Supermaxx

Pariah Online | Season One

I wanted to shoot for twenty eight before going on. Odd numbers are just the worst.

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The party rallied, tearing the initiative away from their attackers as they pressed forward for the first time since the battle begin. They had a plan of attack now; no longer were they simply reacting to the encroaching mob. Graves led the frontline forward, sweeping his halberd through the teeming mass of frozen gelatin. It's flaming ax-head made quick work of individual slimes. Yet for each one the tank cut down, it seemed like two more rose up to take it's place.

Graves felt like his muscles were on fire. He threw his strength behind every harrowing swing, his mind occupied only by the unflinching desire to get the hell out of that death trap. He knew what was at stake- they all did. Death here was no longer a simple inconvenience, but the end of everything. He could give no less than his all.

Even still, he could feel himself slowing. He made less progress with every step. His polearm swung with less and less force each time the digital warrior swept it forward. Muscles cramped and fatigue's deadly venom began to creep ever so slowly into his veins.

Luckily for the brutish tank, he was not alone in this fight.

Assistance came in a call of his name from the fiddle-wielding necrobard. Tiferet's magical music changed it's tune from the precise, elegant and swift Kronos to something...stranger. A swing band of all things began to echo from that damnable device of hers. Quick, powerful, yet utterly chaotic.

The buff hit Graves full-force like a baseball to the forehead.

Every inch of his body was shot full of a pulsating, electric energy. The strength that filled his taut muscles would've been appreciated, if not for the buckets upon buckets of itching powder he felt slipping in every pore, crack and crevice. "I do NOT like this song!" The giant howled.

He poured his irritation into every swing of his weapon that followed.

Energized hands spun the polearm about with surprising dexterity for a man of his size. He spun in his advance, dragging the ax along the sea of gushing slimes from side to side. Great, sweeping brushes preceded each forward step from the titan. Graves set the pace for the other frontliners to follow in the stead of his violent march.

All about him, the rest of the party worked to clear the path toward their chosen exit. Landon and Redsky's combined arms attack washed the enemy in searing malice, burning away a mass of gathered monsters on the ceiling as well as directly in front of them. That burning swath of dead made for an easy push for Graves, Ochre and Rael- they merely had to make sure the rest of the slimes didn't fill in the way in place of their dozens of dead.

"Move! Move!" Landon and Sky's opening wouldn't last long. They had done little to stem the overwhelming tide of creatures still filling the chamber, even with the stream of fallen they trod over; it would not be long before the frost slimes managed to overwhelm them if they did not escape in short order.

Graves reached the other end of the room, his shoulder slamming hard against the gate as he came to a sliding halt. The floor was horrifically slick from squashed slime corpses spilling their innards across the frosty stone. "Through the door, now! Fucking hurry!" From where he stood, the bloodied tank could see the ooze creatures massing at the back of the party. They were flooding forward like a singular, conjoined wave. It was a slow, sticky wave, mind you; but it wasn't something Graves would want to be caught under.

He remained outside the gate, half to keep the monsters back and half to catch anyone that might (understandably) fall thanks the messy ground.

Once the last person was through, Graves slipped in behind them, planting his feet on the stone. "Get this shit shut before they get through!" He barked, his halberd clattering to the floor as he lifted both of his palms up to the gate. Graves pushed with all of his might, forcing the creaking mass to move for likely the first time since it's creation. It took no small amount of effort, but the ooze slipping in between the two great doors was all the motivation the tank needed to continue.

Like a clap of thunder the doors were forced together, and the threshold closed off. A batch of slime attempting to wiggle through was cut in twain by the shutting of the gate, and silence fell over the creeping halls of the crypt once more.

Graves stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall as he slid down onto his rear with a loosed sigh. When he leaned back, the telltale shlick of something cool and sticky drew his eyes to the little beast still clinging unknowingly to his shoulder. "Fuckin' hate these things." He snarled, tearing it off and throwing it away. If it weren't for the stacking cold resistances thrown on him by his supporting allies, that creature might've taken an arm off if the bounty hunter's luck had continued the usual downward trend.

"Anybody dead yet?"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The party rallied, tearing the initiative away from their attackers as they pressed forward for the first time since the battle begin. They had a plan of attack now; no longer were they simply reacting to the encroaching mob. Graves led the frontline forward, sweeping his halberd through the teeming mass of frozen gelatin. It's flaming ax-head made quick work of individual slimes. Yet for each one the tank cut down, it seemed like two more rose up to take it's place.

Graves felt like his muscles were on fire. He threw his strength behind every harrowing swing, his mind occupied only by the unflinching desire to get the hell out of that death trap. He knew what was at stake- they all did. Death here was no longer a simple inconvenience, but the end of everything. He could give no less than his all.

Even still, he could feel himself slowing. He made less progress with every step. His polearm swung with less and less force each time the digital warrior swept it forward. Muscles cramped and fatigue's deadly venom began to creep ever so slowly into his veins.

Luckily for the brutish tank, he was not alone in this fight.

Assistance came in a call of his name from the fiddle-wielding necrobard. Tiferet's magical music changed it's tune from the precise, elegant and swift Kronos to something...stranger. A swing band of all things began to echo from that damnable device of hers. Quick, powerful, yet utterly chaotic.

The buff hit Graves full-force like a baseball to the forehead.

Every inch of his body was shot full of a pulsating, electric energy. The strength that filled his taut muscles would've been appreciated, if not for the buckets upon buckets of itching powder he felt slipping in every pore, crack and crevice. "I do NOT like this song!" The giant howled.

He poured his irritation into every swing of his weapon that followed.

Energized hands spun the polearm about with surprising dexterity for a man of his size. He spun in his advance, dragging the ax along the sea of gushing slimes from side to side. Great, sweeping brushes preceded each forward step from the titan. Graves set the pace for the other frontliners to follow in the stead of his violent march.

All about him, the rest of the party worked to clear the path toward their chosen exit. Landon and Redsky's combined arms attack washed the enemy in searing malice, burning away a mass of gathered monsters on the ceiling as well as directly in front of them. That burning swath of dead made for an easy push for Graves, Ochre and Rael- they merely had to make sure the rest of the slimes didn't fill in the way in place of their dozens of dead.

"Move! Move!" Landon and Sky's opening wouldn't last long. They had done little to stem the overwhelming tide of creatures still filling the chamber, even with the stream of fallen they trod over; it would not be long before the frost slimes managed to overwhelm them if they did not escape in short order.

Graves reached the other end of the room, his shoulder slamming hard against the gate as he came to a sliding halt. The floor was horrifically slick from squashed slime corpses spilling their innards across the frosty stone. "Through the door, now! Fucking hurry!" From where he stood, the bloodied tank could see the ooze creatures massing at the back of the party. They were flooding forward like a singular, conjoined wave. It was a slow, sticky wave, mind you; but it wasn't something Graves would want to be caught under.

He remained outside the gate, half to keep the monsters back and half to catch anyone that might (understandably) fall thanks the messy ground.

Once the last person was through, Graves slipped in behind them, planting his feet on the stone. "Get this shit shut before they get through!" He barked, his halberd clattering to the floor as he lifted both of his palms up to the gate. Graves pushed with all of his might, forcing the creaking mass to move for likely the first time since it's creation. It took no small amount of effort, but the ooze slipping in between the two great doors was all the motivation the tank needed to continue.

Like a clap of thunder the doors were forced together, and the threshold closed off. A batch of slime attempting to wiggle through was cut in twain by the shutting of the gate, and silence fell over the creeping halls of the crypt once more.

Graves stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall as he slid down onto his rear with a loosed sigh. When he leaned back, the telltale shlick of something cool and sticky drew his eyes to the little beast still clinging unknowingly to his shoulder. "Fuckin' hate these things." He snarled, tearing it off and throwing it away. If it weren't for the stacking cold resistances thrown on him by his supporting allies, that creature might've taken an arm off if the bounty hunter's luck had continued the usual downward trend.

"Anybody dead yet?"

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP [Seeking cannon fodder]

I’ll be putting in my interest as well.

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The procession was guided through the twisting halls of the keep by their astute guides. They were hurried along at a rather quick pace, never allowed to linger to take in the palace's many sights. The only time they ever stopped at all was when the captain moved by the kitchen and pilfered a hot cup of tea for the foreign adventurer- and anyone that wanted one for themselves. While they gathered, the captain and the guests were joined by the royal guard sergeant and the lone necromancer he escorted.

As they continued on their journey deeper into the palace, the procession was offered a glimpse of Dall's boundless coffers. Tapestries of ancient battles woven with colored silk and paintings of long dead monarchs decorated the marble walls. Incriminates of shining gold, splendorous and pure, were carved into the stone in intricate and beautiful designs. Luxury and lavishness defined the Dallish capital. No expense was spared, and the great wealth of it's merchant king was put on full display for all to see.

Passed room after room, hallway after hallway, the group finally came upon their destination. A doorway of heavy oak and iron. Much like the great gate of the keep, yet smaller and- apparent by it's worn handle- well used.

When it creaked open, the party was at once assaulted by a harsh breeze. The wind swept inside the keep like a river of ice, chilling all it encountered to the bone. They were led onto a frost covered portico just outside of the castle, where a great deal of activity could be seen.

Young boys and old men cloaked in heavy furs carried large trunks and bags upon their backs and shoulders, transporting them to and from a great storehouse adjacent to the keep. Several large horses lingered in the snow, packs being strapped down to the sides of their saddles. Each was fitted with a draping coat of padded linen; a means to keep them warm in Dall's unrelenting winter.

Standing on the portico just before the door was a short man wrapped tightly in a lavish-looking coat. His balding head was covered by a floppy cap, and his face protected under layers upon layers of thick white facial hair. The aging man turned when he turned the door opening, his thick spectacles nearly falling off his nose in the process. "Ah, there you are!" He nearly shouted. He started toward them, tucking the scroll of parchment under his arm as he gave a quick wave to the hired treasure hunters. "You have my sincerest apologies for all of this trouble. You have no idea how busy this time of year is for us. And the gods, so cruel! They brought on an early snow!" The odd fellow threw an arm out behind him, gesturing to the field of white that covered practically every inch of the outdoors, and to the flakes that seemed to never stop falling.

"I am Frederick Lethino, the king's royal steward. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." He smiled, nodding to them as he rapidly rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "You should all know why the king has summoned you here- I was quite detailed in my summons, after all. But just in case, I'll give you a brief...refresher." Lethino cleared his throat, his hands coming together in front of his chest as he straightened his back. He'd changed his usual speech a little, hoping to add an extra bit of thematic flair to his delivery.

"By order of King Astius the Second, ruler of Dall, you are hereby granted the title of Royal Artificers. This temporary seal will allow you to pass through the guard station at Contritum, and enter into the sunken city of the ancients." Lethino explained, his voice grave and his delivery far too dramatic.

"As Royal Artificers, your duty is to secure still-operational artifacts. For every treasure you bring back with you, you will be rewarded with Dall silver. It is no exaggeration to say that this mission could make you quite rich. However, be warned: it is not without risk. We all know of the Broken. The monsters that stalk the cities of old- said to devour the very flesh of those still-living captives they take. The lucky ones die quickly. Broken are fierce, unpredictable, and above all: intelligent. I make this clear to you so that you know what you're going up against is not to be taken lightly. Though you are all proven warriors in your own right...It is not uncommon for whole teams of Artificers to never return."

Lethino pulled the parchment out from underneath his arm, unrolling it. "If you're having second thoughts, I won't blame you. But this is the last time you may back down. If you're still willing, each of you will be provided with a small sum for taking the job; the rest will be given when you return with the artifacts. Your deadline is one week. Seven days to get there, collect as much as you can, and then return back here to reap your reward. I'll be sending you with a small escort and a guide to ensure that you get to the city and back safely, but only the guide will be joining you in Contritum; the rest of the escort will wait at the outpost."

The Steward had one of his aides approach each of the Artificers caring a bag of coin. They were not insignificant in size, and just the beginning sum would be worth months of a working man's wages. "I will have each of you who take the sum sign this document with your name. This binds you to complete the kingdom's contract. If you do not return in seven days to fulfill it, you will be a fugitive of the law, and this money will be considered stolen. The penalty for stealing in Dall is enslavement until the debt is paid." Frederick handed the contract and a quill to whomever took their own bag of coin first.

"Those of you who sign may choose a horse from those standing behind me. They're the strongest bred in all of Dall, and are trained not to panic- even in the face of the Broken. They'll serve you better than any horse that isn't from the Plains. You'll all need to hurry. You have perhaps five hours of sunlight left, and the journey to Contritum will take four of those."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The procession was guided through the twisting halls of the keep by their astute guides. They were hurried along at a rather quick pace, never allowed to linger to take in the palace's many sights. The only time they ever stopped at all was when the captain moved by the kitchen and pilfered a hot cup of tea for the foreign adventurer- and anyone that wanted one for themselves. While they gathered, the captain and the guests were joined by the royal guard sergeant and the lone necromancer he escorted.

As they continued on their journey deeper into the palace, the procession was offered a glimpse of Dall's boundless coffers. Tapestries of ancient battles woven with colored silk and paintings of long dead monarchs decorated the marble walls. Incriminates of shining gold, splendorous and pure, were carved into the stone in intricate and beautiful designs. Luxury and lavishness defined the Dallish capital. No expense was spared, and the great wealth of it's merchant king was put on full display for all to see.

Passed room after room, hallway after hallway, the group finally came upon their destination. A doorway of heavy oak and iron. Much like the great gate of the keep, yet smaller and- apparent by it's worn handle- well used.

When it creaked open, the party was at once assaulted by a harsh breeze. The wind swept inside the keep like a river of ice, chilling all it encountered to the bone. They were led onto a frost covered portico just outside of the castle, where a great deal of activity could be seen.

Young boys and old men cloaked in heavy furs carried large trunks and bags upon their backs and shoulders, transporting them to and from a great storehouse adjacent to the keep. Several large horses lingered in the snow, packs being strapped down to the sides of their saddles. Each was fitted with a draping coat of padded linen; a means to keep them warm in Dall's unrelenting winter.

Standing on the portico just before the door was a short man wrapped tightly in a lavish-looking coat. His balding head was covered by a floppy cap, and his face protected under layers upon layers of thick white facial hair. The aging man turned when he turned the door opening, his thick spectacles nearly falling off his nose in the process. "Ah, there you are!" He nearly shouted. He started toward them, tucking the scroll of parchment under his arm as he gave a quick wave to the hired treasure hunters. "You have my sincerest apologies for all of this trouble. You have no idea how busy this time of year is for us. And the gods, so cruel! They brought on an early snow!" The odd fellow threw an arm out behind him, gesturing to the field of white that covered practically every inch of the outdoors, and to the flakes that seemed to never stop falling.

"I am Frederick Lethino, the king's royal steward. It's a pleasure to meet all of you." He smiled, nodding to them as he rapidly rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "You should all know why the king has summoned you here- I was quite detailed in my summons, after all. But just in case, I'll give you a brief...refresher." Lethino cleared his throat, his hands coming together in front of his chest as he straightened his back. He'd changed his usual speech a little, hoping to add an extra bit of thematic flair to his delivery.

"By order of King Astius the Second, ruler of Dall, you are hereby granted the title of Royal Artificers. This temporary seal will allow you to pass through the guard station at Contritum, and enter into the sunken city of the ancients." Lethino explained, his voice grave and his delivery far too dramatic.

"As Royal Artificers, your duty is to secure still-operational artifacts. For every treasure you bring back with you, you will be rewarded with Dall silver. It is no exaggeration to say that this mission could make you quite rich. However, be warned: it is not without risk. We all know of the Broken. The monsters that stalk the cities of old- said to devour the very flesh of those still-living captives they take. The lucky ones die quickly. Broken are fierce, unpredictable, and above all: intelligent. I make this clear to you so that you know what you're going up against is not to be taken lightly. Though you are all proven warriors in your own right...It is not uncommon for whole teams of Artificers to never return."

Lethino pulled the parchment out from underneath his arm, unrolling it. "If you're having second thoughts, I won't blame you. But this is the last time you may back down. If you're still willing, each of you will be provided with a small sum for taking the job; the rest will be given when you return with the artifacts. Your deadline is one week. Seven days to get there, collect as much as you can, and then return back here to reap your reward. I'll be sending you with a small escort and a guide to ensure that you get to the city and back safely, but only the guide will be joining you in Contritum; the rest of the escort will wait at the outpost."

The Steward had one of his aides approach each of the Artificers caring a bag of coin. They were not insignificant in size, and just the beginning sum would be worth months of a working man's wages. "I will have each of you who take the sum sign this document with your name. This binds you to complete the kingdom's contract. If you do not return in seven days to fulfill it, you will be a fugitive of the law, and this money will be considered stolen. The penalty for stealing in Dall is enslavement until the debt is paid." Frederick handed the contract and a quill to whomever took their own bag of coin first.

"Those of you who sign may choose a horse from those standing behind me. They're the strongest bred in all of Dall, and are trained not to panic- even in the face of the Broken. They'll serve you better than any horse that isn't from the Plains. You'll all need to hurry. You have perhaps five hours of sunlight left, and the journey to Contritum will take four of those."

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

LAUNCH

CDR. ROSS
VITAE LOG #5
Morning, 2221
♪♪♪

---

The Nyx was abuzz with activity for the first time since the Vitae had launched. Engineers, scientists, aids and technicians were swarming the Nyx's relatively small bridge. Last minute systems checks were being run thrice over; though the Nyx was in tip-top shape as always, Command felt it necessary- she was carrying some of the most vital members of the Vitae's crew on it's most important mission yet, after all.

While Elijah couldn't exactly blame them for doing their due diligence, he very much wanted them all off of his bridge. It was too cramped to have twenty people all attempting to run analyses on it's every system, sub-system and process. The sensors were a particular source for concern for the dozen odd engineers pouring over it's mechanisms and fail-safes like their lives depended on it. Those sensors were going to give them their first close look at P4A-229. They were the machines that would determine if this planet was truly the home that humanity's last remnant sought; or if it nothing more than a forlorn attempt at ending their isolation among the stars.

He tried to block their voices out, focusing on what lay in front of him. He cast his eyes over the expanse of glass that dominated the front of the cockpit, his gaze tracing over the holographic displays that littered the window. All he saw beyond it were the titanic bay doors of the Vitae; soon, however, he would be met with the endless sea of black that they would sail upon to reach their fated destination. There were smaller consoles attached to his command chair's armrests that lay just above the Nyx's side stick controller and throttle that could be programmed to serve any number of functions. At the moment his engineering officer, Reyes, had the screens connected to Command and Control. They were waiting on the go-ahead from Locke before they could launch.

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the gargantuan gateway opening up in front of them roared out. It was joined by the moaning warning klaxons of the hangar bay, and the rasp of air being drained from the massive room. The Nyx was too large to be stored in the main hangar with all of the smaller escort vessels, so it had it's own dedicated sub-bay. While they took the final steps toward launch, Elijah's attention was drawn away from the hangar and toward Reyes.

"Incoming call from C&C." Reyes informed him.

Ross nodded, looking over toward the hologram projector just as Admiral Locke appeared. The admiral's comically small head hovered over the projector like that of a disembodied ghost. As Elijah had come to expect, the man didn't have a great deal to say; a brief reminder to stay in contact and to keep his men safe. William had never been one for grand speeches and pompous showmanship- Ross was thankful for that. He couldn't imagine how impossibly irritating it would be to be kept in this accursed hangar while the admiral droned on about 'the fate of humanity' and other such nonsense. Locke said what had to be said, and gave them the order to launch.

"Will do, sir. You can count on us." Ross briefly debated whether or not to add in a final, friendly jab, but decided against it; he had to remain professional, even if he was, admittedly, a little giddy. This was their first away mission in the five years since they'd left their home solar system behind.

Elijah wasn't the only one that was excited, either. He could practically feel the electricity in the air as the auxiliary crew finished the final checks behind him. He turned around in his seat, watching as the technicians and engineers hesitated to leave. Their eyes were cast out the bridge's main window.

Ross wasn't having any of that.

"Clear the bridge!" He snapped. "I'm trying to fly four hundred thousand tons of metal here, I don't need you distracting me." Even as the first three words left his mouth, the gaggle of workers had already started to make for the exit in record time. Ross waited until the last of them had thrown the door shut behind him before he turned back around, facing the unimpeded expanse of space for the first time in what felt like forever.

He felt an inkling of that same rush of emotion that had hit him the first time he sat down in the pilot's seat all those decades ago. Ross was overcome with eagerness and nearly crippled with terror in the same instance. Elijah had grown numb to the dark void in time, but the discovery of P4A-229 had caused them all to come rushing back to him again. His tongue lashed against his lips as he reached down and planted his respirator over his aging face. Air rushed into his lungs in the same moment he took hold of the controls, ushering the Nyx forward.

They entered space with the smoothness and ease of a paper boat gliding across the water. Almost as soon as he'd gotten them out of the Vitae, someone else wanted his attention.

"Captain Lopez in the passenger bay is calling up, sir." Reyes informed his commander dutifully. "All systems are green as well. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Thank you, Reyes." Ross flicked on his communicator. There was no holographic display this time; rather, the projector sent up a caller ID on the marine, displaying his name and rank beside a static image of his face. Lopez was eager to know when they'd arrive to P4A-229. Ross couldn't blame him. They all wanted to set their eyes on it as soon as possible.

"I'll have that information for you in a moment, captain." Elijah turned toward his navigation officer, Baines. "Do you have an ETA for us?"

Baines's fingers pranced across her console with practiced precision and grace as she uploaded their destination from the Vitae's navigation system to the Nyx's own. "We'll need to get a safe distance from the ark before we can activate our jump drive. Then we just have to wait for her to charge." Baines's voice was picked up by the commander's comm system, playing for Lopez so that he'd hear the answer as well. "Computer calculates around forty five minutes."

"Hope you brought a deck of cards, captain." Elijah grinned. "This'll take a little while."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

LAUNCH

CDR. ROSS
VITAE LOG #5
Morning, 2221
♪♪♪

---

The Nyx was abuzz with activity for the first time since the Vitae had launched. Engineers, scientists, aids and technicians were swarming the Nyx's relatively small bridge. Last minute systems checks were being run thrice over; though the Nyx was in tip-top shape as always, Command felt it necessary- she was carrying some of the most vital members of the Vitae's crew on it's most important mission yet, after all.

While Elijah couldn't exactly blame them for doing their due diligence, he very much wanted them all off of his bridge. It was too cramped to have twenty people all attempting to run analyses on it's every system, sub-system and process. The sensors were a particular source for concern for the dozen odd engineers pouring over it's mechanisms and fail-safes like their lives depended on it. Those sensors were going to give them their first close look at P4A-229. They were the machines that would determine if this planet was truly the home that humanity's last remnant sought; or if it nothing more than a forlorn attempt at ending their isolation among the stars.

He tried to block their voices out, focusing on what lay in front of him. He cast his eyes over the expanse of glass that dominated the front of the cockpit, his gaze tracing over the holographic displays that littered the window. All he saw beyond it were the titanic bay doors of the Vitae; soon, however, he would be met with the endless sea of black that they would sail upon to reach their fated destination. There were smaller consoles attached to his command chair's armrests that lay just above the Nyx's side stick controller and throttle that could be programmed to serve any number of functions. At the moment his engineering officer, Reyes, had the screens connected to Command and Control. They were waiting on the go-ahead from Locke before they could launch.

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the gargantuan gateway opening up in front of them roared out. It was joined by the moaning warning klaxons of the hangar bay, and the rasp of air being drained from the massive room. The Nyx was too large to be stored in the main hangar with all of the smaller escort vessels, so it had it's own dedicated sub-bay. While they took the final steps toward launch, Elijah's attention was drawn away from the hangar and toward Reyes.

"Incoming call from C&C." Reyes informed him.

Ross nodded, looking over toward the hologram projector just as Admiral Locke appeared. The admiral's comically small head hovered over the projector like that of a disembodied ghost. As Elijah had come to expect, the man didn't have a great deal to say; a brief reminder to stay in contact and to keep his men safe. William had never been one for grand speeches and pompous showmanship- Ross was thankful for that. He couldn't imagine how impossibly irritating it would be to be kept in this accursed hangar while the admiral droned on about 'the fate of humanity' and other such nonsense. Locke said what had to be said, and gave them the order to launch.

"Will do, sir. You can count on us." Ross briefly debated whether or not to add in a final, friendly jab, but decided against it; he had to remain professional, even if he was, admittedly, a little giddy. This was their first away mission in the five years since they'd left their home solar system behind.

Elijah wasn't the only one that was excited, either. He could practically feel the electricity in the air as the auxiliary crew finished the final checks behind him. He turned around in his seat, watching as the technicians and engineers hesitated to leave. Their eyes were cast out the bridge's main window.

Ross wasn't having any of that.

"Clear the bridge!" He snapped. "I'm trying to fly four hundred thousand tons of metal here, I don't need you distracting me." Even as the first three words left his mouth, the gaggle of workers had already started to make for the exit in record time. Ross waited until the last of them had thrown the door shut behind him before he turned back around, facing the unimpeded expanse of space for the first time in what felt like forever.

He felt an inkling of that same rush of emotion that had hit him the first time he sat down in the pilot's seat all those decades ago. Ross was overcome with eagerness and nearly crippled with terror in the same instance. Elijah had grown numb to the dark void in time, but the discovery of P4A-229 had caused them all to come rushing back to him again. His tongue lashed against his lips as he reached down and planted his respirator over his aging face. Air rushed into his lungs in the same moment he took hold of the controls, ushering the Nyx forward.

They entered space with the smoothness and ease of a paper boat gliding across the water. Almost as soon as he'd gotten them out of the Vitae, someone else wanted his attention.

"Captain Lopez in the passenger bay is calling up, sir." Reyes informed his commander dutifully. "All systems are green as well. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Thank you, Reyes." Ross flicked on his communicator. There was no holographic display this time; rather, the projector sent up a caller ID on the marine, displaying his name and rank beside a static image of his face. Lopez was eager to know when they'd arrive to P4A-229. Ross couldn't blame him. They all wanted to set their eyes on it as soon as possible.

"I'll have that information for you in a moment, captain." Elijah turned toward his navigation officer, Baines. "Do you have an ETA for us?"

Baines's fingers pranced across her console with practiced precision and grace as she uploaded their destination from the Vitae's navigation system to the Nyx's own. "We'll need to get a safe distance from the ark before we can activate our jump drive. Then we just have to wait for her to charge." Baines's voice was picked up by the commander's comm system, playing for Lopez so that he'd hear the answer as well. "Computer calculates around forty five minutes."

"Hope you brought a deck of cards, captain." Elijah grinned. "This'll take a little while."

- Squad 914: Beyond - Rebooted

---

Yosef Kaganavich

_{Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted....}

---

For a brief moment, panic filled Kaganavich's chest when the stranger raised his fists- surely he didn't intend to strike Yosef?!

He hadn't the time to react before the tall man, realizing there was no danger, lowered his hands. Confusion was printed upon Yosef's face, his gaze tracing over the nervous features of his opposite. 'What in world..?' He wondered silently, trying his best to keep his misgivings from showing on his expression. He hadn't a clue why Victor would react so defensively. Easily frightened, is he?'

Thankfully the silence hung not long between them with the easily frightened and awkward soldier offering a grin and a hand for Yosef to shake. There was great strength in his grip, the Hebrew noted.

"Bah, no apology needed." Yosef waved it off, returning the grin with one of his own- wide and deep as the Red Sea. A mirthfulness played in his eyes and in his voice; the stranger's queer attitude gave Yosef no shortage of amusement. "I can understand it. I'm quite frightening!" He laughed, his hands falling down to rest on his hips as he continued with what he meant to say when he approached earlier.

Victor's size was quite intimidating at a glance, but it only took him opening his mouth for all of that to fall away. He was as nervous as a deer and jumpy as a rabbit. Perhaps it is the unfamiliar that frightens him. Yosef tried to pick it apart, attempting to understand it as best he could. I could not blame him. All of this...if I were not so excited, I'd be terrified.

Introductions were exchanged, and he was able to hear what another of his North-born comrades thought of this exotic land they'd traveled so far to get to. 'Victor...' It was not an uncommon name, and it confirmed Yosef's belief that this man had the Motherland flowing through his veins. While it would be awfully hypocritical of him to treat others of odd origins poorly, Yosef could not deny that he found more comfort in the familiar. At least he knew that Victor would understand him when he spoke! In a place as strange and far from home as Asia, he believed it important to embrace what he knew. And Victor reminded him of home in more ways than one.

Yosef's smile faltered at the mention of his home.

He was not given long to dwell on it, however, for Victor spoke up once more. Yet he did not address Yosef, as he expected; his words were pointed toward a woman wandering about not far from them. She looked awfully bored, finding conversation between her boot and the dirt rather than with any of the surrounding groups that had started to form.

Yosef was curious as to why Victor called out to her so. His words were innocent and friendly, yet it was his intentions that Yosef dwelt on. Silently he observed, hearing what each had to say and guessing at the meaning weaved in between them. Interestingly, the woman- Milena- responded first not to the content of Victor's greeting, but the phrasing. She took issue with his polite use of ma'am.

'Too formal for her, perhaps?' He wondered to himself, his own curious smile playing at the edges of his lips. 'She'd rather he use her name. To be more familiar; looking for friends and not comrades, I would wager.'

In Kaganavich's experience, people were a lot like machines. On the surface they were smooth, lacking many complicated parts. Easily understood by one who's familiarity with them was only in passing. That was a radio. This, an engine. Yet inside was a whole host of new and difficult to understand parts. Even in two separate engines everything could be entirely different; it was much the same with people. Everyone was made up differently within. Yosef had always loved taking things apart and trying to understand them. It was much the same with people.

His chance to observe was cut short when Milena turned and addressed him as well. Yosef's smile widened as he snapped back into the present. "Oh, much the same as everyone else, I'd guess. Terribly hot and tired." The Hebrew chuckled. He offered a hand to her, much the same as Victor had. "I am Yosef. A pleasure." He nodded emphatically, motioning with his palm toward the giant standing to his side. "And this here is Victor." He added, noticing that Victor hadn't given his own name quite yet, despite how eager he'd seemed to speak to Milena. Yosef had a feeling that he might know why, but he'd save his teasing for when he and his new friend were alone.

Milena went on to ask the lumbering titan about his prior...accident. She wished to know if he'd managed to injure himself on the door- it turned out that she was a medic! That caught Kaganavich's attention, his brow shooting up at the sight of her going to examine Victor's very...very large head. "Ah, so you're where I'll be getting my bandages from! Excellent!" Yosef didn't exactly have the steadiest hands, and working with things that could burn, electrocute and cut him if he slipped up...he tended to need a lot of bandages.

She was rather quick to point that out. He noted as he took a step to the side to get a better look at what Milena might be doing to their new mutual friend. Overly worried about his well-being? Or looking to prove herself? Kaganavich rarely received satisfactory answers to the unending questions he asked himself. It was more of a game to keep his mind ever occupied than any concrete analysis; Lord knows he'd proven to be wrong about many a person's supposed character before.

"We're much the same, then. Though I'm more a medic of rifles and radios." Yosef joked. "I wouldn't trust myself with fixing a person in a thousand years."

Though there was always more to say, and always more to see, time marched ever onward. They had a schedule to uphold and the officers with their obnoxious, shrill whistles knew it; the soldiers were called to return to the train so that they might continue on. "Ah. It is farewell then, at least for now. I'll see you both later- shalom, comrades!" Off Yosef went, joining the hordes in returning to their cars to prepare for the long journey that lay ahead. He had much to think on, though that was always the case. Yosef's mind was never quiet. Never satisfied.

They came upon their destination in the dead of night. Deeper into India, though the location wasn't know to Yosef as he dragged his heavy head up from the window. He'd done his best not to doze off earlier in the trip, knowing he'd have to sleep in an unfamiliar cot when they eventually arrived. Yet with the hours ticking by and no one to speak to, Kaganavich had caved, falling into a dreamless sleep.

He took his bag of meager belongings up, tossing it over his shoulder as he joined the masses. They departed the train, entering the warm night air for the first night of many more to come. Yosef looked around the crowd for Victor or Milena, hoping to speak further; yet he wasn't given time as he was pushed and pointed toward a large tent and ordered to get some rest. You don't need to tell me twice. He smiled to himself drowsily, marching toward the tent until he could collapse into some bug ridden, dirty bunk. Exhaustion would quickly take him, hopefully; Yosef did not envy those that spent the train ride resting.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

Yosef Kaganavich

_{Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted....}

---

For a brief moment, panic filled Kaganavich's chest when the stranger raised his fists- surely he didn't intend to strike Yosef?!

He hadn't the time to react before the tall man, realizing there was no danger, lowered his hands. Confusion was printed upon Yosef's face, his gaze tracing over the nervous features of his opposite. 'What in world..?' He wondered silently, trying his best to keep his misgivings from showing on his expression. He hadn't a clue why Victor would react so defensively. Easily frightened, is he?'

Thankfully the silence hung not long between them with the easily frightened and awkward soldier offering a grin and a hand for Yosef to shake. There was great strength in his grip, the Hebrew noted.

"Bah, no apology needed." Yosef waved it off, returning the grin with one of his own- wide and deep as the Red Sea. A mirthfulness played in his eyes and in his voice; the stranger's queer attitude gave Yosef no shortage of amusement. "I can understand it. I'm quite frightening!" He laughed, his hands falling down to rest on his hips as he continued with what he meant to say when he approached earlier.

Victor's size was quite intimidating at a glance, but it only took him opening his mouth for all of that to fall away. He was as nervous as a deer and jumpy as a rabbit. Perhaps it is the unfamiliar that frightens him. Yosef tried to pick it apart, attempting to understand it as best he could. I could not blame him. All of this...if I were not so excited, I'd be terrified.

Introductions were exchanged, and he was able to hear what another of his North-born comrades thought of this exotic land they'd traveled so far to get to. 'Victor...' It was not an uncommon name, and it confirmed Yosef's belief that this man had the Motherland flowing through his veins. While it would be awfully hypocritical of him to treat others of odd origins poorly, Yosef could not deny that he found more comfort in the familiar. At least he knew that Victor would understand him when he spoke! In a place as strange and far from home as Asia, he believed it important to embrace what he knew. And Victor reminded him of home in more ways than one.

Yosef's smile faltered at the mention of his home.

He was not given long to dwell on it, however, for Victor spoke up once more. Yet he did not address Yosef, as he expected; his words were pointed toward a woman wandering about not far from them. She looked awfully bored, finding conversation between her boot and the dirt rather than with any of the surrounding groups that had started to form.

Yosef was curious as to why Victor called out to her so. His words were innocent and friendly, yet it was his intentions that Yosef dwelt on. Silently he observed, hearing what each had to say and guessing at the meaning weaved in between them. Interestingly, the woman- Milena- responded first not to the content of Victor's greeting, but the phrasing. She took issue with his polite use of ma'am.

'Too formal for her, perhaps?' He wondered to himself, his own curious smile playing at the edges of his lips. 'She'd rather he use her name. To be more familiar; looking for friends and not comrades, I would wager.'

In Kaganavich's experience, people were a lot like machines. On the surface they were smooth, lacking many complicated parts. Easily understood by one who's familiarity with them was only in passing. That was a radio. This, an engine. Yet inside was a whole host of new and difficult to understand parts. Even in two separate engines everything could be entirely different; it was much the same with people. Everyone was made up differently within. Yosef had always loved taking things apart and trying to understand them. It was much the same with people.

His chance to observe was cut short when Milena turned and addressed him as well. Yosef's smile widened as he snapped back into the present. "Oh, much the same as everyone else, I'd guess. Terribly hot and tired." The Hebrew chuckled. He offered a hand to her, much the same as Victor had. "I am Yosef. A pleasure." He nodded emphatically, motioning with his palm toward the giant standing to his side. "And this here is Victor." He added, noticing that Victor hadn't given his own name quite yet, despite how eager he'd seemed to speak to Milena. Yosef had a feeling that he might know why, but he'd save his teasing for when he and his new friend were alone.

Milena went on to ask the lumbering titan about his prior...accident. She wished to know if he'd managed to injure himself on the door- it turned out that she was a medic! That caught Kaganavich's attention, his brow shooting up at the sight of her going to examine Victor's very...very large head. "Ah, so you're where I'll be getting my bandages from! Excellent!" Yosef didn't exactly have the steadiest hands, and working with things that could burn, electrocute and cut him if he slipped up...he tended to need a lot of bandages.

She was rather quick to point that out. He noted as he took a step to the side to get a better look at what Milena might be doing to their new mutual friend. Overly worried about his well-being? Or looking to prove herself? Kaganavich rarely received satisfactory answers to the unending questions he asked himself. It was more of a game to keep his mind ever occupied than any concrete analysis; Lord knows he'd proven to be wrong about many a person's supposed character before.

"We're much the same, then. Though I'm more a medic of rifles and radios." Yosef joked. "I wouldn't trust myself with fixing a person in a thousand years."

Though there was always more to say, and always more to see, time marched ever onward. They had a schedule to uphold and the officers with their obnoxious, shrill whistles knew it; the soldiers were called to return to the train so that they might continue on. "Ah. It is farewell then, at least for now. I'll see you both later- shalom, comrades!" Off Yosef went, joining the hordes in returning to their cars to prepare for the long journey that lay ahead. He had much to think on, though that was always the case. Yosef's mind was never quiet. Never satisfied.

They came upon their destination in the dead of night. Deeper into India, though the location wasn't know to Yosef as he dragged his heavy head up from the window. He'd done his best not to doze off earlier in the trip, knowing he'd have to sleep in an unfamiliar cot when they eventually arrived. Yet with the hours ticking by and no one to speak to, Kaganavich had caved, falling into a dreamless sleep.

He took his bag of meager belongings up, tossing it over his shoulder as he joined the masses. They departed the train, entering the warm night air for the first night of many more to come. Yosef looked around the crowd for Victor or Milena, hoping to speak further; yet he wasn't given time as he was pushed and pointed toward a large tent and ordered to get some rest. You don't need to tell me twice. He smiled to himself drowsily, marching toward the tent until he could collapse into some bug ridden, dirty bunk. Exhaustion would quickly take him, hopefully; Yosef did not envy those that spent the train ride resting.