Goonhub
01-20-2015, 07:14 PM
Well I managed to drag the nuke onto the escape shuttle as a syndicate, and in under two seconds from the time I dragged it onto the shuttle, it exploded. There were less than 10 seconds left before the shuttle was to take off and let the crew win. This was done with a timed, armed bomb dragged through the halls. I really don't think I can top that as far as amazing moments go.
My retelling of my journey to that point.
-------------
I have been tasked with the utter destruction of this pathetic, ad-hoc space station and all the mouthbreathing 'professionals' who dwell within it's cold walls. I pull on my red. It fits like a glove. I pressurize my helmet while still among my brothers, to acclimate and in case anything goes wrong. I tuck the handle in my pocket. I sling trusty 'Mr. Pete' over my shoulder. I am focused. Driven.
My molecules reassemble and I stride forth with purpose. We were underfunded, and as such did not have enough tracking devices to go around. No matter, this station is run by fools and the Captain is the biggest fool of all. Cynicism and odium are once again proven to be the purest of emotions, as I sit outside the Captain's quarters, staring at a slip of gold that is my ticket to the ride of a lifetime, unhindered by petty security measures. The idiot's tracking device is laying next to it.
My light carves through glass and metal like butter. Slapping my chest, I hear the security codes transfer. I hide the shimmering prize in an elegantly designed cloaking container, safe in my pocket. I begin to hunt. The crude arrow and sounds of violence lead me through the empty bridge and into the 'security' area, if you could call it that. It's mainly used, from what I can see, to abuse and grind underfoot the unfortunate and downtrodden. I will save them from themselves.
I am looking across a hallway to a secondary area for less violent offenders, when my head casually turns to the left. A scientist and an overintelligent simian abomination have used base cunning and stick-borne electricity to overcome our brave leader, helpless in his customized, reinforced armor. When will they learn to make it out of ceramic to avoid such a horrible fate? In this moment of reflection, they look at me. I look at them. A pause in time.
I look my brave leader in his twitching eye, and nod solemnly. He understands. Mr. Pete sends the three of them off together, innards and blood cells mingled for all time.
The disk is just sitting south of the brig (someone had tried to mail it, I assume - nothing works right on this foul hunk of stinking metal). I dash back out the airlock to the west of security just as combat crew starts filtering in. They are not prepared for space. I leave them to ruminate on their failures. I arrive mostly uneventfully back home, save for visit I let Mr. Pete give to the chemistry window and chemist on the other side. Because, you know, those guys are assholes.
As I return, I meet up with a fellow Omni operative. He is a new recruit and is just getting going, so I give him a crash course in clone murder and toss him Pete with the last unfired rocket. I also give him my saber, inform him about donks, and wish him luck.
The ingrates had not even called for rescue yet. They do not deserve the quick deaths I will give them. I check my watch. We have been on-mission for thirteen minutes. I decide to prepare our base for the glorious sunfire that will consume all those farting fools while the Redhorn has some fun. I am in no hurry. I remove all the lights to impede any cheeky spessman who might decide to pop over and interfere, and I arm the bomb, tucking it in a corner. Then I get an idea.
I think of a better hiding place and thought space lag had messed with my eyes. I had given it around 6 minutes on the timer(fiddly panels) and hear the telltale call of inbound rescue. Then something comes over me. A feeling of foreboding, but most importantly impending failure. Something is wrong. I grab the hidden tracking device and go about trying to find our god-bomb.
Panic.
I head back over to the space surrounding the station and find the nuclear salvation floating in the southwest corner. I don't know if you are aware, but fumbling with a round bomb in open space while trying to check it's status is challenging at best. The escape shuttle has arrived, and I can now see I made a mistake in the thirty-step arming procedure.
I manage to get it back to the station via the hangar airlock, and set the timer in line with just before the shuttle full of simpering turbonerds was to leave, patting each other on the back and commending each other for stopping the Syndicate menace and killing or imprisoning all of us. Less than a minute, and my run through the halls with Our Lord and Savior in tow is tense. I pause outside the doors to the escape wing, and alter the countdown one final time. Ten seconds before they leave. Ten seconds before they win, before they escape with their lives.
Some knew. Some were oblivious, staring vacantly as if wrapped in the muddled waters of time, dragged down by cosmic forces they cannot comprehend or affect. Like trying to move in a dream, fighting against your fate, the endless struggle against entropy.
I step boldly in their midst. Those aware enough had maybe a second to process my presence,a moment to fully understand my purpose, an instant to accept their fates. The shuttle's panel flashes, '5 SECONDS UNTIL DEPARTURE.'
The light blinks from red to green.
Christmas comes, and we all go back from whence we came. Dust to cosmic dust. Abyssus abyssum invocat.
My retelling of my journey to that point.
-------------
I have been tasked with the utter destruction of this pathetic, ad-hoc space station and all the mouthbreathing 'professionals' who dwell within it's cold walls. I pull on my red. It fits like a glove. I pressurize my helmet while still among my brothers, to acclimate and in case anything goes wrong. I tuck the handle in my pocket. I sling trusty 'Mr. Pete' over my shoulder. I am focused. Driven.
My molecules reassemble and I stride forth with purpose. We were underfunded, and as such did not have enough tracking devices to go around. No matter, this station is run by fools and the Captain is the biggest fool of all. Cynicism and odium are once again proven to be the purest of emotions, as I sit outside the Captain's quarters, staring at a slip of gold that is my ticket to the ride of a lifetime, unhindered by petty security measures. The idiot's tracking device is laying next to it.
My light carves through glass and metal like butter. Slapping my chest, I hear the security codes transfer. I hide the shimmering prize in an elegantly designed cloaking container, safe in my pocket. I begin to hunt. The crude arrow and sounds of violence lead me through the empty bridge and into the 'security' area, if you could call it that. It's mainly used, from what I can see, to abuse and grind underfoot the unfortunate and downtrodden. I will save them from themselves.
I am looking across a hallway to a secondary area for less violent offenders, when my head casually turns to the left. A scientist and an overintelligent simian abomination have used base cunning and stick-borne electricity to overcome our brave leader, helpless in his customized, reinforced armor. When will they learn to make it out of ceramic to avoid such a horrible fate? In this moment of reflection, they look at me. I look at them. A pause in time.
I look my brave leader in his twitching eye, and nod solemnly. He understands. Mr. Pete sends the three of them off together, innards and blood cells mingled for all time.
The disk is just sitting south of the brig (someone had tried to mail it, I assume - nothing works right on this foul hunk of stinking metal). I dash back out the airlock to the west of security just as combat crew starts filtering in. They are not prepared for space. I leave them to ruminate on their failures. I arrive mostly uneventfully back home, save for visit I let Mr. Pete give to the chemistry window and chemist on the other side. Because, you know, those guys are assholes.
As I return, I meet up with a fellow Omni operative. He is a new recruit and is just getting going, so I give him a crash course in clone murder and toss him Pete with the last unfired rocket. I also give him my saber, inform him about donks, and wish him luck.
The ingrates had not even called for rescue yet. They do not deserve the quick deaths I will give them. I check my watch. We have been on-mission for thirteen minutes. I decide to prepare our base for the glorious sunfire that will consume all those farting fools while the Redhorn has some fun. I am in no hurry. I remove all the lights to impede any cheeky spessman who might decide to pop over and interfere, and I arm the bomb, tucking it in a corner. Then I get an idea.
I think of a better hiding place and thought space lag had messed with my eyes. I had given it around 6 minutes on the timer(fiddly panels) and hear the telltale call of inbound rescue. Then something comes over me. A feeling of foreboding, but most importantly impending failure. Something is wrong. I grab the hidden tracking device and go about trying to find our god-bomb.
Panic.
I head back over to the space surrounding the station and find the nuclear salvation floating in the southwest corner. I don't know if you are aware, but fumbling with a round bomb in open space while trying to check it's status is challenging at best. The escape shuttle has arrived, and I can now see I made a mistake in the thirty-step arming procedure.
I manage to get it back to the station via the hangar airlock, and set the timer in line with just before the shuttle full of simpering turbonerds was to leave, patting each other on the back and commending each other for stopping the Syndicate menace and killing or imprisoning all of us. Less than a minute, and my run through the halls with Our Lord and Savior in tow is tense. I pause outside the doors to the escape wing, and alter the countdown one final time. Ten seconds before they leave. Ten seconds before they win, before they escape with their lives.
Some knew. Some were oblivious, staring vacantly as if wrapped in the muddled waters of time, dragged down by cosmic forces they cannot comprehend or affect. Like trying to move in a dream, fighting against your fate, the endless struggle against entropy.
I step boldly in their midst. Those aware enough had maybe a second to process my presence,a moment to fully understand my purpose, an instant to accept their fates. The shuttle's panel flashes, '5 SECONDS UNTIL DEPARTURE.'
The light blinks from red to green.
Christmas comes, and we all go back from whence we came. Dust to cosmic dust. Abyssus abyssum invocat.