Entries tagged with plot:knockout

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Knockout: The End (GP)

"...and please, don't forget to take some vervain if you haven't already," Lauren finished, motioning towards a small test tube rack with a dozen labelled vials still resting within it. The security briefing with Sharon, Clint, Sam, Pullo and Cuthbert had been completed already, and with the general announcements about what to expect from the supers and the vervain Lauren figured her public safety duties had pretty much been completed. She glanced at Sam briefly as if seeking reassurance, and at the other woman's tiny smile and nod she took a deep breath, turning away to the first tray of waiting syringes.

***

The actual injections took very little time at all; with people monitoring just about every patient it meant that John and Lauren could concentrate on injecting the serum, confident that they would be alerted to any immediate issues by the others. She was cautiously optimistic that this would work, however, and indeed it wasn't long until the first stirrings and murmurs began to drift through the medbay, heralding the return to consciousness of the sleeping supers.

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Knockout montage

[May 18-24]

The doctors go back to the drawing board after the failure of the holodeck cure; everything looks grim until suddenly, it doesn't.

[ Here | Lots of tiredness ]

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Epic Vent Forays 5/19 to 5/27

( Sharon finds some things in the vents & decides a new approach is in order. )

"You're going to kill me," Bert says as he walks up, supplies bundled under his arm. "But why are we doing this, again?"

“That’s exactly the point, Bert. Why.” She descends the ladder and sits on the lowest rung so they’re eye to eye. Eye to feverishly intent eye, possibly.

“Why haven’t we already done this? We’ve been so focused on keeping ourselves safe day to day that we’ve forgotten that we’re just not. We can’t just sit around and wait for this space station to decide it’s time to wipe us out and start over.”

This conversation is bringing up a lot of points in Cuthbert's mind that are definitely better left unexamined, or at least unsaid. His best guesses concerning the nature of the station and their captors are wildly misfigured, or so it would seem listening to the others talk. But still, what's he going to say to her as she stares him down?

To be honest, Sharon, I'm pretty sure that 'wiping us out and starting over' is just one of many little boxes left on the to-do list of the mad gods that trapped us here, mayhap along with 'deadly frost doxies' and 'innocuous-looking, pickle-flavored beer'.

But it doesn't seem like Sharon's looking for a philosophical debate or palaver and if crawling through a couple of dark tunnels is going to make her feel like she's in control again, she's come to the right idiot.

"I couldn't agree more; I've been wiped out once and I didn't care for it at all." He hands over the supplies, tucked into two nifty little pouches he’s found that strap conveniently about the waist, along with her water pack. He’s got the cable and the metal clips they’ll (hopefully?) use to secure it in a tight loop on his belt.

She doesn’t blink before strapping on the fanny pack, which says a lot about how anxious she is to get a move on: transplant New Yorker she might be, it’s never OK to look like a tourist.

All of that seems slightly less important compared to finally finding a way to break the stranglehold Proserpina’s had on them. If she has anything to say about it, they won’t stop until they find the computer mainframe, a climate control board, or someone stupid enough to admit to being in charge.

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tea time

Violet had begun taking her tea in the lab, a place she normally avoided. At first there had been the usual fuss, but she had never much been bothered by the opinions of others who petulantly decided what was the best course of action for her to take. As far as Violet is concerned she can very well take her tea wherever she pleases, and if she chooses to do so while sitting at the little girl's bedside, that's her own business, just as it was the business of certain scientists to be so busy saving others that they forgot to feed themselves.

It's this realization, along with the not so subtle disappearance of the frequent biscuits and light fare that often accompany her tea that have driven Lady Grantham to enlist the help of a few young persons in a more extensive effort.

It's early afternoon and Lady Grantham, trailed by Peeta and Cuthbert, enters the lab and proceeds to take over a large table with no regard for what already resides there, laying out a great deal of food and tea both made and replicated, with cups, plates, and utensils borrowed from the kitchen.

"Gentlemen! Ladies," Violet raises her voice, "As most of you do not see fit to leave this laboratory for anything short of near collapse, it has become apparent that sustenance and civilized company must be brought to you lest we lose you to your work. Please, do pull yourselves away and come join us."

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It's 3AM: do you know where YOUR sociopaths are?

"Work." Sherlock urged under his breath as he attached the electrode to the surface of the plate. It was almost a warning. He'd found what was really the simplest possible solution after several days of fruitless experimentation, but he was having some trouble putting the theory into action. Not Sherlock himself, per se, but millions of lazy blood cells and faulty nanorobotics. Did they really break down so easily? Sherlock meant to have a word with the manufacturers.

When the first person joined him in the lab [really, they might have just arrived or been there for hours, for all the attention he was paying], Sherlock was hurling a petri dish against the opposite wall with a wordless cry of rage.

It was the second test batch he'd ruined, and the supplies were quite limited. The stakes being life and death didn't really factor into things for Sherlock; failing to solve any puzzle was equally maddening.

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Air vents

Mycroft had been looking up for the better part of fifteen minutes. There was no actual reason for him to be looking at it. With an eidetic memory as his was, it had been remembered since the first glance he had set upon it. But there was something calming about looking up, and so he did.

The air-vent; the poison had come through the air-vents.

Could a search lead to finding out where the poison had come from? What were the chances that the poison had been on the ship for as long as they had? Or longer? Or had it materialized like food did in replicators? And what were the chances of them finding the answer? What were the chances of them finding the answer to anything?

He was well aware that he was useless in the sick bay and Sherlock (both of them) worked better when he was not there.

Would there be a point in trying to find the cause or the source of the poison? Could they find the reason?

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[A few hours after the collapse]

It had been a race against the clock - the static, silent clock - to stabilise the 'supers' before it was too late. Now, staring at them, Lauren ran through their profiles in her head, trying desperately to find any common link that would give them something to start with.

Three vampires, several 'mutants', a supersoldier, witches, aliens and a god...

There was nothing there, nothing except the fact that they weren't baseline human, but that's where the similarities ended. Blood samples had been drawn and were currently in for metabolic panels and cultures, but that would only tell them what it wasn't, not what it was.

They had to figure it out, and they had to hurry. Nineteen lives depended on it.

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[ Backdated to yesterday, noonish. ]

Bert walks out of the sickbay with a small crowd, all of them having been nudged out by the doctors who needed time, space and a piece of silence for their examinations.

In the small waiting area just outside it, the remaining residents of the Proserpina are in varying states of bewilderment, panic and exhaustion. The people they've lost-- all of them, apparently, boasting some kind of magic ability, at least to Bert's limited understanding-- had been all been tracked down and brought into the sickbay; those left standing had done whatever they could to help John, Lauren, and Sherlock hook the patients up to the machines that might be able to save them.

And there's the matter of the clock to contend with, which hasn't disappeared, but just run down to zero.

"Is everyone all right?" he asks of the room at large, breaking up the alternating silence and whispered conversations. Of course they're not all right, but Bert can't stand to worry by himself in silence.

(no subject)

<5:01:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< HEMLOCK.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 5:01:ψ | 09:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:20.94% > < N:78.08% > < +CCl₈O | “HEMLOCK” > < TEMP: 19ºC>

<5:01:ψ | 08:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<08:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 1 | 8:00 A.M. :

At 08:00 on the Proserpina, a colorless gas begins pumping through the air vents of Floors 1-5, initially detectable only by the inconspicuous but distinct smell of freshly cut grass.

Any subjects containing the specific nanites which restrain preternatural ability will experience a gradual decline in health, beginning with a vasovagal syncope response and followed by cardiac arrest within several hours. These subjects will find themselves experiencing a range of typical presyncope symptoms such as dizziness, blurred vision, muscle weakness, hallucinations and lightheadedness for their remaining two-to-three minutes of consciousness.

Subjects without the aforementioned nanites will be unaffected by CCl₈O.

As of HEMLOCK.EXE’s program launch, CCl₈O will be a standard element in the Proserpina’s air mix.