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Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0015hrs] If You Want Blood, You Got It

Last post by Dumedion - November 13, 2025, 12:50:56 AM

[Jaeih T’haelaa | Deck 11 | Vector 1] Attn: @all

The former Sentinel betrayed no outward reaction while Madsen spoke; her body remained perfectly passive – loose and relaxed by all outward appearance – yet her mind churned with possibilities. This new faction the diplomat spoke of introduced an unknown and unforeseen variable onto the board; a potentially problematic one, which left the Romulan momentarily stunned.

When Madsen concluded, inquiring as to Jaeih’s preference in the matter of dealing with Donatra, it took almost all of the Romulan’s considerable will to keep from laughing. Of course she’d timed her appearance precisely - Good intelligence work, indeed, the Sentinel thought with the faintest of smiles.

Her lips opened to speak when the scent registered – a hint of ozone, laced with v’rolia oil – a particularly nasty neurotoxin, derived from the refined spines of a species of crustacean from Romulus itself.

It was the only warning Jaeih had: The Agent, a Tal Shiar assassin bred and trained since birth, no doubt, moved in a blur of photo-electrical discharge as its cloak-suit fell away, slicing with a bladed weapon into the air her head had just occupied. She avoided total decapitation by leaning back and dropping down, with a push added to clear Madsen from danger, but the assassin was faster: a leg snapped up and caught Jaeih’s shoulder, launching her away – then he spun, cracking an elbow into the diplomats head – only to launch himself upon the armored Trill.

Jaeih heard metal striking metal as she was launched off her feet to the side, tumbled across the holographic table – sending the three-dimensional imagery there scattering into pixilated chaos – then cracked her face into the floor. She shook off the dazed confusion, as emerald eyes locked onto the prone, unmoving form of the Diplomat, LT Madsen. The human leaked a trail of blood from a nasty gash above her right eye where she had been hit, seemingly knocked unconscious.

“Madsen,” Jaeih hissed, but the human only whimpered weakly, so the Romulan flipped up to rejoin the fight instead – and was instantly seized by an electro-charged pulse of energy. With a silent scream, every muscle in her body locked tight, every nerve aflame. The pain was so intense, so sudden, the Romulan’s vision darkened as unconsciousness threatened, then swallowed her completely.

She woke with a start, moments or hours later, propped up against a wall. Slowly, through the pain and confusion, Jaeih realized two facts: one was that the fight with the Tal Shiar assassin had been concluded – judging by the amount of emerald and crimson blood splattered across the walls and pooled upon the carpet...

The other was the palpable sense of raw emotion rolling off the blood-stained Diplomat, watching her from the other side of the room where she knelt beside a particular spot, drenched arterial red, a hand pressed to the blood slicked wall.

“Lieutenant,” Jaeih grunted as she got to her feet, biting back the lingering pain of electrocution. “I...believe we have a score to settle with the Empress – shall we begin?” From the folds of her robe, the Romulan procured a single data chip and held it out. “I entrust this data with the understanding that I very well may not live to see the dawn of a new era for my people; yet I care not,” her eyes flicked to the bloodstains - reading the signs there of what had transpired. She chose her next words carefully, out of sincere respect:

“Some ideals are worth dying for: vengeance, justice, freedom…and loyalty, above all. Loyalty to those that remain, and those that might come after.”

[PO2 Kino Jeen | approximately six minutes earlier…]

It all happened too fast:

Madsen dropped in a heap, cold cocked by a nearly invisible assailant – but in the very same flowing movement, the Romulan cunt was sent flying...

Jeen’s rifle had only managed to barely track the attacker when she realized he – and it was a he – was on her; too close, too damn fast. The Accipator was knocked aside, but Kino pivoted with the momentum, turning the rifle into a shield against a flurry of slashing attacks. Three, four blocks, then Jeen countered with a lunged vertical strike, using her rifle as a bar, driving it into his face. With all the speed she could muster, Kino followed up with an elbow to the side of his exposed chin, then an attempted leg sweep – but the attacker countered – his body twisted, swiping the blade up and into the soft meat of her armpit – then out, and down the back of her forearm and hand.

The strike was so sudden, the pain so unexpected, Kino gasped, and ate the finisher she never saw coming:

The assassin took a single step back to open up space between them, then dropped and drove his elbow into her sternum with enough force to crack armor. Kino’s back slammed into the wall, struggling to breathe as her bruised sternum instantly clamped against the trauma. The following blows were met with raised arms as she pivoted and weaved – trying desperately to avoid fists and blade – but failing. Her head was cannoned to the side as the blade bit and sliced. Shoulder, collarbone, a piercing stab of agony to her side and ribs - blood arced in the air between them.

Then something hit Kino's abdomen with brutal force; it was a sledgehammer, mashed in deep – bone deep – soul deep. It drove the air from her lungs with such totality that she couldn’t even utter a sound, not at first. Only when her hand clamped over his as the bastard heaved upwards…that’s when she realized what happened:

His blade was sunk to the hilt in her guts.

Kino screamed, then – a cry of anguish, of rage, wrath – a bellow of defiance, a shout of denial – all of this and more. It was a call of a wounded animal, fighting for its life, and so she did: Kino lashed out with her mechanical limb, punch after punch, as the Romulan threatened to lift her off her feet in his attempt to carve her torso open. Her head thrust against his, once – twice – on the third, she managed to twist and yanked herself off his blade, driving him into the wall instead. Her hand clamped onto the side of his face, fingers hooked into his eyes and nostril, and she slammed his skull into the wall with every last iota of strength she possessed – again and again and again – then drove her knee up directly into his eye socket with a sickening crunch-pop of bone and organ.

Kino let the body fall back and collapsed to her knees beside him, vomiting a surge of hot, bitter blood. He wasn’t finished though, so neither was she – with a grunt of effort, the noncom pulled her combat blade from its sheath built into her thigh – and mounted the dazed, bloody bastard with a snarl of fury.

Her blade came down and sank deep, just below his neck. Kino froze, snarling through blood-frothed teeth, then ripped the blade to the side and out – opening his neck to the bone. Only then did she feel the cold ache in her chest, spreading into fire – into agonizing numbness. She shoved herself back, falling off his corpse to slam her back into the wall, then sank down on nerveless legs. The hilt of his blade stood out from her chest – just to the left of her sternum.

Kino blinked – too shocked to understand what was happening. She tried to speak, but only gurgled up more blood. Her vision swam, searching for Madsen, for the other Romulan, for anyone - but they were either dead, or knocked out - and she was alone.

She was alone.

Then Kino felt Jeen’s memories fade, even as she tried to reach for them, like a summer breeze through fingertips. Her hand felt through her ruined abdomen, confirming what she could already feel: the Jeen symbiote lay just beneath the ragged cleaved open flesh - carved apart with her. A cry of bitter heartache gurgled from her abused lips: She couldn’t feel them anymore. Couldn’t remember all those lives, all that love, all the…

Reika.

Kino felt herself try to gasp for air through blood-filled lungs as she slowly slid to the side – unable to keep herself upright any longer.

Reika I’m so sorry, she tried to speak, but she wasn’t capable of speech anymore. Her body twitched in desperation, oxygen starved nerves firing on instinct as her vision clouded with red-tinted darkness. Cold numbness, agonizing beyond anything she’d ever known, spread out across her body as the life drained away with every pump of her fluttering, spasm-wracked heart.

R-Rieka…I…

Kino was drowning in darkness, until darkness took her completely. It took the pain, the loss, the grief and rage...It took everything she ever was and might have one day been...

With that finality, the apology that Kino had tried so hard to say left her split and bruised lips as a gurgled sigh…

…and took her life with it.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Epi 2 [ D02 | 2300 hrs.] All Squared up at the Triangle

Last post by Ellen Fitz - November 12, 2025, 07:54:11 PM

[ Ensign Karen Duncan | Cryogenic Stasis | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy | D03 0100hrs ] @Brutus @Nolan @ob2lander961 @chXinya @Dumedion @Griff @rae @Stegro88 @Eirual @RyeTanker @tongieboi @Number6 @Hans Applegate @Pierce @joshs1000 @Nesota Kynnovan @Krajin @P.C. Haring @TWilkins @Eden @SomeBunny

Her hands were shaking. She couldn't make them stop.

Karen worked quickly despite the tremor in her fingers, checking the cryochamber's readings for the third time in as many seconds. Everything had to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. There would be no second chances, no room for error. Not with this patient.

Captain Ives lay before her, barely clinging to life.

The captain's breathing was shallow, assisted entirely by the biobed's life support systems. Pale skin—so pale it seemed translucent under the harsh medical lighting—was marred by burns and trauma that made Karen's stomach clench even after years of medical training that should have inured her to such sights. The injuries were catastrophic. The kind of injuries that should have killed someone immediately.

Would have killed someone, if not for...

"Readings are stable," Doctor Nicander's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. The Câroon physician moved with practiced efficiency, his hands steady where hers trembled, though Karen couldn't help but notice the armed security officers flanking him on either side, their weapons never wavering from ready positions. "We need to initiate the cryogenic process now. Petty Officer Timmons, confirm the matter stream preservation protocols held."

The sight of those guards—fingers on triggers, eyes hard and watchful—should have been disturbing. Would have been disturbing under normal circumstances. But these weren't normal circumstances. Doctor Nicander was Infested. Had been Infested for who knew how long. Was still Infested, the parasite lurking somewhere inside him even as he worked to save their captain's life.

The irony wasn't lost on her. Neither was the desperate necessity that had led to this moment.

"Confirmed, Doctor." Timmons' voice came from the engineering console he'd practically welded himself to since they'd begun this desperate gambit. The petty officer looked exhausted, his face drawn and haggard, but his eyes were sharp as he monitored the readouts. "The captain's pattern remained stable in the buffer throughout the engagement. It was... it was close, sir. We lost power twice. Had to reroute from auxiliary systems to keep the buffer from degrading."

Karen felt her breath catch. The buffer. They'd kept Captain Ives suspended in a transporter matter stream for the duration of the battle—hours of violent engagement, of ship-to-ship combat, of systems failing and power fluctuating. One wrong surge, one failed conduit, one moment of instability, and the captain would have been lost forever, scattered into nothingness like static on a viewscreen.

But somehow, impossibly, it had worked.

She'd heard the story in fragments, pieced together from hurried conversations and terse reports. The accident aboard the Allegiant had been catastrophic—Captain Ives wounded so terribly that conventional transport was impossible. Materializing in that condition would have killed the captain instantly. And there, in the makeshift brig where they'd confined him, Doctor Nicander had heard what happened. Had demanded to be released. Had argued with his captors—argued that he could save the captain, that the Infested inside him wanted Ives dead but he didn't, that he could fight it long enough to do what needed to be done.

It must have been an impossible decision. Trust an Infested. Let him out of confinement during a battle when he could sabotage everything, when the parasite could take control at any moment and finish what the accident had started. Risk everything on the word of a man who wasn't entirely himself anymore.

But they'd done it. They'd released him, surrounded him with armed guards—the same guards who stood in Sickbay now, watching his every movement—and he'd worked with Timmons to do something that should have been impossible: suspended the captain mid-transport. Held in the pattern buffer, neither here nor there, preserved in a state of quantum uncertainty while the battle raged around them.

It was brilliant. It was insane. It was the kind of desperate improvisation that defined life aboard the Theurgy.

And it had required trusting a man possessed by their greatest enemy.

"Initiating cryogenic suspension," Doctor Nicander announced, his hands moving across the controls with the confidence of someone who had done this too many times before. His movements were careful, deliberate—not just because of the delicate nature of the work, the nurse realized, but because any sudden motion might be interpreted as hostile by the guards whose weapons never wavered from their target. "Nurse, monitor the captain's vital signs. Alert me immediately if there's any fluctuation."

"Yes, Doctor." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, muscle memory and training overriding emotion. Her eyes locked onto the biobed readouts, watching as the captain's already slow heartbeat began to decrease further, metabolism slowing as the cryogenic process took hold.

The chamber began to seal, transparent aluminum sliding into place with a pneumatic hiss that sounded too final, too much like a coffin closing. The nurse wanted to reach out, to stop it, to do something other than stand here and watch as their captain—the person who had led them through impossible odds, who had kept them together when the entire Federation wanted them dead, who had believed in them when no one else would—was locked away in frozen stasis.

"Captain..." The word slipped out before she could stop it, barely a whisper.

Doctor Nicander's eyes flicked to her, not unkind despite the intensity of the moment. "The captain will survive," he said quietly, though whether he was reassuring her or himself, she couldn't tell. "This gives us time. Time for the wounds to stabilize, time to develop treatment protocols, time for..." He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Time for what? Time to figure out how to save someone who by all rights should already be dead? Time to hope that medical technology would advance enough to repair damage this severe? Time to pray?

The chamber sealed completely, and the nurse watched as frost began to form on the interior surfaces, watched as the captain's chest rose and fell one last time before the suspension fully took hold and all movement ceased. Frozen. Preserved. Alive, technically, but so far from living that the distinction felt meaningless.

"Readings are stable," she reported mechanically, because that's what she was supposed to do. Report. Function. Be professional. "Cryogenic suspension holding at optimal parameters."

"Good." Doctor Nicander stepped back from the chamber, his expression unreadable. His hands remained visible, non-threatening—a conscious choice, the nurse realized, to avoid spooking the guards. "Petty Officer Timmons, I recommend that you archive all transporter buffer data. A complete record of every second the captain spent in suspension. You may need it for the revival protocol."

The slight emphasis on you wasn't lost on anyone in the room.

"Already done." Timmons looked like he might collapse where he stood. "I've encrypted it with every security protocol I know. No one's accessing that data without authorization from Commander Stark or..." He hesitated, glancing at Nicander, then at the guards.

"Or whoever Commander Stark designates," Nicander finished for him, his voice carefully neutral. "I..." He paused, something flickering across his face—pain, perhaps, or regret. "I would appreciate being informed of any updates to the captain's condition. But I recognize that I don't have a right to that information. Not anymore."

The admission hung heavy in the air. The nurse felt her throat tighten. Here was a man who had just saved their captain's life through impossible means, who had fought against the thing inside him long enough to preserve the one person who mattered most to this crew—and he knew that none of it absolved him. Knew that he was still compromised, still dangerous, still the enemy wearing a familiar face.

One of the security guards—a hard-faced woman whose name Karen didn't know—spoke for the first time. "Doctor Nicander, you'll be escorted back to the brig now." It wasn't a question.

"Of course." Nicander's hands remained visible, movements slow and deliberate as he stepped away from the medical equipment. "I understand completely." His eyes found the cryochamber one last time, lingering on the frost-covered surface that obscured Captain Ives' face. "I'm... I'm glad we were able to do this. Whatever happens to me, whatever the thing inside me wants—this was worth it."

Karen watched as the guards moved into formation around him, weapons still ready, still watchful. Watched as Doctor Nicander—who had just performed medical miracles under impossible conditions—was led away like a prisoner. Which, she supposed, he was. Even heroes could be compromised. Even brilliant physicians could harbor enemies within their own flesh.

It was the cruel mathematics of their situation: trust was a luxury they couldn't afford, even when necessity demanded they extend it temporarily.

"Ma'am?" Timmons' voice was quiet, tired. "Are you alright?"

Karen realized she'd been staring at the doorway through which Nicander and his handlers had disappeared. She blinked, forcing herself back to the present, back to the work that remained. "I'm... yes. I'm fine."

She wasn't fine. None of them were fine. But they would function anyway, because that's what the situation demanded.

Commander Stark.

Right.

Karen felt reality crash back down around her with that thought. Commander Stark was in command now. The captain—their captain—was gone. Not dead, not exactly, but gone nonetheless. Locked away in frozen sleep while the ship continued to face threats that hadn't diminished just because one person fell.
What happened now? What happened to a crew that had followed their captain through hell and back, only to have that captain taken away at the moment when leadership was most needed? The battle was over—at least this battle—but the war continued. The Infested were still out there. The conspiracy still spread through the Federation like a cancer. Enemies surrounded them on all sides.

And Captain Ives was frozen in a tube, unable to lead, unable to guide, unable to do anything but exist in the space between life and death. Saved by an enemy who had fought against his own nature long enough to be their salvation.

Karen felt tears prick at her eyes and angrily blinked them away. Not here. Not now. There would be time for grief later, time to process what this meant, time to mourn the loss of the person who had kept them all together through impossible circumstances.

Behind her, the cryochamber hummed its steady preservation song. Captain Ives slept in frozen suspension. And somewhere in the brig, Doctor Nicander was being locked away again, the guards who had watched him save a life now ensuring he couldn't take others.

Karen squared her shoulders, wiped at her eyes one final time, and returned to work. Because that's what they did aboard the Theurgy. They kept going. They survived.

[ Commander Stark | Bridge | USS Theurgy | The Triangle ]

The bridge was still thick with the hum of systems recovering from the battle when Lieutenant Madsen’s voice came over the comms—uneven at first, broken by static and interference. Then, clarity cut through.

[“Thalaron weapon neutralized. Donatra’s ship disabled. Donatra herself… is no longer a threat.”]

For a moment, Natalie Stark didn’t breathe. The words hung in the air like a lifeline, and when she finally exhaled, it felt as though the entire ship joined her. Shoulders eased, the silence that followed not one of dread, but of dawning relief. The impossible threat—the thalaron weapon—was gone.

But that relief lasted only seconds.

The next report came from Sickbay, and it struck harder than any blow the Romulans could deliver. Captain Ives had survived—but just barely. The damage was too extensive for their medtech to handle, compounded by his unique physiology. It had been Doctor Nicander—against every expectation—who had kept the Captain alive long enough for the transfer to stasis.

Nicander himself had returned to the brig afterward, without resistance, without a word. Stark didn’t know yet what to feel about that—whether gratitude outweighed distrust, or if either emotion mattered now. The baggage she carried about that man could fill a shuttle and there was nothing she could do about it. Could not let it play into her judgment. All she knew was that the Captain still breathed because of him.

And the Savi… silence. Hails unanswered. If they weren’t coming back, then there was no telling when—or if—Ives could ever be revived.

A soft tone pulled her back to the present. Long-range sensors had picked up multiple Starfleet signatures, closing fast. She checked the readout herself—her pulse quickening despite her effort to stay composed.

Several ships. Federation registry. One transponder unmistakable.

The Presidential flagship.

They would arrive within three hours.

The realization settled over her like cold water. Whatever this new chapter would bring, they had little time to prepare.

She rose from the command chair—his chair—and faced the bridge crew. Fatigue lined every face, but so did resolve. They’d fought, they’d survived, and now they looked to her.

“The battle is over,” she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. “Donatra’s ship has been captured. A few Romulan runabouts escaped the field, but the rest have stood down and are willing to negotiate.”

She took a breath before continuing.

“Captain Ives has been placed in a cryo-stasis chamber. His condition is critical, and until further notice, I am assuming command of the Theurgy.”

The words felt too large, too final, but she pressed on.

“Multiple Starfleet vessels are inbound, including the Presidential flagship. They’ll reach our coordinates within three hours. I want full damage and casualty reports submitted by then. Every ship in our task group needs to be reintegrated and as ready as possible—we have no idea what to expect when the President arrives.”

She turned toward the tactical station. “Signal our Klingon allies. Inform them of the incoming Starfleet fleet and advise them to stand down until we know the President’s intentions.”

Then, to communications: “Maintain open channels with the Romulan forces. Begin coordinating for a diplomatic meeting in a neutral location—preferably aboard Theurgy—once we’ve established contact with the Starfleet vessels.”

Acknowledgments came quickly, the crew already moving with the quiet precision of those too tired for hesitation. Reports scrolled across consoles, voices rose in controlled exchange, and the ship began to feel alive again—wounded, but breathing.

Stark stood a moment longer, watching them, feeling the weight of command settle fully onto her shoulders. She thought of Ives lying in cold suspension, of Nicander returning to his cell, of the uncertain fleet speeding toward them under the Federation’s banner.

Whatever came next, there would be no pause. No reprieve.

She sank back into the command chair, hands tightening on the armrests as the stars beyond the viewport drifted past—steady, silent, and indifferent.

The battle was over.

But command had truly begun.

[ Ambassador Elim Garak | Observation Deck | Paris One | Approaching Coordinates near the Romulan Neutral Zone ]

The stars stretched before him in their infinite, indifferent beauty—a tapestry of light against the void that had witnessed countless civilizations rise and fall with equal dispassion. Garak stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his reflection ghosting across the viewport's surface like a specter from some half-remembered nightmare. How fitting, he mused, that he should appear so insubstantial when recent events had proven just how fragile the veneer of civilization truly was.

It had been a near thing, their escape from the brig. President Bacco had proven herself to be remarkably composed under pressure—a quality Garak had always appreciated in his adversaries and allies alike, though the line between the two had become delightfully blurred in recent days. The chaos following Admiral Abrik's attempted coup had provided just enough cover for them to reach the Jeffries tubes, and from there... well, desperation made for creative solutions.

Doctor Marlowe's broadcast had been their salvation, ironically enough. Once the crew of the Paris One had witnessed the simulcast—the real events on Qo'noS, not the sanitized fiction the Infested had been peddling—the atmosphere aboard ship had shifted dramatically. The president's order to screen every crew member had been met with surprisingly little resistance. Perhaps that spoke to how deeply the rot had spread, that people were relieved to prove their humanity rather than offended by the implication they might not be human at all.

The screening had revealed only one other compromised individual: Admiral Abrik himself, who now occupied the very cell Garak had so recently vacated. There was a certain poetic justice in that, though Garak found poetry poor consolation when weighed against the broader implications. If a man of Abrik's position had been compromised, how many others throughout Starfleet, throughout the Federation, remained undiscovered?

The straitjacket had been necessary. The parasite had driven Abrik to attempt self-termination three times before they'd restrained him properly. Watching the admiral—a man who had commanded fleets and advised presidents—reduced to a thrashing, foam-flecked creature had been... illuminating. And deeply unsettling.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Garak from his reverie. He didn't turn; he recognized the president's measured gait, accompanied by the heavier tread of at least two security personnel. They were taking no chances now.

"Ambassador Garak." President Bacco moved to stand beside him at the viewport, her gaze following his toward the stars. She looked tired—the kind of exhaustion that settled into bones and stayed there. "According to our latest scans, we're approaching the remains of a significant engagement. Ships from multiple powers: Klingon, Romulan, Reman..." She paused, and Garak could hear the weight in that silence. "And the Theurgy."

"Ah." Garak allowed himself a slight smile. "The renegades, as they've been so colorfully termed. Though I suspect that particular designation may require revision in the official records."

"Among other things." Bacco's lips compressed into a thin line. "The question is, Ambassador, what do we do when we arrive? I've spent the last hour trying to formulate an approach, and I find myself at something of a loss."

"You might start with a simple thank you," Garak suggested, his tone deceptively mild. "I understand Starfleet has been rather remiss in expressing gratitude to those who've been fighting to preserve the Federation while being hunted by it. A touch of appreciation might go a long way toward establishing productive dialogue."

The president turned to look at him directly, one eyebrow raised. "Sarcasm noted, Ambassador. But you're not wrong." She sighed, the sound carrying the weight of worlds. "The problem extends far beyond this moment, this ship, these coordinates. The rest of the Federation is only just beginning to wake up to the threat. And many—too many—still aren't buying it."

"Ah yes, the eternal challenge of truth versus comfortable fiction." Garak tilted his head thoughtfully. "Tell me, Madam President, of those who refuse to believe, how many do you suspect are compromised themselves, and how many are simply engaged in that most human of behaviors: denial?"

"That's the hell of it—I don't know." Bacco's hands clenched at her sides. "Not all disbelief stems from infestation. Some people genuinely can't accept that they've been deceived on this scale. Others have political or personal reasons to reject the narrative. Sorting the compromised from the merely obstinate is going to take time we may not have."

"And then there's the diplomatic quagmire," Garak continued smoothly, warming to his theme. "The Romulans who bombed Paris—how many were Infested, and how many were simply following orders from those who were? It's the oldest defense in the book, and one of the most difficult to refute."

"Just following orders." The president's voice was flat, hollow. "As if that absolves them of responsibility."

"It doesn't, of course." Garak turned to face her fully now, his blue eyes sharp despite the casual tone. "But it does complicate matters considerably. You cannot simply execute every Romulan officer who participated in that atrocity—many were acting on legitimate orders from their chain of command. They believed they were serving their Empire. Punishing them as war criminals when they were, in essence, tools of the Infested... well, that creates its own set of diplomatic nightmares, doesn't it?"

Bacco closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, Garak saw the steel beneath her exhaustion. "The radicalization aspect makes it worse. Most of those involved weren't Infested themselves—they'd simply been conditioned by Infested superiors to view the Federation as an existential threat. How do you prosecute someone for being successfully manipulated?"

"You don't," Garak said simply. "At least, not in the traditional sense. But you must do something, or risk appearing weak to those who demand justice for the dead. It's a delicate balance—accountability without vengeance, justice without genocide. Threading that needle will require..." He paused, allowing himself a small, sardonic smile. "Well, it will require someone comfortable swimming in murky waters."

The president surprised him by laughing—a short, sharp bark of sound that held more irony than humor. "That's one way to put it. Ambassador, I'm glad you're here. I'm going to need someone who can navigate the grey areas we're about to enter. And from what I understand of your reputation, you're rather adept at finding your way through the shadows."

"You flatter me, Madam President." Garak's smile widened fractionally. "Though I note you stop just short of calling me a spy, a liar, and a master manipulator. How very diplomatic of you."

"I'm calling you an asset," Bacco corrected, her tone brooking no argument. "One I intend to utilize fully in the days ahead. We're about to walk into a situation that makes first contact with the Borg look straightforward by comparison. Multiple powers, multiple agendas, and an existential threat wearing the faces of people we trusted. If we're going to navigate this successfully, I need people who understand that sometimes the right thing and the legal thing aren't the same thing."

"How refreshingly pragmatic of you." Garak returned his gaze to the viewport, where the coordinates were growing closer with each passing moment. "Very well, Madam President. I accept your implicit offer of employment in this dubious enterprise. Though I do have one question."

"Which is?"

"When we arrive, and you extend your gratitude to Captain Ives and the crew of the Theurgy, will you be doing so as the President of the United Federation of Planets?" Garak's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Or as a fugitive president whose authority has been compromised by the very conspiracy we're trying to expose? Because that distinction, I'm afraid, will matter a great deal to how your words are received."

The silence that followed was heavy with implications. Finally, Bacco spoke, her voice carrying a strength that age and exhaustion couldn't diminish.

"I'll be doing so as both, Ambassador. As a president who acknowledges her government has been infiltrated and her authority questioned, but who nonetheless represents the legitimate civilian authority of the Federation. And as a woman who owes her life to the very people my government has been trying to destroy." She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. "If that makes me a fugitive president, so be it. But I'm still the president, and I intend to act like it."

"Good." Garak nodded approvingly. "Because they'll respect honesty far more than false certainty. These are people who've been lied about, hunted, and forced to make impossible choices while the Federation they swore to protect branded them traitors. They'll see through any attempt at political posturing in an instant."

"Then I'll give them truth instead." Bacco turned from the viewport, her security detail shifting to accommodate her movement. "Thank you, Ambassador. For the reminder, if nothing else, that this is going to require a level of honesty politicians aren't usually comfortable with."

"My pleasure, Madam President." Garak watched her go, then returned his attention to the stars.

Somewhere ahead, in the coordinates they approached, lay the Theurgy and whatever remained of the forces that had engaged them. Klingons, Romulans, Remans—a powder keg of interstellar tensions given form and fleet. And at the center of it all, a ship full of people who had sacrificed everything to expose a truth no one wanted to hear.

How very familiar that felt.

Garak's reflection smiled back at him from the viewport's surface, and for once, there was something genuine in the expression. They were swimming toward murky waters indeed, but murky waters had always been his natural habitat.

The game, as they said, was afoot.

And this time, perhaps, he was playing on the right side.

[ Dr. James Hudson Marlowe | Personal Office | SS Liberum | En Route to Classified Repair Facility ]

The smell of burnt circuitry and scorched metal still clung to everything despite the ship's environmental systems working overtime. Marlowe had grown almost accustomed to it—just another reminder of how close they'd come to being silenced permanently. The droids' attack had cost them dearly: Amy, Sil, and too many crew members whose names he kept running through his mind like a litany of the fallen.

But they were alive. Battered, bloodied, and limping toward one of Jaal's "trusted" facilities for repairs, but alive. And more importantly, still broadcasting when they could manage it.

Marlowe hunched over his desk, the blue glow of multiple PADDs illuminating his haggard features. Sleep remained an elusive luxury—every time he closed his eyes, he saw Amy's lifeless face, her body draped over the console she'd died protecting. So he worked instead, compiling data, cross-referencing reports, following the threads of information that continued to filter in through Jaal's classified channels.

The latest batch of intelligence had his full attention.

Reports of major engagement near Romulan Neutral Zone. Multiple fleet elements: Klingon Empire, Romulan Star Empire, Reman forces. Unconfirmed reports place USS Theurgy at center of conflict. Casualty estimates unavailable. Outcome: inconclusive.

Marlowe read the words for the fourth time, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the desk's edge. The Theurgy. Of course it would be the Theurgy. That ship had become the fulcrum upon which the fate of the Federation seemed to balance—a vessel full of people branded traitors who were actually the last line of defense against an enemy most still refused to acknowledge existed.

Enyd was on that ship. His former student, his friend—the stubborn woman who'd somehow ended up caught in the middle of this nightmare and who'd been part of the team that had rescued him from that Federation brig on Qo'noS. He'd seen her then, alive and determined, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Was she still alive now? Had she survived whatever battle had taken place near the Neutral Zone?

"Is that where it happens?" he murmured to the empty office. "Is that where we find out if truth wins, or if comfortable lies continue to rule the day?"

The battle—if the reports could be believed—had been significant. Fleet-level engagement, multiple powers, near the border that had defined generations of tension between the Federation and Romulan Star Empire. The implications were staggering. Had the Theurgy been destroyed? Had they somehow survived? Were they even now making their case to powers who might actually listen?

Or was this all just another elaborate trap, another manipulation by the Infested to consolidate their control?

The chime at his office door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "Come in," he called out, straightening in his chair and wincing as his body reminded him he'd been sitting in the same position for too long.

One of his newer research aides—Keera, a young Denobulan woman who'd joined his team after the embassy incident—entered with a PADD clutched tightly in both hands. Her typically cheerful expression was replaced by something that looked like a mix of excitement and frustration.

"James, we just received something through our Orion channels. You need to see this."

Marlowe gestured for her to continue, already reaching for another coffee that had long since gone cold. "I'm listening."

"One of our Orion informants—the reliable one, Vexis—just sent through intelligence about a major gathering being organized." Keera's wide eyes betrayed her nervousness. "We're talking about representatives from the Orions, the Tzenkethi Coalition, the Holy Order of the Kinshaya, the Gorn Hegemony, the Tholian Assembly, and the Breen Confederacy."

The coffee cup froze halfway to Marlowe's lips. Slowly, deliberately, he set it back down on the desk, his full attention now locked on his aide. "All of them? Meeting together? That's... that's unprecedented. Those powers barely tolerate each other under normal circumstances."

"Exactly." Keera nodded vigorously, her enthusiasm for the discovery momentarily overriding her concern. "According to Vexis, the meeting is scheduled to take place in or near Breen space within the next few weeks. The stated purpose is 'mutual security concerns regarding recent destabilization in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.'"

"Destabilization." Marlowe's laugh was sharp and bitter. "What a wonderfully sanitized way to describe whatever the hell is actually going on." He leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. "Do we have coordinates? Specific location? Timeline?"

Keera's expression shifted, and there it was—the frustration he'd noticed when she first entered. "That's where it gets complicated."

"Of course it does." Marlowe sighed, already knowing what was coming.

"Vexis has the information. Precise coordinates, attendee list, security arrangements, even the agenda topics." Keera's voice took on an edge that was decidedly un-Denobulan-like in its sharpness. "But that information is behind what they're calling a 'premium access fee.'"

"How much?"

Keera met his eyes, and Marlowe saw genuine anger there. She rolled her eyes dramatically before answering. "Enough to buy six ships like the Liberum and fund full pensions for our entire crew, their children, and their grandchildren."

The silence that followed was thunderous. Marlowe felt his hands curl into fists on the desktop, his knuckles white with tension. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet—the kind of quiet that made his crew know he was truly furious rather than merely frustrated.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly." Each word was precisely enunciated, controlled. "We have credible intelligence about a gathering of powers—powers that have historically been hostile to or at least deeply suspicious of the Federation—meeting in secret to discuss 'mutual security concerns' at precisely the moment when we've just exposed a massive infiltration conspiracy. A conspiracy that's almost certainly not limited to Federation and Klingon space." He paused, his jaw clenching. "This gathering could very well involve Infested representatives pushing their agenda to expand beyond their current scope. And the only thing preventing us from investigating this clear and present threat is..." He spat the words. "A paywall."

"That's exactly the situation." Keera's voice was tight with shared frustration.

Marlowe exploded from his chair, pacing the small office like a caged predator. "This is exactly what they count on! Information locked behind financial barriers, truth available only to those who can afford it, while the rest of the galaxy stumbles blindly toward catastrophe!" He spun to face Keera, his expression fierce. "This gathering—if it's real, and I suspect it is—could represent the next phase of whatever the hell the Infested are planning. If they've managed to infiltrate the Federation and Klingon Empire, what's stopping them from having agents among the Tzenkethi? The Breen? Any of these powers?"

"Which would explain why they're suddenly willing to meet together," Keera finished softly. "Someone's coordinating this. Someone's feeding them information, probably painting the Federation and Klingons as aggressive threats that require a unified response."

"Exactly." Marlowe resumed his pacing, his mind racing through scenarios and possibilities. "But we can't prove any of this without evidence. We can't investigate without the coordinates. And we can't get the coordinates without credits we don't have and couldn't justify spending if we did, all based on the word of one Orion informant—however reliable—selling intelligence to the highest bidder."

He stopped at the viewport, staring out at the stars streaking past in their limping warp trajectory. Somewhere out there, the Theurgy was fighting—or had fought—a battle that might determine everything. Enyd was out there somewhere, alive or dead, he didn't know which. And somewhere else, in or near Breen space, another threat was coalescing, one that could determine the long-term survival of everything worth protecting.

And he was stuck on a damaged ship, too poor to buy the information needed to investigate, too controversial to be taken seriously by most official channels even if he tried to share what little he knew.

"James?" Keera's voice was hesitant. "What do you want me to do?"

Marlowe turned from the viewport, his expression settling into something grimly determined. "Put together everything we have. Cross-reference the known intelligence with historical data on similar gatherings—if there have been any. Pull up everything we know about recent Breen, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholian, and Orion movements. Trade patterns, diplomatic communiqués, military deployments—anything that might give us a clue about where this meeting could be taking place."

"You want me to try to triangulate the location?" Understanding dawned in Keera's eyes. "Use circumstantial evidence to narrow down the possibilities?"

"Exactly. We may not be able to pinpoint it precisely, but we might be able to identify likely candidates. Breen space is vast, but there are only so many locations that would be suitable for a gathering of this magnitude and political sensitivity." Marlowe moved back to his desk, already pulling up star charts and strategic analyses. "Look for locations with strategic significance, defendable positions, places with existing infrastructure that could support multiple diplomatic parties, somewhere remote enough to maintain secrecy but accessible enough for representatives from six different powers to reach without arousing suspicion."

Keera nodded, her fingers already flying across her PADD as she made notes. "I'll have a preliminary analysis ready within six hours. Maybe twelve for anything comprehensive."

"Good. And Keera?" Marlowe caught her attention as she turned to leave. "Keep this quiet. I don't want anyone outside our immediate research team knowing what we're working on. If word gets back to Vexis that we're trying to circumvent the paywall, we might lose access to the channel entirely."

"Understood." She paused at the door, her expression troubled. "James, even if we do narrow down the location... what then? We're not a military vessel. We can't investigate a meeting of potentially hostile powers on our own, and we don't have the resources to pay for the intelligence that would let us pass it to someone who could."

"I know." Marlowe's voice was heavy with frustration. "But we do what we can with what we have. Maybe we get lucky and piece together enough information to make a credible case. Maybe we don't, but at least we tried. And maybe..." He trailed off, thinking of a certain Starfleet lieutenant who'd proven herself trustworthy. "Maybe there's someone who can act on it if we can verify enough of it."

After Keera left, Marlowe sank back into his chair, the weight of exhaustion and responsibility settling over him like a physical force. The office felt smaller now, the walls closing in as the magnitude of what they faced became clearer. Two potential flashpoints—the situation near the Neutral Zone and this gathering in Breen space—and he was effectively powerless to impact either directly.

His gaze fell on his communications console, and a thought began to crystallize. There was someone he could try to contact. Someone who had proven herself uncompromised. Someone who was, theoretically, right in the middle of whatever was happening near the Neutral Zone.

Enyd Madsen.

If she was still alive. If the Theurgy had survived. If any of them had made it through whatever engagement had taken place. Those were a lot of ifs, but Enyd had always been resourceful, brilliant, and stubborn enough to survive impossible situations. He had to believe she was still out there.

But could he risk it? Reaching out to someone aboard the Theurgy meant potentially exposing his location, his operations, his crew. They'd just barely survived one assassination attempt. How many more would come if he made himself that visible?

And yet... if he didn't try, if this threat went uninvestigated simply because of financial barriers and his own caution, how many people would die? How much territory would fall to the Infested's expanding influence?

Marlowe stared at the console for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential cost of inaction. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he activated a secondary encryption protocol—one of the secure channels Jaal had provided for emergencies—and began composing a message. Not to send immediately, but to have ready if Keera's analysis yielded anything substantive enough to justify the risk.

To: Lieutenant Enyd Isolde Madsen, USS Theurgy From: James

Enyd,

I don't even know if you're still alive to read this. I don't know if the Theurgy survived whatever happened near the Neutral Zone—reports are fragmented at best, contradictory at worst. But I have to hope you made it through. You always were too stubborn to let something like a fleet engagement slow you down.
I'm writing because I've stumbled onto something that has my instincts screaming that it's important, but I'm stuck behind the usual barriers of credits and access. You know how this works—truth is expensive, and I'm apparently not rich enough to afford it at the moment.

Here's what I know: There's going to be a meeting. A big one. Orions, Tzenkethi, Kinshaya, Gorn, Tholians, and Breen—all of them gathering somewhere in or near Breen space in the next few weeks to discuss "mutual security concerns regarding recent destabilization." Which, let's be honest, is a euphemism if I've ever heard one.

Now, I can't prove this, but my gut says the Infested have their fingers in this somehow. We know they've infiltrated the Federation and the Klingon Empire—what's to stop them from having agents among these other powers? And if they do, this gathering could be exactly the kind of coordination effort that turns bad into catastrophic. A multi-front coalition against the Federation, all based on paranoia and manipulation fed to them by parasites wearing familiar faces.

The problem is, I can't get the specific coordinates or details without paying an amount that would bankrupt me six times over. So my team and I are trying to triangulate possible locations using circumstantial evidence and historical patterns. It's a long shot, but it's what we've got.

If we manage to narrow it down to something actionable—and that's a big if—I wanted you to know about it. Or whoever in Starfleet isn't compromised and might actually be able to investigate. You proved yourself uncompromised when you helped get me out of that brig on Qo'noS. I trust you, Enyd. Which is saying something given how few people I trust these days.

My crew took heavy casualties recently. Lost my assistants, Amy and Sil, along with too many others. We were attacked by droids—someone really wanted us silenced. But we're still here, still broadcasting when we can, still digging for truth in all the uncomfortable places.

Happy hunting,

James

P.S. — If you're not alive to read this and someone else is going through your messages, please don't immediately arrest me. I'm one of the good guys, I swear. Probably.

He saved the draft message, encrypted it with multiple layers of security, and leaned back in his chair. The tone was far less formal than anything he'd normally send to someone in Starfleet, but Enyd had never been just another officer to him. She'd been his student, his friend, almost something more if either of them had ever slowed down enough to move beyond initial flirtation, someone who shared his passion for understanding truth even when it was complicated and uncomfortable. If anyone would understand what he was trying to do, it would be her.

When Keera's analysis was complete, when they had something more concrete than an Orion informant's expensive offer, he would decide whether to send it. Until then, they would do what they'd always done: dig for truth with whatever tools they had, refusing to let barriers—financial or otherwise—stop them from exposing threats to the people who deserved to know they existed.

Even if those people still weren't entirely ready to believe.

GM Note: This concludes the battle sequence and, technically, the main portion of the episode. We will be moving into the Epilogue next, which will feature the arrival of the Starfleet vessels and the subsequent meetings with the Remans, Klingons, Romulans, and the President.

Everyone should make one last post in this thread of your characters (where they are, how they receive this information Stark just shared, etc).

The ships are not reintegrated YET, but they will be by the time the Epilogue starts. You can do supplementary threads during the 3 hr in between to your heart's delight using S: D03 0100 hrs onward till 0300, understanding that the Ranger will be reintegrating with the Helmet during that time, and the Allegiant and Apache will be returning to the hangar as well. Starting at D03 0400 hrs, it will change to Epilogue.

Main OOC Board / Re: Main OOC Thread

Last post by rae - November 11, 2025, 07:25:25 PM

... INCOMING TRANSMISSION ...

Greetings Theurgists!

IT'S ALIVVVVVVVE!

As you might have noticed, our website has been down for a few days. But don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere! We’re back, here to stay, and now free of the scalping AI’s that were taking up all of our server space.

Shoutout to our fearless leader @Brutus for working with our webhost to get all the new code up!

To past members, fans, and anyone else who can’t get notifications from our discord, sorry for the scare!

Interregnum 01-02 S2 / Re: Day 08 [0830 hrs.] Can you take me higher?

Last post by Nesota Kynnovan - October 31, 2025, 06:46:05 PM

[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Holodeck 05 | Deck 21 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
Attn: @Pierce @Brutus

From where she was standing, leaning against the Mission Ops console with her arms folded across her chest, Jaya presented the holographic representation of the ship with a smile when the woman appeared. She listened how Thea cleared her throat and spoke up on a stern tone, which instantly prompted Jaya to unfold her arms and lower them in surprise over being addressed like that. It was completely unwarranted, at least from Jaya’s perspective, and it immediately annoyed her that Thea talked to her like that. Before she could think of a way to reply however, Strawberry Shortcake chose to speak up and explain their reasons for training new combat manoeuvres.

And when Lauren did, Jaya immediately understood why Thea had been so stern. Upon hearing how Ensign Pierce explained that they were supposed to lose an article of clothing for each failed attempt, Jaya realized that there’d been a serious misunderstanding between them. It became even worse when Jaya saw that Lauren turned around ever so slightly in her seat to look at her, and she could clearly see the hurt look of surprise and downright betrayal on Shortcake’s face as the other woman realized the severity of their miscommunication. To Jaya, it was probably that particular look on Lauren’s face that hurt her the most and, now completely at a loss of words, she turned her own attention to the Mission Ops console in front of her while she tried to think of something to say.

By the time Jaya looked up again, her attention drawn by movement coming from Lauren’s CONN station, she still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this entire situation, let alone what to say. When she saw how Lauren stood up, allowing most of her clothes to fall to the floor and leaving her standing in just a pair of panties and an unzipped uniform jacket, Jaya knew that she had to say something. Anything.

Clearing her throat and putting on one of her signature smirks, Jaya began to walk away from the Mission Ops console and approached the front of the bridge where Lauren and Thea were currently standing. ”Don’t be sorry, Shortcake!” While she spoke, Jaya’s voice was cheerful as ever and it managed to only further accentuate the smirk on her face while she kneeled down to pick up the clothes that Lauren dropped. ”In all fairness I meant that we’d lose replicator rations for each time that we’d crash, not clothes.” As she stood up, Jaya placed the discarded clothes on top of the adjacent Ops console and grinned as if she’d told a joke. ”Had I meant clothes, I’d probably be just as naked right now.” While she’d addressed both Lauren and Thea, Jaya now turned her attention to the red-haired Martian in particular. Or rather, to the part of Lauren’s large breasts that were on full display. ”And only then would you’ve had any reason to apologize, Shortcake! Those Martian boobs of yours would have completely outcompeted mine.”

As Jaya looked at Lauren’s breasts, she genuinely tried to figure out how every Martian she’d ever known was so incredibly top-heavy. She’d always figured that it had something to do with gravity or just something in the water. Regardless, it wasn’t a bad sight at all; she had known Ensign Pierce -Strawberry Shortcake- to be busty, but now she was confronted with this particular sight Jaya realized that she’d underestimated her fellow CONN Officer. She cleared her throat once again before turning her attention to Thea. ”Shortcake is right though, we were trying to pull off a new multi-vector manoeuvre, something like a backup. It’s not going terrible, at least if we forget about the fact that it cost Shortcake here all of her clothes,” Jaya grinned at Lauren for a moment while she said those words. ”But the safety protocols get confused and always end up making us crash. I figured that we could either fight you on it and keep fighting an uphill battle, or work with you to see if we can solve this problem together.”

Jaya turned her attention to Lauren again, smirking as if this was the most normal situation ever, before turning her attention to Thea once more. ”So, how about it? Do you want to help us with these manoeuvres? If you stick around and we show you what we’ve got, maybe us mere mortals can teach you a thing or two about combat piloting.”

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...

Last post by Krajin - October 28, 2025, 12:01:42 PM

[ Dominic Winters | Wolf 10 | Local Space | U.S.S Theurgy ATTN: @Dumedion @rae @Pierce @Stegro88 @P.C. Haring - All Wolves.

Atlas tracked the various operations and surveyed the events surrounding them all. He could see that the Klingons were continuing to fight, and the Romulans began to turn on each other, which truly made things curious and difficult. He pulled out from hiding amidst the wreckage and shifted speed to half impulse while Atlas monitored the communication lines while he traversed the chaotic void. A warning from another Romulan faction, Klingons cheering with every take down, comms from Theurgy directing them. His ears flicked in annoyance at the comms towards another Wolf, giving her the good girl treatment which honestly provoked anger from the Pilot. He hoped Janus or other ranking individuals would deliver a shredding for that.

Then came the comm from Wolf 13 and 14 going for an RTB with failing systems. "Wolf 13 and 14. This is Wolf 10. Coming up on your Six to provide cover and a tow if needed to get you home safe." Glory in battle is one thing, but making sure that other Pilots got home safe is more important. Punching it to full impulse, Atlas weaved around chunks of debris and pinged the two fighters on his scanners. Shifting to intercept, Atlas shadowed the duo and, if any systems failed, would provide a tow with the short range Tractor Beam the fighters were equipped with. Sure, it might make him a target, but he is capable of fighting and fending off anything that came for them. "If you have your ETS functioning and things get hairy, use it."

He felt he didn't need to remind them but you never know, stress and having allot to deal with could affect a pilot who may forget about the emergency system built into the fighter. As soon as they were safe, though, Atlas peeled off from the group. As it stood, the Romulans were fighting each other, the Klingons and other Wolves to really bother with the trio returning to the Theurgy.

While on escort, Atlas noted the lack of boarding shuttles approaching the Theurgy. Klingon Interceptors had thinned them out, and with the Romulans turning on each other fewer and fewer shuttles had been launched. Donatra's forces were getting pinned down and penned in with the Flagship looking quite open now. What did catch his eye was the sudden and rather alarming alert of a Thalaron build-up onboard her ship. Fuck Not keen to be a puddle when that goes off, Atlas opened a comm to the other Wolves. "Wolf-10 to Wolf 1. I got a Hellbore and a Hellhound left. If we can get an attack run on the Emitter, I got the delivery of a lifetime."

With that, he diverted on an intercept course to the Valdore.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...

Last post by P.C. Haring - October 24, 2025, 10:57:16 PM

[Lt. Reggie "Gemini" Suder | Wolf-13 | Cockpit | Valkyrie | Local Space] Attn: @Dumedion‍ @Stegro88‍ @Havenborn‍ @Eden‍ @Krajin‍ @ob2lander961‍ @Dree‍ @joshs1000‍

Reggie's ship rocked in the wake of a nearby explosion and her consoles momentarily blinked out before coming back online. By the time she'd regained herself, Wraith had already formed up on her wing.

"How're you doing over there, Wraith?"

[Never better, Gemini.]

That was bravado, she knew. The two of them had been through the rough of it and there were more than a few scorches that would need to be cleaned off both of their damaged hulls as an already intense fight had simply turned chaotic in the blink of an eye. Still the wounded wolves fought on.

Status main power is at thirty percent. Ordinance has been expended and phaser power is at half. Warp drive is shut down and power diverted to shields.

Even through the worst of it, Reggie took comfort in the telepathic link she and Athen kept. Even in the worst moments, she drew her strength from it, knowing they were in each other's head.

[This is the IKS Fuq'Tup requesting fire support!]

The Neg'var class battleship was just ahead of them and Reggie had already made the decision when Wraith spoke up.

[Was that a Klingon distress call?]

"As close as you'll ever hear. Form up. We're going in."

The two closed in on the Fuq'Tup. It's hull had been breached, fires from inside raging as it squared off against two D'Deridex class warbirds. For as old as they were, the Warbirds still packed a punch if for no other reason than their sheer size.

[I'm reading an energy build up in the Fuk'Tup's ventral cannons. Looks like they're preparing to fire.]

"Lets give them the cover they need."

Without further word, Wolves 13 and 14 turned for the ship to Starboard and began laying down cover fire. The Target warbird's shield were already down and their phasers struck hard against solid hull scoring non critical hits, but being just enough a nuisence that power systems began to flicker. The Valravyn's passed harmelssly through the gap in the Warbirds bifrucated hull, each sending pot shots at the Warbird's inner warp Nacelles before exiting and adjusting their heading to the second warbird.

The explosion caught them both, whether between the warbird's demise, or the Klingon ship firing without warning, Reggie would never know. Consoles shorted out as both her and Wrath's ship were pelted with debris. Shields failed, alerts and sirens sounded as she struggled to reign in her bird and avoid colliding with anything that would spell instant doom for her wing of Valravyn flight. Jerking the ship hard to port and then to starboard the already taxed intertial dampeners could not keep up and her helmet smacked against the side of the cockpit, sending her into a daze she had to shake off in order to regain her focus. After what seemed like a few seconds slowed by time dialtion into an eternity, she leveled out.

Damage assessment.

The link was silent. She reached out for Athen, but found nothing. Biomonitors had not gone off. Either they were damaged too, or Athen was still alive albeit unconcious.

"Fuck..."

Out of the corner of her eye, her peripheral vision caught sight of Wolf-14 forming up again.

"Wolf 13 to 14, my Rio's down. You in one piece over there, Wraith?"

There was silence and Reggie felt a sense of dread creep over her.

"Wraith?"

Another moment before the comm crackled

[This is Alith, Gemini. I regret to inform you Wraith is dead.]

Reflexively, she turned and looked, truly looked at Wolf-14 as she flew. The wing was on fire, smoke blowing out into the vacuum, obscuring the cockpit. As they maneuvered, Wolf-14 rolled to avoid debris and giving Reggie the angle she needed to see the cockpit. The forward canopy was smashed, and soemthign metalic jutted out from Wraith's chest. She could not see much detail, but given the size of the shrapnel relative to his body, she could only imagine that it had crushed is chest and she hoped his death had been instant so as to spare him the suffering.

"Understood, Alith," she finally said, her voice feeling as dead as her wingman. "State your status."

[Untennable. I have flight controls but no weapons or shields.]

A quick systems check indicated her ship was not in any better shape.

"Roger. Form up and follow me in."

Alith gave no reply as the two ships turned to disengage from the fight.

"Wolf 13 to Wolf 1. Janus, Wolf 14 and I are pretty torn up out here. All ordinance is expended, main power is failing. Between the four of us we have one confirmed one possible fatality. We're disengaging and heading back to the den for repair, but realistically we're out of this fight. Apologies and good hunting."

She did not wait for a reply. Between the losses, the effort of flying, and the concern that a wayward Stalker might try to shoot them out of the sky, it was all Reggie could do to keep her composure, as the two wounded Wolves limped back to the den.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: CH2: S [Day 2 | 2315 hrs] For all the blood-tainted stars...

Last post by rae - October 22, 2025, 05:37:51 AM

[ PO2 Knox | Space at the Triangle | Stolen Romulan Experimental Fighter ] Attn: @Dumedion @Hans Applegate @Krajin @Ellen Fitz @Pierce @RyeTanker @joshs1000 @P.C. Haring @ob2lander961 @Stegro88
[Show/Hide]

Knox’s eyestalks scanned back and forth! Yep, those two pilot’s on his tail seemed to get the message. “We are all friends now!” Knox smiled to himself.

“OK time to fuck up the Romulans. Those cloaked bastards are hiding from the rest of the Federation ships. Let’s highlight them for everyone to shoot at!” Knox attempted to transmit to the fighter closest to him. He had no idea if the message got through or not. Either way it would not change his next course of action.

Rolling towards the largest Romulan ship he saw nearby on his IFF scanners, Knox fired a volley of disruptors at the Romulan ship. The impacts to the shields highlighted that something was there. The ship didn’t completely lose its cloak, but the rippling effect was enough so see and more importantly shoot at. The shimmering died down in just a few seconds and the ship was cloaked again but Knox was already shooting at it again. Now with the ship firmly in his sights Knox started to rapidly zap the ship with disruptor fire alternating from his twin disruptor cannons. This kept the large craft from hiding. Now everyone in the Triangle could clearly see Donatra’s ship while Knox continued to hit it with disruptor fire from his stolen Romulan fighter.

Soon, this drew the attention of other Romulan fighters. Romulan fighters piloted by Romulans. Romulan fighter pilots that didn’t like Knox shooting at Donatra. Knox quickly found himself quite popular in the worst way possible.

“Hey! Yeah… The Romulan’s are shooting at me for shooting at them! Cover me while I reveal their location for you! Help!” Knox transmitted to all Federation frequencies just to be careful.

Quickly he ripple fired off two of his missiles towards the closest two Romulan fighters and hit them with his disruptors to knock their shields down and uncloak them. This slowed them down and made them an easy target for each of his missiles. With a cloud of debris Knox’s problems were lessened by two. However more problems of various sizes were getting closer and firing at him with a steadily increasing level of annoyance!

Knox turned back towards Donatra’s ship and fired another rapid fire volley at her, not very cloaked now, ship.

Suddenly, Knox’s screens lit up. Many many more contacts had arrived. All of them pinging IFF signatures indicating Romulan ships. Lots of them! And most of them started to converge on his location. “Any Federation station. We have contacts! Lots of contacts. IFF says they are Romulan. I will start to hit them to take down their cloaks if they have a cloak. Cleared to shoot targets as they appear! I will pants them for you!”

With that, Knox started to rapid fire as quickly as he could at the incoming Romulan ships. He focused on the cloaked ones to highlight their location for Federation ships to pick off. He spent his remaining 4 missiles in slow sequential order at Donatra’s ship to keep it visible while he focused on tangling with the new threat.

[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit | Wolf-04, AC-409 Mk. III Valkyrie]
[Show/Hide]

As if keeping herself alive and in the fight wasn’t hard enough, attempting to troubleshoot and repair her ship's communications issue added a level of difficulty that Talia had never experienced. With her left hand throttled around the stick in a death grip, simultaneously shooting and maneuvering – while her head and eyes constantly scanned around her for threats, collisions, clear visual on targets and incoming fire – not to mention the fact that it seemed like every Romulan fighter in the AO was now intent on blasting their new ‘friend’ from the stars – Shadow's right hand was occupied in a desperate blind search under the rear panel of her command seat, digging into the isolinear chips there for the correct set selection to access the coms control interface panel tucked away in the same area.

Neither of which she could actually see, but she’d read the manual enough times to visualize the compartment and its layout in her head. “Incoming fire, aft – break right,” Anahi advised, but Talia had already jerked the stick hard to starboard mid warning. “Torp lock – evade, evade, evade,” the computer continued as Shadow grunted and flipped the fighter back over and rolled hard under the wing of a disabled B’rel for cover, then popped a countermeasures pod mid-maneuver, spraying arcs of flares and chaff into the void while a hiss of curses streamed between her teeth.

Janus’ ship streaked by in a blur then, falling back with such brutality that Talia couldn’t fathom the punishment the old man just put his body through – while the now friendly Romulan bogey lit up what looked to be the largest Warbird she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Faulty circuit CCA-772 located. Remove chip and replace, row 2, fourth from left. Reinitialize primary coms array and initiate encryption algorithms Alpha-Zeta 72.56,” Anahi advised.

“Fucking slow down,” Talia yelled, pushed to the absolute limits of her multitasking capabilities, fumbling to feel for the right chip as she literally fought for her life. Just counting to four by touch alone seemed like an impossible task. “Fuck sakes,” the pilot grunted, then pulled out a blue chip, blackened and fuzed into uselessness. Her fighter shook around her in the same instant, shields lit under heavy fire from above and behind. Talia reacted on instinct: throttling back and pitching the fighter’s nose up and over in a tight inverted roll that sent the stars spinning.

Then the void erupted in green fire. Everywhere.

Blurs of ships materialized into existence; flights of Klingon fighters, disruptors blazing bright in the darkness – swarmed into the fight. Detonating ships from both sides of the conflict erupted in flashes of incandescent light, winks of destruction brighter than stars for the most fleeting of seconds. It was impossible to know or comprehend who had the upper hand – in that moment, all Talia knew was that if they didn’t find a way to end this, and end it soon, no one would survive.

Her hand dropped the fried chip and scrambled to pull a fresh one out of the reserve stack above her head, but all she could see were green sticks. “Blue one, I need a fucking blue one,” she screamed in frustration – spilling the entire compartment out into her lap like a bag of snacks. The chips, now subject to the same brutal gravitational and inertial physics that Talia had endured since the onset of this insanity, were then scattered about the cockpit like shrapnel; some floated freely in position, others pinged off the surface of control consoles and the armored transparent dome of the cockpit and HUD displays.
“Fuck – sakes – fuck,” Talia grunted, trying to snatch one of the blue ones as she followed the erratic and idiotic attack patterns of their new “friend”. “Hirek, if that’s you, I’ll fucking kill you when this is over I fucking swear to –“ Shadow hissed, then finally managed to swipe a blue chip from the air and slotted it into place. “Reinitialize coms array,” she ordered breathlessly between target engagements – then kicked her fighter over and dove back into formation on Janus’ wing.

“Compliance. Standby,” Anahi droned, followed by a series of audible beeps. “Primary and secondary array links inoperable, activating tertiary.” Another series of beeps. “Tertiary array uplink established. Initiating encryption algorithms.”

“Spare me the play by play,” Talia hissed, opening fire in a straying run with Janus and their ward as they streaked past the massive Romulan command ship. “Did it work or not,” she demanded.

“Bioreadings indicate severe stress coupled with dehydration and under-nourishment – I recommend you eat as soon as possible, pilot,” the computer answered rapidly, which forced Talia to blink in surprise.

Did the fucking computer just call me hangry?[/silver]

“Uplink established.”

Talia’s helm erupted in audio chaos then, filling her ears with the voices of the Wolves as they each fought their own parts of the battle. Another voice joined in – the pilot of the unknown mark that was somehow aiding them, no doubt. None of that mattered though; she could hear them, so it was time to know if they could hear her. A rapid tap opened her coms up after she traded spaces with Janus in a graceful rollover to starboard, setting herself up off the Romulan’s flank.

“Wolf-4, coms check,” Shadow blurted quickly – hoping somebody would answer and explain what the hell was going on – or at least what the plan was to deal with the massive warship that just decloaked on top of them.

[ Lt Cmdr. Jaru “Janus” Rel | Wolf-01 | Valkyrie ]
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“Theurgy, Janus – will someone please tell me if you’re getting sensor data from this lunatic?” He cut the channel before finishing, “because otherwise I’m seriously considering letting him die.” Janus was sure that taking potshots at cloaked Romulan ships was good fun – he’d always enjoyed it – but his goal was to start sending out live sensor data on all cloaked ships in the AO that was usable for all friendly ships. One guy lighting up cloaks with disruptor fire wasn’t near as useful, especially when two members of an already depleted squadron were needed to guard him. He didn’t know what this chief petty officer’s day job was, but after watching him fly for a few seconds, Janus knew that Knox had never been near tacconn school.

At this point, the battle had taken on elements of a holodeck racing simulation. Knox would hit cloaked ships and race past them, giving the fighters a single strafing run before they had to disengage to keep up with the hijacked ship. He felt more like a glorified guard dog though, harrying the many ships that had taken notice of their new ally. Janus shifted targets quickly, sometimes abandoning runs midway through, jerking the Valkyrie around to take on a fighter or warbird that turned its full armament on Knox after he forced them into visual range.

“What’s with that one?” he mused, beginning to see a pattern in Knox’s attacks, which focused on one ship in particular that never managed to stay decloaked for long. “Computer, identify that ship.” As it worked, the process slowed by the limited visual data his sensors had picked up during it’s momentary sighting, Janus busied himself with a quick, violent dogfight with an enemy fighter. His shields took a beating, the outside of the canopy surrounded by sparks of bright lights, his own phasers causing similar damage only meters away. He snuck a torpedo into the fireworks that did the trick, but Janus was already speeding off back to the other two when he got confirmation.

Knox was shooting at his favorite warbird again, the ship appearing basically on top of them. Janus was so used to cloaked ships at this point that he didn’t even jump. The disappearing act had stopped surprising him. Fucking Romulans had ruined horror sims forever.

His communications board was still green, but Janus was starting to wonder if there was a fault anyway. “Knox, Janus – Get off wide beam comms and talk to me. I’m the one on your tail, I’m tied into Theurgy and the fighters with secure comms. You’re in a stolen ship, you don’t know how to work it, we don’t know who you are, it’s a fucking op sec nightmare. No one out here is going to follow your orders without my go ahead. The field is too big for everyone to follow and take out Romulans as you paint them. Shadow and I—”

Speaking of which, the other pilot chose that moment to finally fix her own comm system, her voice interrupting with a burst of static.

“Shadow, Janus – Copy.”

[Identified. IRW Valdore.] The words flashed across his HUD while the computer spoke, assigning the name on a tag next to the ship on his screen. Janus grinned. That explained it.

“Theurgy, Janus,” he made sure to tie Knox and Shadow into the channel too, “We have a confirmed location on the Valdore. Repeat. We found Donatra’s flagship. Let’s go get it.”

[ PO2 Knox | Space at the Triangle | Stolen Romulan Experimental Fighter ]
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Knox kept up his assault. With Donatra’s ship now highlighted by a constant barrage other Federation ships also contributed to wearing her shields down. And soon the boarding party would be able to go aboard her, or she would just explode. One way or another things were starting to look up. Chaotic for sure. But chaotic in a generally positive way. It was then that Knox received his next surprise. One of the ships, a Federation fighter that had been sort of frenemies with him so far called him on the radio. Knox was surprised because he didn’t know that ship had comms. Second, the individual flying that fighter identified themself as a wolf. Unsure if that was a fursona or maybe a wolf species had joined the Federation Knox was stunned because both of those were possible yet unexpected.

“Hey…Wolf 4…” Knox paused for a moment before continuing. “Your comms are working, and who let you off the leash?” Knox hoped that joke would go well and maybe add some clarity to the situation. But instead of dwelling on it, he pressed on with more important business. “Let’s shoot at this Romulan ship until the shields are down. We almost have them where we want them! Once the shields are down, I am gonna hit her engines to immobilize them.”

Knox waited to hear if there was a bark or some other K9 vocalization to follow and wondered if he should call this ‘Wolf 4’ a good girl.

But, one cannot just sit idle. Especially not in a battle. A very chaotic battle with lots of variables and several different teams all fighting each other for rather complex reasons. Knox rolled his craft to starboard and dodged another volley of disruptor fire, before hitting Donatra's ship again. As he was ready to line up another shot the shields flashed and almost looked like a bubble popping in the void of space. The next shot from a phaser from an unseen ally hit the hull of Donatra's ship confirming that the shields were down!

Knox gave up on decorum, “Hey Wolf 4! Who’s a good girl!? We got the shields down! Ahh Wolf 4 is a good girl! Treats for you back on the Theurgy!” After congratulating his teammate appropriately to show he valued her dedication and skill as a furry pilot, Knox sped towards the rear of Donatra’s ship and fired everything he had at her port side impulse engine while letting the USS Theurgy know that the shields were officially down now and he was going in for a mobility kill.

OOC: Joint post part two from myself, @Hans Applegate, and @Dumedion

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ch 2: S [Day 02 | 1630hrs] Cat's in the Cradle

Last post by Krajin - October 21, 2025, 01:46:52 PM

[ Dominic Winters | Pilot’s Locker Rooms | Vector 2 | Deck 16 | ATTN: @joshs1000

The man requested slow and gentle and yet he's acting like a female in heat! The act of trying to push himself back onto Dominic's cock encouraged him to keep it up and even speed things up. Sure, Atlas could read Lok's emotions but that is cheating and at the moment, its easier to see and feel the good and bad reactions of their activity without needing it. He maintained his bite on the scruff and began to pick up the pace and get into a steady rhythm with muffled grunts of pleasure shooting up through his body. One hand rested on Lok's waist, quickly shifted to pinning his hand to the wall.

The other, however, snaked around the big, wet Kzint's waist and felt along that furry form until it found its way to Lok's erection. Slowly, he slid his hand along the length and gripped Lok's turgid dick lightly and began to pump along the length of it. His thumb slid over the head and rubbed along the barbs to help stimulate them. All the while lost in the carnal act of rutting in the shower.

Main OOC Board / Re: Main OOC Thread

Last post by joshs1000 - October 21, 2025, 06:30:48 AM

I will be on vacation from the 25th to the 31st.

Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Topic: EP 2 S: [D3 | 0020hrs] Heavy is the Head

Last post by joshs1000 - October 21, 2025, 06:20:02 AM

Cmdr. Natalie Stark | Bridge | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn:[/b] @Brutus @Nesota Kynnovan @TWilkins @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker

“I won’t say no to the extra firepower Colonel, you have a deal”, Natalie said, practically shouted, as news of more friendlies graced her ears and lifted the great weight from her shoulders and dread in her stomach. “Standby, Colonel.”

With a few taps of the armrest of the captain’s chair, Cross and K’mprot were brought into the unified comms channel. “Commander, General, looks like we got a bit more help so I think we better make a play at ending this thing before anymore lives are lost; we need to take down their flagship, if that Thaloron weapon is allowed to go off things are going to go south fast.”

She paused for a moment as that weight returned as the realization that her actions could either lead to great victory or doom, not just for Theurgy but for their allies as well. The moment was hers to seize and she wasn’t going to second guess herself, she had to trust her gut. The pause was long enough for her mind to formulate a plan of action but it would require Theurgy, the Klingons, and their new Reman allies to work as a team, a team that had never practiced together or even knew each other’s names.

“Cross, I want you to use Ranger to fix that main Romulan squadron in place, and work with General K’mprot to get them away from the enemy flagship. Colonel Xiomek, form your squadron on my ship to make a run on the flagship, I want us to make a nice target to keep them distracted long enough that our combined fighters can get in close and allow a boarding party to get on board and sabotage the weapon.”

Once each leader acknowledged their orders, Stark rotated around in her chair to face Ensign Thorne, “Jaya, get on the horn with Janus, tell him he has five minutes to get his squadron, the Klingons’, and the Remans’ formed up and ready to attack, I have too much to manage up here so I’ll need you to vector them in and keep them coordinated.”

She turned back forward and took a breath, here we go. “Sylvain, get us out of this debris field and make a nice showy turn to get that Romulan flagship’s attention, full impulse, engage.”

Under the deft controls of Ensign Llewellyn-Kth, Helmet gracefully departed the dust and massive rocks of the debris field, leaving the shattered remains of a Romulan squadron behind, her sleek hull was heavily battered from not just the battle but months of abuse and yet she still stood out in the darkness of space due to her smart Starfleet paint that made her look like a worn beacon of light in the darkness. Within minutes Helmet was back in the battle space now filled with debris and burning ships, carnage perhaps not seen since the Dominion War, but still the two fleets, as worn down as they were slugged it out at ever closer ranges.

“Steady as you go Ensign”, Stark calmly said to Sylvain as the Helmet banked into position, the imposing form of the Romulan flagship centering on the screen, “here we go, mind your stations, Sylvain, take whatever evasive action is needed but don’t back down from that ship. Let’s give them something to shoot at. Auxiliary power to forward shields and weapons, ready photon torpedoes.”

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Bridge| Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]
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Hassar listened to the call with mild interest but spent much of his time in the brief pause since they had lost their attackers reviewing the controls for the weapons, with the help of the ship’s AI, Thea, who arranged what they called the LCARS display in a mild almost video-game-like tutorial. Before long though the Helmet was on the move once again as it exited the debris field and rejoined the battle.

The Romulan flagship filled the viewscreen, imposing, perhaps the largest ship that Hassar had ever seen. He glanced back down to his display which showed a smaller view of the viewscreen was seeing but also had a simple tactical map as well as a simple readout for the status of the weapons and shields. The tactical screen showed the enemy, still holding strong but clearly in a state of disarray as the tide was rapidly turning against them, as well as their allies but more importantly to his task, the fighters that had quickly grouped together to launch their own attack. His eyes watched, rarely blinking as the range counted down, finally the range counter flipped from red to green and in that very moment, Stark ordered, in a cool, almost melancholic voice, “Open fire.”

“Yes Commander, engaging contact Sierra 5, forward weapons firing”, Hassar responded a bit more emphatically than he normally would.

Coming in loaded for bear, Helmet unleashed its full power against the opposing enemy ship, which had also opened fire itself. A dual pair of phaser beams each took turns blasting away at the massive ship while two, six missile, salvoes of photon torpedoes burst forth from the forward torpedo tubes. This onslaught, combined with that of the supporting Reman ships was more than enough to get the attention of the enemy flagship and a not insubstantial number of its fighters as well as a couple escort ships. It was now or never if Theurgy and her allies’ fighters wanted to get the upper hand in their strike.

OOC Notes:

-Just to clarify what is happening, Theurgy and her allies are making one big attack on the Romulan flagship so they can get people aboard and disable the Thaloron weapon as well as decapitate head of the fleet (perhaps even literally since there are Klingons about) and bring a swift end to the battle.

-The mission with the fighters and the boarding action will be handled in separate threads, reach out to Ellen Fitz for more information if you are unsure what to do next.