Left 4ce Dead (Tal, Kuhb, Lat)

[Sporky]

This...was turning out to be a bad year.


Nobody left alive could tell you how it happened. Chemical warfare? Some engineered virus? A bad bowl of soup? Nobody knew, nobody cared.


It struck hard and fast. The first few days, it was just some sort of sickness. The 'Green Flu', they called it, alluding to the thick green bile that infected coughed up. Then...the change happened. People turned from normal, healthy, (sometimes) thinking people into...animals. Zombies. Best friends butchered each other, babies either cried themselves to death in their cribs, or were killed by their own mothers. That woulda been survivable..but then even MORE change happened after a week or so...she'd lost count.

Boomers, the giant pus-bags that puked on your to attracted the horde, probably made out of cowards that'd sooner get their friends to solve their problems than deal with it themselves. Oh, and they exploded into even more puke when they were shot...fun times.

Tanks, the gigantic, hulking monstrosities that could rip up chunks of the pavement and toss them at you, or fling around cars. She..liked those guys. They weren't half-bad lookin', it's just that they kept trying to punch her to death. If she wasn't, in fact, immune, she'd like to become a Tank.

Smokers, the guys whose tongues had become five billion meters long, and they used them to drag you and strangle you...odd, she'd swore she'd seen that in some video on the Holonet before. Then, as a final insult, they exploded into a thick, putrid cloud of gas that smalled like what she imagined a room full of unwashed Marines to smell like...ick.

Hunters, the freakin' parkour wall-hangin' leapin' guys that she hated. Hated so very, very, very much. They'd skulk around out of site, then they'd pounce on you, and politely asked to see the color of your innards.

Witches, the pale little waifs that would just cry and cry until you made 'em angry..then they'd become horrifying she-beasts that she'd heard could tear apart entire groups...she'd learned to tippy toe around those..

It was a living nightmare for the first week or so..but she got by. Then, the 'specials' decided it'd be fu8n to call their friends! Super happy giant fun time!

The Jockey, the cackling little midgets that musta been some kinda pervert before changing. They liked to jump up on the back of your head, or...your face and steer you around while humping their little hearts out. She didn't like them. At all.

The Charger, the Tank's inbred cousin, with a giant club for one arm, a face half-gone, and a tendency to pick you up and slam you down over and over and over...class act, those.

Finally, the Spitter. Their mouths were stretched open like a gorram snake, and they spat fluorescent green bile, not unlike the Boomer, that REALLY hurt to touch instead of drawing the horde. Ugly little things, giving womanhood a bad gorram name..


So who was she? She was Illyad Miyu, and she used to be a merc. She'd star trekked around the galaxy, and she did almost anything that'd pay...now, she was just another survivor, looking for anywhere that still held out, or any sort of planet, asteroid, or ship that could hold out permanently, then find some sorta way to cure the virus, orcompletely wipe out all the infected..then, hopefully, civilization would rebuild.

Which was why she was here in the Kuat Drive Yards. She'd heard the navy was evacuating people out on dreadnauts, that the Mandalorians hadn't been hit at all. If there was any truth to that, she had no idea. If there was -any- ship- left that worked, she had no idea. She hadn't seen one in the few days that she'd been here. 'Far as she knew, it was just her, her shotgun, her barricade, and all the time in the world...

[Latus]

Two months.

It was a mere two months ago that he had seen those hallways so full of life and hope. Two months ago he waited for Manfred to find a new Eureka vest, two months since meeting up with Captain Zharra and Mr. Elune after all that time, two months since the launch of the Anthelion. Even before that he was content in his life and with every direction of every path that laid before him. It was a mere fortnight ago that everything changed; each path but one hitting a literal dead end.

They had initially called it the "green flu." The symptoms were similar; fever, aching, coughing, mucus expectorant. It was the color of the mucus that gave the flu its name. Roland thought nothing of it, wearing a mask, being a responsible boss. When any one of his employees displayed the signs they were sent home with sickness pay but when the sickness rate reached the 90th percentile he had begun to worry.That is when the deaths started, if that is what you could call it.

No one stayed dead for long.

People came back from the dead, attacked others and spread the infection. Armor helped but nothing was perfect. Bites transmitted it, as far as anyone could tell. At first there were few but in a matter of days there were hundreds of thousands. Panic ensued soon after. Rioting, chaos, civil order breaking down all around the attempts by the Jedi and ruling body to keep order. Coruscant was hit hard. Buildings were firebombed, walkways were collapsed just to stem the tide but they seemed to crop up everywhere.

Roland had holed himself up in the NMT development complex as the apartments right off the facility where he lived had been one of the firebomb targets. For a while he just waited, eating the modest stock from the corporate facilities, waiting for the whole thing to blow over. That was before they changed. One morning Roland awoke to a crash and metal tearing. He only had to glance from the window to see the problem; a zombie looking like he was trying to be Mr. Galaxy had tore a hole in the wall trying to get to someone who had desperately jumped the fence. From his office Roland took what few items he had in the offices and raced out to help the young man.

He reached the ground floor just in time to find the young man pounding at the glass. The old man flung the door open, drew back, and threw the first Immobilizer produced into the advancing crowd and slammed the door.

The young man was battered and bruised but alive. Realizing they could not stay at the facility Roland took to his heels with the young man, running for the Northern Citizen. As they ran the young man ranted, talking in between deep breaths about how KDY was trying to find survivors, evacuating them to the outer Rim on the military ships. Soon the pair of them were on the Northern Citizen, blasting from the atmosphere with all the haste they could muster.

*************

Roland grimaced as his hand slammed against the trigger for the airlock, the plate depressing with a harsh buzz. He heard a whoosh of air from the other side of the bulkhead and his eyes turned away from the window as the body moved into view. A silent word was all he could spare as he turned away; explosive decompression was not something he wanted to witness first hand. Roland had discovered that the young man was infected some time ago but symptoms were nonexistent. There was a sparkle of hope smothered in an instant when the kid turned. A blow to the leg and a brief chase later the kid's corpse was intra-planetary waste.

The Citizen was on auto-pilot and could dock itself so as KDY came into view Roland's full attention was directed to the massive station. Immediately his heart sank. Everything looked derelict. Few lights glowed from the ports and there were few if any ships left in their docks. The Citizen passed around a cluster of wrecked ships, corpses still floating mangled, frozen amid the wreckage. The wrecks were Republic definitely...

Bad omen... bad, bad sign.

As the dark blue ship continued its path through the devastation Roland returned to the seating area, the table covered with everything he managed to salvage from the Citizen and NMT before everything went wrong; there wasn't much.

A set of Eureka armor, a single T-45, an ETP, a ration of tubed food, and his cane. He hoped it would be enough. Grabbing everything and stowing or equipping it snugly on his person he walked hesitantly to the egress ramp unsure if he should be expecting a rescue or something much, much worse.

A few tense moments later the Citizen shuddered and the light above the egress door turned green. A touch to the pad and the door whooshed open. His right hand on his cane, left holding the T-45, he slowly moved from his ship and into the dark, silent corridors of the massive space station.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

All the worrying was finally starting to get to her…now she was even beginning to wonder if she was hearing his voice or not. Maybe she was and he was really alright, but after what she’d seen on the HNN about Coruscant’s condition when this all first happened…

Ducking behind a fallen sheet of ceiling metal, the woman pressed her back to the wall and slide down it until she was squatting, one hand on her extended pike staff. Blue eyes roamed the wall across from her and took a moment to try (once again) to sort out how this had all happened. It was all a blur, really…the heartbreaking leaving of Vex, how he’d made her believe he’d just been playing her all along only to turn himself in to the Jedi on Coruscant. That had been when she’d understood…but by then it was too late, the outbreaks had begun. At first it was simply a flu-like disease, spreading swiftly through the galaxy from Force only knew where it had started…but Coruscant seemed the worst. As time went on, however, people began whispering that this “green flu” was a new sort of ‘rakghoul plague’…it was a frightening thought since no one knew how it started or how it moved from host to host. With the jedi and security forces locking down planets (especially Coruscant) as contamination zones, riots and civil unrest breaking out everywhere, and then the growing number of ‘zombies’ roaming around…Aunna hadn’t worried so much about being caught by the Republic as she was about being caught by the infected.

…And about if Vex had…

She didn’t enjoy entertaining the idea. The last time we saw each other I told him I…

”Aunna, we have to keep moving.”

The sound of Eressea’s voice in her ear had her startling slightly, nearly upsetting the droid’s precarious balance on her shoulder. Eressea…energy had been scarce, and the two had needed to do whatever possible to keep the REA running. Dropped blaster packs, tapping into the remaining back-up energy of the KDY…it wasn’t easy, but the station was massive and, occasionally, they got lucky. Sometimes even lucky enough to come across a window with the star blasting its rays in, giving the little droid that much more ability to charge up; after all, Eres was more useful ‘awake’ than not, but Aunna would have preferred to be planet-side right now than up here. She hadn’t come to the KDY hoping for a rescue, like so many of the other walking corpses around here seemed to have done…she’d come here to get to the planet directly and had been forced to make a long-term pit-stop.

Nodding to her reptilian-shaped companion, she stood with a soft sigh and glanced at the pole in her hand briefly before taking her first, careful, step. The almost howled sobbing that tore at her ears had her cringing, stopping mid-step and looking around for the source. She’d been hearing that sound off and on for the past day or so and it always went right through her. There was no movement, however, no sudden gathering of fiends, no other signs of the banshee or any of her friends, so Aunna simply moved on. She’d gotten used to the eerie flickering (or dimmed) lights, the ghostly creaking and shifting of the station as it struggled to stay aloft or the wrecked ships outside scrapped and butted against it, she’d even managed to get past the smell of some parts of the station she’d passed through, and the corpses outside…well, they bothered her far less than the ones inside. What she wasn’t used to, however, was the sound that came from a little way down the corridor…the distinct sound of another ship docking. Not crashing, but actually docking.

”More guests? Oh this should be fun.”

Again that voice sounded through her earpiece.

”Not really,” came the whispered reply. The last time the station had received ‘guests’ beside herself (that she knew of anyway), they’d been a raiding party who stirred up a lot of fuss with the ‘natives’ and had joined said ‘natives’ later the next day in making a manwich out of one of their own mates. Creeping silently toward the sound, she took up a position behind some tumbled metal crates and waited to see what might come out of the corridor in question.

”Scanners are a little fuzzy, but it seems to be a singular entity, likely male by the stature. I’ll go check it out.”

With a nod as the go-ahead, Eressea clambered down Aunna’s shoulder and onto the crates. When they’d first arrived (several days ago, now), the two had learned swiftly to keep all light and sound to a minimum. This meant that the droid’s holographic wings were kept offline at all times (which also saved energy), as well as her repulsors unless absolutely necessary. The soft clicking of her talons on the metal floor would be the only sign of her presence until she was directly down the hall from Roland, her visor backlighting a transparent golden-tan as soon as she actually saw the man. A swift facial recognition program had her processors buzzing with information as she spoke silently to her companion once again. ”Facial recognition of Mr. Roland Rickettes, Nothern Monument Technologies. He appears uninfected…and alone.”

Roland Rickettes, she recognized the name. Her father had spoken about him a few times, here and there, as a man he’d like to meet should they ever be given the chance. I wish you were here to meet him, dad…Force knows this is a bad way to meet people, but…Standing, the auburn would step around the crates and take the few paces between her former hiding place and the short hall where Roland had ‘appeared.’ Scooping up Eressea and letting her clamber up to her preferred shoulder again, Aunna would take a few cautious steps toward the man.

”Are you bitten? Scratched? Injured anywhere?” she whispered. Looking him over, she did her best to check him through the force also…cursing the fact that she had so very little training. Vex would have known in an instant…dammit. Sometimes I wonder if I was better off not knowing I had this potential.

”I'm not reading any signs of blood, infected saliva residue, fever or other signs of infection on Mr. Rickettes at this range.”

Nodding once to Eressea, she’d also nod to Roland. ”This is a bad place for anyone to be, Mr. Rickettes…what are you doing here? Was it that ‘rescue’ nonsense, because I’ve not seen anyone I would consider ‘alive’ since I got here.”

”Except for that raiding party…”

”They didn’t stay alive long either, Eres, you know that.” The droid shrugged slightly and curled her tail around the back of Aunna’s neck to hang over the other shoulder. ”Are there others with you? Either way we need to get going…who knows what else heard you arrive…” she added, keeping her voice hushed.

[Kuhblam]

1 week ago...

"Sithspit!"

Beneath the sunglasses was eyes full of both shock and confusion. Partly, because the entirety of Coruscant was full of panic with all the zombie-liked infected carriers about, and partly because those same set of eyes were looking upon something of a large gash that had been ripped across the length of the body's adjoining right arm. A green muck-like substance from the now decapitated 'Rain Man' had mixed with the blood flowing from beneath wise cracker Dulgan Pryde's jacket, and as he stumbled backwards against the outside of his ship and sank there amidst the chaos, innumerable thoughts were going through his mind. Was he infected? Should he commit suicide? Maybe he should board his ship? Tearing a piece of cloth free from the deceased's rotten shirt, he wrapped it tightly about the wound after cleaning what he could.

Guess I'll know whether I'm lucky or not in the next ten minutes or so.

A shaky hand produced a com-link from inside his jacket. He had to raise Terren, get aboard the Concord Blade and get off and away from this forsaken rock. Better yet, he had to sterilize the wound properly; in the event he won the lottery, a whole bunch of other infections might set in simply from sustaining such an injury. Getting on his ship was the main priority and objective for the moment, then treating the wound properly would be an added plus.

"Terren, lower the boarding ramp!"

A crackle and a bit of static presented itself before the HK-droid's sarcastic and oblivious tone spoke up in response.

"Statement: Master, lowering the boarding ramp would increase the chances of shipboard contamination by over 98.45673254%. Further calculations indicat----."

"Terren, lower the boarding ramp damn it!"

The whine of the Blade's reactors powered up as the primary boarding ramp for the freighter lowered slowly, taking it's sweet time to drop as Dulgan eyed shadows playing across the wall inside the corridor leading to the hangar. As it hit the permacrete with a thud, Dulgan scrambled aboard, looking back as the ramp closed up; the infected were already flocking to the loudness of the reactors and it would only be a matter of time before their incessant scratching would decorate the exterior of his ship. As he walked inside towards the lift to the medical bay, Terren was already shuffling towards him with a scanner. Dulgan didn't need a medical examination to know he was carrying a virus: what he didn't understand was why he wasn't feeling any different. The only pain present was that of the gash in his arm, where the nerves were popping up in vicious pulses.

"Statement: Master, it would appear your blood stream has been compromised with the pathogen consistent in infected beings."

"Tell me something I don't know, genius. The thing is, I don't feel any different."

Stepping onto the lift, Dulgan stood cradling his arm as the elevator descended and came to a halt on the third deck, where the medical lab was located along with a few weapons lockers. It was white-washed, full of metallic cabinets and a bit of machinery. Pulling open one of the cabinets, he grabbed antibiotics and a various host of other materials to proceed with more adequately treating his wound. His hands fished for impromptu anesthetic; biting his lip while simultaneously self-stitching his wound would be required in lacking a medical assistant droid. Dulgan's mind drifted for a bit; he wasn't experiencing any of the regular symptoms that those government types said an infected carrier would be going through. It had to mean he was immune, but that he still carried the infection in his blood; the mucus from his assailant confirmed that at the least.

Removing his jacket completely, Dulgan laid his sword and scabbard on the medical cot, as well as his pistol and holster, backpack and utility belt. The entirety of his right sleeve was caked in dried crimson, which wasn't the most pleasant sight. As he prepared himself for the pain to follow, Dulgan felt oddly disconnected from the Force; it as if he simply couldn't touch it at all, like it had never existed to begin with. However, he couldn't dwell on that right. His attention turned towards his faithful HK companion once more. The droid had good programming, and being on the ship 24/7 meant he knew more from the holo-broadcasts than Dulgan by a long-shot. He'd know the next best place to travel for a non-zombified vacation.

"Terren, next best planetary option in the Core Worlds. We've got enough fuel to last us a while longer."

"Statement: Kuat, Kuat System, Kuat Sector. A broadcast received while you were going for a walk in the park suggests the military will be evacuating refugees from the installation."

Dulgan nodded, gritting his teeth as his face contorted into a painful grimace. The wound was becoming more and more irritating; he needed to hurry on up and close the wound for good. Kuat would be a good choice; it was still a Core World, of course, and about half of those evacuation ships would be full of unknown infected carriers. The KDY could possibly provide fuel, supplies; maybe Dulgan could find others like himself and get them off the rock. After all, two or three people were better than one person when it came to basic survival. He could dock, leave Terren in control of the ship, go scavenging for awhile, and then return and get off the ring before the infection hit full-scale. No way he'd get on a military evacuation ship; those things would be death traps waiting to explode. Yes, he'd made his decision; Kuat, his birthplace, would be the object of the pair's desires.

"Alright then, Terren, get the piloting droid on a course for the drive yards."

----

It was dark, lonely, and beginning to smell quite a bit from all the decaying tissue. The wound still ached and it hadn't finished healing yet by a long shot. At least he was absolutely sure he wasn't going to become one of them anytime soon.

Things were beginning to get pretty sucky as of late. Skulking through a completely abandoned orbital shipyards ring was one thing and being completely cut off from the Blade was another one. Seriously, who knew that the magnetic clamps on the docking collar were only disengaged from an office surrounded by infected? Dulgan hadn't been in contact with Terren for over an hour; of course, it was kind hard to communicate via com-link when you no longer had said com-link. Seeing as there was also a single infected of varying origin for about every half-centimeter of the drive yards, keeping quiet was a pretty smart thing to do. No matter how fast he'd be able to run, he would inevitably tire himself out; plus the presence of these special freaks, specifically the hooded ones who could match him in speed and agility, made stealth all the more necessary.

Dulgan's mind traveled back to the first one he'd seen; the big bloated one who'd puked on the small group refugees he'd been trying to reach a day earlier. That had caused a giant tidal wave of the rabies mongols to charge out from everywhere and rip them to shreds. He'd also seen at least another... some kind of midget that latched on survivors and proceeded to... hump them? He'd never gotten a good look at it; the lighting in the corridors and rooms was dismal, maybe poor at best. Glow rods had allowed him to read the graffiti sprayed all over the ring's interior, which spoke much different horrors than what he had encountered so far. Of course, he'd done an excellent job of concealing his presence. The Force was still blank to him, and he'd yet to use his training in it as of yet as there had been no reasoning for it. Similarly, he'd kept firearm usage to a minimum; the sword had kept him safe so far.

As he turned the corner instead of continuing down the chosen path, Dulgan's eyes looked down the corridor at what looked to be the large carcass of an animal two dozen yards away. It looked like it had fallen forward, but it was a deep rotten flesh color, and it was bustling with muscles. He thought he saw movement, but convinced himself that whatever the bulky mass was, it was definitely dead. Ducking to avoid the crackle of a swinging electrical wire, Dulgan squinted once more; the lighting was getting progressively worse, and he couldn't see very well.

As he progressed further, his caught a glimpse of what looked to be like a barricade of sorts; bits and pieces of debris of all sizes were lodged about a singular position. Maybe this had been a last stand type of shelter? Perhaps it wasn't a barricade, but it was too out of place in the numerous corridors to not warrant at least a little bit of searching. Besides, Dulgan was running out of supplies; he'd left pretty much everything on the Blade in order to keep light. His plan of living off the artificial land however, so to speak, had failed miserably; everything had been picked clean that could have been of use in the future. He'd found a single un-touched vending machine in the entirety of his exploration mission. There was no ammunition, no medical supplies, nothing. If the occupants of this little hovel were indeed dead, he could pillage what was left.

It never occurred to him during all this thinking in the flickering dark that anyone might be alive in there. He was fairly sure he was alone, aside from all the blood-thirsty infected beings walking about with a penchant to rip him apart, and so didn't call out beforehand. Instead, he pulled the clip holding his pistol in his leg holster and drew it by the handle. It felt good; he hadn't shot it in a long time. A gloved hand produced a comforting power pack from his utility belt, and as he slid it home he pressed himself to the wall, approached the hybrid blockade even slower, and poked a look inside with his pistol in hand. Perhaps a greeting would prevent the somewhat possible itchy trigger finger. In the slightest, it would let him know how many infected were trying to tear him apart.

"Anybody home?"

[Sporky]

Zombie, trigger. Zombie, trigger. Zombie, trigger. Tank, duck down and hold her breath. That's the way things had been for Illyad for the last little while. She was almost getting used to it...that was bad. Very very bad. Soon, she'd start to expect things, and then get a sense of security..bad bad bad.

So she'd taken to shuffling around inside her little makenuts shack, constructed haphazardly out of various broken off bits of ships and droids and what have you. She'd started to eat more food more often, and put music on music (very quietly) to break the monotony. She'd found a discarded music player full of songs by some people called the 'Midnight Riders', she'd quickly gotten attached to their music...shame they were probably shuffling around with the other infected on some Republic planet now.

Speaking of food, her stockpile of food and ammo was starting to dip into the middle-low range. She figured she had enough food for a few days if she ate at her current pace, longer if she rationed it. Ammo....there was no telling, it really depended on how many shufflers came by, and whether or not a Boomer could puke inside her shanty..that'd be bad..wait, what was that?

She'd heard someone call out...in Basic, not that garbledegook gibberish the zombies spewed. What, did the speech center of some zombie's brain suddenly switch back on? Gripping the golden shotgun she'd been using tightly, and checking to make sure the magazine was full, she answered.

"What, can zombies suddenly speak again?"

[Latus]

Thousands dead. Hundreds of thousands likely infected or unaccounted for. The thought stayed with him as his soft soled shoes touched the steel of the yard itself. Everything seemed quiet, unnaturally quiet even for the massive station. Roland knew something of statistics and if evacuee ships made it to KDY unharmed there must have been some infected on board; no other option for why the place was so dark. If there were zombies on the ships they were likely to have found some way onto the shipyard as well. Sliding from one step to another he made as little noise as possible as he strained to hear anything out of place.

Zreek. Zz zzt zee-zeet.

The metallic squeaking that emanated from over his left shoulder made him jump but Roland soon had his heart rate back in hand. He'd forgotten about her in all the excitement aboard the Citizen. It was Tesla, his ARA.

Oh force, Tes. Please stay quiet and keep your oculus open; we are no safer here than Coruscant.

The arm-shaped droid complied, rotating on the shoulder-harness as quietly as Roland's footsteps. The AI in the arm had learned to use a squeaky bearing in its trunk to communicate more effectively and Roland, enjoying the extra input never bothered to fix it. He'd left Tes powered down until now only because he did not need the second "set of eyes".

The situation had changed and, as he stepped quietly into the main hall of the station, he realized that Tes was his trump. He heard the mechanisms in the thick arm working as the ARA's gaze swiveled about, rotating through Roland's view arc but remaining to his flank.

The hall stretched on in both directions, barely lit and visually uninhabited, thankfully. Not knowing which way would bring him to harm or safety he clenched his cane and started off, stepping quickly but quietly into the shadowy thoroughfare of the station.

Zzzzzzzzzzz.

A low drone echoed forth from Tesla and Roland froze. He had owned the ARA long enough to understand the warning and, a glance up saw it was staring directly behind him. Spinning around he brought his pistol up to aim into the darkness that had formed itself around a series of toppled metal crates. He saw nothing, maybe an instant of reflection but no more. There was no light and no sound... Roland had not known the zombies to be quiet or careful. A quick glance showed Tesla's three fingers tensely open and staring at the crates. He'd never known her to be wrong.

Anyone there? Show yourself! His voice was sharp and low but it reflected his nervousness and hope that whatever Tesla had seen was not a horde of the infected come to claim him.

Slowly the darkness shifted as something, someone stepped around the crates and into the nearly null light that came through the view ports. It was slight and carried itself well. After only a moment it was easily identifiable to the old man as a woman, perhaps young and hopefully friendly. More movement caught his eye and something skittered from the darkness and up onto the form of the woman. The noise it made when it moved sounded like very light metal on metal; it sounded like a droid.

”Are you bitten? Scratched? Injured anywhere?”

Definitely female, soft as a whisper. Another survivor? A second voice rang with a more metallic tone in his ears and Tes suddenly ceased her droning, her tri-clawed grasper gliding closer to the shadowy form.

”I'm not reading any signs of blood, infected saliva residue, fever or other signs of infection on Mr. Rickettes at this range.”

You know me?

Zzzzzt. Roland saw her head nod and lowered his weapon, the base of his cane clicking the floor.

”This is a bad place for anyone to be, Mr. Rickettes…what are you doing here? Was it that ‘rescue’ nonsense, because I’ve not seen anyone I would consider ‘alive’ since I got here.”

”Except for that raiding party…”

”They didn’t stay alive long either, Eres, you know that.”

Raiding party? Looks like we've been had. We couldn't stay where we were and this seemed the likeliest place as any. he paused. In hindsight not smart.

”Are there others with you? Either way we need to get going…who knows what else heard you arrive…”

Just Tesla and I. The arm bobbed down then up once before the wrist rolled a full revolution; her standard greeting. You know who I am so introduce yourself while we walk.

Recognizing that this woman had likely came from that hallway he realized that could only leave the opposite direction as potential for the two of them. For better or worse they were likely now stuck together. Taking a breath he turned and stepped quickly foreword. Tesla, her gaze still focused aft, spun and tilted, gaze stuck to the small droid that she could see through the darkness that was perched on the young woman's shoulder. It lingered for only a moment, comparing against her "memories" of the other projects before confirming. She knew what Roland did not but had no way to communicate accurately with him so her gaze swiveled 180 and resumed scanning to the fore.

The older man held his pace back so the young woman could walk staggered behind or next to him with ease, the cane acting more as a blind-pole to prevent him from running into anything unseen in the shadows.

You said you dealt with raiders. How long have you been here? Have you come across anyone else?

Not slowing to find the answer he breathed against the pace but kept his ears tuned for both her whispers but also anything else. A moment later he heard that something.

Ba-koom!

Zrrt.

Gunshots. Maybe there is still someone left.

As before his voice was low and as they walked their footsteps became the only sound in the hallway.

Soon the narrow corridor opened into a much wider hall with many more open windows providing limited light and inactive people movers; the great terminals between docks. Some chairs and sitting tables were scattered about, some knocked over likely from the excitement from previous days. The increased level of light also deepened the shadows and, in some, Roland could see forms that may or may not have been tables...

Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Oh no. Roland's stomach sank.

[glow=black,2,300]Rrrgh. Uhhhrgh.[/glow]

Heads up!

The shadows sprang to unlife. From a multitude of corners from all over the room, beneath chairs, from behind pillars the movement burst forth. Taking a step back Roland could feel himself pulled by the urge to run but there was nowhere to run to. Fight!

Zzt!

Tes shot out, extending to her max length as she tracked one of the shufflers. Bringing his pistol up Roland squeezed the trigger, a green bolt racing forth to strike a zombie in the shin forcing it down. He fired again and again, the "Lightswitch" killing one every few hits or less but onward they came. One managed to get close enough but was intercepted by Tesla who's clawed hand clamped onto the face of the infected. A shock of searing red later and the infected fell away, a victim of Tes's welding laser.

One on the right!

Roland could only speak and take another step back as the group seemed to reach its limit... which was quite sizable.

A horde.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

“Raiding party? Looks like we’ve been had.” Aunna shook her head slightly to that comment. She’d explain that in a moment…in the mean time they needed to get going. Eying the…was that some sort of robotic arm? He’d named it ‘Tesla,’ whatever it was, so she nodded to it after the thing bobbed and whirled before glancing up at Eressea, who spoke quietly into her earpiece.

”An ARA, one of Familiar’s children.”

Aunna nodded slightly as she ghosted after Roland at his 5 o’clock, a habit she’d picked up with Vex…as well as the stealthy movements and silence. It had come in handy here, most certainly. ”Aunna Borgonia, this is Eressea. You…obviously know about the people who designed her. She tells me your ARA…Tesla?...is from them.” That would also, hopefully, explain the reason they had recognized the man…well, one of the reasons. Eres shifted lightly on her shoulder, those scanners pressing their maximum range as the two spoke quietly.

”Yes, one raiding party…we’ve been here about four, maybe five, days now and have seen traces of civilians here, but no survivors yet. The broadcast is on a loop and I’ve not been able to find the consol it’s transmitting from, or I’d have stopped it by now if possible. No point luring people to their—“ Her voice died out as Eres gripped the thick padding of her coat and Tesla made some…odd whirring sound (a warning perhaps?)…at the gunshots that echoed through the (seemingly) vacant halls. Roland’s words fell on mainly deaf ears, however. Yes, she had heard what he said, but she was getting a bad feeling…a feeling of not being alone, and it was only growing stronger as they moved.

”Reading multiple bio-signs up ahead…”

Nodding, Aunna shifted to come up fully beside Roland, her unlit weapon tossed lightly from her left hand to her right. As she moved that deep green and gold coat shifted and moved, the calf length material whispering softly and falling back just enough as she stepped over a discarded suitcase to show a glimpse of that golden bloodstripe along her pants. ”Roland, I think I should go firs—“ Again her sentence was cut short by that strange sound the ARA made and his voice…not to mention the creepish groaning that suddenly emanated from one of the shadows near by. Before he could get his next sentence out, that pole was firmly in both hands.

”Eres numbers and light.”

A shift of her thumb and the sapphire blade at the ‘business end’ of her pike hummed to life, bathing the area around it in a nimbus of blue in time with the REAs thrusters. With Eressea off her shoulder and in the air, her holographic wings flickered to life in a bright yellow-orange, illuminating the area below her as her targeting system tallied the number of signatures appearing on it.

”Numbering teens…twenties…holding at 25…26. Holding at 26.”

A series of muffled, but audible, clicks could be heard from her as Aunna nodded sharply and moved to flank Roland. ”Save your ammo, Eres.” She knew her familiar hated those words, it showed in the fact that more orange filtered into the color of her wings, but both knew it was necessary. It took only moments for the first of the small hoard to reach her, the sound of blaster fire striking out behind her only moments before. Fortunately for her, and likely Roland as well, she was all too familiar with fighting…and her time with Vex had only enhanced that. The man had been like a drill sergeant (a thought that had both made her groan, and grin, on multiple occasions) when it came to fighting…especially in fighting him. He had literally beaten some of his lessons into her, but she was thankful for it; and for being a swift learner.

For as swift as these rabid beings were, she was faster and could be more accurate…she had already been better than average back when she thought she had barely a drop of force ability in her. Now, with even the minute training she’d had, she was able to marginally enhance her performance. Those first two were dead within moments of trying to rush her, the third coming up on the other side swiftly. It received the butt of her pike, sending it staggering backward a couple paces as she shifted her weight and fluidly shifted the position of her hands as the blade arced through the air and to her other side to bring blue death down upon that third infected to her left as it neatly sliced the poor damned soul in half diagonally at the shoulder. In her periphery, she caught sight of Eressea stooping down on one, making it turn its attention…and the attention of those around it, toward her. The sight had her glancing over for just a moment.

”Good girl, Eres! Try to hook more of them and –“

“One on the right!”

Immediately snapping back to her task, that bright blade seared through the neck of the one trying to come at her from the right…as well as the two following him, both of whom ended up missing a limb before being eviscerated. Glancing around she thought she could see the next few passage ways on the other end of the terminal section…the question was; should they risk there being something worse over there? No.

”Eres, distract as many as you can and give me stats. Roland get behind me and back into the corridor we just left. Watch my six, be my second spotter while Eres is busy and pick off any you can from there.” She certainly hoped he would understand and do as she said. Things would just be simpler if she could narrow the stream of them down and reduce risk of being surrounded by the hoard. If he was as clever as he was built up to be, he could easily find something to get up on and aim over her head into the crowd. She struggled a moment to get a proper ‘hold’ on the force and consciously meld it into the speed she needed to avoid the incoming attack, her body twisting out of range of another one just moments later, that heavy coat spreading out around her with the motions. The burst was short, her form barely blurring around the edges, but it was enough to avoid both and kill one and boot the other back into oncoming companions.

If I ever see that man again, I'm going to beat him for leaving me, kiss the hell out of him, then thank him for beating some lessons into me.

[Kuhblam]

"What, zombies can suddenly speak again?"

The voice calling from within the barricade was definitely female, but it had some very mannish qualities to it. Maybe a human mercenary? Yeah, the voice spoke perfect basic... although he wasn't sure if the occupant of the hovel was serious or not. Well, he'd find out in about less than ten seconds when he hopped the waist level barricade and moved inside. He thought he heard some faint music playing... Midnight Riders? Yeah, it sounded like them. They were pretty darn good; he'd been pleasantly pleased that they'd made it out of the spaceport en route to Bakura. Maybe he should have told them about that one soldier who'd had a bite mark and jumped aboard.... yeah, he probably should have stopped to tell them that. Not bothering to say anything else, he grabbed a hold of the barricade and vaulted over it with pistol in hand...

...to face a golden shotgun in his face and the most manly toned woman he'd ever seen since... almost two hours ago, actually. That one refugee whom the Jockey had pulled into a horde was pretty darn muscular, and she was a human female too. And those armpits had so much tangled hair she could have been half-wookie! No, he had to focus right now. The barrel aimed at blowing a watermelon sized hole through his head was somewhat disconcerting. Was it aimed at his head? She was holding in his direction to a degree, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Shotguns were painful... really painful. His hands were raised, and he flipped his pistol to hold it by the barrel and extended it handle first to the woman in a show of good gesture. The other hand made a mock salute with two fingers.

"As you were, cupcake. Name's Dulgan. I used to don the brown robes and do the Jedi thing, but that was in a different time."

He looked her over. Yep, good call on his part. He was getting good at identifying people by voices. Maybe she was a zombie. She looked like she was half dead anyway, and ----.

No, Dulgan, no insults. You'll be pushing up rivets if you do anything stupid.

Hands still raised, he looked about the hovel. It was a nice little set-up, and the various paraphernalia suggested she or it must have some supplies to trade, however minute. Taking a seat on a creaky stole near the front of the barricade to look out, he spoke up again, not making any sudden movements. She hadn't blown his head off yet, and that was a promising sign of friendliness. Or maybe she'd do it in the next several second; who knew, right? His arm did go down once to rub the concealed wound hidden beneath his repaired jacket sleeve, and then raised up again. Hopefully she didn't catch that and ask about it, because then his chances of death by shotgun went up by about 80%.

"So, I'm not actually a zombie... or not yet, anyway. Mind if I call you Tom? What's your story? If you scratch my back, I'll scratch both our backs. Need some extra muscle to take back my ship or at the very least rescue my droid. Sorta stuck between a rock and a hard place right now trying to get off this ring."

Hmm... maybe he shouldn't have called her Tom. Nope, that was a bad move. While she spoke back, Dulgan's ear tuned in entirely to something else; gunfire further down the corridors. It wasn't too far off, but it was definitely frequent. Blaster fire, small arms. Not automatic, had to be pistols. The sounds coming from the Zulu-Foxtrots was enormous; it was like 20,000 decibels. No, that was a massive exaggeration. He was off by about 10 decibels, give or take a few. The options ran through his head; he could continue to converse with Mrs. Kuat 3601, go help out those survivors with rifle and pistol in hand with some blade-work to boot, or just stare blankly into the wall as usual. In any rate, if she had said her name, he hadn't take it into account whatsoever.

"Say Tom, how about you and me go look for the source of that gunfire. Think of it as like a family-friendly safari, minus the family and minus the friendliness."

[Sporky]

Well, he wasn't a zombie..that was the first thing she noticed. That was always good, it saved her another pull of the trigger for later, should she actually decide to take out a Tank. She'd seen this particular shotgun do some amazing things, she was sure it'd work wonders on a Tank, should she ever try, though truth be told, she'd always prefer to have some sort of machine gun against those brutes...those handsome, manly brutes.

Then he started talking, and her expression shifted from caution to 'oh dear gods, is he serious?' in three and a half nanoseconds. He was a gorram joker in the middle of a zombie friggin' apocalypse. Sheeeeeeet...

He threw his name at her, then began speaking as gunshots started going off in the distance. MORE survivors? Things were definitely starting to look up. Maybe she'd actually get off this forsaken hellhole of a starport.

For some reason, she didn't trust him..he seemed like he'd just use people to further his own goals. She was willing to bet he used to own one of those 'If zombies chase us, I'm tripping you' shirts that had been popular a year or three ago. There was probably still a zombie or two shuffling about with one of those on, too..probably they had been tripped. Or whatever. But he had guns, and a ship, it seemed. He was as trustworthy as anyone else around.

He threw out the idea of going off and helping the survivors, and she didn't hesitate. She grabbed every shotgun magazine she had lying around, which must have gone into the mid forties, and strapped them to the bandoliers she'd been wearing for who knew how many years now. "If this gets us killed, I swear I'm gonna kill you. To death."

[Latus]

Chaos had erupted amongst the silent halls of the station. Pitched blaster fire and the distinct hum of a blue luminescent blade was nearly drowned out by the moaning and screaming of the walking dead that had sprung from the shadows. Roland's blaster jumped over and over as he sighted in each different mass that wandered into his sights. Every other shot had him taking a step back, Tesla clicking and whirring as she sought any of the shambling masses that found their way through. Yet ever as he wandered back, Ms. Borgonia stepped foreword spinning and slicing a pole with what looked like a lightsaber welded to the tip. He missed several of her sharper statements over her movements, blaster fire, and the din of more than two dozen feet tromping across the metal floor. He gathered assuredly by her movements, though, that she wanted Roland to stay behind her, picking off the small multitude as it charged foreword all but blindly.

However, they were not out of this yet. Every step back made the former businessman unsure as to what, if anything was coming from behind; maybe they missed something.

Tesla; eyes to the rear! Now!

Zzt zzt.

Panting he continued to pull the trigger as the throng seemed to flow as if water around the young woman and her droid. Roland was no expert with a blaster but it was easy enough to point and shoot. As long as he pointed in the general direction of the infected there was a good chance he would hit, they were so thick. And hit he did, dropping one zombie after another. Ms. Borgonia was more effective at killing than he was and her droid, aloft on wings that looked like they belonged on an insect, seemed to handle the crowd effectively, not letting a one touch her. Roland's smile was inward as there would be time for celebration later. Another trigger pull struck the beast in the stomach, staggering it.

Roland's oft unused adrenal glands increased his awareness of the surroundings turning the minute fight into hours but soon enough the crowd was down to a dozen, then a handful. The final straggler, a bith crawler who had taken a bad hit to the knee was put out of its misery by an aimed shot, courtesy Roland. After that blast everything was suddenly silent, a shock to the senses as the older man could feel and hear the heartbeat pounding at his chest. The light level fell as Ms. Borgonia's blade and Eressea's wings faded away once again deepening the shadows and giving the devastated infected an eerie look. For a moment he hesitated, waiting to see if there were more. When he was certain in the shadows he sighed heavily.

At ease, Tesla.

Zzt.

My goodness that was exciting. The force, I'm shaking. Roland placed the base of his cane back on the floor, supporting more weight than usual on it as he stepped back toward the young woman and her hovering droid. Breathing heavily he looked back up at Tesla who was still focused behind him and he smirked his eyes turning back to Ms. Borginia.

I am certainly glad to come across a jedi as the first friendly face on an infected station. I admit your weapon seems a bit unusual but far be it from me to stifle your efficiency over something as simple as aesthetics.

Slowly he stepped around her to get a closer look at her Familiar, Eressea, who had landed on a platform near the primary hull that was at about eye level. She was cleaning her talons on the gray steel, little bits of flesh and droplets of blood falling away from the deft movements.

I never got to say so, but yes. I met a few of the 'members' of Project Familiar; AER series I believe and a young woman who worked with them. My company made a deal; Tesla was a perk.

Zzt.

Though he would go into no more detail Roland smiled as he looked up at the silver and blue arm, its hand rotating in the cuff and slowly turning to keep watch for more trouble. Nodding to his robotic and human companion as well as her small droid Roland took a step foreword, his pistol still gripped tight as he moved foreword into the shadows. His cane guided him to step over the corpses as he watched both the floor and the hallway, an eye tuned for movement, an ear for any sound.

And it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Borgonia. I'm not as young as I once was and I doubt I could have survived that on my own.

As the pair continued on Roland couldn't put something out of his mind. He had heard the name Borgonia before but for all of his attempts to bring up the memory it just would not show itself. Putting it out of his mind he just kept moving albiet slower than before, making sure Tesla was staying alert to everything around them. Several minutes later the pair arrived at a point in the hallway where docking collars dotted each wall and the area opened up some. Roland could see or hear very little of any infected but a skylight as well as several large plate windows gave plenty of light. At the far end of the opening he saw what looked to be stacks of junk. He could not see beyond and sighed, pausing behind a pillar as Mr. Borgonia came up to him.

I swear, I'm too old for this mess. Just walking around this place sets me on edge. The next area is really open which could mean several things...

Zzzzzzzzz....

He glanced up at Tesla before straining his ears. Her warning was unexpected because he didn't hear anything himself. What he saw from his ARA was that she had extended around the pillar and was looking out across the opening.

Someone... something's out there... stay sharp.

Raising his pistol he turned to the corner before peeking around it hoping he would not be met with either a blaster round or the mouth of some blasted infected.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Each movement, every breath, every blaster bolt fired, every action by every being around her…even Eressea and Tesla…left a different ripple in the music of the force around her. Some, like the infected, left dissonance ringing in her ears and she would recoil and react appropriately to the harsh ‘tones.’ Others, like those of her companion or Roland reached her and ran through her skin, making her turn away and out of danger of getting in their way or striking out at an enemy that threatened them rather than herself. Her eyes danced from one enemy to another as the haft of her pike collided with limbs or torsos or faces, the impact absorbed by her muscles only moments before the deadly end of it came slicing down through the waves of infected that attempted to get at her or Roland.

”Fifteen.”

The word in her ear broke her concentration momentarily and she slowed, nearly being caught by one of the rabid beings charging at her. A slight duck, shoulder forward, and the haft of her pike caught the creature before it was ready and flipped it over her back and to the floor before a heavy boot was used to snap its neck with a sharp (and forced) twist of the head. Not taking chances, the end of her pike severed the head in the next second before returning to the mob at hand. She had to admit, if Roland wasn’t landing kills, his laming the members of the hoard certainly helped make her job easier. Even Eressea was taking out members here and there, her sharp talons easily slicing neck arteries or rendering opponents.

It didn’t take particularly long for that final shot to sound, Aunna pausing just a moment, listening with more than just her ears and looking with more than just her eyes. Eressea was doing the same. ”Life signs: two.” Aunna could only shake her head at the little draconic droid as the light from both her blade, and that that from Eressea’s wings, died out. Turning, she regarded Roland steadily, the soft crackling of Eressea’s electrical discharge emitters sounding for just a moment as she fried the blood and flesh off of her claws before landing and scraping the rest off on the metal surface.

“At ease, Tesla. My goodness that was exciting. The force, I'm shaking.”

”That’s expected after intense amounts of adrenaline and a stressful situation. Are you alright otherwise?” she asked with a soft smile, moving quietly toward him. He seemed well enough, if a bit shaken and out of breath.

“I am certainly glad to come across a jedi as the first friendly face on an infected station. I admit your weapon seems a bit unusual but far be it from me to stifle your efficiency over something as simple as aesthetics.”

Aunna could only shake her head slightly and eye the smooth interface between her old spear and the newer emitter fondly. Vex…he’d spent so much time and effort on this one thing for her, even made certain that the two had matched. All without me even knowing about it until he gave it to me…she sighed slightly and shook her head again. I hope he’s alright.

”I'm not a jedi…never have been, and never will be. I'm hardly even trained, unfortunately.” Smiling sadly, she shrugged a bit. ”Just a military girl with a complicated past.” Following Roland over to where Eressea had perched herself, she leaned quietly against the wall, her eyes moving about the area. Eressea paused in her cleaning to watch Aunna for a moment before looking over to Roland. Nodding slightly, Eressea filtered through her known list of AER handlers.

”That would be either Dr. Jessica Chezz or Rahja Kell. I do believe it was Miss. Kell who had one of your pieces of work…a cloak to be exact.” This was spoken as she clambered up the thick material covering Aunna’s arm to her shoulder and settled down. When Roland started off again, Aunna was sure to walk abreast of Roland when possible. At his greeting, she’d simply nod slightly.

”Just Aunna, simpler that way. Shorter, too…but you get used to being here after a little while, easy enough to learn what to look for and listen for.”

As they came to the next area, she couldn’t help but ‘feel’ something else approaching. Perhaps more than one something, drawn by the sound of the fight most likely, and she sighed even as Tesla let out that strange warning once again. Pulling her hood up over her face, she pressed her hand to the column and motioned to Eres, who immediately started scaling the thing, going right up to the ceiling and clambering away upside down. Looking to Roland, she finally was able to distinguish how many there were. Holding up two fingers, she seeped into the shadows near by and waited to see just who…or what…was coming.

[Kuhblam]

Dulgan raised eyebrows out of sarcastic innocence at Tom's last statement. That was... an unpleasant statement.

"Well, erm, you could try. Although if we're already dead, and then you attempt to... oh, never mind, you get the point. Or at least I hope you do.."

Flipping his pistol on his gloved hand and catching it by the handle, he slid it back into his leg holster and clicked the latch to keep it in place. Except for that last sentence, she seemed alright for a random manly woman mercenary toting a big shotgun around a zombie-infested orbital ring. Yeah, he didn't have a doubt that she'd follow through on that last ultimatum... although he was somewhat confused about its mechanics. Was it possible to kill someone to death after already dying a first time? His mind whirled with the comical idea for a moment, and then he returned to the presumption that unless he started to get in motion he would most likely endure a horrid death sometime in the next few hours. Yep, getting a move on was likely a good plan. Maybe if he encountered some more survivors, he could take back the ship. Of course, if he remembered how to get back to the ship. And that was provided he actually managed to find the survivors. As a final note, this was all provided he found another com-link.

Ugh, I need an aspirin.

Placing a hand on the barricade, Dulgan vaulted over the waist-high barrier a second time before moving to help his new companion over as well. Starting into a regular paced walk, he moved off into the shadows, flickering lights illuminating their path through the debris-strewn corridor. His ears caught wind of slight footsteps ahead of him, and he thought he heard whispers. Perhaps it was the survivors? Maybe he was just going crazy. He deeply wished as of late that he could connect to the Force and probe the area beyond. It would make life a lot easier and he could have probably taken his ship back on his own. A couple telekinetic bursts here, a lightning arc there, a touch of speedy evisceration; yep, he missed his long time invisible friend oh so much. The list of missing useful applications went on and on beyond physicality; he couldn't chuck fruit at Terren anymore from odd angles, play mind games with sports announcers, no more fun stuff.

Man, reality sucks.

Periodically scanning about, he sent a random statement or two back to the woman warrior without turning around. Even if she didn't care, it was nice to get to talk to someone who was flesh and blood like him. Their surroundings sometimes made for an unnerving atmosphere, and he found himself becoming increasingly cautious amid the passive adrenaline in his veins.

"Ya know, I was born on Kuat. Don't remember much about it, though. Must have been one heck of place before the Zeds popped up."

As Dulgan walked along further, to his disappointment another curve ball was thrown in his face... literally. A crusty old hand wielding a blaster pistol and the face to match the former swung around from a column he was just about to pass. His eyes went-cross-eyed by looking at the barrel and his mouth turned into a frown. The face was recognizable, though, and he'd seen it on the holoscreens before on HNN or INN. It was a deranged, blood-spattered version of Roland... Rockets? Rolex? Rolly? It was one of the three. Maybe he could narrow it down by process of elimination. Yep, all three of those were pretty much wrong. Well, he could guess the last name at a later time. That was sort of secondary when he had a gun pointed in his face. Wasn't he in a similar situation only minutes ago? Dulgan sighed and then raised his hands ups. Behind his sunglasses, he eyed another figure to his left, hidden in the deeper shadows somewhat. Even better, two crazies. In any rate, he didn't notice that the end of the bloodied bandage on his arm was now exposed somewhat.

"Slow down, Colorado, no need to pull that trigger."

Dulgan slowly took his right hand's index finger and slowly pushed the barrel by the muzzle away from his forehead and past his ear into the own space before his raised left arm. He then took a step back. He had no idea what Tom was doing; whether she had her gun up, he didn't know. Of course, keeping his own brains intact again was slightly more important at the moment.

"I'm assuming you and Mysterious Stranger B to my left were the source of the gunfire earlier?"

[Sporky]

As she and Mr. Jokerface prowled along the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned station, Illyad's eyes were narrowed, and flitted about their sockets rapidly. You could never be too careful anymore, especially with these new special suckers about. Her grip on her shotgun was tight, enough to whiten her knuckles, and she swore she heard a groan of protest from the gun's grip, but that was probably just her imagination.

Once or twice, she thought she heard the manic giggling of a Jockey, and twisted herself around, wildly aiming her weapon this way and that..nothing. Nobody there, save for the odd dead infected strewn about. She was losing her mind..she had to be.

He mentioned he was born planetside, and she grunted, shaking her head. "Coruscant. Rich types. Party planners, even. It was boring." she offered in return, then went back to keeping an eye and an ear out for zombies. She had no inclination to start up a conversation with him at all. It distracted her, made her put her guard down, which was bad in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

Then there were two more...an old man, and...some other person she couldn't see too clearly. Wonderful. What lovely, competent company. Shaking her head and growling, she raised her shotgun, pointing it at the old man as Jokerface tried to talk to him.

[Latus]

What met Roland's gaze was not at all what he expected although he was prepared for the worst. Whoever Tesla had seen had broached a distance of less than two meters. The older man's heart skipped a beat and he started visibly his pistol coming up to aim at the man who had quite efficiently snuck up on them. It seemed, however, to have been by accident as, slowly, the man's hands raised in the universal indication of harmlessness.

"Slow down, Colorado, no need to pull that trigger."

Wait a moment, what? What?

As the man reached out to touch Roland's pistol he glanced over at the second form that had materialized out of the shadows in front of them. They/she had a shotgun raised at him and the businessman blinked several times before lowering his pistol, returning his weight to his cane on the floor.

Goodness, son. Do not sneak up on me like that. I'd not have shot you as, far as I can tell, the shufflers do not talk.

I sure would appreciate getting your friend to stand down, we are quite harmlessl. Well, to other survivors, that is.

"I'm assuming you and Mysterious Stranger B to my left were the source of the gunfire earlier?"

You assume correctly; son. They got the jump on us but we survived.

Sighing as his heart rate became normalized again he took a step back so the newcomer could get a better view of their small alcove amidst the wreckage. Holstering his pistol he reached his free hand to the man in neutrality.

Roland is my name, the droid on my shoulder is Tesla. I found Ms. Borgonia and her own droid when I arrived. Don't tell me; the promise of escape drew you here, too?

Zzt.

Roland motioned to his ARA as she did her customary greeting bob and roll. In motioning he noticed a sharp movement as Tesla straightened and began scanning the area again, hand spinning and flexing silently on her wrist as she moved. Roland's felt his stomach sink as worry gripped him again; he nearly forgot that these two survivors may be the only friendly folk on this ship. Even so, these two may even be pirates or the raiders Aunna spoke of; he had to be careful. Retrieving his hand he slid it to his hip where his pistol rested. For a moment he thought he heard maniacal laughter but it vanished over the ambient noise of the massive station.

Far as we can tell there is very little back the way we came save my ship and it is is out of fuel. How far down those halls have you explored?

Roland heard something clank in the shadows and he hissed a breath through his teeth. A glance at Tesla saw her moving back and forth looking briefly in one direction then changing to a new one; Roland's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

What the hell was out there?

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

The two beings (human by what she could get of their vitals, stature, trace pheromones, and heat signatures) may not have been easily visible to Roland or Aunna….but Eressea, who was hanging quite comfortably from the ceiling, could see the two more than easily enough. One section of her darkened HUD showed the area in low-light vision, another showed it in heat spectrum as abstract forms in shades varying from yellow, orange and red to blues and greens and blacks while readouts scrolled, appeared, and disappeared along the edges of her vision. Two soft clicks of her STINGER system and the small flechette clip snapped into place as she tracked the two, locking onto the…oddly larger (or at least more muscular appearing) female, then the male.

Command Protocol

STINGER – online
// flechette clip – loaded
// tracking system – online: tracking 4 targets
// targeting system – online: 2 targets

…Prioritizing threats…

Threats Prioritized.
Final locks established.

…Beginning analysis for known viral traits…

If they so much as blink wrong, they’ll be sorry for it, the droid mused silently as the ‘stand-off’ continued.

Aunna, on the other hand, had felt the two coming, but hadn’t seen them. Her eyes were good, certainly, but in the gloom of the area it was difficult to tell what was going on sometimes. When the two finally did appear in an area where she could see them, however, one had a shotgun aimed at Roland, the other about five feet away and square in the older man’s sights, be it by accident or intent. It looked quite accidental, though, since both men seemed equally surprised to find themselves in such a position. Blue eyes flickered between the three, though her mind was partially elsewhere.

There was a creeping feeling in the force that just wouldn’t be ignored. She just…couldn’t tell what was causing it. Between the ripples of potential danger the…shemale?...and the man in front of Roland were causing and the general feeling of danger emanating from the station itself, it was difficult for someone with her amount of training to pinpoint the more subtle dangers until they became far more obvious. Something had to happen so that she could feel the area out more clearly, or they might all be in a lot of danger. That, and they all needed to be a lot quieter or they’d all be in a lot of danger for sure. Though, to be honest, she didn’t like the fact that one of her ‘aces in the hole’ had been exposed. She doubted Eressea was taking too kindly to it either.

The Familiar liked being known about less than Aunna liked others knowing about her.

Well…at least no one really knew what she could do.

Yet.

”Look, I don’t care who you are or what brought you here, you’re here now…” she whispered, ”and I doubt any of us wants to attract the infected. So, I suggest we all stop aiming at each other, and keep the talking to a minimum until we’re someplace we know is relatively defensible and clean of them. Sound intelligent?” With that, she lowered her hood, forcibly ignoring the sounds she was picking up through the eerie sounds that were typical of the KDY…well, typical for the current situation, anyway.

Taking her staff, she’d take a few steps in the direction she and Roland hadn’t come from before pausing and looking back at them questioningly. If they wanted to stick together, that was fine with her, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath for it.

[Kuhblam]

"Wait a moment, what? What?"

Dulgan chuckled for a moment before patting the elder man on the shoulder lightly so as not to break a bone.

"Easy, old-timer, shake it off."

The incident replayed back in his head briefly. Well, the good news was that the old fart was just as surprised as he was. That was always the favorable option. He was indeed whom Dulgan had first made him out to be after closer examination, and he sounded just as articulate as his holo-speeches had suggested before the outbreak of the infection. He appeared well-armed, and despite the slight amounts of gore that decorated his clothing here and there, he seemed in light spirits. He had some kind of droid on his back; from the looks of it, Dulgan could only surmise he was using it for some kind of combat functionality support; no way that man was getting through the ring with a blaster pistol and a light ballistic vest. From what he could see, Roland wasn't carrying any other weapons that might be useful in the future. Eh, it didn't matter that much. Hopefully, he'd be out of this place soon enough.

"Well, it was kind of a freak fortune that we met in such a romantic place. Call me Dulgan. This here behind me is Olga. Or whatever her real name is."

He turned to gesture to his shotgun shell-bandoleer covered companion, who still held up her shotgun. He couldn't tell if it was pointed to him or Roland, and there was good reason to suspect that it was him. Quite frankly, he could sense she didn't trust him. Well, no reason to take offense at it. Why was it that everyone he met always took him at face value for a con-artist? Well, there was that one scheme on Ylesia... no, he'd already convinced himself he'd happened upon that giant sack full of credit chits. Yes, that hadn't been his fault. He gestured a hand out to her motioning for her to lower her gun. Around him, something along the lines of a maniacal laughter erupted from the shadows, although still a ways off. He'd encountered the creature that made those noises before; that heartless little midget bastard had nearly taken his head off before.

"Easy. Gramps here seems alright."

Roland had stated his name, which finally confirmed Dulgan's suspicions 100%. As he spoke, his words identified his companion, who promptly moved from the shadows. Ms... Borgonia. Where had he heard that name before? He knew he'd heard it before, somewhere or somehow. It was in his mind, but he just couldn't trace its origins. As he turned to look at her, it was obvious she was distinctly military and... she was carrying a lightsaber pike or a force pike? Only force-sensitives carried those weapons because... well he didn't know the reasoning behind the force pike, but force-sensitivity was required to properly wield a lightsaber pike. She had to be connected to the energy field. That meant she might have answers as to why the pathogen neutralized the midi-chlorians. He remained fixed on that weapon, his eyes stuck to it like super glue. Not feeling the Force was like being naked to him; with it, it'd make his job a whole lot easier. Thoughtfully, he made a note to question her later in on the event all his limbs were still attached and he maintained consciousness.

"Sorta. I knew this place was going to be hell in a hand basket from the beginning, but figured I could salvage some junk after the chaos subsided."

Before he could answer the man's next question concerning a ship and fuel, however, the Borgia lady or whatever the krath her last name was accosted all three of them, specifically Dulgan and the woman mercenary. He stepped aside as she moved past them carrying her pike, speaking in a fairly serious tone.

Fantastic, an ice queen to match the ice king.

He raised a hand to cover the left side of his mouth with his palm outward as he faced her next to Roland, whispering in a joking manner.

"Seems like a real nice lady."

He then moved up a bit alongside her about a foot and a half away, pulling his pistol from his leg holster with a click! as his footsteps echoed through the hallway. His gaze switched between the two new temporary companions he had made. It was almost like a regular family reunion, except that he'd never met any of these people before. His gaze finally turned back to Mrs... Borgonia, that's it.

"Well, Sergeant Major, we were actually heading to investigate your couple mile-wide radio broadcast through the shipyards. Just left Shotgun Sam's hovel back about thirty yards that-a-way."

He gestured with his blaster towards the dark corridors they had just come from. However, he didn't know the exact way back, and his first new best friend did. To construct a barricade like that took time; she probably knew this area of the ring better than he did.

[Sporky]

The old man lowered his gun as Jokerface talked to him, buy Illyad wasn't paying attention. She was swinging her head this way and that, on the lookout for any of the specials. Maybe they were talking about her..or the zombies..or how well the floors and ceilings matched, but she wasn't paying attention..until the mystery person stepped forward and lowered her hood.

Out of instinct, Illyad swiveled around to aim at her. narrowing her eyes. She seemed to be one of those Jedi types that skulked about in hooded robes and flipped about like nobody had any right to..but if she was, then her magic blaster sword thing would work wonders..so Illyad listened to what she had to say. Yes, not shooting each other would be best..would save a few shells. She lowered her shotgun.

Well, if they were all gonna be cooperating, that was just hunky dory. Four folks were much better than two, and a helluva lot better than she would have done on her own. 'Course..it would mean her food supplies would dwindle that much faster, but with four of them, they could actually go somewhere instead of holing up and waiting for the end. Not like the zombies were suddenly gonna go back to normal.

Yeah..this could definitely work! Granted, the old man was probably a liability, but maybe he could hold his own. He'd survived this long, at least. And she'd certainly seen surprising things out of people in her life so far. Maybe he'd turn out to not be useless. Either way, he'd definitely last a little while longer.

Then she hard it again; the insane giggling that heralded a Jockey's presence. It was a ways off, but still..she raised her shotgun again, whirling around to aim in the general direction of the sound. "Everyone, shut yer traps and be careful...I hear a Jockey about."

[Latus]

(All over the place... sorry.)

The newcomers seemed friendly enough but trust was surely a rare commodity for all those present. This particular eventuality was a little more conducive for working together. They would have to if they all wanted to survive.

Dulgan's comment certainly flustered the older man for a moment. He blinked twice before clearing his throat. Sure he was no sprightly young man but he certainly was not about to fall over dead. He could keep up. He would, he had to. When Dulgan turned back to "Olga" and spoke again Roland held his composure much more calmly but he could not help but feel a little... hot under the collar. Not that old... His hand gripped the head of his cane tightly as he listened, the newcomers taking this situation much too lightly. That spoke galaxies about the pair but... what did it mean?

Aunna's interjection was a bit surprising but she made a fantastic point. The longer they stayed in one place, exposed, the more likely they were to be found and attacked. At least four people were better than two for trying to survive this mess. Plus, if the second woman had half the firepower she appeared to be carrying fighting may not be as difficult as he thought.

The possibility of death was still present, sadly; the infected were the great hitch in any plan they made. They were the rotten (literally) variable; the one factor that never worked the same way twice. Unpredictable. The big one on Coruscant was proof. If something like that could take down a durasteel wall several feet thick... he did not want to be on the receiving end of its punches.

Ms. Borgonia has a point we must keep moving. She found me back down that arm and apparently there is little for days in that direction. We must make the choice of where to go and I think a choice would be welcome sooner than later.

As the humans conversed Tesla twitched and whirred on Roland's shoulder, spinning this way and that, passively scanning the audible frequencies that her creators didn't use. She had found something when Roland had reacted a few moments ago. She compared it to her databanks on organic laughter, but she was could not find it again. Just then something flitted across her ocular just out of the light and she started, twisting in that direction to shine her small lit ocular at the point. There was a 1% chance +- .5% that she had seen nothing. Mr. Ricketts said to keep a lookout...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"Everyone, shut yer traps and be careful...I hear a Jockey about."

Force...

Roland and Tesla heard it at the same time; a strange and maniacal laughter rising over the dark ambiance of the station. Slowly Roland raised his blaster and Tesla's whirring increased intensity. However, neither knew what to really expect; nothing was certain anymore. The words of the masculine female certainly left Roland with questions that he forced back down. Silence was their friend.

Tes, quiet!

Zzz- ...

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

((haha! Borgia? Aunna’s a Templar now? /assassin’s creed))

“Well, Sergeant Major…”

That made her chuckle…truly, honestly, chuckle. It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me anything like that…feels like a lifetime ago. She sighed slightly. Maybe it was a different lifetime…

”Just ‘Major’ will suffice…” she murmured, ”and be more accurate. What Roland says is correct, however; there’s nothing in that direction for several days except infected.”

Glancing up, she noted the stiff posture her familiar had taken on the ceiling, her face turned off in some seemingly random direction. Eressea, like Tesla, had caught sight of something moving in the shadows. Unlike the ARA, however, she was still seeing it. The heat signature was glaring; even compared to the new survivors they’d happened across. The fever it had made it stand out like a neon sign. Dropping her other targets, she honed in on the more dangerous infected, her head turning slowly as she tracked it.

”Bio sign approximately 28 meters to your 8 o’clock. Erratic behavior and hunched appearance may indicate this ‘Jockey’ the woman was speaking about. It is certainly an infected, either way.”

Aunna’s head whipped around in the direction Eressea had indicated, her eyes straining to see through the gloom and haphazard boxes and machinery that provided visual obstructions. One hand lifted and waved vaguely in the direction of the shotgun carrying shemale in an attempt to get her attention specifically before Aunna motioned to her eyes then off in the direction the jockey supposedly was. Looking up at Eres, she let out a short, and sharp, hiss of air to get the droid’s attention. A crossing of her first two fingers, followed by using the same two fingers to motion to her eyes and then pointing in the same direction was all the REA needed to see. She nodded and quietly clambered away, still clinging to the ceiling of the station as she went.

”She sees something over there…life form, hunched, ‘erratic behavior’…sound like anything you know?” She whispered; she sure didn’t recognize it as anything she’d come across.

[Kuhblam]

(OOC: I was playing AC: Brotherhood and that popped into my head.)

Dulgan looked first to the elder man first, who was speaking of agreement with his original companion who also spoke consequently afterwards. Well, he couldn't quite disagree with them. He wasn't in a position to anyway, and he wouldn't want to to begin with. If there was little back that way, then that meant the only possible course of action was to head back to Olga's shack, and then go for his ship. Yeah, he could use his ship back. That might help with the whole not getting eaten thing. He waved again with his pistol towards the direction they had come from earlier before motioning with his hand.

"Of course, your highness. If you and Sio Bibble XVI are still feeling up to it, we can get to my friend's shack here fairly soon."

He noticed that Roland's backpack robot thing was becoming notably more rigid, as if it were becoming aware of some unforeseeable threat. His mind went automatically to the burst of mania that had erupted during their tranquil meditative walk in the corridors. That was probably what was the matter; those trailer-trash midget jumpers were about to make an appearance, but he wasn't quite ready for them.

As the entire group quieted down, it was like the newcomers had just seen a ghost. The old man sounded a tad bit worried, although Dulgan was sure it was only adrenaline or the shock of being stranded on a zombie-infested ring with no guaranteed means of departure. The dimmed, flickering lights and piles of debris and neatly picked-clean bones didn't quite help the atmosphere they had been presented with, and thus Dulgan couldn't blame him. He had been in more than one hairy situation before; well, none of them included man-eating humanoids, but it was pretty much all the same thing when you got down to the nitty gritty. Fight a Dark Jedi, swindle a luxury cruiser, fight off infected plague victims, get stripped of the Force; it was like one day with toast and jam and another day with toast and no jam.

”She sees something over there…life form, hunched, ‘erratic behavior’…sound like anything you know?”

Dulgan snickered at that remark with some hushed snide muttering, forgetting the gravity of the situation they were in. He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses briefly.

"Sounds like my ex. Didn't know she was on board."

His pistol raised now with his other hand on the butt of its handle, he began to move towards the supposed direction of the perpetrator. When he turned around after about three feet, a frown elicited itself as he looked at his new best friends.

"Well, c'mon, it's not like he's just here for the atmosphere like us."