Post by Iris on Mar 18, 2012 14:27:52 GMT -5
Darkness. The quiet void of space. Tranquility. The sense of meaninglessness. Order. The feeling of control over ones destiny. Sirens. Blaring loudly in the distance... fie!
Iris's eyes open, the darkness of space meeting them. She sits facing the cracked aperture in the pilots chair in the bridge of her ship. Still in the very moment, perhaps in an attempt to gather her surroundings.
She sees sparking wires hanging and laying about the bulkheads. The metal structure of the interior of the ship twisted and contorted inward, like an immense monstrosity attempted to crush it. The console terminals and interfaces in the cockpit disfigured, even the ones that look intact have shattered displays.
The computer wails for the umpteenth time about malfunctions in primary systems, life support failure, structural failure, accompanied by a shrill siren of alarm. The ships computer possibly concerned that no one has yet responded to it. “Computer, terminate warning,” she says, her voice barely audible above the automated notification. The computer silences itself.
Glancing down at herself, she sees that she has her utility belt, black leatheris top and bottom, and that outwardly she appears unharmed. Her lightsabers are missing. Gathering herself, she attempts to stand, but her legs don't give her the lift she needs. She falls forward, but catches herself on the broken console in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes venture out the window that is her cockpit. All around the ship is darkness, not even the light of distant stars. The exterior of her ship looks badly mangled. The entire left section of the Fury-class Interceptor missing, and the right wing not fairing much better – however intact it is.
Standing upright now, she turns to the center console. This console at one point displayed a hologram of the ships position in relation to the rest of the galaxy. She looks for a functioning display on the massive terminals surrounding her, but only encounters their shattered remains. Looking into one of them, where the glass was still mostly intact, she sees the reflected image of her own face. Gone is the deep red facial tones of her stoutness and vigor, replaced by a pale white, accented by many tiny blue veins spiderwebbed across her cheeks. Her eyes a milky white, the dark black of her irises replaced by thin yellow lines. The black of her jagged tattoos offsetting her new facial tones.
A slight facial twitch seems to be the entirety of her response. Walking off the bridge – while being careful to not trod on any of the live wires littering the floor below – she moves into the common area of her ship. Red emergency lights are the only illumination. Many of the floor panels have been jostled and are now out of place. Where the grates are more of a mesh structure, there seems to be a large pool of black fluid accompanying several broken ducts. It does not seem to have welled up enough to escape the maintenance area, under the main level. The main holographic display has also fallen into the ships structure under it. The hatchway to the left portion of the ship is also closed off.
She continues moving into the right quadrant, noting that the hyperdrive and sublight engine room has also been closed off by the ships computer. The escape pod seems to have been ejected. The cargohold, once an orderly area of magsealed crates, weapons, and rations – is now a tumbled mess of chaos. Most of the equipment stored in the cargohold has traveled to the farthest corners. Where the interior structure was also smashed down like a container under a boot of a shock trooper. The floor is littered with old datapads and pieces of flimsiplast, which likely exploded out of magsealed crates as they were crushed under the force of whatever happened to the ship.
She begins to search. Tossing aside insta-heat ration packs, macrobinoculars, scanners, medpacks, multitools, cronographs, spare pairs of armor, hydrospanners... She only seems to be interested in one thing, which she mutters, “Lightsaber, where are my lightsabers...” After several minutes of vigorous searching, she pulls a crate away from the wall to reveal the a mass of electronics, machinery, ration paste, and clothing all smashed together under the force of the contorted ship.
Stepping back from the mess, she slumps down against the bulkhead. She sits there for some time, until she glances down at a chronograph that seems to have frozen. She picks it up, looking at it closely. Under the main display seems to be another readout, perhaps a different means the chronograph used to calculate time. The difference between them is twenty-two minutes. She tosses it aside, and closes her eyes...
Iris's eyes open, the darkness of space meeting them. She sits facing the cracked aperture in the pilots chair in the bridge of her ship. Still in the very moment, perhaps in an attempt to gather her surroundings.
She sees sparking wires hanging and laying about the bulkheads. The metal structure of the interior of the ship twisted and contorted inward, like an immense monstrosity attempted to crush it. The console terminals and interfaces in the cockpit disfigured, even the ones that look intact have shattered displays.
The computer wails for the umpteenth time about malfunctions in primary systems, life support failure, structural failure, accompanied by a shrill siren of alarm. The ships computer possibly concerned that no one has yet responded to it. “Computer, terminate warning,” she says, her voice barely audible above the automated notification. The computer silences itself.
Glancing down at herself, she sees that she has her utility belt, black leatheris top and bottom, and that outwardly she appears unharmed. Her lightsabers are missing. Gathering herself, she attempts to stand, but her legs don't give her the lift she needs. She falls forward, but catches herself on the broken console in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes venture out the window that is her cockpit. All around the ship is darkness, not even the light of distant stars. The exterior of her ship looks badly mangled. The entire left section of the Fury-class Interceptor missing, and the right wing not fairing much better – however intact it is.
Standing upright now, she turns to the center console. This console at one point displayed a hologram of the ships position in relation to the rest of the galaxy. She looks for a functioning display on the massive terminals surrounding her, but only encounters their shattered remains. Looking into one of them, where the glass was still mostly intact, she sees the reflected image of her own face. Gone is the deep red facial tones of her stoutness and vigor, replaced by a pale white, accented by many tiny blue veins spiderwebbed across her cheeks. Her eyes a milky white, the dark black of her irises replaced by thin yellow lines. The black of her jagged tattoos offsetting her new facial tones.
A slight facial twitch seems to be the entirety of her response. Walking off the bridge – while being careful to not trod on any of the live wires littering the floor below – she moves into the common area of her ship. Red emergency lights are the only illumination. Many of the floor panels have been jostled and are now out of place. Where the grates are more of a mesh structure, there seems to be a large pool of black fluid accompanying several broken ducts. It does not seem to have welled up enough to escape the maintenance area, under the main level. The main holographic display has also fallen into the ships structure under it. The hatchway to the left portion of the ship is also closed off.
She continues moving into the right quadrant, noting that the hyperdrive and sublight engine room has also been closed off by the ships computer. The escape pod seems to have been ejected. The cargohold, once an orderly area of magsealed crates, weapons, and rations – is now a tumbled mess of chaos. Most of the equipment stored in the cargohold has traveled to the farthest corners. Where the interior structure was also smashed down like a container under a boot of a shock trooper. The floor is littered with old datapads and pieces of flimsiplast, which likely exploded out of magsealed crates as they were crushed under the force of whatever happened to the ship.
She begins to search. Tossing aside insta-heat ration packs, macrobinoculars, scanners, medpacks, multitools, cronographs, spare pairs of armor, hydrospanners... She only seems to be interested in one thing, which she mutters, “Lightsaber, where are my lightsabers...” After several minutes of vigorous searching, she pulls a crate away from the wall to reveal the a mass of electronics, machinery, ration paste, and clothing all smashed together under the force of the contorted ship.
Stepping back from the mess, she slumps down against the bulkhead. She sits there for some time, until she glances down at a chronograph that seems to have frozen. She picks it up, looking at it closely. Under the main display seems to be another readout, perhaps a different means the chronograph used to calculate time. The difference between them is twenty-two minutes. She tosses it aside, and closes her eyes...