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goneawayworld2021-01-18 09:05 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2021-01-18 09:05 pm
Entry tags:
Babadon't Room Crawl
[OOC: Please tag in to the assigned room. There will be at least one NPC tag to the thread per day. Remember that your characters can still use the network to communicate findings or questions to those still in the living quarters.]
Once word is out that the victim was dragged to the Rewards Lounge, the hires who’ve been cleared head are given permission to enter that rare knock-off paradise. Somewhere along the line, someone suggests splitting into groups, an idea that gets all the more appealing when they see that the Rewards Lounge has at least five suites to investigate, perhaps in case Corporate ever decided to enlist a stable of bootlickers and snitches to feed them intel on the other hires in exchange for feather beds and middle-shelf scotch.
It becomes clear that the intelligence they got was likely correct: there are streaks of black goo along to doorframe to the lobby room between all the suites.
Once word is out that the victim was dragged to the Rewards Lounge, the hires who’ve been cleared head are given permission to enter that rare knock-off paradise. Somewhere along the line, someone suggests splitting into groups, an idea that gets all the more appealing when they see that the Rewards Lounge has at least five suites to investigate, perhaps in case Corporate ever decided to enlist a stable of bootlickers and snitches to feed them intel on the other hires in exchange for feather beds and middle-shelf scotch.
It becomes clear that the intelligence they got was likely correct: there are streaks of black goo along to doorframe to the lobby room between all the suites.
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Fortunately, she's not being loud. Just tiny little noises of dismay.
Give her a moment, guys. She'll be professional any minute now. She's just got to get over... this.
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The strewn objects all over the floor get a deadpan stare.
"Someone was leavin' in a hurry. Don't really sense anything evil, though."
This Babadon't thing was some kind of malevolent spirit or demon, and his brand (usually) reacted to those.
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"What's on the ciel-ooooooh, you're a robot. You probably have some kind of ultraviolet vision, don't you."
He recoils away from the nearest surface, careful to not touch anything.
"Ew."
Then he starts looking around.
"The trash looks like sign of a struggle." He nudges at it with his toe. He'll risk touching it in a minute but uh. First he wants to make sure there aren't any used condoms first.
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She clears her throat. "Guts? Be a dear and track down a janitor to get three pairs of gloves for us? Please?" She shudders and makes a mental note to borrow one of the e-mails and passwords she's collected to chide the lack of deep cleans.
Another tiny noise of distress as she glances around, then locks her gaze onto the cabinet.
"This entire room looks like-nevermind. Sorry, Washington, I'm going to have to ask you to stand behind me for a moment." Her hand shifts, transforming into a small cannon, and a little whine starts up. She aims it at the cabinet, then carefully approaches to open it. If there's someone hiding, this is undoubtedly where they'd be doing it, right? That or the hot tub.
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Guts has no idea how much he'd regret learning Alia's forbidden knowledge. He watches her approach the cabinet, weapon drawn, and waits at the door a little while longer to see what's inside it.
If something was still here, best all three of them are there to greet it.
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A closer look at the room would reveal that someone was, in fact, working here - and probably recently, given that there's a glass that once held alcohol on the desk, still sticky on the inside. There's a briefcase tucked next to the bed. There's a notepad on the nightstand with writing on it. And there's a rush of chill from the hall, as someone from the kitchen staff must have opened the door while the walk-in freezer door was also being opened.
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"No monster under here," but he tries to see if there are any clues.
And then starts looking at the notepad, and poking at the briefcase. Finding things to use against Jorgmund will likely be opportunistic.
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She'll just let him color that in. And see if he fetches the gloves now, while she squats over the briefcase and spins the numbers, noting where she feels the snag and hears the clicks of tumblers falling into place before she pops it open. After all, what harm could there be in a briefcase?
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Guts caught about like 30% of that explanation. But okay. Alia has special cum vision. He'll go get the gloves for her.
Stepping outside the room, he pulls out his communicator.
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He cranes his head in the direction of the hall.
"Hey, Guts, can you get me gloves too? And you should probably get a pair for yourself. Just trust me on that, if you don't know why, someone can explain germ theory later." He narrows his heads. "There's no way I'm touching a laptop in room like this without gloves."
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She glances away, deciding she doesn't want to peek in between the buttons. That way lies madness.
"I'd had a theory for a while that Jorgmund was putting libido suppressants into the food, but between our more amorous couples, Dan, and this mess, I think someone must have been adding the reverse." Maybe as a control group? Who knew? Jorgmund had to keep the population up somehow, she supposed, and the New Hires probably had superior genes, what with the super powers and all. "If any of us ever earns the dubious privilege of staying here, I'll have to book a deep clean in Janitorial's computers first."
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Washington gets a muted grunt of acknowledgement before he heads out. Armed with the knowledge of the supply closet's location, he'll spend a couple of minutes raiding it for some floppy plastic gloves. A fistful of them. Who knows if they'll need extra?
Unless something gets in his way, he should not be gone more than a few minutes.
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He thinks of many, many soldiers he's known and has a sudden delightful flashback to presumably him training Tucker in the shadow of a crashed spaceship.
("What's the UNSC motto?" "When in doubt, rub one out!")
This room probably isn't any more or less grody than a motel room in a town where soldiers are on shore leave, just cushier.
When Guts comes in, Wash takes the gloves gratefully.
"Thank you," says Wash, pulling them on. Then he tries out the password to see if it works.
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Parts of the memo have been redacted already, their contents permanently erased. However, the title (Quarterly Report on Current Risk Mitigation Priorities for Resource Investment) and the following text hasn't been:
because comparatively, the pirates pose a lesser risk than the Ryecatchers to our interests. Neutralizing minor threats like the former while failing to divert resources to threats like the Ryecatchers has the potential to depress profits in the short term and lead to substantial loss in the long term. The only reason we would advise diverting resources towards the pirates would be an attempt to neutralize the Bey, as he poses a greater threat even as an individual than any amount of
There's nothing else that hasn't been redacted.]
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"Guts, I don't *think* there's anything in the hot tub, but if there isn't, you and Wash ought to take a soak while you can. They're good for relaxing, like a man-made hot spring." It's good for morale! It also lets her work without any idle orders getting in her way.
Once she's done with the garbage, assuming nothing world-shattering is in there, she'll likely move on to the notebook on the desk, scribbling over several pages with a pencil to see if there's any interesting writing indented on the pages. "There is, of course, the matter of the chill in the air, this room may well have been the most recently occupied. That means there might be evidence in the freezer. But if you two don't mind, I can check that out. The cold never bothers me, anyway." At least, not in physical ways. It's always a reminder of the things she's done, but those aren't important in the face of this.
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Guts isn't sure how to react to the little show of affection, so he blinks idly there while Alia does... whatever the hell it is she's doing with Wash. They're at abacus-level computing back where he comes from and he is wholly out of his element here.
"I'll check the tub. Can't really relax much without my sword, anyway."
He saunters off, thankful for the excuse to stop standing around and feeling useless. Instead, he examines the cover of the tub and makes an attempt to work it off to see what's inside.
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"Uh, pass on the soak, but you're right, Guts, checking it for clues is a good idea. See if there's anything odd in the drain. They may have used one of the tubs to dispose of a body."
He keeps checking the computers, scouring through it with the skill of someone used to taking full advantage of brief moments at unlocked consoles. No email client, so they must have an actual login for it.
He keeps clicking documents and looking for something he can actually view. He pulls up the browser history, checking sites for office use and possible password and login saves.
He pulls a face at some of the browser history entries.
Then he clicks the sidebar to show the username logged into the computer and takes off his glove to pull out his comm to take pictures of the site descriptions as he scrolls down.
It seems like something that might be good blackmail material. After all, all someone would have to do is send shots to HR, showing they're viewing that logged in on a company computer. And they might lose their cushy executive job.
Maybe they can use it for leverage in the future. Give them something or tell them something, or they send the evidence to HR.
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Bulbs through which little embryos can be seen swimming around.
The laptop, unfortunately, is otherwise fairly well-encrypted, but that browser history sure is something. Nothing of interest on the notebook, either.]
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After a moment of observing the disgusting sludge in front of him, he turns back to the other two.
"Hey, anybody got a torch? I think this thing's started to lay eggs."
He suspects this particular goo didn't come from the human that used the room last.
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She reaches down to take one of the bulbs and crushes it in her hand, grinding the embryos between nitrile-coated fingers. Funny, she's certainly taken on a role in the pro-choice movement since joining Jorgmund's workforce.
"I wonder if this is what popping zits feels like?"
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"I'll go get some bleach to pour on them, just to be extra sure they're dead."
Crushing them and then pouring something toxic on them might make doubly sure they're dead.
He goes back to the same supply closet that Guts got the gloves from and comes back with a bottle of bleach, to pour on the remains when Alia is done the squishing.
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Bad news: the combination of bleach and ectoplasm-slash-goo-slash-placenta(?) creates a caustic, foul mushroom cloud of gas that smells like if you drowned a body in a swimming pool and then captured the most unpleasant scents from both the bloated corpse and the pool filter.
It's also liable to knock anyone who breathes it in longer than a few seconds out on the ground, with a little more leeway for people who are exceptionally large.]
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"We didn't find anyone but we did find this."
He points the camera at the crushed monster embryos fizzing in bleach.
"We crushed them and then poured some bleach just to be safe."
Then the cloud erupts and he backs away.
"Uh, thaaat's not good. Guts, maybe you and I should... should clear..."
Whump.
And then he's down, comm dropping out of his hand. It's still recording.
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"The hell is that..?"
Feeling his body start to go limp, he attempts to back out of the pungent cloud in the bathroom. He only had a few extra seconds to be shoved through the door, and it didn't look like he was going to make it on his own.
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