it's gonna rain - and it never ends

[thespaceopera]

[ It's midday, or close enough to it that the sun is blazing red hot above the planet. Everything seems ordinary - for disturbing, red-tinted values of ordinary, anyway. But the normalcy doesn't last for long.

Without warning, an explosive sound shocks through the jungle. It doesn't come from any one central point, but rather several points, scattered throughout, strategically placed to the advantage of someone. And from those massive shocks rises a wave of missiles - large, fast, and apparently, freely flying. They're guided, and they've locked onto their target: any foreign ship that is currently within Lato'li's atmosphere.

There's no way to mistake it. They're headed right for the Fleet.

The first wave feels a bit sporadic - timings might be off, but the missiles are still deadly, and if they hit, they hit hard. Shields might withstand this wave, but ships without shields will take direct hits. The ability to stay airborn is very, very quickly lost.

The second wave is much more precise, expertly timed and executed by whomever is firing from below. Even smaller shuttles get caught in the crosshairs, and those ships that lasted through the first volley will take a few more shots. If shields saved you before, they will fail here, giving out under the strain.

And the third wave comes, a little bit longer after, to finish the job. There are more of them, and they are far more advanced - they make the previous two volleys look like warning shots. This time, it's all missiles launched, all targets acquired.

Seven Fleet ships - and many, many shuttles - fall out of the sky, headed straight for the surface at alarming speed. Only four ships manage to escape the assault and exit the planet's atmosphere, retreating to orbit as fast as possible. Those lucky enough to have been in orbit can only watch as all of this happens.

But the missiles aren't the only thing up their sleeve. Just when the dust settles, while the network is surely lighting up with activity, attempts to contact one another and check on the status of fellow ships and crew, A loud, quick, terrible screeching noise shocks the network. It drowns out all communications on any connected devices - ship or personal. Ships in orbit will see all on-board systems flicker, then fizzle out, all non-emergency systems have gone completely down.

And with that.. there's silence. Perhaps too much silence. No matter what you do, no matter which buttons you press, which channels you try, there is no connection. Those who have dropped to the surface are entirely radio silent, and those in orbit have been reduced to the barest of abilities and life-support, with the bare minimum of contact.

So... What can you do now? ]


(( ooc: Feel free to use this post as a mingle for all your crashy or missile-dodgy needs!

• The following ships have been shot down: Bishop, Bloodsport, Blue Fish, Goldstone, Heron, Tourist, Twin Roses.
• The following ships are now in orbit: Blameless, Caprine, First Breath, Huntress, Iskaulit, Red Fish, Starstruck, Vanquish, Wonderduck

Good luck, Dear Fleet...~ ♪ ))

Comments

[wolfehawke]

[Justice just... appears and for likely the first time ever Wolfe isn't unhappy to see him. He doesn't have the attention to be unhappy about it, not when his entire being is focused on Anders, on the blood flecking his lips and the light leaving his eyes. He can't let this happen, he can't watch him die too.

Adalwolfe flicks his gaze to Justice briefly, just for half a second with a plea unspoken, and opens himself. Opens himself to anything that could help, any power that could keep Anders here, with him, alive.

He's not sure what the feeling is that comes over him after that. Its a fierce heat but leaves him unharmed. A blue fire that shines white at its center and seems to flow around him in a current, around them in a current, between himself and Justice. He opens himself to this current and rides with it, not knowing what it can do but knowing instinctually somehow where he needs to guide it. It's love, he thinks. It's comforting and fierce, it's protective and nurturing and so so very familiar.

Eyes glowing a soft gold-blue and seemingly in a trance, Adalwolfe carefully reaches out and removes the spear as if it's no more than a splinter. His hands fall back over the wound the moment the weapon is discarded, tendrils of mana flowing from Justice, to Adalwolfe, and in smaller arcs like golden lightning to Anders, knitting the interior damage, stemming the bleeding, keeping Anders alive, making him whole again.

What feels like it takes an eternity only takes a handful of minutes and when the magic flickers and starts to fade, it's all Adalwolfe can do not to slump over Anders' body. The magic may have done most of the job - and done it right, Adalwolfe just knows somehow - but there's still the surface wound to deal with. With bloody-shaking fingers and a heavy exhaustion setting in, he doesn't have time to sort through what he's feeling just yet. Instead he digs for his injury kit. He always carries a spare for Anders to use; bandages, needle, thread. He's never had to use it on Anders before. He whispers hoarsely as he works, half wishing someone would just take the damn needle from him so he could cradle his love's head in his lap.]

It's alright now, everything's alright. You're going to be fine, I promise, My Heart. You're alive. You're still here...

[Wolfe's sutures are haphazard and uneven, his hands shaky and indelicate, but Anders is alive and that's what matters.]