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| Dr. Darsly smiled at the young girl, mind being distracted from the boggling silence of the halls.
"Well, I'm hoping to lead us all over to the Security room, which is right by deck four, I'd hope that you'd join us, might be better to stick in a group."
Dr. Darsly could tell the girl was not from the station, she was probably there for the first time ever. He lied shamelessly, and didn't show it at all. A lockdown is only called in terms of total importance, and since it didn't seem like the hull was breached in this area, there was probably some sort of external threat. He wanted to keep the girl safe, and hoped that even if she saw through his lie, she would stick with them all. The group walked out of the room, and down one of the unsettling halls.
|Hannelore the Great
|Matty shrugs slightly, a little bothered by this man's easy retreat, and more so bothered by her own attempt at being cool. She calls after him, "Sorry, man," but her attention is diverted rather quickly when a man near the door out of this crowded room speaks clearly and levelly.
Line up? She looks around at the others, frowning. This man doesn't really look to be in charge, not to her anyway, why should he be the one shouting orders? Not to mention how utterly urgent it is that she bring her "package" to it's destination. When she'd first gotten it she'd had orders to bring it there as fast as she could go, and to return immediately with a reply message. She'd stopped to use the restroom, and now look where she was.
Matty hopes the missive in her bag is not too important, but maybe if it is, she can get out of this forsaken room quicker. Pushing off the cryo chamber door, she strides towards the man as he slids his ID badge and the door opens. Maybe he is the one in charge...
"Um, excuse me..." She trails off, before straightening her shoulders, and clearing her throat. "I need to deliver a message to deck four, and I'm afraid it's important, can I scooch by you and on my way out?"
| Franklin watched as Miles made a fashionably late awakening. He stared at Dr. Agenome, trying to remember what his damn name was.
"I think you know me Dr. Agenome," Franklin said, while they weren't necessarily colleagues, they both had met each other from time to time. "It's me, Dr. Darsly."
Franklin took a moment to examine Miles, but quickly turned to see that everyone appeared to be ready. With a quick slide of his ID badge, the door shuddered then slid open quickly. The hallways before them were empty, but relatively well lit. A solitary light flickered for a few moments, before extinguishing entirely.
There was a silence about the station that was not heard before this lock down, what had happened?
|Muffled buzzing filled the ears of Miles as he awoke. He made to swat at the insect that was surely flying about his ears and was surprised when he had no feeling in his arms. Everything was cold all over, including the air being breathed into his lungs. There was a familiar scent in the air, and it took a moment for his mind to register what it was.
Of course. The chemical smell in the air was remnants of cyro sleep. His mind still grinding gears like a car first started in the dead of winter, Miles' eyes flicked open. Before him was a dark room filled with what appeared to be other people. A lanky boy walked within his view and sat in a corner, looking mightily depressed.
Teenagers, thought Miles.
With his limbs heated up, the man took a step out of the pod, his long hair dangling in front of his face as he stumbled. Righting himself, he looked around the room, studying everyone.
"I do not believe I know a single one of you," he declared matter-of-factly.
With a content expression on his face as though he had just solved the cure for an irreversible disease, Miles turned back to his pod and began ruffling through the shelves.
Within a few moments, he was dressed in a tan sweater vest with a white button up below, the sleeves rolled up. His pants were bell bottomed, and toes poked out of the light sandals worn on his feet. With a final glance into his locker, Miles pulled a small bag out, its contents jingling lightly as it got stuck on the frame. The bag declared him Doctor Agenome.
|"Passcodes, yes, I should have the clearance to open these doors. In case of an emergency the doors stick to their mandatory lockdown for a little while after the cryo sleep, these seems to be one of those lockdowns."
Franklin looked around uneasily, he wasn't planning on showing what little he knew about what was going on. He noticed a young man playing on a Guitar Glove, he must have been one of the musicians hired for the...The...Franklin's mind blanked, cryo-sleep messes with everyone's memory after extended periods of time. Jesus, what the hell time is it, what date is it, what date did the lockdown even start? He checked his PDA for the first time since he awoke, noticing that the battery was fully dead, probably had been for a while now. Franklin turned towards the rest of the group.
"Alright, we should be able to open the doors in a few minutes, let's all line up, and get ready to file out."
Franklin pulled the unknown man with the gun aside slighty, and whispered in his ear.
"The doors only stay locked after cryo-sleep if there is some sort of threat on the station. I don't want to start a panic or anything though, in case I'm full of shit, I just thought you should know though."
Edit:: Editting my OOC a bit.
OOC -- For argument's sake, and the sake of the storyline, anything that would be mobile, like some communicators or anything that would have a battery style thing are dead. We may find some things with some juice left in them later, but as of right now, anything that would require a battery, and was powered on will have no charge left. Vince's character's Guitar Glove will have a decent charge left, as it was powered off during the cryo-sleep. But that charge may not last forever. Specifically speaking though, nothing is active that would show the date/time, simply to add to the sense of mystery that is surrounding these characters.
If you have any questions, comments, or requests, please PM me.
|Matthew's heart sinks. Those self help classes haven't done anything, he should get his money back. Looking down into her eyes, he freezes. "Uh, I have to go that way," he said motioning the direction he walked from. Quickly spinning on his heel he slid his hands into his pockets. Matthew then found a nice corner to loathe himself in. Someone was talking about passcodes, what's a passcode? Best to just leave them to their own devices and just go with the group. Flicking on his gloves Matthew decided to play a song he wrote. Fingers moving elegantly as if his air guitar could exume notes.
|Hannelore the Great
|A man's voice in front of her makes her jump slightly, ruining the otherwise nonchalant pose she'd been in. She winks first one dark eye open, then the other as the source of the voice appears before her. Tall, much taller then her own five feet one inch, and glasses, the kind loads of guys think make them look more attractive.
Unfortunately, it's common knowledge that they usually do. Make them more attractive that is. Matilda shrugs a shoulder, trying to regain her blasÃ© attitude, and looks up at him, left hand jamming itself into the back pocket of her jeans.
"Yeah? What's up Tall-Dark-And-Lanky?" Mentally she shudders, What the hell was that, girly? How fuckin' original are you? She shakes her head, and her long pink braid falls over her right shoulder, resting over the strap of her bag. Composure gained, mostly, she glances back up at the man in front of her, one eyebrow cocked slightly.
|The short man bent down and wrapped his wrists into the restraining device, grumbling and twisting his head with a whining grumble.
"There, you fucking happy, pig?" He asked, raising his chin. Then, under his breath, "hopeyousleptwelltooyoufucker-"
On the other side of the room, Owen walked over to Franklin. Though the man with the gun was a cause for concern, he was too disoriented to really care. Franklin seemed in control.
"Anyone have the passcodes?"
|Matthew reached for his glasses and was awestruck at the sight before him. The woman with the pink hair. Brushing his hair away from his face, he moved over towards her. In the smoothest voice he could muster he said, "Hey, you uh, i mean, um, hi." Perfect, he thought as he rubbed under his eyes, trying to rub out the embarassment.
| Franklin's attention was caught by the weapon being brandished. There was generally a very high regulation of weaponry on space-stations, so obviously this man either had one illegally, or was well deserving of one.
"Not sure what happened, but we need to get a head-count and hope these damned doors open."
Franklin walked slowly to one of the locking doors that sealed the group inside of the room, a glowing panel indicated that the door would be available to be opened very shortly.
|Hannelore the Great
|Delicate shoulders follow brilliantly dye pink hair as Matty slumps out of the cryo-chamber she'd been occupying for ... God only knows how long. Her dark eyes are glazed with forced sleep, and a bejeweled hand reaches up to wipe absently at the sleep in her eyes as she glances around her.
Although her body feels sluggish, her faculties are returning and she checks the front pocket of her olive shoulder bag, sighing heavily after making sure her delivery was still there. "Thank fucking God." Matty leans back against the cryo-tank resting her head against its cool surface, eyes closed.
|Garett grabbed a pair of manacles to the convict; two oppressive rings of metal connected by a very short cable. He tossed it at the con's feet.
"Put them on, now."
He wasn't taking any chances here. He'd been reluctant to take the manacles off when they'd gotten into stasis, but the tech in them wouldn't have survived the process, so he'd had to unleash his cargo for the duration.
|Owen zipped up his jumpsuit, loose but thick artificial cloth that itched against the skin. He still wasn't used to cryo-sleep, but he didn't show it. He just kept it to himself, as always.
"So, anyone know what that was about?"
EDIT: The door locked in the sights of the warden's pistol opened as well. Inside, a short, balding man with a patchy beard opened his eyes, slowly adjusting upon the cocked barrel.
The man merely sighed.
|Federation Marshal James Garett climbed out of his cryogenic stasis chamber. His training told him to immediately stretch to return circulation to his appendages. His pride told him to straighten out his uniform. The ring on his finger told him to call home. He ignored all of these, grabbing his pistol from the cubby next to his pod, flicking off the safety, and aiming into the pod next to his.
|As the door of his cryo-sleep tank swung open Matthew lost his footing and fell out, gasping for air and flopping on the floor like a fish out of water. After a few seconds Matthew was able to breathe as normal. He looked up and brushed the hair out of his face. His vision was going in and out. Blurry figures becoming invisible then returning to their blurry states. "Cryo-sleep sucks!" He shouts, as he stands and turns to grab his things off of the shelf.
|The loud, oppressive sounds of buzzing float through the air, the mandatory lock down is about to let up. The pleasures of cryo-sleep are relinquished, and all that is afforded are the uncomfortable feelings of a thawing body. The rooms are still locked, and there are many people around in the same condition as you are. Coughing and grasping for life, to find some footing, to warm their bodies just a little more. No one really knows what happened, and their memories are a bit foggy at this point.
With an impressive cough, Franklin stumbles, trying to grasp anything to gather his composure. He hated cryo-sleep, but generally speaking, travelling long distances or having to wait for some time made cryo-sleep a necessity. The room he found himself in was filled with many people, of varying professions and backgrounds, but all were as confused as he was. He was in a tight-fitting spandex suit, but felt very naked. Immediately, he gathered his old clothing, and began to put it on as quickly as he could. Shortly thereafter, Franklin was fully clothed, wearing causal slacks, a formal shirt, and a labcoat. He gingerly rubbed his right shoulder, feeling very cramped from the sleep, not even sure how long they'd been there for.
The lighting was dim, but Franklin could make out some distinct figures in the room. He wasn't sure who any of them were, though.