〘POLARIS.〙=IC=

[Cresion Breezes]

〘POLARIS.〙- PROLOGUE.

---

The sound of whirling machinery and digital notifications buzzed around the room as people moved about the office, sometimes leisurely, sometimes urgently. The massive radar system was projected on the center screen, as well as personal ones. It was another day in the Signal Analysis Department, the center of monitoring any shell activity around the Polaris. It was a lunch break, as only a few employees were scattered about the silicon lined room.

And just like that, without a single warning, a notification box sprang into every staff member's screen, along with a sharp ringing sound that caught the attention of even those on break. The center screen's radar map displayed a glowing red dot on the very edge of the screen, some who were too close to the screen tilted their heads completely up just to catch a glimpse of it.

[MAJOR DISTRESS SIGNAL DETECTED - Location: OUTER COMMUNICATION LAYER] ​

The more senior operational staff looked at each other in confusion, the Outer Communication Layer was the furthest that signals could transmit, there has almost never been a distress signal caught that far from the Polaris. Even the most calculated shell expedition teams rarely wander that far, as communication becomes extremely unreliable at that point.

"Check for the nearest outposts!" A dark haired woman with a commanding aura exclaimed at the scurrying staff members. A few senior members remembered that possibility of a breached underground outpost, it was a rare occasion, but a possible one.

"Search results null!" One voice raised above the chaos.

"Closest outpost is outside of communication range!"

"Distance is considered improbable for travel."

"Commander...signal noise is strong, it is certainly one of our distress beacons...but we cannot rule out the possibility of a false positive."

The room fell into silence after the short amount of chaos, as many realized the difficulty of the situation: it will be hard to decide what to do with this distress beacon. In a location so far away from home, sending out a rescue team would be greatly endangering that team, especially with the possibility of a false positive. But if it was a real cry for help…

"Contacting the Decypher Department and Caravan Teams, we'll-"

"-No." The staff member who made the suggestion was cut off by the commander, "If we let the Caravan Team know, he'll-".

"I will what?" The holographic projector in the middle of the room glowed up for a moment and projected out the image of a man in an administration uniform - Halley Friedmann, the auxiliary commander of Polaris' Caravans. "I am already processing this mission, is there an issue?"

"What?" The head of Signal Analysis opened her eyes wide in shock at the statement, only minutes have passed since the signal was received, yet a rescue mission is already being processed. An extremely dangerous and ambiguous one to boot. "You can't order operators out there in good conscious, you-"

A holographic screen slid into existence as heat in the room rose.

[Voluntary Outer Layer General Search Team (Temporary)] ​

A green "Approved" box and the Captain's signature was on the corner of the projected documents. "I am not ordering anyone to do so, but I want to give whoever is out there a chance." Halley Friedmann's ability was widely known, as he was able to hold multiple full conversations in various places simultaneously.

"I've received a full list of standby operators from all departments, I'm speaking to 90 of them right now."

MIR NOVITSKAYA​

@Sidereal​

The clink and clank of the Shell Relic Research Wing was unaffected by the chaos in the other departments, it rang on like the sterile, scientific machine it was intended to be, with researchers and scientists working away on the latest findings from the planet.

"Operator Novitskaya?" The research wings were always abundant with good projection and display devices, so it was easy for a digital life form to get around. This was exactly what Halley was doing after he made sure no researcher would mistake him for a virus from the shell, as he approached Mir Novitskaya, one of the standby GPOs he could speak to. According to her files from other expeditions, Mir had quite the knack for shell excavation. Halley had hoped she would take it up for a chance to wander further out.

"Halley Friedmann, from the Caravan Teams." He gave a quick salute to the lab coat wearing young woman, since it was hard for auxiliaries to shake hands or interact otherwise. "I have a deployment request for you, a request, not an order. It's about the shell."

A file opened up, displaying the radar map around Polaris, and the bright red signal that dotted the edge. "The higher-ups deemed it too distant to launch a rescue crew for this, I'm looking for volunteer operators to investigate this on an expeditionary rescue mission, whether it's from one of us or not."

SEBASTIAN ERGO​

@Ur Degaton
​

The lower residential sectors weren't a good place for digital life to get around, the wiring was aged and the display devices often flickered or were straight up damaged. It was a no brainer as to why most auxiliaries with the semblance of a vanity streak didn't like it around there.

Buzzt-"E-excuse me, operator Sebastian Ergo?" Some of the aged electronics in an alleyway popped with jolts of static as Halley finally tracked down another on his list. This one took a while, so he hoped that despite the voluntary nature of the operation, there would be someone with enough military experience.

"Hello, I'm Halley Friedmann, with the Caravan Teams." A slightly flickering version of the operation briefing opened on the aged roadside digital display as the commander introduced the situation, "I understand you're currently on break, so you can refute this, but this is an official deployment request." The red notice dot on the map document swayed into an oval as the screen glitched again, "it's a recuse officially, but also quite the deep expedition, we won't know what will be encountered...or found."

The sound of static electricity crackled a bit as the display strained with containing a sentient life form. "Please consider it, I will try to send the full debrief to your residence!"

PLATON JARKKO​

@The Legate
​

A quick scan of the atmosphere in the room displayed quite some concentration of alcohol particles, a physical person probably could smell it, a digital person could sense it from the sheer amount of data rushing in. The management of the building seemed quite shocked about being visited by an administration member, it was almost like they didn't know this place housed a GPO...or maybe they just couldn't internalize it.

"Hello? Operator Jarkko?" Halley showed up early, but it wasn't long until the room's resident returned. "Hi, please, stay calm, I'm with the Caravan Teams, Commander Halley Friedmann." Not a lot of people were used to seeing their civilian displays being used by an auxiliary, so being fast about explaining was key.

"This is a deployment request...well, if you want, it's a request." The amount of alcohol particles that were present did dull the confidence a bit, but the briefing documents were pulled up anyways. "It's quite far away, but it is technically a rescue mission. Getting a high compatibility operator with them would better their chances." Halley understood that Platon Jarkko might not be the best choice, the VDA made it very clear to him...and is still making clear to him currently...and is complaining about how this was in their jurisdiction, but at least he got what he needed.

"Oh right, if you are worried, here." Another document popped open on the screen. "Special Permit for Deployment - Platon Jarkko". Approved by the VDA.

VALERIE SOLIN & FRANCOISE MONTAGNE​

@SilverPaw & @Izurich
​

There were quite the amount of alcohol particles in the air, it even made digital life forms feel a bit drunk with the amount of unusual information about the atmosphere flowing into their system. At least the location of it was a bar, where it was acceptable. What was less acceptable was a member of Polaris' administration suddenly appearing on an entertainment facility's display screen, and answering the bar trivia question in the process.

"Hello everyone," Halley tried his best to remain friendly with the amount of civilians present. "Apologies, this may seem unusual, but I need to speak with operator Valerie Solin and Franciose Montagne on an urgent matter, could all civilians present vacate the area?" He flaunted the digital rendering of the Polaris' administration logo on his uniform as the bar employees shuffled nervously. "I'm talking with Residential Commercial Affairs right now, I can assure that you will be compensated."

As the patrons of the location slowly filtered out, Halley took a sigh of relief, being able to knock out two in one in the residential area. It was hard for auxiliaries to navigate some areas, and some residents weren't nearly as up to date on GPO related affairs, even if they could live right by one. It was good though, in some sense. Just like the two operators he is trying to recruit, the semblance of normality was pretty important. Calm, reliable, and more alive than when - the silence of the room cut off that train of thought as all but the two operators have left.

"Right, let's get to business then." The debriefing document with an area map and the bright red symbol displaying the signal received was pulled up on the display. "This is a deployment request from the Caravan Team, I'm Halley Friedmann, and I'm looking for members for this voluntary mission." He announced to the two remaining individuals in the location. "And don't worry, operator Solin, I will handle anything you need to file with Analysis."

SAFIRA LENAX​

@Villamvihar
​

"Ugh." Even as a multi-century old auxiliary, Halley flinched quite a few times as he traversed the lower residential area. Not only that the electronics were aging, the infrastructure itself was often held up poorly. It couldn't have been much safer from breaches than the top sector, without any of the comforts to boot. I should talk to Residential Affairs about this too...sometimes, it's not ok to be this close to the engines anymore. The fact that Saira Lenax, a first generation GPO, decided to remain in a place like this with her orphanage was quite the testament to her character.

"Hello there, operator Lenax." There weren't many usable devices for auxiliaries around, so a door answering system will have to do. Halley struggled a bit to remember when was the last time he got this desperate, but went ahead with the mission debriefing, even if the screen was a bit small. "I'm Halley Friedmann, from the Caravan Team, sorry to intrude." The missional files were up, though it was a bit hard to see, "it's a voluntary rescue mission." The terms "voluntary" and "rescue" being put together really felt wrong, and it pressed for some sort of explanation, "the location is quite far away, there are considerable unknowns, an official recuse won't be approved in time, so it's also an expeditionary mission."

The answering machines crackled a bit as it's information transferring capacities were being strained to its limits. "I will leave the debriefing files on your personal devices," Halley took a small bow as he prepared to head off. "Please consider it."

"90!?" The Signal Analysis Department turned some heads on hearing the number, "how many do you expect to respond to going to a place like, like that?" The commander pointed at the glowing red dot on the radar map.

"About...five, or six? If there isn't enough I'll ask more, oh?" The document that was laid out began to change as profiles of a few operators began to appear.

Temporary Rescue-Shell Exploration Team V0915 - Member Requirement Reached.
TEAM ESTABLISHED - ALL MEMBERS PLEASE REPORT TO SOUTHWEST CARAVAN HANGERS

---

​

〘POLARIS.〙- CH1: TEMPORARY RESCUE TEAM V0915.

---

 

[The Legate]

They had come calling and, like a true professional, Platon was already half gone. There was nothing that particular day Platon had planned to do except for recovering from the worst hangover in Polaris history. In fact really Platon didn't have any sort of schedule at all these days. It mostly consisted of scratching around, unhealthy relationships and, well, emergencies. His life was fashioned out of emergency. Social emergency, emotional emergencies, physical emergencies... And occasionally someone else's emergency. The latter was, it seemed, how his day would go.

He stared out the rolled up window in the hall of his apartment block. The window was close to the door of his apartment, which hung slightly ajar now. It was hardly a gulp of fresh air, not that it even existed here, but there was a cooling duct that hung over his window that always gave him the illusion of a cool breeze. That's why he had picked this apartment in the first place, a long time ago. It was dark here due to a shorted light and the only illumination now until they fixed it was a cigarette loosely hanging from the edge of Platon's lips over a 30 foot drop. If he closed his eyes and imagined, he could mistake the sights and sounds of the distant sparking light bulb above as instead shooting stars and crickets on a hot summer night.

Breath came slowly and on it's own; in and out. Eventually raising out a soft and fluid sigh of resignation. A throbbing headache tortured his body and a dull sting of pain- a stone cast into a still pond- broke his contemplation. Frustrated at life's return he scoffed at himself as he pinched the stub at his mouth and banished it out into the darkness with a callous flick. Where the discarded stick of cancer promptly landed in someone else's potted plant now dying.

At least he was conscious. This morning when the automatic lighting of his apartment switched from "night mode" to "day mode" at promptly 8 AM, a combination of hangover and sorrowful nightmare caused Platon to jump with such a start that he proceeded to obliterate every light in his room. For several hours since Platon has been simply sitting in bed as he tried to recollect his memory of the entire yesterday: What had happened? He actually, truly, had no recollection of how he got back home or when he had even started drinking. He had not had time to even clean his absolute wreck of an apartment... Which is why, perhaps, he was so startled when he walked back into his dark apartment and- while shuffling slowly to his bed- all of the screens in his entire apartment suddenly snapped on.

He had time to notice a face on his TV, without his permission no less, and this was easily sufficient. He had enough time to let off a sharp and tumultuous gasp before his autonomic system took control and did the rest for him: Grabbing a nearby, half eaten apple from his bedside and whipping it at the TV screen where Commander Halley's face now was.

Clunk! The apple exploded into bits on contact with a wet crack. The impact shifting the screen askew slightly and leaving an intricate web of cracked glass on the screen itself. Commander Halley was in for a sore sight. That is if he could see: Platon's apartment was a mess. An entire binge of drinking sunup to sundown the night earlier had laid it to waste. It genuinely looked like someone had been murdered: Throwing knives made of human bone were crudely slammed into various objects around the room. Windows had been hastily and messily covered up with cut up newspaper. There were even splotches of blood across the rug- though they were much older than recent damage. Doors had been barricaded with furniture and objects. There was a fully loaded firearm sitting in the open beside his bed, bullets strewn about underneath.

It wasn't the room of a typical GPO.

"Good God." he muttered to himself, though it sounded more like a surprised yelp. Thank God at least Platon was fully dressed. He was still wearing his Sealsuit, though he wasn't supposed to be since he clearly wasn't on deck, let alone on duty. Over it he was also wearing his cherished jacket. The only thing of his he really seemed to care about these days. Squinting and raising a hand to shield his eyes as he looked at his TV, Halley talked quickly- too quickly for Platon to really follow if he wasn't paying attention. So Platon listened to what the captain had to say, slowly allowing his addled nerves to come to rest before speaking himself.

"You could have knocked, friend." he croaked out as he quickly raised his other hand and made a slew of half assed, sloppy hand motions at the screen. Doing so multiple times since he knew it would not work the first few. An automatic motion detection UI for his apartment then digitally moved the documents, as well as Halley's request prompt, to a small tablet sitting next to Platon's gun. He picked up the tablet, looking the documents and request over. He had half a mind to decline the request, truth be told. He didn't really give a shit about saving people- especially ones so far out- and he felt like a human vodka bottle.

... But... This place called emergency was actually the only place where he felt at home: Where imaginary dangers became real, and where people stopped seeing Platon as a paranoid maniac but as a very effective and cautious operator. It was for this reason that Platon found himself accepting Commander Halley's request.

-----

It was a short, brisk walk to the hangers. Platon knew it well. He was significantly more put together now, as much as one could be. A quick splash on the face and an grossly liberal application of toothpaste did well enough to hide the smell of cheap liquor in his breath. He wasn't running but he was rapidly cutting through people with urgency as he walked. He seemed alert, but in reality his mind wandered again. So much so that he could have very easily and rudely slipped past a fellow team mate and not even have stopped in stride. His mind still piecing together bits and shambles of yesterday in his head... He met someone. Who'd he meet? A woman? he thinks; No, a ghost.

Ow, a dull wash of pain, another small jump as Platon winces and pinches his nose. That wasn't very funny. He idly checks under his jacket for his blaster just to make sure it's there... Yeah, it's there. Platon's waterlogged brain fizzles and, slowly, Platon realized something: He's still wearing his jacket.

Platon's alarm is immediate. His head jolts up at attention and turns to look over his shoulder as he tried to sense how far of a walk it was back to his apartment. How many times did he have to remember that you never bring the jacket when on the job?! Alas, it was too late. He was already a great distance from his apartment and with emergencies like this there just wasn't the time to spare for a double back. The jacket was coming with... Once again...

As if on cue Platon heard a small chuckle from above the hanger entrance as he walked in. Platon, still cursing himself, looked up slightly and saw two familiar eyes peering down at him. "Hey, look whose crawled around." called out one voice. It was two hanger workers in the catwalks above Platon. A lively older man in his 40s with a long face and well groomed, graying black hair. Accompanying him was an albino fellow whose large, scarred, intimidating frame was perforated by a friendly smile. Their jumpsuits looked almost identical to Platon's, but not the same: They were janitors.

"At this point I don't even want the jacket, man." said the albino one. Flicking down a wrapper from a recently eaten protein bar at Platon just as Platon had flicked the cigarette some minutes earlier: "Shit sucks." he said as they both laughed. They were friends of Platon clearly by the tone, but Platon's response of a ticked off sneer and a dismissive wave as he passed might have fooled someone otherwise. Platon did not seem like he was in a good mood, and continued on without remark as the wrapper sailed over his head.

At least I'm early... he thought to himself, arriving to the hanger landing pad he had been summoned to and not yet seeing anyone. Yet again, a silver lining that despite all else he really did enjoy his job.

 

[Villamvihar]

Safira let out a deep, resounding sigh as she looked at the paper documents in front of her, spreading them out so she could find her way between them. One would think, that becoming a GPO would alleviate some of her problems along with what ailed Maria's Hallowed Grace, but... She quickly came to realise that while it helped, it was most certainly not enough. She felt as though she were submerged in issues up to her nose, trouble after trouble coming or returning to her. They could still feed the children, that was not the problem. The problem was the disrepair; the risk of layer breakthroughs - as Kylian proved it.

She unconsciously raised a hand to her left breast as though she could feel her heart ache. Did she really make the right choice to make sure Nora and Leon would have a brighter future? With her current position, she did not get to spend as much time with them and she could always see the sorrow in their eyes of wanting to spend more time with her. More time with their mother.

Safira bit her lip. Her lips' cherry colour faded with the force.

She almost fell off her chair as a voice interrupted her.

"Hello there, operator Lenax." Friedmann?! Where? She could not identify the source for a second or two until she realised that he chose to appear on her doorbell, of all the things. He certainly did not have much of a choice; nearly all her VCs went to the orphanage or maintaining her humble home to as much of a standard as she could manage. So, regardless of her surprise, she listened closely. She could barely see the documents on the frankly tiny screen, but then she checked her more functional tablet and found the files there. Needless to say, she felt certain she would refuse the voluntary mission. She already had enough trouble on her hands.

Yet.

A distress signal. Something which made her heart ache again.

You could have saved him. The voice in her head told her. You had the choice to protect him, but he died in front of you.

Safira stood up with a pained expression, but it soon turned into a smile as she reassured herself, darkness dissipating from her resolve; because she would find a way. So she took the tablet into her hand, marked herself as a volunteer, then sent a message that she might be the last one to arrive for personal reasons. Of course, those personal reasons did not need to be said; for Leon and Nora were waiting for her. Even if she could only see them for a little while, she wanted to spend time with them. It could, after all, be the last time she saw her children.

---

"Safira Lenax, present," she called out as she arrived at the destination. It seemed that despite her detour, she was the second to arrive. The other person... she had not seen someone as harrowed as him for a long time. Worry creeping over her face, Safira stepped in front of Platon to catch his attention. "Are you all right?" Genuine worry tinged her voice. One would have to be absolutely, utterly paranoid to consider it anything else. Unfortunately for her...

 

[The Legate]

"Platon Jarkko, present." he said, with the same monotonous deadpan as an adolescent retail worker at the end of an 8 hour night shift. Copying her introduction as he turned to face her. He seemed to take no offense at her alarm since he knew it was well warranted: He was well aware how he looked. He just hoped others wouldn't make too big of a fuss about it. The last thing he needed was yet another professional citation or poor performance review from higher up. They never seemed to go away.

Platon himself looked like roadkill that had been done up with some toiletries to pass off as a human being. Pale from years without proper sunlight, half deaf from all sorts of near death experiences and explosions. His body seemed wiry to the point of frailness, years of bad habits and worse mental state had taken their toll. Everywhere under his chin was a latticework of scars from frequent use of his own ability. The only thing that might have given it away that Platon was indeed an animated living body was how he seemed in constant movement of some sort or another. Idly, he nervously fidgeted and the hand in his pocket nervously pinched and rolled the same clump of pocket lint over and over in his hand.

In fact the only thing about him that seemed lively in any way was the jacket. A colorful item that was absolutely swamped in dozens of various patches and emblems collected from all over Polaris. Handfuls of little cloth badges, emblems and crests from all sorts of organizations, places and things Platon never was nor went covered the jacket's entire landscape. Underneath which was a sort of strange jumpsuit looking item, with webbing that held all his tools and gear. At his collar was a somewhat sharp looking pin, the placard displaying him as a member of VAD.

It was always ironic to Platon that, despite how he resembled a human trash fire, if one was to look at his record or resume it seemed like Platon was actually a well accomplished individual. In the past he boasted a very high record of successful seizures, and several times he had gone beyond his call and duties to complete a job. It's why Platon has almost never refused a call for alarm and rescue. Even when he looked and felt like... Well... This.

In fact that's how he came to know the two janitors who worked here. He was a frequent visitor of this hanger area when rescues were launched into the outside world, and after one particularly hectic night he had returned to the empty hanger where the two janitors and a security guard were playing cards. Platon joined in, and ever since his only weekly activity for the past few months has been the card games here. He's lost quite a few of his well earned Vessel Creds that way. He always came back though. Janitors, dish washers, dock and warehouse workers, drifters, bohemians, night workers; these were Platon's kin.

"I'm sea worthy." he replied, with a small weak smile just to let her know he appreciated the concern. His answer neatly dancing around the question if he was 'all right' since even corpses can float. He took a moment now to actually gauge her. Careful, critical eyes scanning her and trying to get a good read. His addled brain making a connection: Was she the woman he met last night? There was a sudden tint of fear momentarily that flashed across Platon's face as he contemplated this. No, he thought. No I definitely would have remembered her.

He relaxed as his eyes struggled to process all of that color with her. It was quite a lot of pink for someone who currently was processing the world in shades of gray. His face betrayed no confusion though: "... It's more than just us, right?" he said with sudden alarm, the unspecified 'it' being the rest of the rescue team he had yet to meet. There's no way he's getting trapped between murder bots and whoever this woman was alone.

 

[Esprit]

"Hm? Hello, Commander Friedmann," said the researcher in mild surprise, turning away from the robotic limb she'd been working on to return the salute. She listened with growing interest while Halley outlined the deployment request; her eyes seemed to sparkle as soon as he pulled up the radar projection.

"An expeditionary rescue? I suppose it'd be difficult to authenticate given the location," she noted. Then, without a second thought: "Well, yes, I'll go. Even if that's not one of ours, it must be something abnormal to broadcast a signal this far out."

Mir exited the research wing several minutes later, her excitement apparent from the brisk pace at which she did so. Instead of leaving the building, however, she rode a cargo elevator down into a different section. The lift doors slid open with a pleasant ding, revealing a dimly lit room in which monitors and terminals surrounded what looked to be an oversized metal sarcophagus.

Diagnostic equipment flashed and beeped as Mir operated the nearest terminal, and technical data soon filled its screen, displaying the status of the chamber's occupant. It had sustained some damage on her most recent shell excursion - the result of stumbling across a hidden nest of hostile machinery - but she couldn't have known they were there without exploring in the first place, therefore that incident wasn't her fault. Probably. In any case, the self-repair function had evidently been as efficient as ever, and the diagnostic checks returned green across the board.

"Now then," the GPO murmured absently. "Time to wake up."

As if in reply, a pair of glowing, inorganic eyes flared to life within the darkened sarcophagus.


The low hum of an engine announced Mir's arrival at the southwest hangars, and in rolled a giant steel box mounted on a motorized frame. Though this method of transporting her Unique Model was rather conspicuous, its actual appearance tended to alarm people otherwise, so she'd learned to put up with the inconvenience. Meanwhile, the researcher had exchanged her usual lab attire for a black cloak over a fitted thermal suit. She carried a toolbox that might've looked too heavy for her if not for the fact that she was lifting it with one hand.

"They probably won't send us that deep without a proper team," she interjected, addressing a remark that she'd overheard from the entrance. "At least I'd hope not. By the way, what are your specializations? I'm Mir, from Shell Relic Research."

 

[SilverPaw]

Valeria was sitting on a stool right at the counter of a local bar, elbows leaning on the sleek flat black counter, absorbed in a game show and sipping on a Black Velvet. The locale was medium sized and generously occupied, though not crowded. Half of its walls were covered in dark blue paneling and the other half in a cool beige-gray marble. Most of its flooring was tiled (parts pure black, others with a mix of white and blue patterned tiles), but parts were made of faux wood. The ceiling gave off a somewhat industrial feel, but the near white lighting was nonetheless comfortable.

It was while she and many others were in the middle of a drink or a game (at one of the entertainment stations; such as the billiards table or at the darts) that an official – the commander of the Caravan teams, actually – showed up on one of the screens. Valerie didn't notice until the employees shut down all the other screens (including the one she'd been watching, which rude). She frowned as she turned and listened to the only working one, which had been taken up by a blue haired auxiliary. Her expression soon cleared when he requested to speak to her and one other person alone.

With a firm nod, Val helped the employees with getting the mundane people out. Since it was obvious that this was a sensitive, urgent matter, the people didn't put up much of a fuss, and were escorted out without issue. When that was done, and the employees left them to some privacy as well, Valerie sat back down but turned inquiringly towards the commander. "Hmm, I honestly don't like the scant data and lack of preparation or my scheduled off time being infringed upon, but…Yeah, I'll go. My abilities should come in handy."

She waved amicably to the other man, but since he seemed to be in a contemplative mood, she didn't say anything. After she exited the bar, she jogged to the nearest convenience store, bought up some much-needed supplies – snacks, really, but dry rations weren't enough to keep up her focus when she most needed it – then continued at a similar pace to the southwest hanger. As was usual for these places, it had plenty of metal lockers with various general supplies, and Valerie took and changed into a uniform, then took the weapons she usually did.

Finally, she headed further in, to the actual meeting point. There were several people that had arrived before her, which could only be expected with how long the bar-emptying took. She arrived just after the white-haired woman who was accompanied by a humongous box; Val could only assume some sort of unit was within, though she couldn't possible guess what exactly it could be based on the transportation method. She'd also caught up just in time enough to hear the lady introduce herself, and followed that example. "Hey, everyone, I'm Valerie Solin, from Analysis. I hope I'm not the last one, though I suppose we could do with four if we had to," she commented as she looked around.

Besides Mir there was a pink-haired woman who exhibited a weirdly motherly, but generally rather pleasant air. The guy near her, on the other hand, appeared half-dead, and was obviously the type that didn't give a shit about his health or appearance. Valerie refrained from commenting, since she'd met enough people like that to know it was futile – and inconsiderate, besides – so simply nodded at the other two politely.

 

[Cresion Breezes]

〘POLARIS.〙- CHAPTER 1.1

---

"Alright, linear accelerator is charging up - oh." A peppy voice echoed out from the depth of the hangar as a young woman in a worn work coat stepped out of the long loading hallway. She was wiping her hands on the coat and half skipped out into the main hanger. She stopped when the few that had gathered at the hangar's main floor came into view.

"Didn't expect so many of you to show up already," the young woman gazed around at the few who were waiting, "Mavi Eskanight, caravan driver." She held out her hand as a friendly gesture to the present operators, before seemingly she remembered something, and instead turned to slap a panel mounted on the wall. It flipped open, revealing a few electrical boards and wiring. "I hope you all got a chance to look at the debrief, the accelerator forces me to cut the hardware here so boss couldn't be around." The slight sound of whirling could be heard as Mavi reconnected the power supply around the hangar, the lights turned a bit brighter than before, while the various devices on the wall flickered on. The eager driver let out a sigh of relief and pointed down the hangar's long passageway. "Loading's ready, it's a small one, but we should fit well enough." She continued to fiddle around the various panels around the entrance while nodding at the others: "Feel free to go on ahead, make yourself comfortable." The words were followed up by a light chuckle.

…
[WATCH UNDERFOOT]
...
[NO OPEN FLAMES]
…
[CARAVAN HANGER 011]

Down the halls illuminated by fluorescent LEDs and with walls increasingly covered in various warning signs, sat the vessel picked for the mission. It was the size of a small residential apartment, but in an unusually long and thin shape, even for a caravan. The surface is lined by deep grey armour and a thin layer of ice, similar to the outer walls of Polaris itself. A ramp was propped up and led into the interior, the opening cut off the letters spray-painted on the side of the vessel: -HTCRAWLER LITE.

When stepped in, one will find themselves in the front control room. Various panels and UI screens littered the area, looking like a jumbled mess to those who are unfamiliar. The glass that lined the front of the vessel gave a peak towards the outside: a long dark hallway with faint lights at fixed distances, those with good eyesight could catch a glimpse of the natural light from the eternal sunrise at the end. Beyond that was the presence of passenger seats, with not much abnormality, other than the seatbelts that were piled on the seats. Piled. The straps were thick and numerous, another strange difference from standard caravans.

The door at the back of the control room was still locked tight, but a map of the two-story tall vessel was displayed on the wall by the door. There seemed to be various living quarters and amenities, though they are all fairly spacious, they are also quite narrow despite their area. A room that spans both floors can be seen on the map, located in the middle of the caravan. The words "For 8 Persons" were printed at the bottom left corner.

SOUTHWEST CARAVAN HANGER MAIN FLOOR - VIDEO SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE​

"Phew." Mavi Eskanight wiped her forehead and closed up the panel, she flicked open a data screen to make sure that every deployed member of the team was making their way onto her caravan. "...Let's see…" She muttered before her attention was caught by the low humming of the projector nearby.

"...Hey boss." The young woman only looked up for a second as Halley Friedmann appeared from the wall-mount projector, "glad you made it."

"It's been a handful with the Captain, it's a shame that I can't do more right now." Halley leaned against the entrance wall, making the gesture despite having no physical body to do that. A moment of silence that felt strangely drawn-out passed, before the auxiliary spoke again, in the same solemn tone "Mavi, please pull them out of there if anything goes wrong."

"My apologies...But why have this trip if you're so worried?" The caravan driver closed the data screens and looked at the other. Halley didn't answer, he held out his hand and stared down at it for a while as Mavi waited.

"...Something about that signal, it sends a chill down my spine, it feels like…" Mavi had a strange look on her face, even if she knew of her digital boss's love for organic colloquialisms, but this was absolutely not the proper time for that. Interruptions in the form of a few beeps and other sounds came from down the hangar, "please take care of them." The commander was quick to regain his composure as he gave Mavi a smile, the latter blinked and shook her head, then swiftly dashed down the hangar hallway.

"...It feels like...my insides are spilling out."

The projector flickered off.

The sound of footsteps on the metallic ground can be heard as it echoed down the corridor. Mavi half ran and half skipped down to the hangar where the Nightcrawler Lite was sitting upon its accelerator, it will soon be launched out of the Polaris with great speeds. But before that, she still had some preparation work to do after sifting through the deployment profiles.

"Welcome all!" With a small clap, the driver tried to lighten the mood, "we're not going to go too deep, but we are going to be going fast." She hoped that the long narrow shape of the vessel, the thick complex seatbelts, and the dark corridor labeled "Linear Accelerator" would have dropped a hint to even the inexperienced, but it can't hurt to be safe. "I see that you are all experienced in your respected fields, but any questions?"

@Sidereal @The Legate @SilverPaw @Villamvihar @Ur Degaton

 

[The Legate]

"You can call me Plat. I work in Vital Acquisitions, so I'm familiar with this kind of job." he responded evenly, in response to Mir's question about his specialized line of work and by way of introduction to the new two. There wasn't a single GPO on this rock that didn't specialize in something. Strange, how this world would be without them. Hopeless, Platon supposed, or perhaps just incredibly bleak. With no hope or prayer for savior. "GPOs pay the price, so that you don't!" That was always the slogan as Platon had remembered it but Platon was not fond of nostalgia and remembrance. He preferred to look forward- perhaps in vain hope of better nights. Ones where he could sleep a little more than normal. When he could brush the surface of deeper slumber, unabated by sudden delusion or night terror, and was safe to meet his memory. To remember times far younger and brighter when his mirrored psyche still lived.

There it was again... he thought. A violent and sudden shiver passed down his spine as he turned and now moved with the others to the Nightcrawler Lite. Now housed into the accelerator they were to launch from. His body snapping into life again. He wasn't one for hangovers but he could feel his nerves and unabated consciousness returning now. It wasn't anything to worry about, just a sudden and slight feeling of a sixth sense. His teeth itched with an ozone of apprehension and spinal chord, core of his being, tingled forcefully. One might even say he just felt something in his bones.

To those on the outside of his body, one could note the slightest hint of a gradual, but quickened change. Platon's hair stood on end and pupils dilate slightly as he stopped squinting at the light. What was once a dried out husk of a hungover man began to renew as hydration returned to the body. Normally the process would have taken the course of an entire morning for any normal man... but Platon was not normal. He was a GPO, and his body healed itself as if it was clay. By the time their short walk to the vehicle was over, Platon's hangover was already mostly gone. Spry returned to his step, and his head picked up to an alertness.

Life may have returned to his body, but pretty quickly Platon's brain began to fry. Much like the conditions to the planet he inhabited; there seemed to be no middle ground here on Platon's character. Where he once looked dull, bored, perhaps disinterested... Now he was completely frazzled. Like he might jump and run on the drop of a pin, dangerously and always balancing on a tight rope over seas of anxious delirium. Eyes searching for dangers that were not yet here. He cursed himself under his breath, somewhat nervously, as he plunged shaking hands into coat pockets. One of the many reasons why he had liked this tattered jacket.

But every now and then through tremors of crossed circuits and faulty nerves, a window would open. Brief glimpses of time where occasionally his brain fired on sync and instead Platon was gifted with a sudden sense of certainty. Not knowing where his future might take him but confident- or perhaps just resigned- to it's endless nature. It was almost as if he was, in this fractal of a time, an anti-simulation. Where his projected reality unwound and became a comfortable tangle of endless, implausible possibilities. An endless roller-coster. Never-ending.

He had done this before... At least, he thought he did. Or perhaps this familiar setup was so etched into his mind that compliance to it's design and function was subliminally mandatory. "Buckle up." the Crawler seemed to say as Platon sat down into one of it's seats, hand brushing over the scratched paint of metal buckles and worn cloth of safety belts. "I will get you where you need to go." Platon had not read his debrief- he couldn't understand how these people expected him to on the short notices they usually give him. He had gotten enough information to give an idea: SOS pattern, very far away, we're using the Vomit Comit again. That being the colloquial name Platon had thought of long ago for the fast Nightcrawlers launched on rails.

She asked for questions, Platon looked up. Behind gray eyes now clear were thousands of ridiculous inquiries only shielded by a film of professionalism: He knew he was half a bubble off plum, and he was experienced enough now in his life that he knew how to hide that fact. He was quite good at internalizing those gut feelings and let them build and grow, only for violent and satisfying release in moments of peril and danger. Imminent, catastrophic failure and constant threat of a looming and final end; this was a drug Platon valued more than anything money could buy. Even if it meant becoming familiar with death itself.

His lips sealed, now in the seat with belts and safeties wrapped snugly around them. Perhaps, even, a little too tightly. Just barely enough so that he could still breathe, unmoving.