- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Female
- Futanari
- Genres
- Horror and Fantasy are my bread and butter. Mecha/Military is a favorite snack of mine.
Abby: "Is this on?" Abby asks over the station sound system that would be heard by most onboard save those in the pocket realm. Abby had already personally reached out to select individuals such as Luer and David. This was a general call for volunteers.
"It is working. Ahem. This is Abigail Marie Delano. I am looking for volunteers for a scouting mission to a planet I know has Scattered in need of rescue or support. I wanna keep it small, no big guns needed. If any of ya'll want to help bring only the gear you can carry or in a bag to the teleporter room. When we get enough heads, we are out."
The Teleporter Room
The circular room was dark gray and gleamed under the white overhead lights. At its center are six teleporters arranged around a console tower.
Beside the entrance is the operator's station with two operators. Abigail stands between them.The Courier had yet to earn the Mandalorian armor she had worn on her previous missions. She had, with Thea's input, used the Fabricator and stock from the Armory to construct for herself an armored flak jacket with four pockets, and 'First Recon' in red letters on the right shoulder pauldron. This was worn over a green collared shirt, and black pants with a belt holding magazine pouches.
Thea had recommended a full helmet built to her specs, but Abby had decided on a simple black beret to hold her hair back. In her experience she would have better chances of connecting with people when they can see her face. The Death Pod is fully loaded and slung over her left shoulder; the rifle with wood furniture was across her back. Thea is set in a silver pendant and hangs beside a Tyrannosaurus tooth from her neck on a simple leather cord.
"You two have this down right? I heard a team came back from a mission in their birthday suits." Abby inquires of the operators.
"I missed a decimal point, my bad." One operator confesses raising his hand.
"And I was on a bathroom break, also my bad." the other operator admits. "Extraction will be smooth so long as we have power to the teleporter."
"Alright. Better this than a ship I can't fly." Abby walks away from the operators to stand near the entrance.
"Thea, how long has it been since I put out the message?" Abby asks aloud of the soul that is around her neck and in her mind.
"Approximately one hour, twenty-three minutes, and forty-two seconds." Thea informs her. Abby and Thea had carried on long conversations since the incident, though from the outside most people only hear Abby's side of the conversation.
"Maybe they need a little more time." Abby shrugs and starts to pace the room. Even confined to a room, The Courier could not rest her feet too long. As she goes, Abby takes stock again of the supplies on her person. All six magazine pouches on her belt have a magazine for her rifle. Bottom right pocket has spare arrows for her Death Pod. Bottom left has three fragmentation grenades. Top left has a single spare rocket also for the Death Pod. Top left has her survival essentials (stimpaks, first aid kit, water purification kit) and on the inside of her jacket, her Bowie Knife lies in wait. The operators had given Abby an extraction beacon, but that she would keep very close to her chest.
Last edited: