her heart jolted with anxiety, and in a panic, she kicked straight upward at the burly Klingon, impacting his lower jaw, stunning him. She used the window she made to push herself back away from the group, grabbing a fallen wrench as a quick weapon to swing at whoever was closest. It impacted true.
"Argh!!! Bloody hell, ma'am it's me!!!"
Hearing Charles' voice calmed her down enough, allowing her to take in the situation, but her chest was still pounding. "Beachhead? What in the f-"
"I- sniff* I think you broke my arm".
"And my teeth. You have a fiery spirit, Starfleet." The burly Klingon, whom Via now identified as a medic, chuckled with respect.
The other unamused Klingons behind him moved with purpose to their fighters as another impact rocked the ship, and alarms started to blare. The PA crackled to life.
"Operation is a go! All pilots to their crafts. Die well..."
"How-?"
"They pulled us in with a tractor beam. Saved us". Via got interrupted by a wincing Charles.
"The sickly, frail human is speaking the truth, Starfleet." Another Klingon came up from behind, covered in recent wounds and wearing a similar flight suit as the others. Charles looked offended at the statement. "I am Commander Navach. We observed your exploits as you destroyed the Romulans. It seemed unfair to let you die while there are still more out there."
"I was too late in that regard." The Klingon medic spoke up, referring to the last statement, with an amused look on his face. "Alas, I managed to bring you back from the jaws of death...for a limited time." he gave a morbid chuckle
Via was still confused and just stood there in disbelief. The Klingon commander spoke up once more as the ship rocked again.
"We have no time, Starfleet. I had my engineers fix your fighter as much as they could. Take it and join our squadron in this pincer attack to break through the Romulan lines. Do this, and your debt will be paid." He ran off to his craft in a hurry.
"What?!" Via exclaimed in confusion after him. The Klingon Medic started to gather his medical supplies and looked up at Via's confused face. "We do not have the medical facilities free to fully heal you with your condition." He stared at her implant, which was heavily damaged and glowing red. "You may have hours before you head to Sto-vo-kor. Perhaps if you are lucky, you could make it back to your Theurgy...or be given an honorable death. Run, Starfleet, die well."
Via rolled her eyes, unamused at the Klingon's dramatics, but then another explosion rocked the ship.
"Ma'am! We need to leave NOW!" Charles tugged her with his unbroken arm causing her to drop the wrench she had been holding, and they both boarded Wolf-16. The ship itself was patched up with Klingon parts, giving it a mismatched appearance. As Via booted the fighter up, it wined and sputtered before roaring to life. The HUD had been linked to Klingon IFF, allowing her to see the movements of their fighters."
"Your ass is tellin' me everythin' once we get back." Via said weakly.
"Bloody ok! Just go!!"
[Triangle Battlezone]
Via throttled forward as secondary explosions filled the hangar. The orange glow of fire and sparks rushed past her as Wolf-16 exited the Klingon ship back into the chaos of the space battle. Looking behind her, the IKS H'apehk and other Klingon escorts went up in a brilliant explosion, overwhelmed by Romulan plasma fire.
"Ma'am, we are currently in the middle of an ambush!! We need to find that Klingon fighter squadron before we-" Green plasma fire streaked past the canopy as Via darted towards the survivors of the H'apehk fighter wing. "Their asses are mince meat. Gettin' picked apart." she said as she saw 4 Klingon fighters get vaporized by a heavy plasma blast. Via came down from the Y axis, taking out two Romulan fighters that were pursuing one of the Klingon fighters. Systems and power distribution were an absolute mess, but her fighter did feel much more powerful than before. Whatever the Klingons did, she liked it.
"Incoming transmission, it's the Klingon Fighter Commander."
"You are with us, Starfleet? Good. We will fight out of this Targ trap or die well. Join my wing."
Via coughed up blood as the transmission ended. "God damnit...I am goin' to die like ass..." she weakly said as she got in formation with the surviving Klingon fighters.
"They are firing another volley. Evasive maneuvers!!" Another Klingon shouted on comms as more plasma fire escaped from the D’Deridex cursiers and Romulan flagship. Just before they could meet their target, however, a random ship that Via swore she had seen in a museum at the Academy flew into view and blocked the incoming attack.
"Fredrickstad-class?!" Charles yelled.
"Who in the fuck is Fredrick's dad? Focus on, Beachhead!! What is happening?!" Via said in response, and disbelief.
"It's the- never mind..."
"Starfleet gave us an opening!! Pursue these honorless dogs, destroy them!!" The Klingon commander said with fervor over the comms. All the fighters formed up under the cover of IKS Bortas, its escorts, and the Ranger to commence a final and fatal attack run against the Valdore and the remaining Romulan ships.
The fighters clashed. Exhaustion blanked the combatants as battle damage and fatigue from intense fighting came to a breaking point. Via herself was on autopilot, taking out Romulans one or two at a time with the help of her new Klingon allies. She nearly missed Charles telling her that her fellow Wolves, including Shadow, began an attack run against the Valdore. Via did her best to keep the Romulan fighters away from them, allowing for a massive volley of weaponry to impact the Romulan flagship. The resulting explosion was large enough to cause Via to immediately dart away using her afterburners. Many of her Klingon brethren she had been fighting with were enveloped in the green fire, but so were the Romulan fighters. The pressure on her body as the initial dampeners struggled to compensate caused Via to shift in and out of consciousness, but she would make it, just clearing the explosion at the seat of her pants.
She coughed up more blood as she held a holding pattern. "Blondie...I ain't feelin' so good." Via said weakly.
"Ma'am- I"
"Ain't there still bad guys out there?"
"Yes but-"
Via went and sent an open comm to her fellow Wolves. The weakness in her voice would be very evident to whoever was listening. "Wolf-16 in the blind...is anyone's asses still out there? On station and ready to clean up these bastards."
"Ma'am, we need to return back to the Theugy. You are-"
"I ain't shit beachhead. Does it look like we are done yet? My ass still got some fight left." Via said with finality, but it was contradicted by a bad coughing fit. "I ain't done yet...not...yet." She accelerated her fighter in pursuit of the fleeing Romulan forces
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: C3: S [Day 2 19:45] Tis Not Goodbye...
Last post by Stegro88 -[Show/Hide]
"...make sure all the PDPCs are functional and ready for deployment,” T’Less ordered as she walked down the corridor leading a team of engineering and operations crew. They had just finished checking the torpedo launchers and magazines and were making their way to one of the dorsal phaser strips on the Helmet that had shown some irregularities during a system’s check.
“Lieutenant, do you have a moment,” another officer asked respectfully as he walked up.
“I will meet you there,” T’Less said as she stopped, allowing her team to pass her and continue down the passageway. “What is it, Ensign?”
“The results from the latest simulations you asked to be performed,” the man answered, holding out the PADD. “You asked to see them the moment they were completed.”
“I had not intended for someone to chase me across the ship with the results in hand,” T’Less remarked, accepting the PADD. “But as you are already here, let us review them.” She stood there, reading one report after another before handing the PADD back to the man. “There are all within parameters. Thank you.”
“No problem, ma’am,” he said before stepping away. T’Less stood for a moment, thinking over the results again and formulating a plan about what she would do next. Just as she began to walk away, she heard her name being called from behind her.
“T’Less!”
Turning, the Vulcan Tactical Officer was surprised to see Reggie approaching, wearing a compression suit. A dozen thoughts flashed through her mind, but she stamped them down.
“Reggie,” she said to the Betazoid pilot. “What are you doing here? You have orders for redeployment. You should be preparing yourself for that.”
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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0015hrs] If You Want Blood, You Got It
Last post by Ellen Fitz -For a heartbeat after the Romulan’s elbow cracked against her skull, Enyd didn’t register the fall. There was only a sharp burst of white pain—and then nothing.
Then memory.
~~
Warm morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of Javec’s apartment on Cardassia. She stood in the center of the room, barefoot, pretending to inspect a PADD as if conducting a secret investigation. He lounged on the bed, shirt open, the image of effortless nobility and practiced seduction.
“You’ll find no evidence here, Inspector,” Javec drawled, lips quirking with that slow, knowing smile. “But perhaps I should submit myself to a full search.”
She’d sauntered closer, feigning severity even as her heartbeat fluttered with affection. His hands had reached for her waist; she’d let out a mock gasp as he tugged her into his lap. Warmth. Laughter. The playful press of his lips against her throat.
Her heart softened, aching with the familiar tenderness of him—
The memory ripped sideways.
Blood on her hands. His blood.
Javec’s eyes, wide in shock, fingers clawing at her uniform as he shrank down against her. His voice a wet rasp she couldn’t understand, couldn’t bear to hear. The knife—her knife, the one meant for her—was buried in his side.
“No—no, stay with me—Javec—”
His body convulsed once, twice. His hands slipped from her, falling away as his life poured over her palms in hot, terrible pulses.
~~
Enyd jerked awake with a strangled gasp.
The ceiling swam above her. Smoke. Ozone. Blood scent—Romulan and Trill—thick and metallic. She coughed violently, rolling onto her side just in time to witness the last shuddering rise of Kino Jeen’s chest…then nothing. No breath. No movement.
Dead.
Enyd’s hand slipped in the puddle of mingled blood beneath her, sending her elbow cracking against the floor. The world tilted queasily. For a breathless second, the form slumped against the wall looked like him. Javec’s outline superimposed over Kino Jeen’s broken one—armor replaced by Cardassian gray, that final moment replaying under her skin.
She blinked hard.
Her hands were covered in blood—his blood—no, Kino’s—no, both. The colors overlapped in her mind, memory and reality fighting for dominance. Her stomach churned.
Someone spoke through the haze.
“Madsen.”
The voice belonged to Jaeih, but it took Enyd far too long to reconcile sound with shape. She dragged her gaze upward. The Romulan was standing—barely—face tight with lingering pain. And she was holding something out.
A data chip.
Enyd’s fingers trembled as she lifted her blood-slicked hand to take it. Her vision swam again, but this time with tears—unwelcome, uncontrolled. For Kino. For her damned self. For Javec…her heart, her fiancé, the memory she spent years learning to tuck away just to keep breathing.
“I—” Her voice cracked. She didn’t try to finish the sentence.
She nodded once in gratitude, in acknowledgment, in sheer exhausted solidarity—she wasn’t sure which—and closed her fist around the chip.
Carefully, deliberately, Enyd pushed herself more solidly to her feet. Her boots slid in the blood, forcing her to brace a hand against the wall again as she inhaled steadying breaths.
You’re okay. You’re alive. They’re gone. Keep moving.
Her body obeyed through muscle memory more than will. Head throbbing, heart aching, she stepped around the bodies without looking back, swallowing down the bile clawing at her throat.
When she reached the door, she tapped her combadge with a shaking hand.
“Madsen to Sickbay—medical emergency in the diplomatic suite. Multiple casualties.”
Her voice was steadier than she felt.
Then, after a breath to pull herself together, she sent the next:
“Commander Stark, my team is preparing to infiltrate Donatra’s ship. Standing by for your go-order.”
Enyd didn’t allow herself to look behind her—not at the carnage, nor at the ghosts rising from it—as she stepped into the corridor. She only kept walking, one foot after the other, because she had to.
9
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle
Last post by joshs1000 -[Show/Hide]
His head pounded, his body was weak, and sleep gnawed at the frayed edges of his consciousness. At any other time Lok would have remained in sickbay to recover with some fluids and pain killers, the battle was over, he could stand at ease, let someone else take the burden for a while…but there was no one else, so many were gone now, and those that remained were just as hurt and tired as he was. So he walked, through the damaged corridors of the ship back to his post, gingerly stepping over the pools of blood from fallen shipmates and fallen enemies. Even as he went his mind, as uncomfortable as it was, noted the damage and considered solutions, as any engineer would; it wasn’t his department, but with the ship being so shorthanded, perhaps worse after this battle, the possibility of being assigned to repair Theurgy with the engineers loomed.
After passing the security checkpoint, Lok entered the fighter bay once more. Not quite how he left it. The barricade was still there, though actively being disassembled in preparation for the return of the fighter squadron, new blast marks were all over the walls, but most intently was the bodies of Romulans, laid out in three neat rows at the back of the deck and another row of his fellow shipmates. He felt nothing in the moment, perhaps a bit of pity, he had seen enough heaped dead in his career that it had about as much impact on him as a bulkhead or door, but still, deep down, his stomach clenched and his heart felt heavy with sorrow. It's not that he didn't care it was just he had learned to essentially ignore it until such a time when he could grieve on his own.
As a dozen or so Romulan prisoners were being led away, Lok approached Petty Officer Hussein, who seemed a bit surprised to see the large black feline up and about. Several other crew chiefs gathered around in expectation of orders. They were all exhausted, no doubt running on autopilot, much like Lok himself.
“Let’s devote ourselves to just clearing a landing space for our birds”, Lok began in a low neutral voice, he just needed to rattle off some orders, he didn’t have much left for inspiring speeches, “once the LSOs bring them in we will just deck park them for now until we can get the rest of this place cleaned up.”
He paused for a moment as his mind searched for something profound to say, but nothing was forthcoming so he said simply, “Good job today, guys.”
No other words were needed, just some nods as the deck crew headed off to straighten up, giving orders to their own teams as they went. Lok followed and helped move some of the barricades out of the way but before too long he started to feel a little woozy and took a seat on the floor against the port side wall, near where he had been shot. He closed his eyes, the feeling started to go away.
“You alright Chief”, Hussein asked as she approached.
“Yeah I’m fine, just needed to sit for a...for a moment”, Lok mumbled.
“Alright, just let me know if you need anything, we should have this squared away pretty quick.”
"Uh-huh..."
Before she had even walked away a soft snore emanated from the large feline. She glanced back down at him and shook her head with a smile as she looked at the now sleeping form of Lok.
“You get some rest, Chief, we got it from here.”
Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]
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With the battle over in a great victory, Hassar found himself once again floating about, having turned over the tactical station to its normal officer once things settled down. His primary task was to get a status of all of his teams and determine casualties as well as equipment losses. A grim task to be sure as he had known already they had lost people. With the help of one of the ship’s communications’ officers he was able to reach and account for all of his marines. The butcher’s bill was surprisingly light, three dead, eight wounded, but in a galaxy where barely a hundred thousand vaharrans remained, three might as well have been three thousand. No time to dwell on it though, not in that moment anyway, as he noted down the names and made a mental note to ask the Starfleet commanders when he could conduct a vaharran funeral service for his fallen comrades.
With all that taken care of, Hassar retrieved his weapon, bid Commander Stark farewell for the moment, then left the bridge into the corridors beyond. Already there were medical and maintenance crews looking things over, but the Arosan Marines that had followed Hassar up here simply milled about without much to do, unsure of the Starfleet protocols, they simply stood guard where they thought best. Unsure himself exactly where they were wanted, Hassar dismissed the Marines back to their original staging area until orders from on high were more forthcoming.
Even so, Hassar was curious about a rumored impromptu diplomatic event between the warring sides and wondered, as the direct envoy for his people and of his father, would he have to attend, was he even allowed to attend? Granted the Arosan Republic wasn’t exactly embroiled in the conflict with the Romulans, but there was the reason he came out here in the first place, to find his missing people, to find his son. At the same time he didn’t exactly know much about diplomacy, just how to be courteous and observe, based on his time during the Dominion War, but anything that involved actual negotiations, he was a bit lost.
All that was in the future though, other things required his attention first as he headed down to the assembly area, taking a moment to say a quiet prayer to the spirits that his fallen Marines would find passage to the world beyond.
OOC Notes-
-Hereafter Avandar Lok, though the butterfly effect, is a Ferasan. Further details will be provided elsewhere and on his profile when that is updated.
10
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...
Last post by Dumedion -A moment occurs in every battle where fortune and fate collide amidst the violence. For almost all the participants at the time, this moment is wholly ignored or passed without notice, due to the circumstances: one could be forgiven for not taking in the largest of pictures while fighting for survival. Regardless, the moment comes, inevitable as gravity – as the march of time itself. For one man, it was recognized with shocking clarity: the Colonel’s eyes widened at the tactical display as every Romulan ship suddenly appeared on the Bortas' sensors, cloaked or not.
This is it – the turning point, Hauq frowned at the display, then looked to the Chancellor. The instant their eyes met, he knew Martok understood. “Chancellor,” the Colonel spoke in a growled warning, but too little, too late. Martok was already turning to his commanders, ready to snarl orders as the Bortas endured under a furious assault that wracked its armored bones around them.
“Primary shields holding,” a warrior called.
“I see it Chancellor,” General K’var stalled Martok with a warded gesture, his dark eyes never leaving the viewscreen. The Valdore, Donatra’s flagship, was bared for all to see – surrounded and under relentless fire from her own people. “Order battlegroup’s Far’a and Ough’q to shift target priority to the Valdore immediately. We will deal with their stragglers.”
“What of the enemy seeking to flee,” a subordinate tactical officer grunted in question; the General hesitated – but Martok’s voice rang out assuredly, only after sharing a glance at Hauq.
“Let the cowards run –“
“Incoming fire,” another officer interrupted with a shout. “Brace for impact!”
Colonel Hauq saw the danger, too – even to a layman, a grunt lacking the subtly of void warfare’s unique and patient orchestration – he knew a dangerous overextension when he saw one. In their haste to break the Romulan formation’s flank to drive a spear-tip into the heart of the foe, the main Klingon attack group had penetrated deep into the battle-zone. The wing of D’Deridex cruisers it had thus far engaged had folded, with several of the massive warbirds destroyed or crippled, and now the few that remained had turned to flee.
And yet…
As the behemoth Valdore finally loomed into maximum visual range, those same wounded and limping warbirds spun about; not so wounded, after all.
We walked right into their trap, Hauq clenched his teeth in bitter realization.
Emerald fire pierced the void in streaks of overcharged plasma at Martok’s flotilla, followed by a massed barrage of incandescent, neon green orbs: each one a balled container of elctro-plasmic death. Fighter swarms fell from above and below the plane of attack; an ad-hoc mix of Stalkers and Scorpions, attracted to the melee like flies to rotting meat.
“All hands, brace,” someone roared. Hauq realized it was Martok, just as the first hammering impacts hit. The Bortas heaved violently to the side, sending every warrior staggering; some crashed into the deck, others bounced off the bulkheads, flung from exploding consoles and overloaded power circuits. K’var spit blood from his mouth as he regained his feet, then demanded a report into the acrid, smoke filled air as the ship continued to quake.
“Shields are down, helm unresponsive, main disruptors off-line...we’re bleeding power. Main engineering took a direct hit. Hull integrity weakening! Wait – General! They’re firing again,” tactical yelled over the carnage.
“Helm, evasive – maneuvering thrusters, I don’t care how,” K’var snarled, then jabbed a clawed finger at his weapons officer. “Return fire, everything we have left, now!”
Beyond the confines of the wounded Klingon battle-barge, its escorts (likewise damaged, but unbowed) formed up abreast of their flagship, determined to stand their ground. Yet the massed fury of the Romulan’s never reached their intended target, for it was intercepted by a massive blur of silver-white:
The Ranger.
PCD’s howled silently into the night as she spun up vertically from below Martok’s plane of attack, phaser banks glowing bright as they cycled, lancing out fire-orange beams of fury, her shields alight in a bubble of blue-white energy that bled traces of EM backwash in her wake. She powered through the attack, trailing a clouded plume of venting plasma from one damaged nacelle, rolling her scorched and pot-marked hull under the devastation to unleash a blistering salvo of torpedoes in kind, adding her own anger alongside the Klingon’s counter-offensive.
Martok sneered at the display with a throaty chuckle. “Not bad, for a Vulcan,” he nodded once, then stood to his full commanding height. “Send my compliments to Ives; a shrewd warrior - I should have expected no less from his men. Our allies bleed with us brothers, but we shall see who reaches the gates of Sto’vo’kor first. Qapla'!”
His warriors roared their assent in reply, as Martok nodded to his general.
“We attack,” K’var intoned through a bloody grin.
This is the moment, Hauq narrowed his eyes at the flickering tactical display, wary of Romulan trickery. It’s now or never. To his shock, the trio of D’Deridex warbirds opened fire on the Valdore, leaving Donatra no-where to run. It was caught on all sides now, its shields battered under ceaseless fire.
“Valdore’s shields at sixty percent….fifty….forty-five,” tactical called out, counting down the inevitable.
Hauq’s eyes flicked to an emergency communication from the Ranger, highlighted in scrolling text. He nearly cursed aloud as he read it with a shake of his head. That woman, he snorted instead, then turned to his Chancellor with all seriousness. “Starfleet is preparing a boarding party. Once her shields are down, they intend to take the fight to Donatra – personally.”
The Chancellor glared at his Guard-Captain incredulously, before turning his eye to the viewscreen. “Remind me to have a word with that Vulcan, if he survives,” Martok ground his teeth, suddenly furious, “about proper battle-field etiquette. General,” the Chancellor spun to address K’var. “Strip that whore to the bones then finish any who still dare to challenge us. We finish Donatra in the old way, it seems - with blade in hand.”
In the moments that followed, through the holographic display on tactical and in the battle playing out beyond the viewscreen, Martok and his men watched the scene unfold:
They watched as the Romulans – the paltry few that remained combat capable – rallied in the face of a renewed onslaught. Most vented their wrath on the Valdore, along with the remaining escorts that still clung to foolish loyalty to the so-called Empress; most of them drifted in the void - crippled, or wise enough to feign it...
They watched their brave fighters dart alongside the remnants of the Theurgy’s Wolves, running between the shadows of titans, charging courageously into engagement after engagement without pause. Those that remained fought in the backlit flashes of miniature suns borne in increments of time too fast to track, only to die just as suddenly – each flare of light signaling another brave crew lost...
They watched as a singular detonation bloomed atop the Valdore’s angled hull amidship in a caustic display of violent green; the streaking forms of fighter-craft swallowed by the harsh, eerie light. Emerald energy dissipated out in a haze of drifting smog in its wake, slowly eaten by the forces of entropy. The Valdore’s hull, hooked prow pitted and cracked like the beak of some ravaged avian predator, trailed plumes of sporadic, fiery atmosphere from several ravaged breaches...
They watched, at last, as it drifted, weapons falling silent as power flickered through its dying body...
Then they turned their guns on what remained of Donatra’s fleet with impunity.
[Moments earlier…| Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit | Wolf-04, AC-409 Mk. III Valkyrie]
As much as she wanted to tell Knox to fuck off, Talia held her tongue. We'll have a little chat after, she grimaced instead, rolling her fighter's belly up and over another wreck – while her shields ate more incoming fire aimed at the stolen Romulan fighter broadcasting the entire fleet’s position, along with everything else the idiot said.
A finger swiped her Ops console, hailing Janus directly. “This guy is going to get us killed out here boss,” Shadow grunted, lighting up another Stalker only to be forced to disengage as she evaded more enemy fire from below. She knew Janus would probably pick it off though. Before she could continue, Atlas’ voice broke in. Talia’s head and eyes turned to glance at the ship in question – the one Knox had been so keen to engage, over and over again – and winced at the carnage. That thing isn’t going to last long under that regardless, she snorted. A double-fisted shot of Atlas’ ordinance would kill a hard target though. Worth a shot at least.
Another flick brought her back on squadron coms and listened as Janus called for her, Salvo and Archon up to support Atlas’ run.
“Wolf-4, pushing to intercept,” Talia acknowledged after waiting for the others, then pitched up and rolled out, angling her nose at Atlas’ HUD-ident. The others closed fast, forming up in a lagged diamond formation on the big cat’s wing. Shadow’s eyes narrowed at Salvo’s ship, trailing a thin line of blue-white plasma from under his port wing. “Ten, Four – strike element formed up,” she reported to Atlas, letting him know they were in line and ready.
[“Tetryon cannon ready to paint,”] Archon reported through a grunt of effort.
Talia nodded, then deployed her own cannon as they dove, reading the range to target shrink with every second. Never fired this thing before, she licked sweat from her upper lip. It’s a day of firsts, I guess. “Secondary cannon deployed,” she echoed.
[“Quantums armed, my last two, so – “] Salvo’s voice ended in sudden static as his shields ate a direct plasma torpedo from beyond Talia’s line of sight. In a flash of imploding energy the blue-white bubble collapsed and his Mk. II was wreathed in crackling emerald energy – which ate into the hull and through the already damaged fuselage with an almost organic eagerness.
Talia watched as she evaded, almost in slow motion, already screaming for him to eject, as his ship tumbled away, on fire and powerless.
“They’re all over us, abort – abort,” Shadow yelled, already weaving and evading streams of fire from a pair of Stalkers as their strike wing broke apart. Archon flipped up and over her, rolling past close enough for her to almost reach out and touch his canopy. Her eyes tracked the blurred movement, noting the blacked sears of scorch marks across the hull of his Valkyrie.
[“Break off Shadow, I’ll lag,”] his voice cracked in her helm, and Talia obeyed instantly. Emerald fire sailed past, filling the void where she had just been. Aft fire arced out from her rear arrays as Archon fell back and finished his rolling turn to drop back aft and low behind the Stalkers. [“Hard left and vertical, I got them.”]
“Don’t miss,” Talia hissed and hauled the stick hard to the side and back to her sternum, adding a roll by rote. Fire chased her, bright and angry, filling the darkness with emerald fury. “C’mon, c’mon,” she panted – straining to hold against the G’s.
She turned to glance back, as the first Stalker’s shields crumbled and its hull burst under several direct hits of sustained phaser fire – enough to shear a wing off and send the fighter tumbling off course. In the next second, Archon fired a quad-volley of micro-torps at the second – which streaked out into the black towards their target. Talia wrenched her fighter hard to starboard then, inverting her turn so the trailing Stalker would alter his pursuit angle and close the distance with Archon’s torps even faster.
[“Scratch one,”] she heard Archon wheeze.
The next moment, they pulled back up on Atlas’ wing as he finished off the last of their ambushers, then re-angled back at their target – the Valdore’s primary thalaron emitter. Her eyes glanced at the tactical display, squinting through the glare of the insane amount of fire the Romulan warship was enduring. She had no visual on Salvo. There was no time to look.
“In range. Locking on,” she reported, then tapped her trigger to paint the target.
[“Good paint. Pulse fire on your mark, Atlas,”] Archon huffed, almost out of breath. ["Call the shot."]
The trio dove toward literal hell – to unleash their own.
In the cascading fireball that followed, Talia couldn’t be sure when – but as the three of them climbed hard after the run – Archon fell behind, out of formation. The next thing she knew, her helm erupted with the gurgled sounds of a man choking on his own bodily fluid, unable to breathe. When she looked back for a visual, she watched with confused horror as Archon’s ship drifted in a fog of dissipating thalaron energy.
“Eject – Archon eject now,” she screamed back, but was powerless to help. Incoming fire slammed into her from the starboard side, forcing her to evade, yet again. Between bursts of G’s, her head panned, searching for Atlas. “Ten, Four – where are you? No joy,” she called out, hoping the big guy was still in visual range to assist - but he could also be dealing with his own problems.
You got yourself into this fight - you can get yourself out, Shadow frowned, kicked her throttle back up to attack speed, then banked into the fire.
OOC - okay folks. Salvo and Archon are not KIA, they will be recovered and put in the freezer...eventually. Feel free to add more, but be advised I'll probably wrap this up with my next post. Thank you all for playing along