[GAME EVENT] Team Cockpit: It's Out There
Jan. 17th, 2006 09:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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crossing_lostrpContinued from here.
Megabyte felt it before the others did. Maybe there was something to be said for being telepathic, but then again maybe not, because he wasn't sure he liked the oppressing feeling that suddenly crept on him and weighed him down. His heart sped up, and instincts more animal than human threatened to take over. Something told him to run, teleport, do anything but just get away . . . and get away now.
"Hey, can we get a move on it guys?" Pretty Boy called up from outside.
"Oh hold your horses," Rodney snapped, although not loud enough for his words to carry beyond the cockpit. With a final twist and snap, the transceiver was free, everything salvageable had been salvaged and Megabyte released the breath that he hadn't noticed he was holding. "Now, we can 'get a move on it.'"
Rodney backed up, pushing Megabyte slightly out of the cockpit and to allow Jon to reach around and help the pilot with freeing himself from the safety belt and the pilot's seat. The young man must have noticed it then as well, because he stopped and squinted out of the window. "Oh shit."
Although everything in him told him not to, Megabyte followed Jon's gaze out of the window. Although the angle was awkward it was easy to tell the whole jungle was swaying – or being ripped apart. A moment later, the ground shook and the front third of the plane shook around bouncing them roughly.
"What –" the pilot lifted himself up, poking his head through the window.
Jon attempted to pull the man back down, "You don't want to do that. Get back in here."
And then It – whatever It was – was on them. There were shouts and screams from the ground below and rapid gunfire. The pilot tried to scramble back inside the cockpit, but something held him fast and with a blood-chilling scream, kicking legs, a loud gurgling and splash of blood, he was gone, violently ripped from the plane.
The action shook the fuselage and the transceiver tumbled from Rodney's fingers, clattering over to wedge itself in the corner by the co-pilot. The gun fire had ceased and all was quiet, but Megabyte was deathly afraid to call out. He really wanted to hang onto the hope that Sergeant Blaise, Locke, George and hell, even Pretty Boy were all right down there.
Jon turned his body, attempting to wedge his arm into the small space, but the transceiver remained steadily out of reach. Jon swore, quite colorfully, and shifted positions.
/Megabyte?/ He heard Ami, but really this wasn't the time for a play-by-play.
/Not now./ He severed the contact; he'd explain later, she'd understand.
"Jon, let me," Megabyte pushed his way into the cockpit. Whatever It was – and he was grateful that he hadn't seen It – It was gone for now, but It might come back. The further they were away when that happened, so much the better.
Jon gave him an odd look, but whatever look Megabyte gave him in return must have cinched it because the younger man scrambled over to the pilot's seat, plastering himself as far back from the window as possible. Megabyte took Jon's spot on the floor, knowing that his arm would not even reach as far as Jon's did. But that wasn't the point.
With a quick thought, he felt the transceiver in his mind, then it was wiggling loose and skittering across the cockpit into his waiting hand, telekinetically pulled free. He didn't know if Jon saw, and he didn't care at that moment. The transceiver meant that they were step closer to rescue and one step closer to home.
Megabyte waved it at Jon and Rodney, "Now let's get the hell out of here."
OOC Note: Leaving it open for those outside to interpret what they saw. It was not a T-Rex, however. It was very much akin to this.
Megabyte felt it before the others did. Maybe there was something to be said for being telepathic, but then again maybe not, because he wasn't sure he liked the oppressing feeling that suddenly crept on him and weighed him down. His heart sped up, and instincts more animal than human threatened to take over. Something told him to run, teleport, do anything but just get away . . . and get away now.
"Hey, can we get a move on it guys?" Pretty Boy called up from outside.
"Oh hold your horses," Rodney snapped, although not loud enough for his words to carry beyond the cockpit. With a final twist and snap, the transceiver was free, everything salvageable had been salvaged and Megabyte released the breath that he hadn't noticed he was holding. "Now, we can 'get a move on it.'"
Rodney backed up, pushing Megabyte slightly out of the cockpit and to allow Jon to reach around and help the pilot with freeing himself from the safety belt and the pilot's seat. The young man must have noticed it then as well, because he stopped and squinted out of the window. "Oh shit."
Although everything in him told him not to, Megabyte followed Jon's gaze out of the window. Although the angle was awkward it was easy to tell the whole jungle was swaying – or being ripped apart. A moment later, the ground shook and the front third of the plane shook around bouncing them roughly.
"What –" the pilot lifted himself up, poking his head through the window.
Jon attempted to pull the man back down, "You don't want to do that. Get back in here."
And then It – whatever It was – was on them. There were shouts and screams from the ground below and rapid gunfire. The pilot tried to scramble back inside the cockpit, but something held him fast and with a blood-chilling scream, kicking legs, a loud gurgling and splash of blood, he was gone, violently ripped from the plane.
The action shook the fuselage and the transceiver tumbled from Rodney's fingers, clattering over to wedge itself in the corner by the co-pilot. The gun fire had ceased and all was quiet, but Megabyte was deathly afraid to call out. He really wanted to hang onto the hope that Sergeant Blaise, Locke, George and hell, even Pretty Boy were all right down there.
Jon turned his body, attempting to wedge his arm into the small space, but the transceiver remained steadily out of reach. Jon swore, quite colorfully, and shifted positions.
/Megabyte?/ He heard Ami, but really this wasn't the time for a play-by-play.
/Not now./ He severed the contact; he'd explain later, she'd understand.
"Jon, let me," Megabyte pushed his way into the cockpit. Whatever It was – and he was grateful that he hadn't seen It – It was gone for now, but It might come back. The further they were away when that happened, so much the better.
Jon gave him an odd look, but whatever look Megabyte gave him in return must have cinched it because the younger man scrambled over to the pilot's seat, plastering himself as far back from the window as possible. Megabyte took Jon's spot on the floor, knowing that his arm would not even reach as far as Jon's did. But that wasn't the point.
With a quick thought, he felt the transceiver in his mind, then it was wiggling loose and skittering across the cockpit into his waiting hand, telekinetically pulled free. He didn't know if Jon saw, and he didn't care at that moment. The transceiver meant that they were step closer to rescue and one step closer to home.
Megabyte waved it at Jon and Rodney, "Now let's get the hell out of here."
OOC Note: Leaving it open for those outside to interpret what they saw. It was not a T-Rex, however. It was very much akin to this.
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(frozen) [George] I Spy With My Undead Eye
Date: 2006-01-18 06:08 am (UTC)Who else would be behind everything that had happened since the flight had taken off? The gravelings were probably responsible for the crash in the first place. They'd definitely done for Major Powell immediately afterward.
The gravelings alerted suddenly, glancing around--then scattered into the surrounding trees, vanishing like wisps of smoke. An instant later, the jungle trembled and trees began swaying. George stood motionless, staring up into the trees.
When an immense black cloud swirled into sight, looking like nothing so much as that inky smudge that gravelings vanished into, George wasn't surprised. The surface of the cloud was in constant motion, billowing and swirling. She thought she glimpsed gravelings flickering in and out in the roiling depths.
"The Mother of All Gravelings," George muttered. She had no idea what it really was, but that seemed as apt an name as any.
George jumped, startled by the sudden blast of Sgt. Blaise's assault rifle. He stalked past George, screaming at the cloud and blazing away at it. (Well, I guess everyone can see it,) George thought. She'd assumed, based on its resemblance to the gravelings that mortals couldn't. Which only made her wonder what the hell it really was.
The cloud enveloped the nose of the plane as a man stuck his head up through the broken window. Blaise stopped firing. The man screamed. He was pulled bodily through the window. The screams ceased a moment later. Silence filled the clearing.
George realized she was trembling. She was shocked, and horrified. Not by the pilot's death--he had to be a pilot--because violent deaths were nothing to to her, and she was sure he was dead. But because she'd had no forewarning. There's been no notice, no one had been assigned to collect his soul.
She'd seen what happened to the poor bastards who died but whose souls weren't taken. George had let it happen early on, stubbornly refusing to do the job that had been thrust upon her. By the time Rube forced her to complete her assignment, the guy was a gibbering wreck. It had been a hard lesson--the only kind George sometimes thought she learned from.
But it had stuck. If this guy was dead, she wasn't going to let him suffer that way. She had to find his body and release him.