Roleplay System Thread Corpus Christi - Texas Naval Air Station Corpus Christi - Firefly Quarantine Zone Caitlyn was making her way through the halls, shoes squeaking on tile as she ran. She was late. Rather, she was going to be. The meeting was going to be in approximately five minutes, if her watch was correct--it often wasn't. Telling time was a bit hard. Everyone's clock read something different. Regardless, most of the rooms she passed were empty, and the dusty roads outside were abandoned except for the guard. Everyone had already gone and gathered in the Hole a long time before. They hadn't slept in like Cait. In her defense, she'd been out the entire night before on patrol. They'd seen military vehicles passing through the area last week, and everyone was feeling tense--more than usual. Not a single moment went by that their little quarantine zone wasn't heavily guarded and patrolled. A small sign that read "EXIT" was sitting crooked on the wall above the heavy metal doors that lead out of the housing block. In the dim light, Cait could see a small spider building it's web in one of it's corners, among the torn wires and dust. She skidded to a stop and slammed her shoulder against the doors, which made shrill cries as she pushed them open. She squinted in the dying day light, placing a hand over her eyes so she could see across the clearing without burning her eyes. She raced across the makeshift streets to the next block, and slipped past the next door, cracked open for ventilation, into the room inside. This was the largest of the buildings in the Station, and right in the heart of it was a utility room. It lead down to a basement, large enough to fit a hundred once it was cleared of shelves and crates. It was all cement and broken light fixtures, with candles and gas lamps lining the walls for light. Some of the pipes still leaked into the massive room, leaving puddles in the worn floor and a constant smell of musk and mildew. Of all places to pick for a meeting spot, they picked the Hole not because it was pretty or convenient, but because of what lay in the very back of the basement. There was a smaller room, filled with perfectly preserved pre-outbreak tech. Whatever the people who built this place did to the actual basement, this room was well constructed, and was without leaks or damage whatsoever. The door had been locked, and had to be broken down for the Fireflies to gain access. Most of the tech on the ground level and above of the base had been damaged in some way or another. But this was a priceless gem. Computers, monitors, databases, and the like, all in perfect condition. Most importantly was the Radio. They'd started to fiddle with it years prior when a man named Jorge Klein showed up with a crazy idea and a whole lot of charisma. He convinced Marlene not only that it was a good idea to experiment with their tech, see what they could do, but to make contact. He gathered a team of engineers and survivors who had been technicians in their former lives, and got to work. Over time, the Radio had become a source of entertainment and gossip among the Fireflies. People would talk about how the technicians had managed to get something resembling words out of the noisy static, or had improved the radio's range. Not many believed it would get anywhere. But Jorge had made his breakthrough. Cait made her way to the center of the building, barely out of breath. Already she could hear the noise of a hundred or so people talking and moving about. The door to the stairwell was still open to let the smoke out--she let herself in, jumping down the steps two or three at a time. Even by the stairs the crowd was thick. She pushed through, cursing at people and jabbing at people's sides until she made her way to the front where Zoë Summers was making her speech. Zoë had proudly taken the late Marlene's place, calling the Fireflies back to Corpus Christi and quickly taking hold of the reigns. Marlene had barely released her final breath before Zoë took over, but nobody particularly seemed to mind. The woman was diligent, bold, and strong, a fit leader for the group. She had a way of commanding attention while also generating energy and faith. Erik said she'd have been good as a cultist. Cait settled herself a foot or two away from Zoë, who flashed her a sideways glare--you're late!--before returning to her speech. "...and having made contact with the other side, we believe that not only can we get help with the current situation in the States, but we also may have a chance for collaboration on a vaccine or cure. All of our previous records are still intact, although some are still in transportation from Salt Lake. We can compare notes and resources and maybe work together with whoever is communicating with us. This is a breakthrough people. We've found the light!" The group applauded, some cheered. "The only problem is; we have no way to physically contact these people. Our communications are still rocky at best, but we do believe they have confirmed that they do not have access to any sort of flight. No planes. While they're looking for a way to reach us, we better get to looking for a way to reach them. This could take months--" A collective groan, "--but we will get there. We're planning on sending out several search teams to try and locate parts." "Parts?" Cait asked, her brow furrowed into a frown. This was all new to her. Zoë shared most things with her, but not this. "What do you mean?" "I mean," Zoë said, "for a ship. Or aircraft, but most of what we have here is damaged beyond our ability to repair, and finding parts might be next to impossible. We do however have a military ship not far from our Zone. It's pretty much ours for the taking. A group has already dispatched to check it out and get us a part list. The search teams would travel and explore the coast for more such parts. The groups will be sizable enough to travel for some time and handle their own." "Who's going to go?" Someone called out. Zoë shrugged. "Whoever wants to go."