Board Thread:Fun and Games/@comment-3155949-20130924042049/@comment-3155949-20140903030202

Amocci, you take great care when progressing through the husk of a station. You follow to the letter the prescribed path to the armories. True to their word, the survivors have a man ready to let you into the central annex of the fortified core. You come upon him by way of a storage room, where cases of munitions are stacked to the cieling as far as the eye can see, eternally awaiting their tenders to load them into delivery elevators for arming on a docked vessel. Quite likely they will wait silently for this day as long as Isemacai remains. From a secure double-airlock emerges a man from the Imperial Naval Infantry in a combat spacesuit. Wordlessly, he locks the passageway from which you entered and pulls you along through a series of fortified halls. Each set of blast doors is less and less damaged, showing less and less sign of struggle. It seems that nothing happened so deep within the station. With all the mystery of the naval station, nothing so far represents anything even mildly exceptional. For all intents and purposes, it is merely a damaged space station.

The last bastion of Isemacai's surviving crew is holed up amongst what must be thousands of tons of armaments and ammunition. Some forty men and women watch each of the three sealed armory doors with terrified anticipation. Whatever they expect to face is a foe greater than the entire armory of a naval station, as it appears.

Your guide takes you aside to begin to explain the situation, but he is interrupted by the extermination of all light in the room. Only dim emergency lights line the floors and doors. Panic.

---

Dreadvolt, you pick a slightly different route. Instead of directly approaching the armory, you take the longer route through the machine shops. It's an idea with certain merit. Maybe the naval station's secrets are there, maybe a clue to what happened, or perhaps it will have a locker full of neat hats.

Your anticipation grows upon unlocking the security doors, but it appears at first glance that the entire place has been looted. Bits of scrap and immovable tooling are all that's left. More than in any other section of the station, however, blood coats the walls. Scarring and marks on the walls from gunfire and laserfire make it obvious that some last stand was attempted here. It dawns on you that the scant contents of the machine shops and the apparent conflict may indeed be connected.

A lone working data terminal reports with a series of flashes and tones. Just as you approach it, the shop's generous cieling lights go dark.

Movement in the corner.

Movement in the cieling.

You both have seconds to decide.