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Msgrv32 last won the day on January 5 2011

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About Msgrv32

  • Birthday 09/16/1986

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  1. Msgrv32

    MAY/JUN fire of the heart

    You've captured my attention, I wonder who/what he went on a date with...
  2. Msgrv32

    MAR/APR Who is your father?

    OOC: Was going to take this round off because my stories weren't doing it for me... but I shall enter this one for fun! Background Information and goals: Classified Personal Character Development: Classified Editors Name: Classified ------------------------------------------------ We the people... in compliance with the terms of the treaty... to hereby and forever cede all land, right and property... of the people, by the people, and for the people... ((Planet Caranthian-VII / Outer Province Landing Zone)) They scanned the ID card getting on the shuttle. They scanned the ID card getting off the shuttle. Checkpoint 1, clearance accepted. Proceed to checkpoint 2. Checkpoint 2, clearance accepted. Proceed to Checkpoint... so many checkpoints... this is life. Braden Melborne was the name on the ID card. The cards picture was of a 26 year old field agent with long shaggy brown hair and dark blue eyes. The man who stood before the guard at Checkpoint 3 had a short buzz cut. The pictures showed a face untouched by war. The field agent standing at Checkpoint 3 had a cheek cut up and a face full of scars. Only the eyes remained the same... one link with the past. “How many times are we going to do this mate?” Braden asked the guard. “That’s the price of security friend.” was the reply. “Any more Checkpoints?” he asked curiously. “You are now leaving Landing Zone Bravo. From this point forward you are entering ceded territory. Main Operations will take place in 12 hours. Keep your beacon on at all times or you will be indistinguishable from the local inhabitants to Suborbital Command.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ((Braden Melborne / Personal Log)) I’m in the wild again. It’s been an hour since I left the LZ. The scene has shifted. The LZ is a giant scorch mark on the surface and nothing more but here... it’s alive here. Dotting the landscape are ferns and flowers, and giant trees that seem to sway against the wind. It’s luscious and dark green in one section but walk 10 minutes, and the land is flat for miles. After some trekking I came upon a lush valley. The round-top hill overlooking the valley is best described as a picturesque meadow. Various species of rodents frolicked about in the wavy green grass, but all of them are alien to my eyes. Looking down into the valley I could see a small cottage, complete with white pickets lining the nearby garden. It took only a minute to reach and I approached the cottage quietly. The door was unlocked and it was fairly obvious from the first glance that the owners had fled. Many of the walls bore the markings where picture frames had been hung until just recently. Many of those frames lay smashed and empty on the floor. I’ve seen this sad sight a thousand times, people always wait until the last minute to pack. Upon further checking in the cottage I discovered a small child. She had been abandoned by her parents. She was quiet, I listened in close and could hear her breathing. I’m not exactly sure why I picked her up. When I held her I only intended it to last a moment. After the moment was up I set her back down in the crib. She didn’t cry, she just cooed lightly. I was going to leave her but... my hands were shaking. I had these tears... welling up inside of me. I could feel them pooling behind the lids of my eyes. I looked down at that small child, she didn’t seem so alien to me. … so I picked her up. I held her in my arms. I spent a good 10 minutes and fashioned my field agent issued backpack into a baby carrier. She would ride with me. I would give her a chance at a future. I would take her with me. Those were my decisions and mine alone. I accept full responsibility for the consequences of my actions. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ((Planet Carinthian VII / Borderlands of Refugee Province)) It must have been 3-4 kilometers hike to the city. It wasn’t so much a city as a group of farming communities. In the center of the massive area of farms sat a market sqaure housing various multi level buildings. He walked out in the open with no cover as he entered the square. It had been silent out but Braden was sure he was not alone. 3 shots rang out. They headed in a straight line towards his head. He paid them no attention and continued his walk. When the shots reached his destination they impacted with his PSU (personal shield unit) and fell harmlessly to the ground. As he approached the main building sitting behind a modest fountain no longer operating he heard a voice call out. “No further!” the male voice rang out from behind the screen door of the building. Braden stopped immediately and his eyes turned red. A certain type of fire burned inside them. The humans standing before him were so very similar. Yet he knew the difference lay not on the outward appearance but on the inside. He opened his mouth and proceeded to scare everyone in the building. “In my hands I hold your future. I hold your past. I hold your present in my grip. I clench and you all are extinguished. If my hand goes lax, you are all extinguished. If I die standing before you, through no fault of your own, YOU ARE ALL EXTINGUISHED. Get out here now.” “Sorcerer! Your isolation befits only a merciless and malevolent evil! But we are the believers of the cross. We will be saved. You will burn.” He reached his hand into the air. In it was a small comm system. His finger rested on the button but he didn’t yet press it. “Far above us, oh believers of the cross, sails my behemoth, it’s stomach feeding on chaos and struggle. My behemoth and I rode through your ‘worshiped empire’ long ago and we have returned for the full penance of what you owe. Your land, your planet, is no longer yours. It is mine. In my hands I hold your fate, from above when you see the light, it will not be of salvation, but of your end. This is not your land anymore. You will exit the building now! Single file so you can be tagged and processed!” There was a silence and then they exited, in a single file line, just as he had ordered. It was a desperate march to his position. Only the non operational fountain said between them. When they reached the fountain they all sat. He was taken aback by this and sensed a trap. He set down the bag and reached into his belt. Pulling out a small utility padd he opened a specific program and sent his orders, complete with a timed delay to the behemoth. The believers began to chant. “From above and below, from beginning to end, we worship the ground and we are delivered from evil.” again and again it was repeated until the fountain was restored to life. Braden felt the ground shake under his feet a moment, but it quickly subsided. The chanting stopped. The lead male looked up from where he was sitting, his eyes welling up in failure. Braden walked towards them with the tags. He knelt down before him and pressed the ID Tag against his forehead, where it stuck. The man pleaded with him. “Who are you?” he said in shock. Braden tagged the woman beside him and laughed. Continuing the tagging process he answered glibly. “I’m a great collector of people.” He tagged an elderly couple sitting directly behind and continued. “Ever since I was a little... you all have fascinated me. I was very eager to meet you all. My father... he told me we would come here. To meet you all. We would learn and share so much of our journeys and experiences and then one day...” His glib and mocking tone changed suddenly to a more pained and hate filled ramble. “...he never truly came home. He returned to us from his time here, but after that he would only speak of such nonsense. It never ended, we could never rid him of his belief. He became one of you. Something had to be done. So I dealt with him, and now I’m here dealing with you. I hate you. I hate you all for what he became. He was a great man, of infinite thought and expression. He is now weak, delegatory, indecisive. I took his place, I came to do what he had originally intended!” He was rough with the tagging process. The next tag was nearly punched into the forehead of a woman in her 40’s. She had tears in her eyes and looked to the ground. He looked down with no remorse or sympathy and mocked her. “What? Where is your belief now? Is it rolling down your face?” She looked up at him with the same hatred and spat her words back at him. “Your name is Braden.” He was again taken aback. He stared her down but she looked past him maintaining her glare. “How do you know that?” She was stone silent for a moment and then looked him straight in the eyes and said. “I knew your father. We loved each other.” Braden's face was visibly shaking with rage and grief. He turned left for a moment and then looked back down to her with fire in his eyes. “How could my father have loved something like you?” She smiled and continued. “Your father was a gentle man. He came here to learn and study us. He offered himself to us so that we too could learn about you. Some nights all he could speak of was you. How he longed to show you the true beauty of this place. He longed to open your eyes but he was afraid. He was so desperately afraid...” The veins in his neck and forehead were a dark pulsating blue and his response was venomous. “My father feared nothi...” He was cut off by the woman again as she yelled the truth at him. “He was desperately afraid that he had taught you the wrong lessons. He was afraid you would become a man of great evil! He was desperate to find some way to change your perceptions. In the end he failed.” For a moment there was deathly silence. The gaze those two shared threatened to destroy them all with one spark. Then she spoke. “You are not immune to this place. Your father was not immune either. He found himself here, just as you have. You may not know it yet but one day I know you will return. With a tragic and bitter regret about your actions here today you will walk these fields. It will be bittersweet, you will never find peace. Love will restore your guilt. You are just as your father prophesied.” Braden couldn’t take it anymore. The grief at what had happened to his father was overwhelming. He staggered backwards and fell onto the ground. Staring up at the guy he let out a piercing scream. It lasted a minute and the choking sound of his tears echoed in the distance. He could remember his father so well, now he was doomed to repeat his fathers mistakes. He looked at his watch. It was finally time. His mission was over, it ended in failure but at least he wouldn’t fulfill their prophesy. He got up and straightened himself. He wiped the tears from his face and walked towards them. “I came prepared for your prophesies. I will never leave this place. You are correct, I am not immune, neither was my father. My behemoth that sails above us, far beyond the clouds... is immune and will continue on after I fulfill my own prophesies.” Then he pressed the button. His beacon now turned off he threw it away. “You know its funny, had you said nothing... I would never have even known.” She looked up at him one last time and asked. “Known what?” Braden looked up into the sky as it turned purple and smiled, closing his eyes. “Quarantine protocols are insufficient. Extreme measures are needed to contain your threat...” Then he opened his eyes and spoke his last words to the woman his father had supposedly loved once. "... our threat."
  3. Msgrv32

    JAN/FEB "Controversial Titles"

    ((Act 1 / Scene 1)) ((Bridge / USS Ennock / 12 Hours Ago)) The bridge of the USS Ennock was awash with amazement and astonishment as the piece finished. The Captain had brought back with him the most interesting thing: ‘a piece of music’ long since thought lost in the vastness of the Earth catalogue. Captain Jenkins explained the music concisely. “It’s called ‘4’33’.” Lt. Marcum stood against the wall by the Tactical station and muttered. “It’s called BS, because that’s what it is.” The crowd of officers looked his way and Captain Jenkins strutted confidently over to Tactical. When he arrived he leaned in smugly and opened his mouth. “Another unenlightened barbarian who’d rather pull the trigger than listen to pure bliss.” ‘Shawn’ - Lt. Marcum - shook his head with some disgust and pointed a finger accusingly. “Another ivory tower Captain too in love with his own Command to see beyond his bloated ego. It’s pure and senseless garbage. It is not music.” ((Act 1 / Scene 2)) ((Bridge / USS Ennock / Now)) Lt. Marcum took his hand off the Tactical station and shook it before returning it to his side. Shawn stood for a moment staring at nothing. He eventually realized that nearly half a day had passed since the confrontation on the bridge... the first ‘confrontation that is. He held up his hand and reached out for the Captain. No one was there... save a few zombified corpses of his former colleagues. He could no longer help them. He stepped into the turbo lift and closed his eyes. His hand held onto the railing and he felt himself flashback. ((Act 1 / Scene 3)) ((Turbo lift / USS Ennock / 11 Hours Ago)) Security held each of his arms firmly. While he struggled to get free of their grasp the two oafs were a flush with conversation about the Captain’s song. “I thought it was the greatest thing I ever heard. Ever... in my whole life ever.” said the first guard. “Oh I do agree very much, an absolute masterpiece of music.” said the second. The banter was endless and idiotic. Shawn was going crazy listening to the air escaping their lips. It was all nonsense, the song had no noise in its whatsoever... totally devoid of it! These idiots had no understanding of the lunacy... of what they were saying! “I probably could have listened to it for an hour. It’s just such a unique ‘take’ on music.” said the first guard. “I think I may just put it on repeat after we dump this loud mouth - referring to Lt. Marcum - in his quarters. Hey Shawnny, what’s wrong? Not loud enough for you?” said the second. Shawn shook his head and said in a disgusted voice. “The volume ceases to be on any consequence when NOTHING IS HAPPENING AT ALL!” “Alright that’s enough out of you spoil sport.” laughed the first guard. ((Act 1 / Scene 4)) ((Deck 4 / Turbo Lift Junction / USS Ennock / Now)) Shawn didn’t miss those security guards as he took his hand off the railing. Forcing open the turbo lift doors he headed down the hallway to his quarters. As he looked over the mostly untouched corridor his thoughts turned to his family and loved ones. He couldn’t remember their names, or what they looked like, or even if he ever cared much for them - or vice versa - but he did take the time to think of them... or at least attempt it. Assumptions like that kept him on his toes: did he have a family? was he a loner? why all of a sudden could he not remember anything about himself? These were all good questions and he had no explanation for them as they piled up around him metaphorically. However he did have a perfectly good explanation for that cursed song: ‘It’s BS.’ Arriving at his quarters brought about another set of doors to open. Prying them open Shawn wondered how the turbo lift was still operational when he couldn’t open doors. He approached his computer workstation and looked at his hand. “Time for a flashback.” he said ironically as his hand-to-surface flashback technique - one he didn’t remember having yesterday. - took over and he flashed... back. ((Act 1 / Scene 5)) ((Personal Quarters / USS Ennock / 10 Hours Ago)) “You’re obsessing over nothing!” She said. “I agree... it’s driving me insane. I hate it to so much. It’s eating me up inside and I don’t know how to control it anymore. At first when I didn’t hear anything I thought it was stupid but we’re way beyond ‘stupid’ now.” He responded. Ensign Sally Taylor had been talking with Lt Shawn Marcum for over a half hour. Word had travelled fast that Shawn had insulted both: the Captain’s amazing new song, and his “Bloated Ego”. Shawn sat back and tried to take stock of the situation - which was bad - but he couldn’t... because of that song. It was almost etched in the forefront of his mind... and it was a blank slate! “What’s so amazing about it Sally?” “Well you see: Centuries ago on Earth the piece 4’33 was premiered as part of a then ‘contemporary recital’. While the performer David Tudor played no actual deliberate sounds, there was still bound to be sounds heard during the piece in the room. It’s the unpredictable nature of these sounds - which are inherently unique to the specific settings of the space its performed in - that makes it so amazing Shawn!” “... and that’s it?” “No, much more in fact! 4’33 has great value and was instrumental in establishing and influencing genres of music to this very day!” “... but it’s nothing.” “But in it’s nothingness it represents both: everything as it is and constant rebirth.” “It’s lacks real stakes and has no definition.” “You’re wrong Shawn. Like life; 4’33 is made up of all those incidental sounds and throwaway moments in time. It represents perfectly the ‘tension’ that exists between the desirable ‘played notes’ and the undesirable ‘noise’ that makes up all music.” “No you’re wrong Sally. You’re all wrong.” “You’re scaring me Shawn.” ((Act 2)) ((One Week Later / Runabout Kennedy / Bridge)) ---Coroner Notes - Starfleet Mission Codename ‘Caged Bird’--- Something powerful must have snapped inside him because the levels of brutality observed here is not to be found in any of his psych evaluations. The chain of events following Lt Marcum’s conversation with Ensign Jennings are fragmented at best. It is the opinion of this recon team leader that the corpse found in Marcum’s personal quarters is Ensign Jennings and her injuries are similar to those suffered by other members of the crew... and that Lt Marcum is the sole belligerent in the brutality that followed said conversation. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lt. Martin Mendez rubbed his temples and noticed he was sweating. With a brush of his hand the main sweat was gone from his forehead but the symptoms remains oblivious to him. This recon assignment was his first since being promoted to Lt. and he was eager to do well. So eager in fact that he missed a number of important things in his attempt to analyze everything all at once. Oblivious as well was the crew of 4 he travelled with. The mother ship of the Runabout Kennedy - the USS Brinkman - was 2 hours away at warp 5. They had spent 2 hours travelling to rendezvous with the USS Ennock and just over 2 hours aboard. The mission was simple in nature: discover why the Ennock had missed its usual check in time at the DS11. What they found was controversial and horrifying. “There’s something else too.” Said Ensign Tommy Hayward. “I told you to keep to specifics.” Mendez spat in response. “You also told me to keep my eyes open for anything unusual. This certainly qualifies as unusual on a cultural level!” “What is it?” Martin asked trying to do a better job keeping a level head when dealing with his eager subordinate. “A 20th Century recording of a piece of music, but the kicker is the piece of music contains no music whatsoever and consists entirely of the experience and sounds contained in whatever space its performed and/or heard in. It’s an amazing discovery!” The Ensign grinned as he finished. “I suppose that will have to be our silver lining. This was by far the most disturbing and unsettling mission I've ever taken part in.” “What do you think caused Lt. Marcum to snap?” Tommy asked inquisitively while he stroked his light brown ‘chin fuzz’. Lt. Peter Bon entered and the conversation ceased. Bon was short and of Asian decent with black hair and eyes slightly too close together for comfort...and he was heavily disliked by both Mendez and Hayward. He was a genius however and at 22 had potential that far exceeded either of them. “The extensive damage to the USS Ennock will make the determination of what caused the Lt. to snap virtually impossible. The data is quickly decaying as the two of you discuss ‘mindless’ things.” Bon was dismissive as he put the two of them down. He sat at the Ops station and adjusted course. “Three men, three opinions on a piece of music from a ship whose crew was recently butchered by one their own.” Mendez said in grim summation. “What a concise but unnecessary description. Would you care to recite how breakfast was as well or was that what Ensign Hayward was cleaning up on the Ennock?” The cold insult escaped Peters lips and as Martin wiped his forehead again his sleeve had become wet from the sweat that had accumulated. “No Exit.” Tommy broke the silence that had frustrated the atmosphere of the room since he had brought up the song. “What?” both Peter and Martin responded together. “That’s what this reminds me of. It was a play from the 20th century just like the piece of music. A remarkably good one at that, I’ve read it many times and we performed it aboard the Brinkman two months back.” “Why don’t you summarize the experience for us then-” responded Peter sarcastically, which was lost on Tommy who simply continued talking. “Well in 1944 the play ‘No Exit’ written by Jean-Paul Sartre was released. It’s original french title referred to those private discussions that we tend to gloss over when we remember the past. Those little throwaway moments in the grand scheme of things.” “But what is it about Ensign?” Martin asked as he leaned back and breathed deeply, closing his eyes. “In a nutshell: the play depicts a possible version of the afterlife in which three deceased characters spend eternity locked in a room together.” “It sounds like hell to me.” laughed Lt. Bon. “Why are these three ‘characters’ locked in a room together for eternity?” “It’s their punishment.” “For what?” asked Mendez quietly. “The characters have various explanations for the what and why. They spend the entirety of the play discussing it.” “What do they come up with then expert?” Bon said as he rolled his eyes. Tommy leaned forward and thought back for a moment. Martin opened his eyes and looked over to Ensign Hayward as the man sat motionless. He looked over to Lt. Bon and two of them shared a look of pure puzzlement. After a moment Ensign Hayward shook his head and continued speaking as if no time had elapsed since Lt. Bon’s question. “Garcin is a both callous and cowardly. He cheats openly on his spouse without remorse or sympathy. Serrano is manipulative and twisted. She is both honest and cruel. Rigault is a deceitful murderer and knows only a life of temptation and greed. They all have their own baggage.” “What happens to them?” asked Mendez curiously. “Oh eventually the three are given the option to leave... but they are too fearful of the unknown and so they decide to stay together in that room in hell.” was Hayward’s response as he finished typing on the screen in front of him. “If you gave me that option I would gladly leave.” was Peter’s sarcastic retort. Martin shook his head - splashing a bit of sweat on the console - and quipped. “The airlock is right over there Pete.” Lt. Mendez looked over to Ensign Hayward at the Comm station and asked. “Who are you typing too anyway Ensign?” “Oh it’s Sally... err Lt. Cmdr Kelsey sir. I sent her the song. She really likes it and is heading to show the Captain right now.” Martin’s face went hollow as the words hit him. This kid was too eager and it wouldn’t be long before he was held over for promotion because of him. “I didn’t realize you and Lt. Cmdr ‘Sally’ were on a first name basis.” “We had an introductory dinner like all Ensigns.” Both Lt.’s exchanged looks with each other. “Introductory Dinner” was BS and they both knew it. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company in silence and get through the rest of our trip back to the ship without killing each other, shall we?” Martin said after thinking about it a moment. “Should I put the song on?” asked Hayward curiously. “No.” was the response from Bon. ((Act 3 / Epilogue)) ((Several Hours Later / Runabout Bridge / Main Shuttle Bay / USS Brinkman)) Mendez was shivering a bit and his hands were clammy. All he wanted was to have some tomato soup and get some rest. He inquired again to Ensign Hayward at the comm. “Anything?” “No response sir and I keep hailing. There’s no chatter at all.” was Tommy’s response. “What about Lt. Cmdr Sally?” quipped Bon. “Not now. But what about her Ensign?” said Martin effectively cutting Peter off mid quip. “I haven’t heard a thing from her since she went to see the Captain hours ago. You don’t think she and the Captain are together do you?” his voice was nervous in anticipation of the reply. “Don’t know, don’t care.” said Peter. “All I know is someone is going to have to go out there and check the bodies.” said Martin. Mendez, Bon and Hayward looked through the window of the runabout over the various zombified corpses that littered the Main Shuttle Bay of the USS Brinkman. The two Lt.’s looked at each other and then after a moment they looked at Ensign Hayward who wore the red shirt of the group. “Fine. But this is the last time! Promise?” said Tommy as always. “We promise.” lied Mendez and Bon.
  4. I have an entry underway. I'll give you all three hints as to my interpretation of 'Song and Silence': 1) John Cage's composition "4'33" 2) Jean-Paul Sartre's play "No Exit" 3) ZOMBIES!
  5. "The Truth Shall Set You Free" A JP by Lt. Commander Thomas Gregory and Marine Captain Miles Unum ((USS Ronin - Deck 15 - Security Conference Room)) ::After remotely listening to the conversation between LtCmdr. Gregory and Nurse Bradley, Miles left the Security Chief's Office, and he found LtCmdr. Gregory walking toward him. Miles carefully placed his hand on the Operations chief's arm and walked with him into the Security Conference Room.:: Unum: ::putting a little distance between them:: We need to talk. Gregory: I expected as much since you've placed your hands on my person. ::Straightening out the sleeve of his uniform.:: Then let's talk- Unum: When I called you to meet me earlier and then told you about Nurse Bradley, I was under orders to determine whether she or you were involved in the kidnappings of the four crew members. After what I just heard, obviously there's something else going on, but I don't quite understand what it is. Gregory: So you we're watching us? Unum: ::curtly nodding:: Yeah. There's no expectation of privacy in there. ::furrowing his eyebrows:: Don't act surprised, sir. You knew where to stand to avoid the cameras. ::waving his hand briefly:: That's irrelevant now. This has entered a whole new territory that has nothing to do with me. ::Thomas took a moment to figure out the man's face. Not a stranger to being questioned, he looked beyond the stonewalled but probing expression standing before him to the body language. The Marine Captain obviously betrayed less of himself than he was aware. Gathering information was the next - and possibly last - card Thomas could play.:: Gregory: Nothing is ever irrelevant Captain, we both know that. What does your gut say? Unum: My gut instinct tells me that neither of you had anything to do with the kidnappings, but there are falsified records and possible charges of absence without leave. That's an internal Security matter to be addressed by Lieutenant Commanders Readdy and Tallis. You should go with me to the Security Chief's Office to take care of that. ::Thomas put his hand over his mouth and then took it away. He wiped it on his side and shook his head. His forehead wrinkled and the sides of his mouth clenched. His eyes were heavy as the situation - one in which he had gotten through simply on account of his ability to compartmentalize his personal problems - crushed around him. He needed someone to understand.:: Gregory: You're right you know. I'll go with you, they can take my gun, my freedom, my life if it's necessary. Never an issue with me I assure you. Before all that, I want to confess something to you. Will you listen? Unum: ::curiously and shrugging his shoulders:: Sure, I'll listen. Gregory: Do you know Danielle? Unum: ::shaking his head:: No, I just met her. ::Thomas looked him directly in the eyes. While he spoke he refrained from blinking.:: Gregory: Only now? That's a true shame. She was serving her first tour aboard the Ronin when I graduated the Academy. A very headstrong and extremely intelligent woman. She's the kind Starfleet needs out here. Unum: You obviously have feelings for her, but... Gregory: Yes. We are... we we're together, but that's all past now. Unum: ::relaxing his stance as he spoke:: What happened? Gregory: Danielle had a procedure done on DS17, a rather personal one at that. She and I had... ::Thomas paused and turned for a moment. Tears welled in the back of his eyes and he clenched them shut for a moment to try and hold back his emotions. He turned back.:: I'm sorry, this is hard for me... I need to know something Miles. Unum: ::adjusting from his suspicious approach to one of listening to the man who was revealing his personal life:: Sure. I think I understand. ::nodding:: Go ahead. Gregory: Did you propose or did she? Unum: ::lightly shaking his head in confusion:: I'm sorry? Gregory: Just tell me, please. Unum: ::nodding as he discerned the question:: Oh. I did. ::Thomas nodded.:: Gregory: It's fitting that you two are getting married. The reason why Nurse Bradley was on DS17, she was pregnant. I falsified the records because we didn't want anyone to know that we we're not keeping the child. Unum: ::looking down in silence for a moment, Miles looked back at Thomas and proverbially stepped out on a limb:: How did you feel about it? Gregory: Awful... it's been eating me up inside. We talked about it - Danielle and I - but in the end it was clear that she wasn't ready to be a mother, and was unwilling to go through the 9 month ordeal. Some things still remain taboo even today. ::Miles now felt sympathy for the Operations chief in a way that he hadn't expected when the series of events began with the documentation on the PADD left under the door to his quarters.:: ::Thomas looked down and fumbled in his uniform pocket. He produced a small unassuming ring and dropped it on the table.:: Unum: ::looking from the ring to Thomas solemnly:: You asked her? Gregory: The night of the masquerade. She said no. Unum: I'm sorry. ::Thomas shook his head and sniffed his nose. He looked high up into the corner of the room and spoke as if trying to convince himself.:: Gregory: Not everything is meant to be. With all that's happened since then... I never found the time to... get rid of it. Unum: ::taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out:: This changes a lot of things, and I'm sorry that it's put a spotlight on things that are obviously personal for you. Gregory: You're doing your job Miles, I'm sorry this had to involve you. Before we speak with the others... When you asked for the department records I assumed my signature and authorization codes would be enough. How did you figure out the transfer orders were falsified? Unum: Someone, I don't know who, left a PADD under the door to my quarters with a copy of the transfer orders for Nurse Bradley. It highlighted the transfer authorizations, and once I found out that she was not onboard the Ronin, I assumed that she must have been a part of the kidnapping plan. I never would have guessed at the real reason she left. ::pausing:: I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions that she or you were involved in the kidnappings. The captain and first officer are aware of this incident, and they're waiting to find out all of the details before taking any actions. Gregory: Don't apologize, our duty as Starfleet officers is to follow the truth... ::He quoted the great Carl Sagan.:: no matter where it leads us. Unum: The question now is who would want to set you up for a fall. Gregory: I'm not sure... it almost feels like a red herring. Unum: What can you tell me? Gregory: Despite what you may have heard, Operations is a very small department. Since I took over I've mostly had to use overlapping serviceman from other departments. A good 50 percent of my staff operates on 2-4 month rotations. I only have lets see... ::Thomas counted out on his fingers from memory.:: 7 people working in the Operations Office and I'd trust them all with my... ::Thomas stopped cold and his words slowed.:: there is one person. Unum: Who? Gregory: Ens. Jackson Rockefeller. Unum: ::recalling a recent story he'd heard:: Wasn't he the one who… Gregory: One in the same, he's been trouble since I came aboard. We shared quarters as Ensigns, but I got promoted and he got reprimanded to my eternal custody. Unum: ::nodding:: I could see where that would create tension. Gregory: He's got protection, his father is like Federation royalty. Unum: It's a start, but we'll need more than conjecture to prove that he produced the evidence on the PADD. Gregory: I agree, I should point out that he's never done anything that would be as serious as this before... at least that I'm aware of. Unum: Two things that I think need to be done right away are releasing Nurse Bradley from the holding cell and looking at the security recordings of Mr. Rockefeller's activities over the past couple of weeks. I think you could be helpful with both of those. Gregory: Agreed, after you sir. ::Miles and Thomas walked to the Security Chief's Office and arranged for the release of Nurse Bradley, looked at security video of Rockefeller's movements, and gave Thomas the opportunity to examine the PADD that was left under Miles' door.:: TBC JP by Lt. Cmdr Thomas Gregory Chief of Helm/Comm/Ops USS Ronin NCC-34523 and Marine Captain Miles Unum SFMC Flight Leader USS Ronin, NCC-34523
  6. Alleran will you send me that Kanye photoshopped support pic... it made the year for me. Literally the funniest thing I've seen in a while. I laughed in a very geeky way.... it doesn't happen that often.
  7. Bus and Jet lag... Lt Cmdr sounds scary!

  8. Kanye West, FTW. Made me laugh! DARN YOU KANYE!
  9. Working Title: “My Last Words” ((Cargo Bay / Freighter Sixarp / Leaving Luna on a course for Earth)) Ryan had been in a terrible mood the entire morning. He walked into the Cargo Bay and turned around. The Cargo Bay doors stayed open and Christine stood angrily before him. Ryan loved her with all his heart, but the last few days he had strugged not to answer her every question with cynicism and frustration. Living as Ryan did - with a companion at all times, lest he be overcome by his condition - was a carefully managed practice and he was desperate to keep his current plight hidden from his love. Christine: Are you going to talk to me? Ryan: I have a headache Christine, that’s all. Christine: I watch you 24/7 Ryan. I watch you because I love you. I know when you have a headache, and I know when you’re lying to me. Ryan took a few steps away. He was tearing up. Christine recognized the signs when Ryan began to shake and reached out her hand to him. She took a step forward and then was hurled backwards - from out of nowhere by a giant explosion from the deck above them - into the corridor. He turned in an instant and cried out in anguish. Ryan: Christine... Before blacking out he managed to witness the ceiling collapse on him. ((Bridge / Starship Miranda / Day 1)) The helm aboard the USS Miranda had been having navigational problems for weeks. The main issue was that every few hours a re-alignment was required. The issue causing it was a defect in the original design of the ship. It could only be fixed once it happened, and until the re-alignment was complete the ship would drift lazily to the left. Ryan sat in the Captain’s chair and looked around in some confusion. The others on the Bridge looked to the him - he assumed they expecting him to say something - he turned and looked at the man directly to his right. Pierce: Uh... am I the Captain? Walters: Yes sir, are you OK? Pierce: Good god no, I have no idea what’s going on. Walters: OK, let me be honest with you. Everything is going to be OK. No need to worry, just sit back for a moment. I’ll handle things here on the Bridge and Christine will arrive momentarily. The man to his right wore the uniform of the FO and he acted like it. Ryan quickly discovered that protocols were all in place and ready to go, they were simply waiting for his order... and he had blinked. “What if it had been during a battle?” Ryan thought as he watched the FO direct the Bridge. Walters: Henderson, I need you to disengage the... Purcey, call down to Engineering and have them dispatch a... Purcey: Engineering, reports a team already on route. Walters: Excellent, tell the... Purcey: Chief Hammond sends a thank you for praise on his foresight sir. Ryan watched the man chuckle and waive him off. At the back of the bridge the turbo lift doors opened with a woosh. Ryan stood up as they parted and his eyes met with Christine’s. Christine: Ryan! Ryan’s face finally dropped and he felt extreme relief at the sight of her. He clumsily got up - his knees shaking and buckling as the blood rushed to his head - she ran down towards him. He couldn’t hear what she shouted to him and his vision was clouding. As he looked up at the ceiling he managed the make the most of his last words. Ryan: ... I love you. He fell backwards into the arms of his FO and blacked out as Christine reached him. ((Day 8 / Sickbay)) For a few moments everything was a blur. His left hand rubbed his temples and he looked over at Christine. She was asleep in a chair beside the bio-bed where he lay. His right hand was intertwined in her fingers and her other hand held the two together. He whispered to her ‘You look so beautiful when you’re sleeping.’ and then looked over to his FO. He was standing in the CMO’s office having an argument with who Ryan assumed was the CMO. Ryan: What... what happened? He managed to get the FO’s attention and the man rushed over to his bio-bed. He smiled at him and repeated the question. Walters: You blacked out on the Bridge just before Christine got to you. Ryan: How... how long? Walters: You’ve been catatonic just over a week sir. Ryan: 7 days, how? Walters: You’re condition sir. It’s never easy to predict... Ryan: ...right right, ‘anomalitis’... the eternal mystery of the human brain... Ryan was then approached by the Doctor who nodded to him. Jenkins: The eternal mystery indeed, welcome back sir. Ryan: Thank you Doctor. I trust I’ve been a complete handful? Jenkins: Quite the opposite... Walters: He’s basically dead for days at a time... and we have no way of predicting it. Jenkins: Yes, but he always wakes up in the end fine and dandy. You’ve done an admirable job sir... at keeping this bio-bed warm. Ryan: I suppose I’ve done that job long enough. Jenkins: Let’s not get hasty here... Ryan: Are you telling me I’m not the Captain? Walters: Doc, come on now show some bedside manner... Jenkins: Captain, at least stay in bed the night. Work out your arms and legs, take a shower, talk to Christine and then sleep the night. Ryan: and tomorrow? Jenkins: Then we’ll talk about how: you are the Captain and I’m just your Doctor. But for now... stay put. You’re not done here yet. Ryan nodded and the two men patted him on the shoulder. He watched his FO head out the doors: back to the bridge or to bed... depending on how long he’d been in Sickbay. The doctor he just managed to see walk back into his office. Turning to Christine he reached out his finger and poked her softly on the nose. He brought his hand down and placed it on the other 3 as her eyes opened. ((Day 15 / Conference Room)) The table was full of Captains. Each ship in the convoy was represented. Despite the fact that the fleet had it’s orders, only one man’s judgement really mattered. Ryan looked up from his padd and then handed it to his FO. As Ryan took a drink of water and considered his options the FO turned on the wall screen and a formation of the convoy and its long term route into Klingon space came into view. Ryan: A mission of peace? Walters: We take a rather long and perplexing route to the co-ordinates of the peace conference. Convoy Captain: Maybe the Klingon’s want us to experience the sights and wonders of the Empire... Ryan: It would follow the logic of peace talks. But with the destruction of Praxis I do have cause to wonder aloud why we are not dispensing with the tour and moving right to the summit. Convoy Captain: We do have our orders Captain. Ryan: That we do and I see no reason not to follow them. Until such a reason arises I suggest we retire to our respective ships and make sure all systems are in tip top... The entire room - and ship - shifted lazily to the left; the ships design flaw letting loose on the navigational systems. Walters: I’ll see that the re-alignment begins immediately. Ryan: Thank you Walters. Now gentlemen, as I was saying: tip top shape. and please... keep a close eye on your balance as you walk to the transporter room! ((Sequence of Dreams)) “A moon, sits wrapped in a dark mystery deep in Klingon space.” “A great fleet of peace moves in and is destroyed by unseen predators.” “Blood turns to ice in the vacuum of space.” ((Day 22 / Counselors Office)) Counselor: Is that in direct order? Ryan: As I said, yes. Counselor: All three nightmares in one night? Ryan: It was a fairly bad night. Counselor: An understatement, no one likes bad dreams. Ryan: I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something. Something important. Counselor: Something... specific? Ryan: Kind of like... I had a dream last night. I was offered peace by a Klingon, and then when I brought my family to his homeworld... him and his Klingon brothers slaughtered us wholesale.” Counselor: That has to be the most blatantly obvious subliminal premonition I’ve ever heard. Ryan: I agree, that’s why I’m calling a meeting to inform the rest of the convoy that we are walking into a trap. Counselor: A trap sir? Ryan: Are you hard of hearing? Counselor: Yes, I am a bit hard of hearing. These things happen in our old age. Ryan: Then I will say it again, I plan to inform the rest of the convoy of this presumed trap. Counselor: All because of a dream? Ryan: Do not discount my dreams counselor, it’s the antithesis of what you should be doing right now. Counselor: I’m not trying to discount your dreams sir, I’m simply trying to understand the rationale lying behind the actions you are going to take... sometimes dreams are just dreams... Ryan: I don’t suppose I’ve ever told you what I normally dream of? Counselor: No... I don’t suppose you have. Ryan: Well if it helps ease your position I will say this: I dream of my love Christine. Every night the dream is the same; with little modifications or differences. Whether it be the setting, the others who inhabit it, or the things we say... it’s always about Christine. At least my dreams have always featured her prominently... it’s the reason she is my companion. Without her, I could never live a normal life... I would be confined... to some drab hospital. Some living nightmare... to replace my subconscious ones? I normally have pleasant dreams Counselor, there is a reason lying behind this sudden change. Counselor: But, if it’s not a trap? Ryan: Starfleet doesn’t rely on pure ‘what-if’ situations. We rely on logic and gut instincts based on pure science. Sadly Klingons are lousy scientists and every light year we travel I see more inconsistencies in the story that bemoans our continuation. Counselor: Do you believe Praxis has been destroyed as the Klingons have claimed? Ryan: I do not. ((Conference Room / Day 24)) The table was once more filled with representatives of the Convoy. Walters turned on the wall screen. The screen revealed the convoy and its present heading to the summit. Ryan: Gentlemen and ladies: our course. Walters activated the new scans which revealed the cloaked fleet shadowing the convoy. Ryan: and here is our escort... Convoy Captain: How did you discover them? Walters: While the cloak is very impressive and certainly a tad above the previous encounters we’ve had with the Klingons; we were able to partially map out and then extrapolate the shadow fleets course by scanning the unusually high concentrations of energy nearby. After that it was a matter of tracking sensors. Convoy Captain: What are our options? Ryan: I do apologize but we are far past the point of no return. As soon as we reach the summit - or likely further up the route from here - we will run into a fleet I presume... then our escort will pick off the convoy one by one. Convoy Captain: We are too lightly armed to defend or attack... we cannot escape... what do we do? Walters brought up the next option. A large nebulae with strange properties. Ryan pointed at it. Ryan: We go there. Convoy Captain: A nebulae? Walters: A rather unusual one actually. Over the past 50 years there have been sightings of this nebulae - by many Captains in the fleet - and its strange properties. Here it is: head straight through the nebulae and then once clear, jump to warp. Convoy Captain: Our destination? Ryan: Praxis. Convoy Captain: Captain, your dreams are the only the hard evidence we have on this... everything else is speculation. Ryan: Agreed, and if I’m wrong... I take the blame. Hopefully we don’t all die because of my actions, but since my current actions are driven by a direct desire ‘not to die’ at least we know my heart is in the right place. You all have a choice to make: Come with me, or stick to the orders. Convoy Captain: You put us all in a very difficult position. Ryan: I do it because you’re the best of the best. The Captain’s chair requires more than a simple duty to your orders. If you go to the summit... you will die. You will all die. Your crews will die and once the Klingons are through claiming the spoils of our ‘peace convoy’ they will sound the battle call and ride straight into the heart of the Federation. Convoy Captain: If what you say is true... why go on at all? Ryan: If we get to Praxis, and it still exists... we warn the Federation. We die heroes, exposing the cowardly and duplicitous Klingon Empire for what it is: a race of savages without honour. Convoy Captain: If Praxis exists in but a million fragments? Ryan: Then we die fools, but at least we stuck to our principles. Convoy Captain: What principles are you referring to? Ryan: Well. Not being stupid enough to walk into what is obviously a trap for one... ((Captain’s Log)) “The Klingon fleet managed to maintain cloak through the nebulae. My hope that the cloak would fail did not come to pass. Nevertheless I remain confident our plan will work.” - Ryan Pierce ((Bridge / Day 28)) Ryan was seated in the Captains chair. The Bridge was a silent chatter of text based communication as each person - working in direct sync - prepared the ship for the surge. His hands were clammy. He looked over to his FO. Ryan: My hands are numb. Walters: I’ll call Christine. Ryan: Thank you. Walters: How long? Ryan: It’s never... Walters: ...easy to predict... I know. Are you sure this is going to work? Ryan: I’m only sure about one thing. Walters: What’s that? Ryan: Love, son... love. Walters: and the peace offerings... you’re absolutely sure they’re... a trap? Ryan: You can’t go far without being sure; now is as good a time as any to find out. Signal the convoy: ‘engage the surge.’ Walters typed in the commands and the Bridge stations received the orders. The message was transmitted to the Captains of each ship in the lightly armed convoy of peace. Each Captain delineated responsibilities to their subordinates and the entire fleet stood as one... ready. Walters: Convoy reports ready sir. Ryan: Now. The convoy fired off a (LEWDIET) long range wide dispersal intensive electromagnetic mist. All around them cloaked Klingon D7’s and birds of prey temporarily shut down, systems overloading as a direct effect of the convoys actions. Ryan gave his FO further orders. Ryan: Forward to Praxis. The convoy surged to warp and after two minutes they arrived in the system. Ryan: Give me a visual on the moon. The viewsceen came up with the moon faintly in the distance... intact. Ryan: Magnify. The doors to the Bridge swooshed open and Christine stepped out. Christine: Praxis! Ryan: In one piece, not exploded at all. Walters: Indeed. Christine joined Ryan and he stood when she approached. The two of them and his FO stood and had a discussion in whispers. Christine: Are we about to die? Ryan: Yes, that fleet behind us is about 2 minutes from our position. Walters: And they are not happy... Christine: Oh cheer up Walters, Klingons are never happy. Ryan: Really? I would have thought slaughtering prey would be something a Klingon could get excited over. Walters: Captain the fleet... Ryan: Right right, signal the Convoy Captains ‘wish them my best, and long life.’ Christine: That was very sweet. Walters: CC responds in kind. Ryan: Excellent, send out a coded message to Starfleet. Let’s be sure we don’t do this in vain. Walters: Message sent. Ryan: Very well... signal the fleet. Ramming speed! Ryan looked over to Christine and he spent his last moments looking into her eyes. He had said everything in his heart. The two lovers remained in each others eyes, as the Klingon moon Praxis devoured the viewscreen. ((Frieghter Sixarp / en route to Earth / Cargo Bay)) “PULL!” Ryan heard the words echoing off the burnt casing and broken panels surrounding him. It was Christine! As a large piece of sheet metal casing came loose above him it nearly skewered his chest. At the last second it was pulled away and Ryan grabbed hold of an arm. He landed on the ground just beyond the pile of rubble. He could see the hole where the ceiling had caved in. He looked to Christine and grabbed her hand with his, intertwining his fingers with hers. Christine: Come on Ryan, we’ve got to get you to sickbay. Ryan: How... how long? Christine: Just a few minutes baby. I’ve...we’ve been digging for you. Ryan: I love you Christine. Ryan lay against Christine with his head and shoulders cradled in her loving embrace. She leaned her head down and their lips met. The kiss was quick but full of meaning. It was followed by a short assault of quick kissed to the rest of his face ending on the forehead. She burst into tears above him. Christine: I love you too Ryan. The End Written by Lt. Thomas Gregory Chief of Helm/Comm/Ops USS Ronin NCC-34523
  10. Great stories all around. Congratulations are most olive-branchely extended! Let's do it again!
  11. I read it and thought the headline would read 'Ensign can't post story, gets creative' yay 5 stories!
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