Entry tags:
ViewScream: BARiTONES
The bulkhead seals behind you; there is a brief warning buzzer before THEMiS’s A.I. pleasantly informs you that you have been “quarantined for your protection.”
A specialized room is arrayed before you, and you suddenly find you are aware of not only of the game’s rules, but also of a limited collection of specialized knowledge suitable to your team’s Role.
ROLE: PSIONICS
Available solutions:
To your right are a series of lockers containing changes of clothes to more Role-appropriate ones—though they still contain just enough elements to match your unit aesthetic. You may use these if you wish (if so, they will not disappear after the game ends). To your left, there is what appears to be a comms station. It seems you’ll be using this to contact the other units.
It quickly becomes apparent, in fact, that you will very much need their help—
Quick Links: How to Play | Rules | Bridge | List of Roles
A specialized room is arrayed before you, and you suddenly find you are aware of not only of the game’s rules, but also of a limited collection of specialized knowledge suitable to your team’s Role.
Available solutions:
- Cortical Net Harness
- Remote Cerebellar Shield
- Telekinetic Probe
To your right are a series of lockers containing changes of clothes to more Role-appropriate ones—though they still contain just enough elements to match your unit aesthetic. You may use these if you wish (if so, they will not disappear after the game ends). To your left, there is what appears to be a comms station. It seems you’ll be using this to contact the other units.
It quickly becomes apparent, in fact, that you will very much need their help—

PROBLEMS
Over at your communications hub, there’s a flashing red light: obviously some kind of warning signal. Checking the monitors triggers a pop-up message, read aloud in the pleasantly neutral voice of what must be THEMiS’s A.I.
“External sensors offline. Temperature regulation and collision maintenance systems compromised.”
Well, that doesn’t sound good.
“Do you wish to jettison this sector to preserve station integrity?”
A countdown appears on the pop-up. Okay, so that’s really not good.
Medical
It starts with an itch, or a sneeze, or a cough. Whatever it is, it starts small—but it rapidly grows, in size and in seriousness. Itches spread, sneezes become more violent, and coughs become more frequent. Roughly around the time that your ailments pass the threshold into "moderately annoying and somewhat concerning", THEMiS's A.I. speaks in a pleasantly neutral tone:
"Space plague detected in air ventilation. Air quality has been compromised."
Then, completely unbidden, the A.I. continues to describe what this "space plague" is: "Space plague: a common form of airborne infection. The body's immune system is attacked and begins to break down with the introduction of this bacteria. Microorganisms grow at a rapid pace and consume the host, processing flesh into liquid nutrient until the bodypart is completely consumed. Fatality rate: 85%. Antibiotic recommended for continued survival."
The feeling's just getting worse. Hm!
Xenobiology
THEMiS's A.I. echoes throughout your quarters, pleasant even in the words she says: "Alert. Barrier integrity compromised. Parasitic lifeforms detected to be beyond this door. Recommended suggestion: exterminate lifeforms with bioweapons."
Something that looks like a slime mold is creeping over the door, visible through the window in the sealed bulkhead. That definitely wasn’t there before. And you can hear scratching sounds—like the mold is clawing at the barrier.
DISCUSSION
Re: DISCUSSION
Well ... we may be able to ask for a solution from an engineering unit, at the very least.
Re: DISCUSSION
grumbling: ]
Or we could just kill them all.
Re: DISCUSSION
Tempting! I wonder if any would offer their assistance.
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[LIKE. PRIORITIES HERE?]
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Parasitic mold... so gross...
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I'm not at all assuming they'll offer assistance otherwise, yes.
John from Lilis said no ...
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Re: DISCUSSION
SPACE HACHIKOLAIKA IS VERY UPSET. ]This is stupid! I don't wanna have to beg these people to not like, let us die or whatever!
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[ humans SUCK rye!!! ]
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sneezes]
Really?
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[ ....Whatever the hell they are. Eichi is an idol, not a spaceman. ]
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[ Coughs a little. ]
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TURN IN
Re: TURN IN
The harness is applied as a net-like helmet that sinks in and melds with the scalp. Once applied, it de-agitates the outer layer of the brain and regulates thought waves back to regular functioning.
2. Remote Cerebellar Shield -> Avante
The shield becomes one of the ship's main functions; once a button is hit, it will dispatch a small necklace that pulses against the brain stem to defend against paranoia and agitation.
3. Telekinetic Probe -> Zrael
This is a long, rather nasty-looking device similar to what a surgical probe would look like. Thankfully you're not sticking it anywhere unconscionable. Instead, there's a needle on the end injected at the base of the skull -- a telekenetic force will disperse into the brain through blood vessels and combat against hallucinations, paranoia, what have you.
TECH RECEIVED
You receive the following Real Space Technology:
Problem type: Helm
Tech received: Four-Dimensional Arc Plotter v3.1
Description provided: The plotter prints some kind of cool tool to help BARiTONES fix their broken things. I THINK???
Result: Success
Problem type: Medical
Tech received: Extracellular Centrifuge
Description provided: T-this centrifuge creates . . . extra cells . . . ? H-healthy cells, in order to replace the cells that have become weak from illness . . . A guts, let's call it a guts. Revive with 1 HP . . . No, should I be saying what that value is too - 500? Is 500 fine? 500 HP, like Necromancy . . .
Result: FAILURE
Problem type: Xenobiology
Tech received: Elemental Spore Supply
Description provided: The spores arrive in a capsule that, when broken, releases a fine cloud of that settles over any alien organic matter in the room which begins to grow a strange, crystalline "mold" that chokes and restricts any further growth or movement.
Result: Success
RESULT: THIS IS GOING TO HURT
The itching is unbearable by now; you scratch and scratch and scratch, you sneeze and sneeze and sneeze, you cough and cough and cough, but the sensation only seems to get worse. It all comes to a head, though—idly, you scratch or sneeze or cough, something that sounds innocuous enough, until you realize—with that last motion, your skin begins to peel off like the skin of a boiled potato, or your cough yields to a hint of something black and sludge-like, or perhaps both. Pain wracks your body violently as you feel the warmth spreading through your insides, blossoming from your initial point of stress to reach your extremities; it's almost pleasant, except—
Bone and tendon and ligament eaten alive has leaves you leaning against the wall (or each other) for support as your limbs begin to give out. Even that little bit of contact, though, is too much to ask of your fragile skin, which begins coming off in large patches, revealing a blackened sludge underneath—the same as what you've been coughing up.
You cough again, and there it is: more sludge, and there’s a horrible thickness in your chest that’s starting to make it difficult to breathe.
...Then there’s a musical chime.
“Emergency disinfection systems: Online.”
There’s a gentle mist spraying from the vents in your room, now, and your coughing stops; no more skin sloughs off. Even so, the damage is done.