[center][img]https://www.pngkey.com/png/full/391-3919368_file-unsc-symbol-logo-halo-wars-the-great.png[/img][/center]

[center][h2]UNSC [i]Unbroken Hope[/i][/h2][/center]

[h3]0830 Hours, April 5th 2550 (Military Calendar) /
Unknown system, Unknown sector[/h3] 

Interacting with: N/A; Intro Post

	[i]"All crew report to muster stations, this is not a drill. I repeat, this is NOT a drill. Engineering, report to Core Engine Room and prepare diagnostic report. Cyro teams one through five, begin thaw procedures for pods one through eleven. All combat elements, remain on standby until further notice." [/i]

	Issac's light yet professional voice rang throughout the cyro bay in a soft murmur that gradually turned into a loud, low drone as the pins from the cryo pod blew apart and raised the hatch of the casket. The main inside took a wet gasp, shot upright and began throwing up the medicinal fluid that had been accumulating in his lungs. Almost instantly by his side was a technician holding a bin under his head, going so far as to pat the man on the back to help him clear the shit out faster. After a few moments catching his breath, the man known as Marcus Oliver finally managed to lift his head to the Marine and give a nod of thanks. The man spoke up, his rasped, crackly voice surprising him as he uttered out hoarsely, "I'll be fine from here. As you were, son." The tech nodded, snapping the recovering Admiral a crisp salute before promptly heading over to attend to the others coming out of their pods. Ignoring the sounds of retching, Marcus wasted no time in  going up to his quarters and getting his uniform on, clearing out the remaining fluid along the way. Already, he could tell there was a serious problem.

	It wasn't long before the Admiral stepped past the bridge security and onto the bridge itself, where the several dozen men and women scattered across various stations awaited his arrival. "Admiral on deck!" A familiar white-colored hologram yelled out from the bridge's center console, making everyone stand up in unison to salute the Admiral. Returning the gesture, most of the crew returned to their positions, except Issac and the Chief Navigation Officer who stood by the center console. Marcus strode toward the duo, and gestured to the officer on the right. "Report." The Navigation XO, known as Artyom Artyomovich, spoke up with a distinctly heavy Slavic-English accent. "Admiral Oliver, we had to prematurely abandon our jump to Minab. The current destination solution we had suddenly.. vanished, Sir." The Admiral raised an eyebrow, turning an expectant gaze over to the white hologram. Issac looked just as perplexed as the Navigation Officer did, and spoke up to confirm Oliver's fears. "The Slipspace Drive malfunctioned and catapulted us into an anomalous region of space, Sir. I'm... still trying to figure out where we are. Nobody's reachable within Battle Net, and localization is all over the place. For lack of a better word, I think we're uh.. far from Home, Admiral." 

	Marcus took a deep breath, and exhaled through his mouth. "Right. Well, until we figure out just where we are, we better prepare for anything. I don't want people panicking, I want them combat ready and all systems operational. X-O, I want all sensors set on mapping out where we are- as far as you can go. Isaac, I'll need a report on the Drive to make sure we're still jump capable. I'll get to work on debriefing the rest of my crew." "Aye, Sir!" The two shouted in unison, Issac vanishing into the bridge terminal and Artyom running off to consult the rest of his section. Marcus, meanwhile, strode over toward the main window and gazed out into the vast, onyx void beyond; sprinkled with glittering stars. At any rate, he might as well offer some much-needed consolation to the entire ship's crew to calm their nerves. Striding over to the PA system, Marcus took a deep breath before depressing the transmitter, and speaking slowly into it. 

	"Attention, servicemembers and crew of the [i]Unbroken Hope.[/i] This is Admiral Marcus Oliver with a... report, on the current situation. We have landed in an unknown anomaly of deep space due to a Slipspace Drive malfunction, and are currently stranded with no ETA on when or if we'll be able to return back home any time soon. Therefore, I am instructing all of you to remain calm, and prepare for anything. I apologize for the sudden gravity of the situation we currently face, but I can assure each and every one of you personally that I am determined to find out where we are, and find a way back home. This is Admiral Marcus Oliver, signing off." Releasing thr transmitter, it was a few seconds of silence before the bridge resumed activity as usual. Marcus knew he certainly wasn't the best at giving speeches, but he hoped at least some of the people under his command were put at ease. 

"Admiral, I've forwarded the report from Engineering to Warrant Officer Clarke. You should be getting a-" 

"Admiral, Sir! I have a report."

	"-Right about now. Let me know if there's anything else I can do, Sir." Issac concluded, vanishing into the bridge as Marcus strode over to one of the consoles where a fairly fresh-looking Officer sat at his station. "This just came in- Slipspace Drive is offline and undergoing emergency maintenance; we were fortunate enough not to suffer a ship-wide EMP. Getting it back to proper functionality is estimated at a day. All things considered, we got really lucky." Marcus blew out a sigh, and nodded. "That's good; how do our systems look?" Clarke swiped through various systems displays, reading through them briefly before nodding in approval. "All systems are nominal, Admiral." Marcus flashed a grin, before continuing on. "With the drive offline, divert the additional power to the engines and subsystems. Unless something significant happens, we're going to be idling for a bit before we can plan our next step forward. I'll be over at my station." 

	"Aye, Sir." was all that Clarke said before the Admiral walked over to the other side of the bridge, near the front main window. Sitting down in the vacant chair, Oliver glanced out to the star-speckled void that lay in front of him. The 52 year old ran a stressed, cracking hand underneath his chin, scratching his lightly salt and peppered stubble in contemplation. God-willing, we wasn't about to die out here when there was a war back home for Christ's sake. Whatever the cost, his new mission mattered more about getting back home- and he was going to do whatever it took to ensure his people were safe.