Welcome To The New Millennium

Common Room -  -- This is a large spacious room, the walls and door made of the same metal as the rest of the complex. The door has the same arm mechanism as the other doors in this facility. What makes this room different is that its been redecorated to be more welcoming.

The floor has been covered in a deep blue carpet which covers up to the little kitchen area in the far left corner. Off in the far right hand corner and extending along the right hand wall are several beds, and just to the right of the door is a refresher area. More toward the center of the room and extending to the left of the door are several couches, chairs, and beanbag pillows situated around three holoviewers which hang from the wall.

The first viewer is connected to the newest hologame console, the second looking to be a normal viewer. The third viewer is larger than the rest and shows a split screen view of cameras situated around the buildling. Controls for manipulating and toggling between the various cameras are at a small desk just below the viewer itself. --

Alastair reaches out and grabs the bread out of the sack so quickly as to leave doubt whether the fact Skye gave permission was just a coincidence. He grabs the end of the baguette with his cybernetic hand and tears off a chunk with his scalpel claws. He shoves it into his mouth and says, as he chews. "Mmm. Good."

"Oh, alright, then," Skye says. "Good." She steps further out of the way and moves slightly more inward. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"Oooh!" Plumpaw scrambles out from behind the door and unceremoniously dumps Rabbit in his cage. She pauses, pats him carefully, and locks the little door. "Food is good." She grins.

"Mrph." Alastair says with a mouth full of bread crumbs. He swallows and wipes his mouth. "Sounds good." He says, pushing through the door after Skye. "What are we having?"

About then, a short, slight figure limps in. That would be Kes, favoring her left leg -- a tightly-wrapped bandage encircles it just above her knee. "'Sup," she mumbles, waving absently.

"Oh, just making diner chow for the drunkies," Skye answers cheerily. "You look like you've had a good night yourself, except for the leg."

Alastair is taking another bite off the hunk of bread, but he turns to look around at Kestrel. He stumbles backwards slightly as he does. "Erm." He says, swallowing a bite. "Hallucination-girl, what happened to your leg?"

"Frag grenade," Kes replies, shrugging a bit. "Nothin' big. One'a mine. Jest went off a li'l too close fer comfort's all." She chuckles quietly, and proceeds into the room. Skye heads for the kitchen to start putting away the groceries, laeving out the ingredients for pancakes, hashbrowns and vegetarian bacon--although she quickly rips off the packaging and hides it in the trashcan to mask the fact that it's not the real thing. "You blew yourself up and it's no big deal? You can't be serious."

Alastair shrugs, and follows Skye into the kitchen. He drops the baguette down on the table, and turns around to lean against it. "Well." He says back towards Kestrel. "Come in here and let met take a look at it. I can do better than that antique bandage."

Kestrel snorts. "Shoulda seen what happened ta th'guys what were chasin' me," she replies, grinning. "Frags ain't mines, but 'ey'll do inna pinch." She shrugs vaguely at Alastair. "Ain't too bad, but eh, sure, whatever ya say, doc." She makes her way across to him, then looks up at him. "Jest no lookin' up m'skirt, 'ey?" A wry smirk punctuates the comment.

"You're drunk," Skye points out to Al. She grabs a grater from a cabinet and starts shredding potatoes. "I just have to see this. I've seen a lot of things that're beyond belief, but I -have- to see this."

"Among other things." Alastair agrees pleasantly enough. "That's not normally a problem." He drops himself down onto a chair, pulls another chair in front of him, and gestures for Kes to sit down so he can look at her injury.

"Eh," Kes replies, snickering. "'E useta think I was 'maginary, ain't like 'im bein' high's any kinda surprise," she points out. The Later flops down into the chair, and reaches to undo the bandages on her leg. The damage is pretty superficial, considering the source of the injury. A couple of long, deep gashes run up the side of her leg. They've obviously been treated, with at least basic first aid techniques. "Toldja, it ain't bad. Couple'a bits jest flew further'n I figured on 'em flyin'."

Skye finishes shredding the potatoes and gets to dicing some peppers and onions. "Ah, the very picture of malpractice!" she observes brightly. She peers over the counter for a better look at Kes's wound. "Mmmm, that's not so bad. It'd probably get better on its own." Alastair takes ahold of Kestrel's heel with his hand and, with the other hand (the cybernetic one) examines the wound. "Hmm." He says thoughtfully. "Well, it is superficial." He agrees. "I'll give you some stronger antibiotic than what you've probably used already." He twists his arm to extend a needle, and injects it into the wound.

Kestrel barely flinches as the needle's stuck into her. "...huh, yer better at 'at'n I am," she muses, with a snicker. "Course, never did do more'n a few field medic courses, so..." The Later shrugs, then nods. "Yeah. Coulda been a lot worse. Like I said, shoulda seen th'poor fuckers what were chasin' me. 'Ey was a li'l closer'n I thought 'ey would be when 'ey set it off." She grins at that, just a touch sheepish.

The little Later is sitting in a chair, having a wound on her left leg tended by Alastair, who's also sitting in a chair, across from her. Skye is leaning over the kitchen counter, watching.

Skye scoops up the chopped peppers and onions and puts them into a bowl with the shredded potatoes. She turns on the burners underneath a couple of skillets, grabs a larger bowl out of the cabinet, cracks a few eggs into it and adds several more items to make a batter. The Sivadian journochef hmmmmms softly, grabs a jar of peanut butter from the fridge and adds a few tablespoons. "Maybe next time you should tape it into the bastard's mouth," Skye suggests. "I saw it in a holoflick once."

Alastair pulls his hand back and retracts the needle into his arm with a slight hiss. "Basic first aid is just that. I wouldn't expect more or less. " He says, only slightly condescendingly, his relative good humor perhaps owing to his inebriation. "The real problem is with your tools." He folds one of his cyborg fingers back at the knuckle, and pinches the gouges closed with his other hand while he seals them with a line of medical gel.

Into the room comes that tiny Sivadian, her eyes taking in the scene for a moment. She stays near the doorway for now, her arms being folded across her chest, "More trouble?" she asks, her eyes going to the Later and the Doc, a little smirk on her lips.

"Same shit, different day, right?" Skye says with a chuckle. Then, TTTSSSSSSSSSS!! as she starts turning batter into pancakes and potatoes into hashbrowns and "bacon" into... well, it's still fake bacon. But maybe nobody will notice the packaging tucked down into the trash can.

What the hell was that?

A sound. Inside? No, outside. Faint, an echo - but definitely close by. Again! The first time it might have sounded like a gunshot, but now it's more like two hovertrucks colliding at full-speed. Machine-gun fire follows... rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, a hurried patter of metal on metal, ring ting ping, and the shouts of men. Plural.

"Eh," Kes replies, again shrugging. "Ain't like m'gonna take 'fense, doc. All I hadda do was keep people 'live till we got 'em ta th'real docs. An' I like m'fingers how 'ey are -- think havin' a arm like 'at might affect m'shootin'." A second shrug goes toward Bri. "Frag grenade," she replies, as if this explains everything. Then, the little Later perks up, frowning as she hears the noise outside. "...So, uh... Anyone 'spectin' comp'ny?"

Alastair rubs a finger across the the wound, double checking just in case he made any slight mistakes. "Yeah, but it comes with needles and fire and all kinds of cool sharp toys." He says, speech still a bit slurred. He pops his finger back into place. He lets her leg go, and turns his chair back to face the table. "So. When's dinner?" He asks, yawning and stifling a grin.

Bri nods, one hand rubbing at her right side and she looks like she's about to answer when her attention is stolen by the sound, "What the..." she leans back to look out the door and down the hall, "I'm not expecting anybody," she says with a little frown, and standing back up straight she looks over to Kestrel, "Wanna go see?" she asks.

"Well, I'm not going, whatever you all do," Skye says. "I think I'm just going to smoke a joint and lie down. I'll be in my bunk if anyone wants a hit."

Alastair stretches his right arm where he sits. "I'm with her." He says, jerking his thumb towards Skye. "I think I'm starting to come down, anyway. I'll be here with the food and drugs." He picks himself up out of the chair and limps to the stove to get himself a plate full of Skye's cooking. "And you to should just leave the front door shut. The pink-haired phantasm can take pot-shots at anybody in the front yard through a window."

Kestrel quirks an eyebrow at Skye. "Smokin' in yer bed's a good way ta set yer bed on fire, an' 'ere's easier ways ta warm a bed'n 'at," she deadpans, then shrugs at Bri. "Eh, sure, might be good fer a laugh'r two -- why th'hell not? Jest gotta mind 'at we don' draw too much 'tention, 'ey?" A grin is given at Al's comment. "Window potshots're my specialty. We kin play 'nother game'a 'betcha ya can't hit 'em'."

SMASH! That lovely sound precedes the horrible, spine-twisting, cringe-worthy sound of nails on a blackboard, an agonizing screech of metal shearing.

Silence, save for what may be the gentle tinkling of shattered glass.

Then an animal roars. It's a great, bellowing sound, mythical laaskavolk meets thundukili lizard meets wounded bumbler.

"Oooo!" Bri says, her eyes lighting up, "Let me just..." she moves to sit down on the couch and concentrates for a moment. The holoviewer comes to life and starts to slowly flip through the different external camera views. There's a snerk at Kes's comment and she nods her head, "We do need to do that again," she says with obvious amusement. At the screeching sounds she does cringe, "What the fuck?" she mutters, her eyes going back to the holoviewer to get a look at things.

Alastair takes his plate, takes a fork, and scoops up a mouthful of food which chews on while he makes his way back to the table. After setting down his plate he gets out his pipe, and starts getting ready to smoke a bowl. "If that's an animal." He says, then pauses to swallow. "Try and kill it. We can make steaks."

Kestrel frowns and gets to her feet, tugging her too-short skirt down a touch. Her hand goes to an inside pocket of her jacket, and when it comes out again, a slugthrower pistol rests familiarly in it. "Was 'at outside, 'r was 'at somethin' tearin' down th'front door, kid?" the Later asks, already moving with catlike steps toward the hallway. "I'll have ya on comms."

Clinging to the shadows, skulking and darting through the blackness is the unmistakable silhouette of a quadruped creature. Light catches it - a fleeting instant - and red eyes glint unnaturally, wet with blackish blood. It is being pursued by something, and in its wounded state, seems to have lost all sense of balance and direction. It is crashing past dumpsters and trashcans, tearing recklessly through chain-link fences, and all the while struggling to stay out of sight from both security hovercameras and its pursuants. Two men are chasing it. Humanoid, rough and armed with pistols. No machine guns, despite the rat-a-tatting from before.

Bri nods at Kes's words, her eyes staying on the screen all the while, "Just make sure you don't get the munchies and eat all that before I get some," she asides to Alastair, then catching sight of that animal moving around, she peers at the screen, "Looks like something big, wounded. It's being pursued. It's not trying to break in...yet." she says into her comm unit, "See if you can't take it down. Mind the people if you can though."

"Wilco," Kes replies over comms, padding quietly through the office, out the blast doors, and into the front hallway, leading warily with the pistol. Paranoid? Never. "Any idea what it is?"

Alastair pauses eating just long enough to put down his fork and light up with the small torch in one of his fingers. "I can't promise anything. If you hurry up, you can have some of this stuff, too." He stops talking in order to alternate between shoveling food into his mouth and inhaling smoke into his lungs.

Audio cuts in, fuzzed with static. "They remember everything-- tell all the others--" The men, shouting back and forth between each other as they chase the creature down. "Kill it-- scot-free..."

Though blood is gushing from it, a thick, vile black substance, the felinoid's stamina is stranglely undamaged. The same cannot be said for its coordination, however; when it comes to an intersection of alleyway and street, it skids to an awkward halt before faceplanting gracelessly against the cement with a /skreeeeee/ of steel on concrete.

Bri cringes at the sound of the steel on concrete, her eyes closing, and she pulls the comm out of her ear, "Damn..." she says, her hand rubbing at her ear as if that will make the ringing go away faster. One eye opens to look back at the viewer, and then the other. The viewer flips to a camera that she hopes is at a better angle to see, and tries to zoom in on the thing, and the little comm is stuck back in her ear, "Trying to get a better look now," she says softly into it.

Kestrel just keeps moving, to the front door of the building. Notably, though, she switches weapons before she proceeds any further. This one's also a pistol, albeit smaller caliber, and with a canister-style silencer on it. "M'gonna go sneaky, head outside," she murmurs into the comms. "See what's what. Dunno if'n I like th'sound'a 'is, kid." That said, she pushes the door open as quietly as she can, and slips out into the shadow of the building.

Alastair has cleared his plate before long, and quickly gets himself another. He picks at that while he finishes his smoking, cleans out his pipe, and puts it away. He lurches to his feet, and makes his way down the hall to where Bri is. "Well." He says, yawning. "I'm going to go make a pass at whatsername, if she's still awake. And after being rejected I'm going to catch some sleep myself. Any mortal injuries will have to wait until morning." He shambles off again towards the sleeping area.

Kestrel would appear on the holo, if it were anywhere within human hope to spot her. Any attempts are fool's folly, however, short of orbital-space field scans. She ghosts behind the pair of men; they are much easier for Bri to spot, blustering and thundering after the cat-like animal while discussing the best way of disposing it. "Can't shoot the damn thing! Bounces right off!"

"Bust out your pulsespitter, boy, that's what nailed it last time."

"Damn thing's got a two-cred charge! It's not a bloody uzi!"

While they argue, the creature is struggling to pull itself to its feet. And, strangely? There is sound coming from it. "... Requesting... requesting backup of virtual mapping systems from damage frontal array," it states in cold, clean, mechanical notes, sharp with the articulate diction of teatipping Sivad.

Bri listens to this creature talking, "Holy shit," she mutters under her breath, then into the comm, "Hold your fire, Kes. I repeat, hold your fire. That thing might not be a black hat. See if you can't get a better look at it?"

"I hear it," the Later murmurs in a low voice into the comm, barely audible. Kes ghosts along beside the two men, far enough away that she's out of line of sight, but keeping that gun ready just in case. "Don' sound like any kind'a animal I ever seen."

It isn't an animal. Not exactly. If Kes does take a better look at it, she's greeted with what is most definitely a feline form - or felinesque, to be more exact. Smooth matte black hullsteel gleaming with leaking fluids, scored between what approximates to shoulderblades, metal scored and slagging between two seashell, batlike ears. Red opticals flicker, alternately brightening and dimming. It is not alive, but it is most certainly sentient, and most certainly wounded in its own unique way.

"There it is!" shouts the first man, gesturing with the hilt of its gun. "It's down! Shoot it!"

The second man takes the gun in both hands and sights the mechanoid.

"Stop them," Bri calls into the comm, "Wing one of 'em if you have to. But don't kill 'em...yet." She keeps her eyes on the viewer, the camera panning back out so she can get a better look at the layout as a whole.

Kestrel makes only a quiet reply of, "Wilco," before she raises her own gun to fire, aiming for the second man, the one that's about to do the same.

/Zing./

The man is not dead. But he's down. Kestrel could've shot backwards, handcuffed, and blindfolded and still landed that shot, one single bullet to the back of the knee. He crumples, and painfully - that leg just sort of gives out from beneath him, punctuated by an agaonized shriek. That smarts.

His buddy practically jumps out of his skin, peering around for the killer mosquitoes.

Bri giggles as she watches the viewer, "Nice one, killer birdy," she says with more amusement than she probably should. "I'm going to try something...see if you can keep them busy?" she asks.

"Busy as in busy, 'r busy as in hurtin'?" Kes asks softly, though the question seems to be largely rhetorical, as she's already drawing a bead on the other guy, aiming to cripple him as well.

This one nearly severs the arm at the elbow. It's quite like someone took a holepuncher and popped a hole right through the connecting joint.

His scream is no less gruesome, though it takes him longer to fall - and then, it's only to his knees. "What the /hell?"/ he screams, vainly trying to stopper the blood gushing from the fresh meaty blossom. His sidearm clatters to the ground beside him.

In the darkness beyond, a pair of red eyes pierces the veil of shadow to peer at the grisly scene. They blink once.

"Whatever's your pleasure, love," Bri says into the comm, "Going to see if I can interface with this thing," she explains, then sitting back on the couch she seems to draw in on herself for a moment, concentrating.

Kestrel chuckles quietly at that -- it's not much more than a dry rasp, really. "Tell ya what. Ya sit still an' 'ere won't be no more bullets," the Later offers from the shadows, directed at the two men. "Ya move, an', well... 'ere'll be more bullets."

"Jesus Christ!" screams the first guy, now gaping at his very bloody friend. Knee wounds - they not only suck, they bleed out like crazy. "Oh my god! Johnson, what the hell man!"

His wailing gets one of those black, impeccably articulated ears swivelling in the direction of the sound... and then, well, there is another there. The felinoid blinks again, wicking oil from its eyes. Oil - not blood. Bri is certainly aware of that. This is a machine. Inorganic. Guided by an artificial intelligence system that is ancient to the point of alien, and embedded in the framework of a being that is of unmistakably Phyrrian construction.

In that artificial mind, Bri doesn't muck around much, quickly finding the complex program that is the communication center for the creature, "Are you friend or foe?" she asks, "What's your purpose?"

"...Man, whatta couple'a fuckin' babies," Kes mutters, shaking her head. She -might- just be audible to those two men. "Was hurt worse inna war, an' ya didn't see me cryin' like 'at, no sir..." She snorts, and simply waits for a response from Bri.

"This unit is War Tasker designation Ariel-002, alias Epsilon," comes the response, a blip over a dying commline. "I am one of four prototype Taskers developed from the Ariel-Two artificial intelligence system in the year three-thousand-and-eight for Phyrrian conquest, and reconfigured for independent information gathering and data harvesting."

"C'mon out here!" the man shouts as if he can honestly do something in his pathetic condition; however, being male, he's going to blunder and swagger anyway. "C'mon out here and fight like a man!"

Bri blinks, "The um...you've survived that long?" she asks, "What is your purpose now? Who do you report to?"

Kestrel just laughs derisively, and makes no effort to show herself -- in fact, the voice comes from somewhere slightly different this time, the Later's catlike steps keeping her on the move. "Ain't a man," she replies. "Jest a bitty li'l girl. But lemme ask ya a question -- who's th'one cryin' like a fuckin' baby an' bleedin' inna street? Seems like 'ere ain't no men at -all- 'round 'ere t'night, don' it?"

"This unit has been reconfigured a total of three hundred and eighty-six times to suit the needs of various sentients requiring combative prowess, social integration, or data collecting," comes the reply. "As of present time, I am an independent entity."

"There's more than one," growls the guy.

The other whimpers. "I'm bleedin', man."

There's silence for a moment, Bri seeming to think this over. "What all are you capable of? Why are those men after you?" she finally asks.

"Could jest putcha outta yer misery if'n ya want," Kes offers gamely, still making no move to show herself. "'En ya wouldn't care 'bout bleedin'."

There is a long silence on Epsilon's end, though the connection is still alive. "The Ariel-Two system's primary defense is information and personnel security with focus on starship integration. We have since been modified to serve in combat roles during the Phyrrian Conquest of 3007, reinforced with secondary programs and operational guidelines that supplement but do not override our primary directives to serve and protect our controller. At present, this unit is without a controller. Independent forays onto Tomin Kora for the sake of updating my personal memorybanks have resulted in my being party to sensitive matters regarding the criminal histories of certain individuals, evidence of which they would terminate from my databanks by terminating me."

Bri switches over to her comm for just a moment, probably remotely, "Get rid of them," she says into Kestrel's comm before addressing the creature again, "Would you like a new controller?" she asks of it.