Log:Space Team, Scene 19

Space Team 2015/10/16 Breach Griffin Quiet Malcolm Indira

19

Quiet wrestles with the angle of entry. Not that it fights her, per se, but the last thing she wants to do is over-correct. Too much, and she might not realize the mistake before it's too late. The buffeting, shaking, and shimmying surely don't help, either.

It is thanks to Griffin's constant cheerful enthusiasm and smiling that the civilians aren't losing their minds screaming right now. They're a little nervous, clutching the straps of their harnesses tightly, but they're level headed for now.

As the ride gets bumpy, Muller slides an arm around Indira to hold her protectively. Indira herself is calm about the reentry so far, but she does cast concerned looks up at Forge from time to time, and seems uncomfortable about the moral position she's in with Muller.

Breach casts a sidelong glance at Forge as Griffin straps himself down to a seat. The Undead Soldier bobs his head slightly in what may be the only polite gesture toward Malcolm "Forge" Gibbs this entire trip. Respect is, apparently, a thing one has to earn with Breach. He can appreciate the sacrifice going into what Forge is doing up there, especially now that the entire ship is shaking and shuddering like it is.

Malcolm Gibbs has, by this point, closed his eyes in preparation for the heat and beatings to come. He flexes his fingers and cables somewhere inside of the insulating layers of the ship as the heat of re-entry builds and builds and builds up against his butt, thighs, and lower back. Offering a low groan, Forge tries to focus on the easiest thing there is to focus on at the moment: Enduring this fresh Hell so he can hug Gabrielle Grimm.

Actually, Grimm's picture is still up in the cockpit, probably staring at Quiet as Quiet attempts to correct the angle of entry for the ship. It's impossible to say what Grimm's expression looks like to Quiet at the moment. Given the circumstances, it could run the gamut from pleading to encouraging to threatening to accusatory. Yet, in Malcolm's mind, all he can remember is a bright, happy smile as she poses with Malcolm in front of an olde tymey gas station along Route 66 in the dead of night.

Even inside of the cabin, anyone looking in Forge's direction can see his Colossus' Flesh starting to gain a ruddy reddish glow as the heat outside of the ship continues to accumulate and punish Forge's metal body. For the moment, however, Forge seems an implaccable foe to the crushing, blast furance heat generated by the Pyle's descent into Earth's increasingly dense, familiar atmosphere.

Quiet does cast a glance at the photo of the two. Her take on the expression is accusatory at the least. She has already lost a portion of her crew, which is a portion too many. Quiet respects Forge's choice and improvisation, and can only hope that his metal hide is enough to handle it. She doesn't need more loss to be responsible for, and by any reasonable measure, she was responsible for all on the station, and now all on the Pyle. To think she was thrilled initially at her first chance of 'command responsibility,...'

Griffin holds on to his harness loosely as the ship rattles and rolls. He's been on plenty of missions where the helicopter's engines fail, or bushplanes out well past season.

Unsure of what's to come Griffin looks around the cabin to his crewmates, his comrades, these stalwart few who have proven themselves here today miles above the Earths surface.

Together they've bonded over gore and goo alike, stood against the flooding darkness of alien monster like a flickering flame in the night. They won't blow out here- not today.

Griffin nods to each one in turn thinking how different this will all feel landside.

Then after a moment to think on the decisions that brought him here today he smiles knowing his life has been one few can match. He'd do it all over again.

So far, with all the shaking, Quiet manages to keep the shuttle at the proper angle of 40 degrees. Not so steep that it starts to burn up and crush itself on the atmosphere. Not so shallow that it'll simply skip off of it. They're half-way through breaking through the atmosphere.

Forge lets out another groan, his body visibly vibrating as his metal flesh starts to heat up by leaps and bounds. Cherry red and man-shaped, Forge struggles to remain firmly anchored in the ceiling of the Pyle. Several sizzling, sparking ball bearings drip off of his body, shooting yellow-hot sparks across the deckplates as Forge, apparently, sweats almost literal bullets.

Breach shifts his attention back to the bagged bug as Forge's Colossus' Flesh starts to heat up beyond its original ruddy red burn. He's seated the furthest back and he can feel the heat rolling off of Forge's mostly embedded body in waves. The Undead Soldier braces his feet against the deck and grips his harness with one hand, the other hand terribly pre-occupied keeping a bead on that bagged bug. It /WILL/ die if Breach sees the need to kill it. With prejudice.

As re-entry passes the first time index, Forge feels the plasma stream around the Pyle ablating in a rush of super-heated air. His Colossus' Flesh takes the opportunity presented it to restore itself, the sizzling metal sweat coming off of his body fading away as his luminosity dials back to a shade of red that would look absolutely badass as part of a light kit for someone's costume. You know, if anyone on the ship actually wore a proper super-hero costume.

With the waves of heat from the super-heated Forge, many of the passengers are sweating. Indira doesn't sweat so much as...wilt. Her spacesuit protects her from the worst of it, but with her helmet off, she's feeling some of the heat. "Special Agent Gibbs..." she murmurs worriedly as she watches him burning bright red. She has no idea how he is able to endure or if he'll even survive. "Thank you," she says while she still can, hoping she'll have a chance to thank him more properly later.

With the sparking ball bearings of superheated Collosus flesh hitting the deck, the netted bug reacts with a screech as they fall near it. It tries to scuttle and thrash in the net to escape the heat. Acidic tendrils starts to fall from its jaws and entwine with the nanowire mesh. Where each tendril wraps, the wiring starts to melt away. SNAP! SPROING! SNIKT! The wires start to snap apart, giving it more thrashing room as it tries to consume its way out.

Get it down. Get it down fast.... but not TOO fast. Quiet focuses on this, which means her attention is split between course vector, hull readings, and trying not to look back at the glow reflecting off the bulkhead in her peripheral. When the first phase of atmo braking/re-entry seems to pass and lessen, there is a moment of relief. Brief, before she pinches it off for fear of relaxing too much, too early.

"Alright Mr. Gibbs- we're almost home free." Griffin reports to Malcolm cheerfully.

"Alright survivors! Listen up!" He says sternly as he turns around and addresses the civilians. "This is going to be a rough landing! Mind the molten metal from our savior up there." He says pointing at Malcolm. "Hold on tight, and as soon as we're grounded y'all are gonna give me a roll call so I know who's alright. If I don't hear your name and you aren't unconcious or dead you'll wish you were because I'll let my boy Breach back at you. Are we clear?!"

Its only then that he notices the bug trying to escape.

He looks to Rick, "Mason- we've got a problem..." nodding to to the ensnared bug.

"Gotta keep you all safe," calls Forge over the low roar of semi-molten metal. He flexes a little bit, drawing the sheathing of the ship in tight against his body as he continues to cool back down. Forge tries to ignore the riotous thrashing of the bug - he finds himself in no position to do anything about the beastie - by focusing on devoting himself to honing himself into a still higher grade of steel soldier.

Breach, however, is under no such illusions - or delusions, depending on your outlook - about positioning and ability to prevent greater tragedy. The Undead Soldier - as the bug monster thrashes about, splintering the nanowire web that entangles it - almost casually unstraps himself from his seat and scoots forward until he's kneeling on the floor. He keeps scooting toward the bug monster, pneumatic hisses coming from various points on his suit to anchor him roughly in place by his own nanowires.

Carefully, Breach maneuvers himself so that he has the bug between his spread legs on the floor. Breach offers a grunt in Griffin's direction as acknowledgement, but doesn't dare look away from the monster. Instead, Breach carefully maneuvers the cocked particle revolver so he is very nearly jamming the muzzle into the mouth of the bug as the pilot laser continues to ionize a pathway directly ahead at the bug.

The civilians' full attention is on Griffin's announcement as they listen to him completely. A few even snap back a quick "Yes, Sir!" Although Forge melting had them uneasy, Griffin's rousing speech makes them not think about burning up in the atmosphere.

The bug refuses to give up, even with the barrel in its mouth. It's may not be that it doesn't understand the gun's significance. It's just not willing to give up. Especially not when there's molten metal rolling around on the deck with it. It continues to slaver and try and eat its way through the wires.

Forge is not the only one sweating, but Quiet's perspiration is not molten, and any glow on her skin is contained behind her armored suit. Plotting the course is easy; there's an app for that. Keeping the damned thing on that course with shot aerodynamics from damage and unretracted landing struts is the bitch of it. Small moves. Attempts to keep hands steady on controls despit the rattling crate rattling her seat. Though the Pyle will be her favorite rattling crate if it will just hold together a short while longer...

Then the world does not end, and with a bang, not a whimper. The friction begins to rapidly wane as it finally reduces the shuttle's speed enough, and the turbulence goes out with a sharp hypersonic CRACK. There,. NOW she can relax a little. No more worries of instant incineration.

As comfortable as she is in her armor, the entire mission's been rather claustrophobic, and even if they're on ship life support, she feels better knowing there's air out there. There's also the awful sticky sweat all over her.

Seeking more relief, and feeling comfortable enough, now, Quiet spares a hand for her faceplate. The helm seal at the neck unlocks with a brief hiss and she pulls off her helm to drop it into the co-pilot's station, panting. Even warm, the cabin air feels like a cool breeze.

Breach's armor sizzles and smokes as boiling hot blobs of metal bounce off of him or roll along the contours of his body. It does little to divert his attention from positioning himself perfectly for this shot. His lips are pursed into a grim line that speaks only to his determination to keep the crew safe at this point. One finger rests against the trigger as he waits for the last of the nanowires to snap.

Forge groans in protest under the mounting effects of the world's worst road rash - no road necessary, just add aerodynamic friction - as his butt carves a trench through the sky. There is, in fact, a secondary plasma streamer rising off of the green-hot bump that is Forge's shiny metal ass peaking (peeking?) out of the hole in the Pyle's hull. It stretches upward and outward, arching and twisting with the Pyle's primary streamers as Quiet guides the craft through the atmosphere at a staggering rate of speed.

Once again, inside of the craft, Forge's metal body starts to glow an unpleasantly bright cherry red before it starts shading into the even more painfully bright citrus shades of orange and yellow. If Griffin dares look long enough, he might even spot a few blotches of lime green on Forge's increasingly technicolor metal hide. The metal man and the ceiling surrounding him rattles unsettlingly as an ever increasing amount of heat rolls off of him like waves of desert summer agony.

Something inside of the ceiling gives way as Quiet pulls the Pyle through the last aerobraking maneuver, shattering the corona of plasma surrounding the craft with a hypersonic CRACK. Forge and the ceiling both bow into the cabin by almost six inches - Forge's feet flail wildly outside of the Pyle for a second or three before Forge manages to regain control of his position and his powers. Even covered in virtually molten biometal, Forge somehow manages to warp the metal around him taut again, dragging him back up into the proper position within the roof/ceiling section of the ship.

"Oh man. Oh man. Folks, we are now at cruising speed and altitude. I would not recommend moving around the cabin until the co-pilot indicates so. Your captain is, after all, still a very nearly flaming hulk of metal hanging precariously in the ceiling."

Miraculously, Breach is still silent as he stares into the murderous face of the bagged bug. He is waiting for it to break free. Breach cannot be bothered to snark at the moment. Life and death literally hangs in the balance here and now. To distract himself with what has been made available to him would be anathema, blasphemous even.

Very fractionally, Breach's finger tightens on the trigger. The particle revolver's keening whine increases in kind with the hair's breadth of movement of the firing action. Discharge is so close that the electric sizzle along the pilot beam is visible now.

Still more liquid metal ball bearings fall to the deck as Forge sweats blazing - maiming, really - hot semi-solid metal from his rippling, smoldering biometal sheath. Naturally there are more raucous discharges of charged, hot sparks with every (cooling) impact that this bulletsweat makes.

Griffin watches Breach with unyeilding interest.

His mind wanders to the fact that they were easily just doing 17,500 mph and by all accounts his first space mission was a success.

Now he hopes Quiet can stick the landing. He snaps his attention back to Breach and the pending bug problem.

The co-pilot now looks back into the cabin following the captain's quip. She even appears to be smiling. Smirking? The face that the right side of her face is a stippled, stiff mask of keloid limits the expression. The complexion continues across under her jaw and down her throat into the neck of the suit. She reaches over and taps the controls.

The fasten seatbelt icons go dark.

After running a hand through sodden-darkened, very short blonde hair, she turns back to the task at hand. With Not Incinerating checked off, she addresses Not Exploding on Impact.

The horrendous rattling and shaking of the ship finally subsiding, many of the copiously sweating civilians are breathing sighs of relief and thanks to the heroes so far. Murmurings mostly for now, because they still need to land, and they don't want to distract the heroes from what they do best. The few civilians close to the molten rain coming from Forge lean away and tuck their feet up and off the ground for their own safety. Also, to stay away from the panicking alien bug that they've seen take their people.

"Kill it before it gets lose!" panics one of the female engineers that's seated uncomfortably close to the bug.

Meanwhile, Indira seems to be focusing on the bug with a furrowed brow as she tries to communicate with it telepathically. "Please...stop. Why won't you stop?" she finally says aloud as the bug refuses to listen to her mental attempts to communicate. Suddenly, a look of understanding falls over Indira's face. "Wait...I see now..."

And with that sudden clarity, the bug's attention suddenly turns towards Indira despite the threat of the whining revolver. The last of the wires holding it snap and it tries to surge towards Indira, but then there's Breach...

Breach does not hesitate. He pulls the trigger.

Breach does not listen to Indira's exultation. He pulls the trigger.

Breach does not listen to Indira's exhortation. He pulls the trigger.

Breach does not endanger his employer or the crew. He pulls the trigger.

Breach does not dilly.

Breach does not dally.

Breach does not tarry.

Breach does not wait.

Breach pulls the trigger.

Bang.

The bug surges out of the nanowire net, its mouth still hooked on the particle revolver. Breach's finger pulls the trigger and the hammer of the particle revolver snaps down. Light explodes out of the seams of the bug as its innards are set to bake, broil, and self-clean. It expands for a second before it collapses inward again, its head completely carbonizing before it collapses into a fine, powdery ash on the deck plates.

Breach swings up from where he's seated on the floor and back to his actual seat. He perches there for a few seconds, spinning his particle revolver around his index finger before slinging it into his holster. The Undead Soldier promptly drops into his seat and starts buckling himself back into the seat again.

The rest of the bug's body sails through the cabin of the Pyle and smashes hollowly into the cockpit. It rolls to a stop behind Quiet's seat, belching fetid grey smoke from the cavernous hole where its head was once fastened. Breach probably owes Quiet dry cleaning bills on her suit now.

Quiet wasn't even fully aware of the thrashing bug, at least not as a threat given that Breach seemed to pin it. All from the minor distraction of re-entry. Now she has the rather simple task of a landing vector. This is made easier by the fact that it isn't so much flying as falling, with style.

Then comes the unexpected weapon discharge, followed by the very unexpected splatter of wet... stuff on her suit. Worse, the back of her bare neck. She grimaces... and THAT she looks to do very well, scar tissue and all.

Lucky for her, she doesn't have too long to think about that. The ground is coming up quickly, aided by the lack of unretracted landing struts to add extra drag. They conveniently melted off in re-entry. Less convenient is that landing struts were intended to make landing easier. Surprise!

She reaches over to curtly tap the fasten seatbelt icon back on. If there was a HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS icon, she'd light that one, too.

Indira gasps in horror and shared pain as she claps her hands over her mouth. She shudders from the mental feedback of the creature's death and sinks forward in her seat, held upright only by her harness.

"Cheryl? Cheryl!? Are you alright? It's going to be okay. We're safe now," Muller attends to who he still perceives as his wife. He wraps his arms around Indira comfortingly. Indira doesn't respond verbally, and she doesn't resist Muller's attempts to comfort her as he pulls her against him to hold her.