| Rock and a Hard Place, Part 2 |
| Summary: | The gates of the Cylon Foundry are stormed. A view from the ground. |
| Date: | 11 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Part 1 |
| Players: |
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| A Cylon Foundry |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #378 |
Fade in on a Raptor as it lands on the outer hull of the great, hulking fortress of enemy metal that is the Cylon Foundry. Sitting in the midst of the Aeolus Asteroid Belt, it was pumping out Raiders on its twisted assembly line not fifteen minutes before, guarded by a flight of dozens upon dozens of already completed Raiders and Heavy Raiders. But production has halted now, and those enemy fighters float dead in the water in the space that Raptor flies through, littering the spacefield like so many broken toys. Blasted by the force of strange radiation from the Areion's Gun. The plan worked. Thus far, at least. The sentries are neutralized and the foundry seems to sleep. All that's left is to blow it to high hells. Which, if Silent Mastiff was any guide, should be a simple enough venture. Should be. Best laid plans and all, and this one is far from completed yet.
"I'm putting her down," comes Major Winnifred "Tango" Foxley's voice through the pilot's seat, followed by a slight jolt as the Raptor settles itself on the Foundry's outer skin. The Raptor pilot from the Areion has carried them without any trouble to their destination. The rest is up to them. "Good hunting out there. We'll be standing by for evac as soon as you've got the demolitions planted. DRADIS is reading clear of any enemy contacts now, but this systems plays hells with our scans. So if you don't mind my saying, I'd rather not linger."
And then the doors open to the blackness of space, open to the Marines and technical personnel in their EVA gear. They've done this before, they know the drill.
"Let's go, people." Vandenberg's words aren't full of balls and bravado this time. Just simple orders. She's the first one out of the Raptor and down onto the armor plates of the foundry. Her and others need to set up the explosives rig thats been strapped to the winglets of the Raptor. Very High Explosive.
The EVA suit is not enough for her. Cerberus was hard enough but in the Raptor space was literally eating through the hull. Shivering faintly, Circe wets her lips and tries to remain calm. Her foot taps, her hand gripping a knee as she feels the jolt of the Raptor. Closing her eyes, she lets out a long breath. She's not afraid of Cylon's. Not yet anyways. Paling a little, she can feel that pinprick feeling of anxiety rush along her spine and into her stomach - coiling to make her weak. "Frak.." She whispers, her gloved hand lifting to try to grasp for the medallions hidden beneath her suit.
Then black inky space - endless abyss and she goes white. It is Vandenberg's words that at least make her focus and she gets up and follows after her, hesitant at first before commiting herself to her actions and focusing.
Although they — in the broad sense of the word — may have done this before, Tyr, in the narrow sense — has not. And so he steps hesitantly off of the Raptor's insides and onto the armor plates of the foundry, his EVA boots taking hold. Clank. Clank. He has his tools clutched close around his shoulders, in a tightly closed bag to keep them from floating away. "On you, sir," he murmurs softly over the suit radio. He turns his head towards Fasi, as if the short deckhand's presence will make him reassured.
For the time spent during the flight, Samuel looked like he was asleep, or something like that. That doesn't seem to be the case, since he now seems very focused for the task at hand. Checking his weapon and equipment a few times, he then moves towards the door. Hurrying out of there, and keeping the rifle ready. Muttering something to himself including the words 'EVA' and 'itches', a bit darkly.
This isn't the first time, and hopefully won't be the last time, that Cilusia has thrown herself out into space in the bulky EVA suits. With all the grace one can muster in the soupy, free-floating way of EVA operations, she pushes out of the Raptor's door and comes to rest with the clang of her boots on the foundry's exterior. "Alright…easy as pie. Time to drill baby drill, so they can blow this hatch!"
"I'll be honest with you, my parents would not approve of my work." This is Sergeant Lysander talking of himself as he steps off of the Raptor, in the middle of detailing the fine bravado and professionalism involved in being a marksman. With the mission beginning though, properly, he's set to the side of things.
"Have you actually tried to make a pie, Fasi?" asks Bannik, suspiciously, of the woman he's working with. "Like, ever in your life? How would you know how easy it is?" Oh, Tyr. But he positions himself to the left side of the hatch — letting Cilusia take the right — and digs in his drill bit and powerful drill to work on the hinges, try to work some of the metal looser at important points before Vandenberg blows it.
As Circe connects with the exterior, her eyes close and she lowers towards it, pulling on the hold that her boots half so she can touch the foundry with her hand. Breathing in and out, she is doing her best to think of ground, solid ground - with REAL gravity. She wets her lips and it takes only the faintest openings of her lids to the view of darkness to start her shaking. "Okay okay…" She starts murmuring, her voice coming off in that faint tinny change by the mic. "You can do this…" She straightens slowly, very slowly and is quite ghostly white, sweating some in the light of her EVA mask. She focuses on the work before her, watching it. Focus! She blinks a few times.
"Baking pies are for married women, and Capricans. On Scorpia, we drink our desserts." The com chatter is light, but the work serious. Bannik drills one side, Cilusia the other, the drill bits biting into the metal, even if maneuvering heavy-duty fab-grade equipment is easier in the zero-G conditions. It takes all the muscles she's got - and let's face it, those mag boots do a lot of the work anyway - to keep the bit and torque from spinning her off into space. "It's going…it's going!"
Samuel keeps quiet for now as he looks around carefully. Otherwise just looking ready for whatever might come.
Putting everything together goes smoothly. Much faster this time rather than last which had a short delay. Capping off all the explosive charges and getting everyone in place, Van takes a few minutes to inspect the rig one last time. Seemingly satisfied, she clears everyone off the doors and out of the blast. She doesn't hunker behind cover this time, though. She wants to watch. "Ready left." A look left. "Ready right. "A look right." Her attention comes back to the rig itself. "Ready blaster. Fire in the hole." Its all said so calmly. She flips the red cover off the detonator rocker and uncermoniously flips it. There's no massive roar or explosive force. Tehre isn't even a sound. The world just shakes under their feet. Another team of Marines is quick to move up the larger bomb - the 2000 pounder. It's shoved into the hole created by the breaching charges. "Firing in three. Two. One." When this one goes it shakes the whole station beneath their feet, the doors blasting open at roughly even angles to allow the team access. Several more marines run up with Karls to be ready to engage anything that might be moving inside. Replacing the detonator into a canvas baggie on her side, she circles her hand above her head. "Onward and upward. We've got a foundry to blow up."
Among those marines who are first into the breach with the heavy artillery is Constin, exercising the 'Gunnery' aspect of his new Gunnery Sergeant rank. "Move, move!" the big marine barks through the suit's comm to the rest of the squad, as they rush into the unknown.
Sofia is here, watching the Deckies set to work. She might assist if needed, but she for her part? Is quiet. She's not looking too comfortable in armor and gear, but such is life. She looks around, here and there, watching. She smiles at the news of going.
Bannik is more than happy to let the rangers — uh — the Mountaineers lead the way. He keeps himself positioned at the side of the door until the 'clear' call is given and then retreats to the back of the group. And there he remains until the call is given to enter, pulling out his pistol and keeping out in front of him. Yep, that's Tyr. Right at the back here.
Sofia is here, watching the Deckies set to work. She might assist if needed, but she for her part? Is quiet. She's not looking too comfortable in armor and gear, but such is life. She looks around, here and there, watching. She smiles at the news of going. She looks to Bannik and moves towards the middle, likely feeling protective.
"Showtime…" Samuel mutters to himself as he moves loser to the door, moving through those doors with the others. Rifle kept ready now…
"Boom," echoes the marksman as the larger demolitions go off with a resultant fanfare of flash and dulled sound, "Headshot." Marines to the fore and that includes Lysander with rifle to bear.
And in they go. Those who participated in Operation Silent Mastiff know what to expect. A massive, twisted assembly line facility, in which automated machines of Cylon craft pump out Raiders ceaselessly, with no need for sleep or any of the breaks or comforts a human manufacturer would require. The geography is the same, the central core where theoretically a hybrid like the one encountered last time lies, at the end of a long, long corridor of hostile toaster tools.
But even those who know what to expect going in would find this one in a much different state than that which they entered before. For a kind of madness has gripped the assembly lines. While the radiation blast from the Areion's/ Gun did not scratch the outer hull it appears to have in part penetrated the Foundry's shielding, as it's chaos within. There's a screaming, clunking sound of twisted metal as the conveyor belts attempt to continue to crank out Raiders, but what they're emitting are coming out stillborn, lifeless and bleeding from their exposed 'brains' as whatever effect The Gun has on Cylon innards eats away at the insides of the machinery itself at a much slower pace. The red lights that line the walls flicker in spasms, flooding the place with a blood-like glow in fits and starts.
But if the Foundry is functioning at less than top speed it still has life in it, for the cranes and drill bits and all manner of strange, craftsmanship do turn upon the intruders as they enter into it. Their hands have not stopped working, even as they Raiders they craft are all coming out dead. And they sense intruders.
Vandenberg has removed her tool for the job from the heated sack. Apparently losing a coin toss, she's stuck with the LMG this time. The gun looks a little big for her but in zero gravity, she seems to handle it easily enough. The bipod under the barrel swings wildly as she moves and heads into the assembly area. "Holy hell," she breathes, looking up towards the dead Raiders and all the Machines. But as they turn on them, so does she. The Zasta comes up and she takes aim for a long burst of fire.
Constin's eye- and by extention his recoilless rifle, is fixed upon the drifting, lifeless hulks of the dead Raiders. Bizarre arms of the murderous assembly line are initially left to the team's small arms. Any hint of activity from the vehicles will draw a shell, just to be on the safe side of the muderous cylon death factory.
Turning from the blast, Circe keeps her knees bent and she closes her eyes. Focused on counting slowly back and forth to ten to stay with it. Stepping inward, glad for a different view than space, she lifts her own rifle at ready. With a definitive clink, clunk of her boots, she heads in. The view she gets is not something that is readily forgot - perhaps it's not exactly what she wanted to see versus space. Her eyes narrow and brows furrow as she makes a faint sound of disgust. "Frakking machines.." She lets her stomach flip for a new reason and she lifts her gun, taking a shot towards the cranes, setting her rifle butt to her shoulder and aiming down.
"What the frakking hell?" is Cilusia's oh-so-astute comment given the disturbing nature of the malfunctioning foundry. Marines first, everyone else second. While they move in the the practiced ease of unpacking, unwrapping, and aiming their weapons, Cilusia spills into the factory and scrambles for cover first of all, getting hung up with her rifle.
Oh, dear. Only the word that Bannik says isn't 'dear.' He slams himself down against — whatever he can find, keeping his rink-a-dink pistol in hand and trying to aim at one of the drills that seems to have — eyes, bits, whatever, for him. It, with its spinningness, poses the most threat to his EVA suit.
Samuel shakes his head a bit as he blinks, "Looks like someone had one crazy party in here…" he remarks, as he brings up his rifle, aiming for one of the drills for now.
Sneaky snipe. Sofia looks a bit ill, remembering these. She frowns. The damage here is startling, tremendously disturbing even if it's done to Cylons. It hurts them the same way it seems. Almost seems… cruel perhaps. Or is that a soft weakness Sofia needs to shoo off. Still, the less raiders the better. She hefts her rifle too, likely to fend off one going for Bannik. "Oh gods."
Foundry is as foundry does, which doesn't particular strike emotion into Lysander. No, the state at which it currently lives does. There are no words as at first he lifts his rifle to the Raiders and then lowers the barrel, hesitantly, before adjusting his firing arc to the incoming machines themselves.
You clear all of Vandenberg's damage.
Clang! The drill attacking Bannik slams into the piece of metal that the deckhand was able to put himself behind. Thwump! A crane comes swinging by, by the now-clearly-frightened fellow is able to jump out of its way. Thwack! The crane's cousin thuds into his stomach and he falls back, laid out on the deck. At least he was able to squeeze off a shot at that drill.
Van seems to be caught in a dangerous Drill Sammich. She manages to get out of the way of the first one, but doesn't see the second one before she opens fire. It sweeps her right leg and nearly sends her spinning off in zero G while her LMG punks out roung after round -towards- the machines. Sadly, they are not -into- the machines.
The explosion from Constin's hit shakes the foundry and Circe keeps to her feet, lowering a little to widen her stance. As Van is knocked down, the corpsman moves forward, strafing to the side and keeping her gun up. "Lieutenant!" She says and gives off a burst of fire to the crane once more as she gets closer, going to a knee. "Are you okay? She asks the woman, still giving her some room.
Having managed to survive without any crane swinging in her direction, Cilusia frees her rifle and takes aim at the one deciding to maul another deckie. "Hey, over here you other mother frakker!" Cilusia howls…even if the drill can't really hear her. There's a lot of metal to aim at, now, with Bannik laid out on the floor.
Constin eyes the drifting Raiders for as long as he can; standing in the open, clearly exposed before shifting his aim to the oncoming machies, targetting one furthest removed from the boarding party, and letting loose with a blast that cripples- but doesn't destroy the crane. With the machines now in close, the Sergeant released the Karlstov with his left hand and draws his sidearm, opening fire.
Nooooooo! Not her BFF! Now it's on. Sofia gasps as the deckhand is knocked off his feet. "You miserable son of a power tool!" She blurts out and turns her gun on the machinery again. Her first shot wasn't bad actually, handily injuring the drill. Still, holes in deckies are bad. Poor Van too. Though, there is time enough to be in awe of Constin and his shoulder cannon.
The machinery is in a berserk state in that awful, flickering chamber, swinging in fit and spurts as the Colonials as they make their way into the Foundry corridor. Through their thick EVA gear, the threat is not so much severing of skin as it is a hard hit that breaches protective suit. The machines *grind* threateningly now, the dying Raiders seemingly clogging up their innards, but it doesn't halt them. Between the screeching and grinding, it's the noises that are almost more chilling than anything.
And over the sound of screaming machines comes another, louder, far more human sound from down the length of that corridor, from that central chamber. A woman's scream, almost human, but amplified with a strange, electronic echo and filled with pain.
Frowning as he only partially hits that Drill, Samuel switches over to the next one now, humming a bit to himself. "Let's see how you react to this," he mutters, firing off a burst at the tool. "Frakking orchestra," he mutters, before he hears that scream. "And their double-frakking solist too…"
Lysander turns away from the crane long enough for the wash of a nearby explosion to dissipate and not damage his sight. The Sergeant is quick to advancing forward and covering the others with rifle letting out steadied bursts.
Constin rolls his magnetised boots with a great deal more deftness of movement than he'd managed in the previous EVA action, sidestepping the awkward swing of a crane and continuing his light small arms fire. Idly, the big man reflects he could never keep hold of the Karlstov in one hand like this under normal gravity, and the thought provokes a tight smile.
With Bannik on his back on the deckplating, he can't do all that much to defend himself. But thankfully the one crane swings wide over the top of his head and he moves his weight just at the last second, dodging the other. "What is that?" he asks, about the voice. "Is that that — Hybrid thing?"
"Fine, Crewman! Keep firing!!" Van's anger comes through the voice comms easily enough. But its more likely directed at the machiens than Circe. Probably. She lifts the LMG once more, bringing it back under control as she aims down one of the drills. She clanks her boots across the deck towards it as she opens fire. She doesn't even hear the scream over the battlerattle of her gun.
Whoa. Sofia has to boggle at some of the stunts pulled. She offers a hand to Bannik to help him up. Her eyes widen at the voice and scream. "It's her," She nods. "I wonder if they're all hers because they give birth to Raiders here? Build? I dunno," She shrugs it off. Though the hand is pulled back a moment to help deal with the drills now. She's not a target, so she's content but pauses and offers to Constin, "Hey! Do you want my rifle!" He likely would fare better with it. If not, she stays content to fire off potshots.
As more become dysfunctional, Circe turns her rifle aimed for one of the drills as she rises back up, even going so far as to step forward - Lysander strafing in front to offer some cover. A nod is given to Van and she need not say anything as she does just that, gritting her teeth as the rifle peppers its next target. The glow of the rifle end sheds some light back on the crewman and she takes the recoil of her gun slightly, stepping with her boots carefully, moving to the side to get a better angle on the drill.
"Sounds like that thing got all frakked up too, just like these deformed Raiders!" Cilusia isn't exactly the most articulate even as she presses the attack on the drill swinging around menacingly near Bannik and the others. From behind the cover of another half-fried pieces of machinery, she's got clear enough shots at the drill that she just keeps firing in bursts.
Samuel keeps on attacking the same Drill now, "I'm sorry," he says, as normal as possible. "But this place isn't big enough for both of us, and I…" And then he pulls the trigger again. "… I'm not leaving yet."
Down the assembly line they go, the shifting pound of the boarding party's magnetic boots barely registering above the terrible cacophony that is the interior of the Foundry. As they proceed toward the central core they'll see Centurions littering the production floor but, like the Raiders that were zapped before they even left the production line, these lay dead as metallic doornails. An honor guard to the thing at the heart of this facility, neutralized even before the doors opened.
The strangely human screams are growing more desperate, the flickering red lights on the walls seeming to spasm in time with them. Flooding brighter as the terrible sound echoes at its loudest, then dimming and fluctuating when it trails off, only to flare again a second later. There are words now mixed with the screaming, a strange chorus to guide them to the core. That reverberating woman's voice ringing throughout the facility in stereo, choked now.
"Alert…functions decreasing…Three…Marked by the maker…marked no more…lines down…lines down…Lethality is a function of pressure and heat and death!"
Constin maintains a rapid- if ineffectual chain of fire at the oncoming crane- a semi-crippled, malfunctioning piece of industrial machinery: Constin has finally found something he is more agile than. As the coordinated for of his fellows brings the machine down, he replaces the pistol on it's velco patch at his thigh, pressing it firmly down, and once again taking the Karlstov in both hands. "Clear!" he barks upon scanning the immediate surroundings.
Clump. Clump. Clump. Bannik fires at one of the darned machines, but finds his pistol round clanking off the mechanism's plating. "Well, so much for that," he murmurs, falling into step alongside Sofia as they make their way towards that control room. "You all right, Sofia?"
Vandenberg's fire fades from her helmet as the drill crashes down in a bullet-riddled heap of metal. The heat from the barrel rises off her gun to create small ripples in the air around it. She turns around slowly to look for more targets, listening to the Hybrid going off. "Wolfe! Get out the video camera. Make sure you're recording this." She looks back to the group. "Sergeant Lysander, you're on point. Constin, fire support on his backup. We'll be right behind. We're going to the core people. We set charges and Gee-Tee-Eff-Oh. Let's move." She waits for the proper order of people and falls in behind Constin.
Firing off his shots, Samuel ducks down a bit after he's fired. Looking around, he shakes his head a few times, before moving into position with the others. "Told you," he comments to the fallen drill he was firing at.
The sounds of the human voices and the one distinct females causes her to get uncomfortable, even as both drills are taken down. The corpsman lowers her weapon slowly and looks down the corridor with a hesitant expression. Clear is called and her head turns up towards Constin, giving a nod as tingle in her hands from her gun spreads up her arms. She awaits commands, shifting on her feet as she eyes the down machines. No movement. That is when her hazel eyes move towards the others in the group - giving them all once overs visibly before nodding off an a sense of - check - personnel in once piece. But as they are told to move, Circe falls into line, keeping her gun pointed down.
Sofia looks relieved as Bannik approaches. She nods. "How about you?" She asks quietly. Her rifle seems to have put a couple of dents in the machinery. She closes an eye at the sound and words. "I wish they wouldn't do that," She remarks quietly. Though, there is relief at the Centurions littering the floor. For all her sympathy, Centurions are high on the list of DO NOT WANT. She almost sighs with relief even. "Guess the radiation hurts themm kind of badly too…" Then silence at those words. She grunts and nods. Soon enough, a camera is out and recording their journey. Dead Centurions, whatever she can get of the machinery and especially those damaged Raiders. Nice and close on the damage to those, so people can glean information there. Close ups of dead things, damaged walls.
Even as one drill blows up, Cilusia finds another clanking down around her, slapping into the metallic cover and causing her to duck. "Ee gods! What the frak!" she exclaims, turning her whole head upwards to look at the drill slapping around for her…before it too blows up. But as the sounds of gunfire come to an end, she peels herself out from behind the cover and cradles the rifle to her chest. "The core, right." A quick pat to ensure she's still got what tools she's brought, and then it's off to the races.
"Acknowledged," Constin returns to Vandenberg's instructions, peeling his magnetized boots off the deck in steps which quickly bring him to the ordered spot behind Lysander, visually taking stock of the team as he moves. "On your back, Sergeant," he informs the point man, woodenly ignoring the background cacophany.
Sergeant Lysander lowers his rifle long enough to draw up awareness to the others and their positioning, "Clear." It's a simple little report on his end of things before thumbing the magazine release of his rifle and reloading. With regards to being set to point, the marksman quips in return, "On it," and promptly begins stepping forward and down the general corridor and thoroughfare. "Some creepy shit." It's hard for him not to ignore the background, now that they aren't being attacked.
Once they've reached the end of the assembly line - which has been thoroughly wrecked by the Colonials - their route is reasonably free of opposition. Save the occasional Centurion lying on the floor an irradiated husk, and the continued screeching, screaming and flickering of the lights. The central core is identical to the one blown in the previous Foundry, as if these facilities - like the machines they produce - were spit out on some even larger assembly line. And at the heart of it, in a shiny, goo-filled black tub, lies the hybrid. Sitting up, she resembles a human woman from the waist up, though from the waist down she's been 'built' into the tub which seems to power the facility. She gasps for air between screams, eyes wide, pallid features taking on an increasingly blue cast. As if she's losing oxygen, or whatever it is she breathes. Still, she continues to gasp as if driven to speak, the lights growing dimmer each time she chokes.
"Three is greater than one and two…the maker…Three is three is three is three is…end of line, end of my line, but not the end, the maker is made to create and destroy and line remains…"
"I'm fine," Bannik promises Sofia. "I'll probably have a nasty bruise from that thunk I got back there, though." But at least his rigid EVA suit stopped the worst of it around his stomach. When they reach the control room, he just gasps. Well, this is strange. "End of the line —" His voice trails off, as if trying to puzzle out just what the Hybrid is saying.
As they come into the room holding the tub and the woman, she shakes her head, stepping to the side and gazing down at the hybrid. In incessant screaming and mismatched words cause Circe to lift her gun a little, as if to start to aim. Wetting her lips, the medic mutters something beneath her breath, "End her…" Can they though? As the lights flicker in response to the hybrid's actions, she turns her head up to look about and then down at the tubes and connections linking the tub to the ships. "Frak.." She says faintly, as if the dryness in her throat would go away.
Constin enters behind Lysander, reporting over the comm, "One Hybrid." A moment's pause as the stream of machine consciousness goes on. "Is audio picking this up, El-Tee?" he queries quickly, before he looks to Vandenberg, awaiting the order on how to proceed.
Samuel shakes his head as he listens to the words of the creature, studying the others for a few moments now. Otherwise keeping silent at the moment.
Sofia nods, "I'm glad you're okay. We can get you some ice later," She promises. She blinks. The woman. Her eyes close a moment, trying not to look horrified. Right. Still, her video camera rolls on, being sure to get plenty of footage of the woman, far away and zoomedd in. Sofia's not getting too close. She bites her lower lip though, trying to stem the uneasiness about it all. If her camera has audio, she'll check it to be sure. Should be on but one never knows. It's like those pictures one takes, thinking they are awesome and then all of them have a thumb in the middle.
Van steps into the core room and stares at what is contained. She walks up to the tub slowly, Zasta hanging lazily from the strap around her shoulders. She keeps her eyes on the hybrid, not saying a word until it finishes. "That's nice, Miss Hybrid. Team: Set charges." She glances over to Constin and shrugs. "I hope so. Audio on that camera was working when we left. Tested it myself." The Marine officer looks back to the Hybrid and smirks. "You sure as shit have reached your end of line, darlin. Got any famous last words for the camera?"
Lysander lowers his rifle as he comes to the core, if only because he doesn't see anything trying to gouge out his eyes and grind his bones into chili powder for a sergeant stew. With there only being the lone, spastic hybrid, he signals the area being clear and steps forward, lingering to the side in relative anxiousness. When in doubt, look to the Lieutenant. When spooked, watch the half-woman.
"Put on a pretty face. Smile, you're on candid camera…whatever. Do us all a favor and shut it." Cilusia talks to the hybrid while prepping once again to set the charges. "Not hauling this busted-ass bitch out of here like last time?" The question floats out across the comms, in lieu of floating out across the room. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth a bit while she once again pulls out the drill to start making places for the charges.
The hybrid does not even seem to register Vandenberg's words to…her? It? Whatever it is. She's stopped screaming now the lights in the facility have settled into the faintest of red pulsing. She's still gasping, and is now shaking as if in the throws of a seizure. "Three is…three is…three is…three is…three is…three is…" It continues on and on, like a record skipping, save that it echoes through the entire facility. It may be a trick of the light, for its gaze does not really seem focused, but it's field of vision seems to fix on Circe's position as it stares, wide-eyed and gasping, straight ahead.
Constin takes a position as the mouth of the corridor leading into the Hybrid chamber, keeping watch, such as it is in a non-functioning ship, as the demolitions team goes about setting charges. With nothing to report, the big Gunnery Sergeant is silent.
"Ain't much point in bringin her back unless she can talk. Last time we tried to remove one it just died on us and we've already got a dead one. I'm not hauling the whole damned tank out of here." When everyone finishes with the demolitions charges, she walks around for a quick inspection and manages to miss the Hybrid staring at anyone or anything. "Looks good. Alright team, lets exfil mos ricky tick. Sergeant Lysander, lead the way. I'll bring up the rear and make sure out ducks are in the line. Move on out." She's just ignoring the Hybrid for right now, mostly. "Blah blah three is blah.. No wonder you're shit is broken. Can't even use your words."
Meeting that fixed gaze, even if its not really perceiving her in specific, Circe shifts uncomfortably. Those lifeless eyes, she might as well be dead. That is at least what runs through her mind. Her rifle is lifted a bit more as her hands shake. "Frakking lifeless machine…" It coils in the pit of her stomach and she feels hatred mix with fear. She steps forward, seeming to bare down a little, the clunk of her boots mixing with her own thudding heart and quick breaths.
"Three is one too many, someone I know used to say," Samuel remarks, still looking around for a few moments, before he gets into the line with the others, preparing to move out. "Anyway, let's go home."
Freaky with a capital F. Sofia keeps recording, though she does set the camera down to watch the machine while she helps with the charges. Then she picks it up once more. She tries not to look too much though. She nods slowly. "Right." With that, she'll stick close to Bannik and hang onto the camera. Off she goes, none too eager to stay and watch the hybrid. Perhaps watching things die makes her uncomfortable, at least, aside from things like Raiders and Centurions. Those dying is cause for a small party.
"Three marks. Three. Third Cylon model? Maybe each line of Raiders is like a species." Bannik is just thinking out loud as he moves about the area, helping Vandenberg place the charges and find just the spot to make it all go boom. Rather than curse, he seems almost philosophical.
"Yes sir," Constin mutters to the exfil order. "You heard the El-Tee, team. Quit jaw jacking and staring, and lets move, move, move." A hand pushing on the back shoulder of a suit will encourage anyone who lingers too long, or looks as if they might be thinking about lingering too long.
"Three…is…three…is…threeeeee…" The hybrid's voice starts to slur, the lights growing dimmer, its eyes fluttering, blinking at Circe, and then closing. That echo of a number draws out through the factory, finally fading. And then…it all stops. The place grows dark, the last grinding of the machines stops. The foundry is still, even as those bombs tick down to blow it entirely.
"Hand in hand, you'll dance the dance of death with your maker." Lysander looks down at the hybrid and then begins to backtrack at the orders to haul their respective asses out. He promptly turns in order to bark out, in the middle of producing a flashlight from his side. "Let's not dawdle and dandy about, team - move it!"
"Headlamps on," Van calls on the radio. she's rolling her arm in the air as if to gesture people on and get the hell out. "C'mon, we've got eight minutes." Its obvious the sudden darkness and silence unsettles her, though. True to her word, though, she is the last one out of the Core with her gun up, performing the role of the tailgunner to slow any potential attackers during their escape - and attack while apparently isn't going to come.
Her finger had started to stray to the trigger as she aimed down upon the Hybrid, but is stalled when the lights dim and then rests back. Her hands still shake on her gun, but she lowers it slowly, hearing the urges to move. Hitting her headlamps of her EVA suit on, she casts one last look at the thing and then turns away. She is moving, picking up her pace but there is a shiver yet from feeling that gaze. It would end soon enough if it hadn't lost its perception already as might be indicated by the fading lights. She falls into the group, that sick feeling lingering and even the thought of space is -oddly- more welcome than that room. Centurions anyday please.
Constin raises a hand to his headlamp as the light fades, clicking the LEDs to life just as Vandenberg orders lamps on. A quick, quiet headcount of the team as they all proceed past the deactivated Centurions and broken machinery, toward the hole they blew into this little metal world.
When the call to get out comes, well, Bannik does just that. He gets out. "You okay?" Bannik asks the paramedic with them, arching his eyebrow at her from behind his helmet mask.
Treading lightly with the headlamps on, Cilusia falls into line somewhere around Bannik and Sofia on the way out of the core. "Creepy frakking things, those hybrids," she mutters to herself inside the helmet.
The cranes and drillbits and all manner of contraptions that ran the assembly line are quiet as the boarding party heads back the way they came. Those that were not destroyed by Colonial guns just hang powerless and still, the machine lines stopped. As if silenced with the hybrid's last gasp. Even in the slow clomp of those magnetic boots, they've got a clear path out of the facility and can make it with time to spare, where their Raptor waits, engines running and ready to get the frak out.
Samuel turns on his hedlamp, and glances around for a few moments, "Now that…" he mutters, shaking his head a bit.
"Kind of pitiable in a way, but mostly stomach churning," Sofia mumbles. She peers over at Circe for a moment, concerned. But it's lost quickly as they clomp along. She's none to eager to get blown up and ttake the camera with her.
Still a little shaken, Circe continues moving, past all the decimation that had happened in the entry way of their opening. As they get near, it is the promise of black space that has the woman shivering again. "Oh frak it,…" She says below her breath. Not her most eloquent of missions. "I hate EVAs…" She steps up near the opening, recognizing the fact that her boots are the only think that will get her back to the Raptor. Thusly she begins to trek with the the others.
Sofia is mostly quiet. There's pain on her face though, as she hears the crying. "Right, getting out." Can't let too much sympathy show and so she simply gets the frak out of there.
In space there are no great, fiery explosions. Rather, as they speed away back to the Areion aboard their Raptor, through the viewport they can see the Foundry's last gasp at its hull is breached from within, splinters of it flying into the blackness as it loses integrity, the machines within it forever reduced to smouldering wreckage before they are cooled by the vacuum of space. The best laid plans go largely according to plan, or so it seems today. The factory silenced just like the last, the hybrid buried in the ruins as the Colonials spirit away through the asteroid field to rejoin the Cerberus and the rest of the Fleet. End of that line. Though time will tell what remains.