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71
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP2 BTS | D03 | 0003 hrs] Flammis Acribus Addictis
Last post by Number6 -
[Lieutenant j.g Foval| Corridor| Deck 25 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
@joshs1000 0@Dumedion ion @rae  @chXinya  @tongieboi  @Ellen Fitz  @Brutus

Foval knew a lot about Romulans.   He had studied them extensively booth in textbooks and in person when stranded in the delta quadrant with them.   One thing they were is careful.   They would only commit to an attack like this if they were utterly sure of  victory.    Anything else was about careful manipulation from the shadows.  

Logically, they would have to go to engineering.    He had resolved to help them there.   
Foval check himself over.   He had his phaser drawn in his one hand.    His Borg arm wasn’t  the most effective weapon as much of the technology that made it so had been removed.     It could generate a ball of plasma but it would take 60 seconds and that’s if he was able to correctly aim.    He was carrying a second phaser – an old type 1 carefully hidden on his person, only having one arm did increase the chance of dropping a phaser so he had always chosen to prepare for the more unfortunate aspects of battle.   

Foval took the Jefferies tubes to engineering.   From a vent going into the corridor he could see an assembly of six Romulans.    He kicked the vent out, it hit a single Romulan, a female, square on the head, sending her disruptor rifle clattering to the ground.    Before he could register her down fall, he fired his phaser on a wide beam.      The six Romulans went down like sacks of spuds, to use a unique human dialect, although he still wasn’t sure what a spud was.    Carefully he rolled through the vent, as he reconfigured his phaser for standard beam dispersal, the female he was attacking had a fresh laceration on her forehead and a very angry expression.    At these close quarters, it was highly probable that his phaser would kill her.   He had no desire to see this course of action through, instead he swung his borg arm as hard as he could at her head.   Unfortunately he had never truly practised using his Borg arm as a physical weapon.   As such he incorrectly calculated the force needed to attack and lost his balance momentarily    That was all his attacker needed giving him a short sharp kick to the gut.   He winced in pain, but was able to grab her foot with his claw attachment.   As she struggled to escape from him he detached his borg arm, pulling the rest of him back causing her to loose her footing.    With his good hand, he tried to find the sweet spot for the Vulcan nerve hold.    He squeezed and she went down.  

He took a moment – he would need to reconnect with the arm, but was faced down with another two Romulans.  

Maybe it was the possibility that they had mis identified him as a Romulan.   More likely it was the Borg Technology at his feet and laced throughout the visible parts of his body, he mused as the butt of a rifle struck him in the face.  
72
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP2 BTS | D03 | 0003 hrs] Flammis Acribus Addictis
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | V2 | The Ranger] Attn: @Ellen Fitz  @joshs1000  @rae  @chXinya  @tongieboi  @RyeTanker
[Show/Hide]

The ship shook again as Arven clamped a hand-sized device around the left side of the unconscious Bolian’s cranium – directly over the ugly, discolored bruise there – while the patient’s eyes twitched in nerve spasms. The superficial head wound had been sealed easily enough; tissue regeneration after a mild dose of alchemical growth stimulants mixed with a dash of antibacterial booster – nothing out of the ordinary. It was the internal hemorrhaging pressure that would take longer to treat. An injury like that, where bleeding equated to pressure, where the patient’s own bodily fluid became its own adversary, could easily have been fatal if not for the wonders of modern medicine.

“Rescan both left hemisphere ganglia after this cycles,” Arven paused during another tremor, his attention pulled to the side of the room where a nurse crouched over a burn victim trying to run a regen unit over the woman’s face. “Patch that and move on – we don’t have time for full regen,” he corrected, then returned his gaze to the Bolian. “Right quadrants seem unaffected but these quad-lobers love to turn complicated with the slightest bruise.”

The nurse blinked at his choice of words. “That…really sounds inappropriate, Doctor.”

Arven waved the comment aside. “Just run the scan,” his tired violet eyes narrowed. “And get a sense of humor.”

Everything was coming to a head. The battle showed no signs of abating, V1 sickbay had been attacked or massacred (he had no way of knowing), his staff was running on fumes and Arven himself felt every moment of the last two days weighing him down and slowing his mind. Abruptly, another EPS conduit blew from the lab replication station on the far wall. Arven shielded the Bolian with his back from the blast, holding on to the medical bed: sparks cascaded over him with a peppered sting, but luckily no shrapnel. Why Starfleet engineers decided to build everything out of compounds that turned into tiny molten blobs of hyperdense particles that could shred their way through most species, he would never understand.

The next second, he was being called into surgery.

“Kzinti,” Arven blinked, then nodded after a breath. “Hastings, Joval, hold the fort – I’ll have Kitty cycle through when she can,” he told the attending nurses as he made his exit. The ensign that summoned him, a young lad whose name he couldn’t place to save his life, looked like he’d just wrestled a furred monster; sweat beaded his face, while his uniform was matted with blood and hair. “Status,” the Doctor inquired as they made their way through the throngs of patients and volunteer crew aiding them.

The ensign handed over a PADD as he answered. “BP/HB elevated, blood loss at 29.8% and rising. Patient is unconscious, borderline hypovolemic.”

Arven shook his head as they entered the surgical suite; what parts of it that weren’t damaged – mostly the biobed, and a solitary console/scanner – the far wall had been charred to ruin when the decontam chamber next door had nearly exploded earlier during the battle. “Something else is wrong – his redundant circulatory system isn’t kicking in to marginalize the damage,” the Doctor frowned then looked up over the patient; Chief Lok lay nude on his side, the massive cat-form of his body barely fit on the bed – dripping blood into a slow, steady pool upon the deck from a massive wound the size of Arven’s head just behind a broad shoulder. “Disruptor, point blank,” he guessed aloud.

“Or just a big disruptor,” a female voice answered as Kitty appeared, bouncing up into view from where she had been crouched near the massive cat’s head.

Arven moved to the console after locking the biobed’s control apparatus out in place over Lok’s prone body as far as they would go, then called up the Kzin’s bioscan data from his initial examination from the day prior. “Right,” Luex droned, “lets be smart about this off the top. Computer, terminate recording devices and auto-archival systems immediately, authorization Leux, Six-Nine-Victor-Charlie.”

“What are you doing?”

“Playing by idiotic, dim-witted diplomacy rules,” Arven grumbled as the computer chirped an acknowledgement, then gestured a super-imposed three dimensional haptic scan of the Kzinti’s anatomy into the air above his prone body. Tired, blood-shot eyes narrowed as he spun the image, swiping away nerve, musculature, lymphatic and respiratory systems away until he isolated what was needed. “Most species have singular or bilateral circulatory systems; or friend here as three – well, two, with the added benefit of an emergency back-up pumper," Arven pointed to three main arterial veins in the damaged area, above and below the patients scapula majoris – the massive, angular sheet of bone veined with ligaments perhaps dozens of charred capillaries. "Of course, all this is technically classified due to an asinine treaty - but I don't give a shit and I don't have time to bother with the proper channels. Fortunately, I'm not a complete incompetent.”

Alarms shrilled. “Vitals are spiking. BP is falling. We have to stop the bleeding now or we risk cadiac –“

“Calm down,” Arven moved to the patient’s side, still looking at the three dimensional projection even as one hand went to the wound, while the other traced up the inside of one massive, furred thigh, feeling with his hands for what the instrumentation couldn’t tell. Lok’s respiration remained steady, even as his pulse elevated; Leux deduced the Kzin’s naturally evolved compensational mechanisms had fully activated, redirecting blood flow away from the wound through his second and tertiary circulatory systems. “There,” the Doctor nodded, as his palm settled over the steady but minute pulse of Lok’s secondary heart, his eyes flicking to the bio readout at the same time. “You administered Sangualoft and Cuastaline, 50 cc’s,” he guessed, to which Kitty nodded. “He’s a big boy. Takes awhile,” the doctor nodded back. “Blood loss already dropping. Let’s get to work sealing this up and –“

Arven froze mid-sentence, blinking with surprise, while an audible thump resonated in the closed off room as something heavy hit the side of the biobed.

“What…what was that,” Kitty whispered, hands already moving to address the horrific disruptor wound.

Arven took a deep breath, then met her eyes with his own. “Hm? Oh, thats nothing.”

Kitty let her eyes wander down, across the massive furred body, as Arven withdrew his hand from between the patient’s legs.

“Oh my god,” her eyes widened.

“Focus, please,” Arven sighed as he picked up a needle-sized tissue regenerator after a quick spray of decontaminant. “Act like you’ve seen a penis before,” he added snidely before diving into the bloody mess of Lok’s shoulder without preamble.

Kitty scoffed. "Rude. Uh…why is it…?”

Arven shrugged. “Most likely a side-effect of the blood thickeners you just pumped into him – added with a hind-brain arousal-response from touching an erogenous zone during my digital questing about around his private bits. It happens,” he answered quite matter-of-factly. “I hardly see the reason to make a fuss over it.”

“I’m not making a fuss,” Kitty snapped.

“Suction here, digital pressure here,” Arven directed as if she hadn’t spoken, then shifted his position as the Kzin’s massive, barbed member pushed itself up against his waist with a slight frown before resuming his work. “As penile examples go, I have to admit it is the largest I’ve seen,” he mused aloud. “One has to wonder how their partners manage it.”

Kitty’s mouth opened in visible shock. “Okay, we’re not having this conversation.”

Arven smirked, eyes narrowed at the blonde. “Bit prudish of you, innit,” he commented, sealing off the Kzin’s sub-dermal musculature and connective tissue around the upper area of his exposed shoulder blade as they bantered. “Its only, what,” the doctor shrugged, “33 or so centimeters long,” he guessed, then leaned back to visually check. “Yeah, 35 tops.”

“I’m really uncomfortable talking about this right now.”

“It’s the barbed bits that worries me,” Arven sneered.

“One more word, Arven. I swear to god. One more.”

“Haven’t even mentioned the knot.”
 
“It has a knot,” Kitty whispered with a sarcastic gasp. “You think I could take it?”
 
Arven shrugged and switched hands to pull back the patient’s fur while he worked the right side of his charred epidermal layers. “Based off the scans of your last cervical exam? Probably, but with minor tearing, even with copious amounts of lubrication. Nothing that couldn't be repaired easily enough, however. I’ll put in a word for you when he wakes up, don’t worry.”

Kitty shook her head with a low chuckle. “I'm requesting a transfer to another department or going AWOL.”

Arven smirked then, even as the ship shook around them; the lights still strobed, power still fluctuated – but for the few short moments of their shared experience, working over a bleeding unconscious mountain of a man-cat – everything had faded away. He didn’t feel exhausted onto death. His mind wasn’t racing. He wasn’t worried for his colleagues and fellow crew – the threat of imminent death itself seemed to drift away into the recesses of awareness. All thanks to the massive, semi-erect penis of a poor Kzinti, who would probably never know how much he’d helped two souls keep their sanity that day.

“Good thing we’re not recording this, I guess,” Kitty ventured, apropos of nothing, but she met Arven's eyes with a knowing smile, as they both closed off and repaired the final strands of bloody tissue deep within the Kzin's wounded shoulder.

Arven nodded with a tired curl of his lips but offered no response; his capacity for bonding with others could only go so far - and the day was far from over.
73
Parallel Universes - "What if?" / Re: [2376] Entanglement of Chaos
Last post by RyeTanker -
[Ensign XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Ens. Zark) | Federation Embassy Compound | Cardassia Prime] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

[Heist day]

Zark was outwardly calm as she scanned the surroundings outside the ridiculously quaint hover car they were riding in.  Of course fancy people didn't take the transporter.  That was  far too pedestrian.  They had to arrive in style!  She also had no idea how her wife had secured the use of the vehicle.  On the other hand, maybe it was Enyd who'd managed that.  The Zhen took a moment to tear her eyes away from the view and looked at one of the loves of her life discussing some finer details with their human ward.  Pondering didn't stop the vivacious Zhen from giving her wife a once over and mentally undressing her.  It didn't seem easy to do, but when one knew the curves and crannies that the body had, the tight fitting red dress and black jacket, both made of not to well known Risian leather couldn't hide much.  Zark wore a unitard of the same material, but all black along with a jacket. 

When she'd first seen the garments the two Andorian's were going to wear, she'd vehemently objected on the impracticality of the thing.  Ryzit  had waited till she'd finished her spat, then calmly listed out the reasons why the getups had their uses.  First off, nobody made leather on a tropical planet unless it had heat dispersing properties, which would help the two cold moon dwellers on the humid planet.  Next, it was durable, and easily incorporated the nano polymer fibre weave that would give the two some protection against blades, bullets, and energy beams.  Zark had found this one quite dubious and her face had shown it, but Ryzit simply asked that Zark take it on faith since the clothes weren't that easy to procure in the first place.  She'd simply given a reminder of 'try not to get stabbed.' to which Zark had given a thoroughly fulminating look.  Third was that they had to at least divert the attention from Enyd, and being sexy was going to do it.  It wouldn't work on everyone, but hopefully enough so they wouldn't pay attention to whatever Enyd did or didn't do on the floor.  Zark still didn't quite believe her till Ryzit had her put on the light weight garments and try to move about in them. 

The Zhen had grumbled her acceptance at the ridiculous clothing after that since it did allow her to move as if she were naked.  Still, she also felt more than mentally naked since the shine did make her, and her curves, stand out.  Still, at least Ryzit looked good in her secretary costume.  Even with the glasses and all that.  The only concession Ryzit had been willing to give was that Zark got to wear boots of some sort instead of the pumps that Ryzit had inflicted on herself.  At least they weren't high heels.  Looking out again at the landscape quickly brought these ruminations to an end as she saw the multi coloured lights, fire works, and holograms of the casino ahead.  The car pulled up and Zark could see several other vehicles ahead of theirs and waited patiently.  She looked at the two and felt the weight of the Cardassian phase disruptor in her shoulder holster.  It was a smaller hold out model instead of the full size military variant.  Another item of comfort was the bar she had on back of her belt.  The scabbard hanging out made it unmistakable as a knife.  Zark tapped he ear for the sub cutaneous transmitter, activating the secure comm link between the three of them.  "Everyone ready?" she sub vocalized.  It had taken a bit to get Enyd used to the idea of talking without opening her mouth, but the diplomat was a quick study and the other two replied back in the affirmative.

As the car rolled to a stop, Zark nodded then took a quick look outside before opening the door.  The plate released and a barely audible hiss pushed the door out before it slid towards the centre of the vehicle.  Whatever other noises it made were quickly drowned out as loud party music permeated the air.  The lithe Andorian stepped out first to survey the scene.  Species of all varieties, most of them well dressed. Some even gaudily.  Her arrival didn't go unnoticed several leering looks were tossed her way which she deigned to ignore.  A few brutish types appeared to be snickering as they sized her up and deduced they could snap her like a twig if push came to shove.  Aside from the massive egos and obvious wealth floating around, there didn't appear to be any threats as she stepped aside and motioned for Enyd and Ryzit to follow.

Here goes nothing. Zark thought to herself as she followed Enyd and Ryzit up the steps into a den of graft, greed, and corruption.
74
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP2 BTS | D03 | 0003 hrs] Flammis Acribus Addictis
Last post by RyeTanker -
[Lieutenant Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
@joshs1000 @Dumedion @rae @chXinya @tongieboi @Ellen Fitz @Brutus

The big pugilist engineer rushed the Romulan marine.  It was the only option available.  He gave too much time, and the Romulan would simply shoot him. His opponent had anticipated and he lifted his rifle up as the big human crashed into him.  Frank felt the crash of the high density muscles hit his back and he grunted as pain flared across his broad shoulders.  The hit had worked, since it had thrown the strike off and had missed his head.  The running tackle knocked the boarder over and the two tumbled to the ground  with a whoosh of air from the two, but Frank had been mostly expecting this result and he felt the back of head crash into the chin of the Romulan as he jerked it up as fast as he could.  There was a crunch and the back of his head hurt like the devil, but there wasn't time.  The entire broad body hurled forward as Frank brought his arm up and all his weight backed the battering ram that smashed into the down Romulan's head.  The Romulan knew he was in the shit and flailed wildly and a meaty fist slammed into the Chief and he grunted as his body was knocked off and Chief Arnold tasted blood from the hit.  He had to get back into the fight and fast.

Except the world had other ideas and he sort of remembered Azrin blabbering on about something technical, or at least it seemed technical, then physics seemed to fail as he felt himself begin to float.  He wanted to yell at his assistant, but his mind recognized she'd done as his foot pushed off the floor at his assailant.  All his forward momentum transferred into the Romulan as the two connected and Frank suddenly found himself flung past his target and grunted as a solid kick pushed him off.  He flailed momentarily and grunted louder as he careened off a column and crashed into panel above a work station back into open air.  The Romulan grappled for his weapon and was swinging it in his direction and Frank knew he was either going to sleep for a long time, or die right there.  His hand scrambled for the phaser at his hip and he just got his hand on it when Azrin made some other comment and he saw her hand insert the chip to reverse what ever it was she had pulled and he braced his legs as artificial gravity took hold once more and he came down.  He was a tough man, but still an older man and he let out a groan as he landed on his feet.

The Romulan had somewhat less luck as he hit the ground and the Chief grimaced as his opponent's reflex pulled the trigger, sending a green energy bolt past his head.  A screen shattered from the hit and sprayed glass over the deck.  Strength born of desperation helped the phaser come off the hip and get pointed at the boarder.  It was his turn now to see his life flash before his eyes as an orange beam screeched out.  And his breath was still being held as the shot missed, causing the Chief to mentally curse and grit his teeth as he adjusted his aim and fired again.  It was a close range shot and the engineer's aim was a little to true as the orange beam connected with the Romulan's head and his body went still.  There was no time to breathe though as he looked around and saw another Romulan finish knocking over one of his staff and shoot him in the chest.  Uniform, tissue, and blood all vaporized as the energy bolts slammed into him, ending his life.  The edges of the Chief's vision turned red with rage as his rolled on his back and aimed his weapon at his crews murderer and pressed the firing stud.  A beam sizzled by the Romulan's head, then another by his torso.  The marine realized he was under fire and turned on his attacker.  It was his last mistake as a shot hit him below the elbow, and his weapon began to drop.  Chief Arnold realized he needed a moment and took a breath as he focused on his target, then fired once more.  It's said that under all that veneer of civilization, every human is that wild blood thristy animal.  Maybe that was what came out as the Chief fired and the Romulan flopped back as he took the next shot to the neck. 

The chaos increased as the doors to main engineering opened and armoured suits burst in firing.  Romulans began dropping as energy bolts slammed into, sending them hurtling to the deck.  A few tried to return fire, but were quickly cut down.  One managed it and an armoured suit staggered in a shower of sparks.  The security crewman's fire became slightly less accurate as they pulled the trigger and Chief Arnold's face turned to one of horror as a few shots hit the energy shield surrounding the warp core.  He was about to rip the shooter a new asshole when the security person corrected and hit his assailant.  The Chief turned to check the status of the core when he saw the last Romulan deliver a short vicious kick to Azrin's chest, then bodily pick her up by the neck. The Trill's hands immediately grabbed on to her kidnapper, to avoid having her neck broken, and he began dragging her away while using her body as a shield. Frank ducked for cover as wild fire came in his direction as he looked for a way to free his assistant.  His hand tapped his combadge and his voice was strained as he hoped for some sort of solution to materialize.  "Chief Arnold to bridge and security.  The Romulan's are mostly neutralized, but there's one left and he's got Azrin as a body shield."
75
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ch 2: S [Day 02 | 1630hrs] Cat's in the Cradle
Last post by Krajin -
[ Dominic Winters | Pilot’s Locker Rooms | Vector 2 | Deck 16 | ATTN: @joshs1000

Atlas was already showing the physical signs of arousal as he slipped into the shower cubical when Lok followed him in after a moment or two. The water is already on and flowing to a hot temperature with Dom bringing in a few bottles with him. His fur takes on a much darker shade as he gets wet and it even glistens in the dimmer light. Naturally, his eyes reflect this light in a manner that gives them a softer glow that some might call scary if they saw without context. There are no words said between the two as Lok wrapped his arms around Atlas' waist and pressed his groin into the others own. Atlas draped his arms over the other fellow's shoulders and stared right into his eyes for a moment as he was kissed on the nose. A more humanoid activity that Humans did which got the response of an amused chuckle.

"Raised by a Betazoid eh?" he asked with an amused laugh. He leaned down bumped his forehead into Lok's own in a manner that Kzint would. The hand gripping his gear made him briefly tense and finally speak up. "Careful now.. attached to that you know." His voice was lower, rumbling like a stroke of thunder on the distance. The door to the shower cubical closed and with the dark light inside, it would be incredibly difficult to know what or who was in there. Where Lok was apprehensive, Atlas was full confidence in what they were about to do. His length firmed up more, his sheathe got heavy with the direct attention given and to return the favour, Atlas slipped a hand down and began to stroke along Lok's already full mast. "I can tell it's been a while, feel it.. with every stroke and how your body responds, your emotions I can feel.." he whispered quietly. The shower drowning everything out to the outside world for now. His other hand slipped down and cupped Lok's furry ass and gave it a squeeze with a slightly sharp pinprick of metal claws poking at the skin.

"Am I to guess that you want to be pinned to the wall and taken rough and hard? Or maybe slow and soft?" He asked, his voice barely a gravelly whisper into Lok's ear as he stroked down to the base of Lok's length and back to that barbed tip. Of course, Lok had other options here and Atlas left them unsaid, rather see where the smaller Kzint would go with it and what confidence he might show.
76
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP2 BTS | D03 | 0003 hrs] Flammis Acribus Addictis
Last post by tongieboi -
[Ens. Joseph Adams | Corridor 19A | Deck 14 | Vector 02 USS Theurgy | attn: @joshs1000 @RyeTanker @Dumedion @Ellen Fitz @chXinya


The whispers had stopped just as they'd began to sound close. Joe's paltry little hiding place, hardly acceptable to even a children's game did its job well enough for him to spy Romulans without being detected. Three of them. Each armed with a rifle and sidearm. Typical, haughty superior expressions on their faces. They knew about the security staff up ahead, but they didn't know about him. The logical calculation turned in his head. He would be found as they advanced through the corridor. Either they capture him or worse, or...

The conclusion was clear. Joe waited until his discovery seemed inevitable before he fired his phaser pistol. Both an attack and an announcement of his presence. His phaser beam nailed the one on the left of the corridor, closest to his hiding spot, in the shoulder. A glancing blow but enough to deaden the arm. Joe exploded out of his little alcove, it having outlived its usefulness. A disruptor beam hissed past his head as he launched himself to the opposite wall of the corridor, pistol levelling another shot.

He'd caught them by surprise, that was the saving grace of the otherwise idiotic idea. The three Romulans had each been in varying states of readiness as they'd marched toward the security checkpoint ahead, but none of them had believed that an officer would leap out at them from the shadows.

Because no self respecting Starfleet Officer would ever be so stupid.

The one in the middle cursed in her native tongue. Her uniform was a little more fine, a little more well kept and polished. This was likely the one in charge. Joe would have targeted them next, if the one on the left didn't already bring his weapon to bear. His decision had been made for him, and at such close a range, perhaps 1 or 2 metres, there was no way he could miss.

The phaser beam cut slightly downward, landing in the abdomen, a little to the right, under the Romulan on the right's sternum, where the stomach was in a human. If Joe had been a little more aware of his own thoughts, he'd have recalled that the Romulan heart, like a Vulcan's, was located where a human Liver would be. And that he'd narrowly missed keeping it down for the rest of the fight. He might have also checked to see if he'd struck the Romulan plainly or if they were wearing some manner of armour to protect them from retaliation.

Instead the Romulan collapsed, dazed and maybe winded. Out of the battle for the moment, but not likely to stay down. Yes, he was wearing armour. Joe could see that now, the armour had absorbed the worst of the blast. Something between a chestplate and chainmail, and in true Romulan fashion, it had a fractal like pattern that seemed as decorative as it was functional. He wouldn't stay down for long.

He quietly cursed himself for not having the foresight to switch his pistol to a wide beam setting as the Romulan fell to his knees. Throwing himself backward toward the deck to fire again. The erratic movement was somehow keeping him alive, but he was running out of luck. The Romulan on the left of the corridor had begun to adjust himself to force feeling back into his arm and their leader, likely a Sub-Lieutenant, adjusted the aim of her rifle. They were beginning to catch on.

Sub-Lieutenant Sorrula |  Corridor 19A | Deck 14 | Vector 02 USS Theurgy

Sorrula's first command had not gone to plan. She was ever-meticulous and organised. As such, she served as an example to her Uhlan and subordinates. At least that was how she liked to believe. She had worked hard enough to gain her new station, and it had paid off. She was one of the first Romulans to board and take Theurgy in the name of the Empire.

Her entire squad consisted of inexperienced and green soldiers and Uhlans. There was not a senior officer to be found. She supposed that made them expendable in the eyes of her superiors. She disagreed. She was not expendable, she was hungry. She knew her squad was much the same. Two Uhlans, six of the common soldiery, and herself at the apex. All of them eager to prove themselves. Such was their eagerness that they'd been nicknamed "The 13th Thraiin squad". 13 being their squad number, and the Thrai a stubborn native to Romulus, one almost as persistent and ferocious as they were, despite their smaller size. The parallel had made her smile, despite herself, when she'd first heard it.

She had divided the squad into three parts. Each of them would attack the Tertiary Computer Core from a different angle. All going well, they would overwhelm the enemy in only a few moments. They had foolishly positioned themselves at a junction in the corridor, towards the doors to the core. No space for retreat, no room for deception. What was it that the human philosopher had said? All Warfare is based on deception? How easily they sacrificed tactical advantages in favour of heroic last stands. How very....Starfleet.

Her orders had been delivered in low whispers. With the squad split in three, they were numerically lacking, and so she'd decided to surprise the Starfleet dogs with plasma grenades. Three of them, all throwing a grenade would flush the enemy from their paltry barriers and into the sights of their rifles. Perhaps before the rest of her squad arrived from their own junctions to take the checkpoint themselves.

A textbook strategy. As she'd been taught at the Romulan academy. Just as they'd drilled on holodecks during the journey to this sector of space. Each time, the squad she had led personally had been the tip of the spear. The first to make contact....

And then, as she mused on her previous successes, some Ensign had sprung out of nowhere. Perhaps mad and believing himself invincible. Perhaps he thought that such bold action would catch her off guard. It did not. She was merely surprised at the idiocy that the human so plainly displayed. So much so, she'd allowed an expletive to slip from her lips, quite unbecoming of an officer of her station.

Was this what passed for tactical training in the Federation? She wondered this as she fired, though the human had already leapt to the other side of the corridor, forcing her to leave a small mark of scorched carpet and an adjustment to correct her aim. Mere luck. It would not last. She thought this, even as the colleague to her left winced as his arm was numbed, and the right doubled over from a shot to the torso.

Her aim corrected, the Sub-Lieutenant fired before the gnat could fire a third time. Whilst the Starfleet idiot flopped and fumbled on the floor to avoid the disruptor beam, she tasted blood upon the air. A huntress through and through. In typical Federation weakness, that pistol was set to stun, but she would grant no such mercy. Disruptors had no stun setting, and she wasn't about to let the irritating Starfleet gnat waste any more of her time.

[Ens. Joseph Adams | The floor of Corridor 19A | Deck 14 | Vector 02 USS Theurgy |

The disruptor blast had grazed his shin, shredding a cut in his trousers just below the knee and searing the skin under it. The sting caused Joe to hiss, as his pistol wavered. Last chance. He fired towards the Sub-Lieutenant, his back against the deck and in an almost foetal position. He caught the cocky Romulan right between her stupid, narrow eyebrows.

The Romulan crumpled to the ground, her eyebrows narrowed in focus now raised in surprise. But in her place, the Romulan he'd incapacitated before had begun to stand again. And the first Romulan had managed to level the heavy disruptor rifle towards his vulnerable self.

And it was this precise moment, Joe realised, that things went from bad, to bizarre. A large shape charged past him, shoulder tackling the left Romulan into the bulkhead to his left and denting it under the sheer force of impact. The right Romulan turned towards the large shape which looked very Klingon-esque, before a disruptor blast from behind Joe lifted the Romulan off his feet and caused him to fall beside his commander.

[ Da' Droz, Son of Graltul |  Corridor 19A | Deck 14 | Vector 02 USS Theurgy |


This was not Droz Graltul's first time aboard a Starfleet vessel. Nor was it his first time fighting Romulans. It was, however, his first time fighting Romulans aboard a Starfleet vessel. Whilst he was still a Bekk, Droz had fought in the Dominion War beside Romulans and Starfleet Officers. How quickly things changed. The thought made him smile sardonically. Chancellor Martok had sent 2 squads of his best men. They were his best men, he reminded himself with a surge of pride. Romulan Killers, saviours of even the mighty Starfleet!  He and Bekk Evoll, son of Vruch had split from one such squad shortly after their arrival on Deck 14, section 12 to reinforce the defences for the Tertiary Computer Core. Pausing only to coordinate with the existing security presence outside, their keen senses had picked up weapons fire further up the corridor.

And what joy Droz felt! Such was his eagerness to meet the Romulan trespassers, that he sprinted full force towards them like an enraged Targ, slamming into the Romulan on the left and carrying him into the bulkhead with his momentum.

Droz felt a satisfying cracking as the Romulan he'd crushed between himself and the bulkhead began to cave inward. So occupied with the human on the floor that he'd not even maintained basic situational awareness.

He stepped back and let the Romulan fall, watching him gasping for air, before stomping on his head, hard. Rendering the opponent unconscious. Now, Droz decided, he would draw his disruptor. Some pragmatism returning to him as his companion shot down the other Romulan.

"There is too little of them!"

He roared, somewhere between annoyance and open outrage, once he'd realised the battle was already over. There was supposed to be more!

"How can the Romulans hope to achieve anything with such paltry numbers?!"

No, the rest of the Romulan P'takh were hiding somewhere. Likely massing for an attack. Or merely waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

Droz looked around the corridor before spotting the officer on the ground, reaching down a hand. Huffing slightly at the inconvenience of the human's slowness and surprise. Eventually, Droz grew tired of Joe's hesitation and simply hoisted him up with one hand.

"Get up! There's no use grovelling on the floor like an Arpethian Mud Snake! We have a ship to defend!"


[Ens. Joseph Adams | The floor of Corridor 19A | Deck 14 | Vector 02 USS Theurgy |

Joe stood up, ignoring the sting of his wounded shin. His surprise at beholding the Klingons had faded, and now he had the good sense to increase the power to his pistol. Intending to compensate for the Romulan's armour. Only a small increase in power, but perhaps enough.

He felt the Klingon roughly push him back towards the security checkpoint and glared back at him. He'd interacted with plenty of Klingons, and so he knew a warrior when he saw one. The Disruptor Rifle and Bat'leth were enough of a giveaway.

"I owe you one, but my legs are fine."

He said with all the confidence he could muster, despite the breathlessness in his voice. Worn from diving around the corridor to avoid disruptor blasts. He hastened his step lightly, just to discourage Droz from the idea that he needed help keeping up.

"What are you doing here? Not that I'm not grateful..."

"Your ship has need of warriors. The Chancellor obliged."

Came the gruff reply. The Klingon gestured to himself, then his companion in introduction.

"I am Droz, son of Gratul. This is Evoll, son of Vruch. And you are?"

"Joseph Adams...People prefer to call me Joe..."

Joe responded as he walked. He supposed he had to make things even and look out for the two Klingons whilst they lingered here on Deck 14. As if reading his mind, Droz continued talking, leading the trio back to the Tertiary Computer Core.

"Well then, Joe, son of Adam. You can repay your debt by assisting us in the defence of that room."

Oh joy. More shootouts.
77
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0015hrs] If You Want Blood, You Got It
Last post by Tae -
PO 3 Valerii Anhel Arkhipiv | Deck 6 | Auxiliary Engineering 1 | Vector 01 |  The Helmet] @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker @Dumedion @rae @Brutus @joshs1000

   The closeness and claustrophobia of the Jeffries tube was the only thing that had kept Valerii largely intact with the Theurgy getting shaken like ice in a cocktail mixer. The pounding of battle rang in his head, and Valerii was on the Eastern front again, with the scream of the Stuka's overhead, the ground shook around him, and Valerii could smell the aroma of freshly churned earth and explosives frying the soil of the airstrip to a dry and smoking ruin. Hearing the sounds of fighting outside his tent, that probably meant that the Stuka's had been cover for an advance, and that meant he'd have to find his trusty Tokarev.

   Valerii's hand went to his waist, only to find the phaser at his hip. The squarish handle of the weapon so different from that terrible pistol that he had to use. And yet apart of him missed the steel grip with the splintered wood  panels on it. The comforting nature of the poorly made pistol was gone, that was his, this phaser... The cool composite surface of the weapon brought him back to himself. 

   “That's right, I'm not outside of Stalingrad, and those aren't the Hitlerites.” The words spoken softly, and in English, “That isn't German, it's Romulan.” After another hard Jolt, Valerii took up his phaser in one hand, and grabbed the 5 cm spanner wrench form the tool box he'd been using to  fix the pipes in the tube.  He didn't want to go outside, he didn't want to leave his bubble of safety, even if it was a cramped access corridor. So he didn't training his phaser on the hatch he stayed like that, shaking with the memories of Stalingrad and the new nightmare fuel that this battle was creating.

   He couldn't say how long he'd been there, but it sounded like the battle had finally moved on, and his job was finished, so Valerii put the tools back in the box and made to leave the Jeffries tube. The tube opened up adjacent to an engineering console, providing a block in line of sight, a safety feature that ensure no one would trip on anyone emerging from the tube. It also made a decent hiding space,a nd he could pretend he'd been there all along if anyone saw.

    As the  hatch doors slid open, he spotted what could only be a Romulan uniform. Which was of course containing a Romulan. Valerii and the Romulan locked eyes. Time stood still for a moment, a pair of fearful eyes meeting, and both men began to bring up their weapons, and he pulled the trigger of his “Tokarev”, nothing, not even a click. With reflexes trained in desperation on the eastern front, her threw the phaser believing that it's magazine was empty at the Romulan hitting him squarely in the face with the actual phaser. This was followed up by Valerii lunging out of the jeffries tube with the tool box, crashing into him.

   With desperation and fear Valerii smashed the 20 kilo toolbox into the romulan again and again, capitalizing on the lunge. The maneuver was violent and bloody. Wild eyed, the mad Cosmonaut bashed the Romulan to death painting himself with emerald blood spatter in the process. With an ache in his arms after the first two swings, he heard the Romulan's skull cave in with a sickening crunch. He stared at the beaten Romulan for a moment before finally looking around, noting Ida and others. He gave a sheepish wave, and he shrugged, doing his best to play it cool. “I found another, and I made a mess it seems.”
78
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0015hrs] If You Want Blood, You Got It
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[Ehfva Feynri & Hirek tr'Aimne | Deck 6 | Auxiliary Engineering 1 | Vector 01 |  The Helmet] @RyeTanker  @Dumedion   @Tae   @rae  @Brutus  @joshs1000 

Ehfva met the Andorian’s wary stare with level calm. She did not flinch from it, nor shy from the pistol’s lingering point. If anything, she seemed to lean into the scrutiny, standing straighter despite the uneven contours of her form.

“I am Ehfva Feynri,” she said quickly, her voice stripped of flourish, tone clipped with the efficiency of a soldier reporting in. “I was with the Cayuga, with my mate—he is fallen. Your crewmates pulled me from my alien captors, though not before their ‘scientists’ reshaped me,” she gestured with a half-curl of her hand down her misshapen frame, “But I have fought before, and I can fight again. Whatever comes next, you may count me as an asset.”

From beside her, Hirek’s lips tugged upward, a silent amusement flickering in his gaze. For once, the suspicion did not fall solely on him. He felt almost light under it, though the irony was not lost: his dubious reputation briefly eclipsed by someone else’s scars. Still, he wasn’t particularly pleased with the prospect of more fighting—yet better to be moving, striking, than stewing and griping about the pace of others.

Ida’s clipped words landed like an order disguised as a question. Hirek inclined his head with a half-smile. “As you wish.”

He turned, gesturing Ehfva to follow, and together they stepped into the corridor’s harsher light. As they waited for Ida and the others to join them, Hirek glanced at the ceiling.

“Thea,” Hirek called, his voice carrying down the steel throat of the passage, “where is the Spearhead Lounge?”

“Located in the primary hull on Deck Fourteen,” came the AI’s calm reply.

Ehfva’s head tilted, eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“Still unpacking my bags,” Hirek explained dryly, a smirk ghosting across his lips. “I’ve yet to wander every corridor.”

Eventually, the group moved. Silence stretched, heavy with the sounds of distant alarms and the echo of their boots. Then Hirek broke it, his tone deliberately careless.

“Tell me, does everyone from your world look like you, or are you simply… unique?”

Her mouth quirked, not offended in the least. “None. This is the alien’s handiwork. But tell me, Romulan—why do you willingly shoot your own kind?”

Hirek exhaled, the sound bordering on a sigh. “Because if the Tal’Shiar endure, then no Romulan will ever be free. For that, I would shoot my grandmother. On stun maybe, but I’d shoot her.”

Ehfva considered him with the same matter-of-factness she had offered Ida. “And if your family fights among them? Are you not afraid?”

His step slowed for just a breath. A shadow of regret passed through him. “Only if they were pressed into service. In these times…” His eyes hardened again. “Anything is possible.”

They reached the turbolift, and both stepped inside. Weapons were drawn, checked, their movements practiced.

“Deck Fourteen,” Hirek ordered.

The doors slid shut, sealing them in the hum of the lift.

“Why didn’t you shoot me when you first saw me?” Ehfva asked suddenly, her tone as steady as before.

Hirek gave her a sidelong glance. “Because if the boarders were Romulan or Klingon, why would they bring along someone who looks like you? No reason to waste a shot on the one thing that clearly did not belong.”

Ehfva absorbed this without expression, offering no reply.

It was Hirek, instead, who pressed. “Were the same aliens who did this to you also the ones who killed your mate?”

She nodded once. “He died in the initial firefight, before they took our ship. He was fortunate.”

Hirek inclined his head at that, an echo of acknowledgment passing between them.

Then Ehfva shifted her gaze. “Do you have a mate?”

Hirek nearly choked on his laughter, the sound sharp and unexpected. “No.” The word rang effusive, far too bright for the moment.

Ehfva frowned, confusion flickering across her mismatched features.

Sobering, Hirek added, “My wife has been dead for some time now. A favor, truly, to the universe.”

The bluntness only deepened her confusion, and she studied him with silent questions. But before she could give them voice, the turbolift chimed and the doors parted.

They fell silent in unison, weapons ready, braced to face whatever waited beyond.
79
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP2 BTS | D03 | 0003 hrs] Flammis Acribus Addictis
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Lt. Commander Cross | Battle Bridge | USS Ranger ]  attn: @RyeTanker  @joshs1000  @tongieboi @chXinya  @Dumedion  @rae

The comm from Stark had come through laced with strain, though her words carried the steady iron of command: [“We’ve been better, Mr. Cross. We’re currently playing chicken with a bunch of giant rocks, and two Romulan warbirds. We too have our own borders to deal with. I wouldn’t say no to a few extra hands, but realistically, make sure you secure the Ranger first and foremost.”]

There was a pause, and in that pause he noted the same thing Stark had likely just had reported: —the Erudite had gone to warp. One less card on the table. If it hadn’t been seen as too unprofessional of him, Cross might’ve been tempted to spit on the floor in good riddance. The Savi fuckers had been more trouble than they were worth in his opinion, but he doubted Frank or those in engineering would agree.

Stark’s voice came back over the channel. [“Commander Cross, see to the Ranger. You’re going to get very busy over there. We’ll keep the ones on our tail distracted and out of the fray. Do whatever you can to even the odds for yourself. We’ll swing around and help once we deal with our own friends. Godspeed, Ranger.”]

His gaze snapped to the viewscreen in time to catch the Helmet’s desperate gambit—the debris-flinging maneuver that scattered their pursuers. He snorted. Clever move. But the smile was short-lived. Tactical alarms screamed as fresh Romulan fighters swarmed into the battlespace. Cross’s hand hovered over his console, his jaw tightening.

“Bloody hell, as if we didn’t have enough of the bastards,” he muttered under his breath.

He flicked open the running log: too many already deployed, with still more to come. A glance at the ordnance check gave him little comfort—torpedo spreads and phaser banks still green, but the buffer for mistakes was gone.

Suddenly, Lieutenant Nysari’s voice cut through the bridge noise: [“Commander Cross, permission to send a transmission to Tal’aura’s forces? I want to show them that they are not acting under the former praetor’s orders, but rather the parasite inside her.”]

“Do it,” Cross replied instantly, tone sharp but supportive. “If words’ll break their resolve, then let’s bloody break it.”

Before he could follow the transmission through, a new voice thundered across the open channel—Colonel Xiomek of the Khopesh:

“This is Colonel Xiomek of the Khopesh. I speak for the United Reman–Romulan Empire. The Praetor’s blockades are broken. Romulus is open. Freedom of movement is restored. Senators Vkruvux and tr’Rehu of the Dhiovhaekh Coalition stand witness to these words. Romulans—cast off the chains of a corrupt Praetor and a false Empress. Rise. Take back your freedom. A new dawn is here.”

Cross frowned at the declaration, suspicion, and wary hope mingling in equal measure. He’d heard too many speeches promising “new dawns.” And yet—if true—this one might just turn the tide. “Let’s see if the bastards mean it,” he muttered, eyes locked on the tactical plot.

“Commander,” came the sharp call from ops, “three warbirds closing on Chancellor Martok’s flagship. His shields are buckling—they won’t hold much longer.”

Cross’s expression hardened. If Martok fell, the Klingon front shattered with him. He drew a steady breath, voice ironclad as it rolled across the bridge.

“Helm—bring us between those warbirds and Martok. We’re the hat over his head now. Shields to maximum forward arc. Tactical—concentrate fire on the lead ship.”

The Ranger surged into position, phasers blazing and torpedoes streaking toward the nearest warbird. The retaliation was immediate—green lances of disruptor fire hammered into her forward shields, rocking the ship so hard the bridge crew strained against their restraints. Cross grimaced at the flashing status indicators: shields buckling, hull integrity bleeding from stress fractures. They’d already taken too much punishment on the desperate run to save Revad. Another storm like this and the Ranger wouldn’t hold.

“Return fire!” he barked.

The tactical officer obeyed, losing another spread. Two torpedoes smashed into the warbird’s dorsal spine, the blasts ripping through shielding already weakened by the Ranger’s phasers. The Romulan vessel shuddered, venting atmosphere as whole sections went dark. Its weapons fire stuttered and then ceased altogether, the warbird listing off-vector, crippled.

A harsh exhale escaped Cross’s chest—part satisfaction, part weary disbelief. “One down,” he growled, “two more to go.”

The Ranger rocked again under enemy fire, her shields screaming for relief. Cross’s hand tightened on the console, knuckles pale.

“Hold the line,” he ordered, voice a raw growl above the din.
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