PHD #190: EVENT - The Terrible Machine
The Terrible Machine
Summary: The Colonials explore a Cylon facility on the outskirts of town looking for clues about where the tin cans are and what they were doing here.
Date: 04 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: Saggitaron logs
Sofia Samuel Stavrian Drew Damon Scott Jenkins Cilusia NPC 
Cylon Facility - City Outskirts - Saggitaron
It's a Cyon facility on the outskirts of town. A tarmac for Raiders and stuff, big hangar doors, and more stuffs inside…
Post-Holocaust Day: #190

Like the kiddies on the first day of school, the Colonials had loaded up into the school buses at the prison yard just a few minutes ago. Instead of backpacks and carton-character lunchboxes, however, they had loaded up with fun things like assault rifles, grenades, body armor, and technical tools. One full squad of Marines (Able Three), a fireteam of Corpsmen (Able Five-One), and all the deckies, techies, snipes, and medical types that didn't feel like hanging around the ramshackle prison. No, instead, they hop aboard the magic school buses and zoom over the city, toward the outskirts.

The mission is simple. Painfree. You know, like pulling out a milk tooth. Totally easy, right? Recon had shown an abandoned Cylon facility on the outskirts of town, purpose and function unknown. Given the surprising lack of Cylon resistance, occupation, or even presence in the least, the facility is thought to provide at least a little insight into what those overgrown desktop PCs were doing down here…and maybe why they left in such a hurry. Other than getting schooled above the planet, that is. Clearly, the mission of those in the Raptors (since they've already chosen to accept it) is to scout the facility: investigate the purpose, recover technology or intelligence, and look for any possible human survivors.

The ride is smooth and uneventful, as the craft streak through the skies. Unimpeded by the flow of any sort of civilian air traffic, they're limited in speed and altitude only by the daring of the pilots. Before they land, they circle overhead, at least once, to double check both visually and electronically, that the facility has remained abandoned. When the ECOs and pilots verify, they set the birds down in the biggest open space they can find - conveniently, it's a nice smooth landing zone that looks like it could swallow a whole squadron of Raptors and still have room for second-breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, AND dessert. Barely cracked, barely split, the place looks like it was cared-for and used…until they fled, at least. The flak cannons, SAM turrets, and smaller AA emplacements sit lifeless, not tracking and not moving…those that don't have their guts and wiring spilling out that is. Looming over the LZ is the facility itself, sleek and very, very obviously Cylon.

Whoo! On the bus! Peer. Sofia is one of the happy engineering snipes chosen to ride along. She peers over at the facility, frowning. "Cylon architecture always gives me the creeps…" She admits quietly with a frown. She does try poking the seat a little, much to the ire of the poor soul stuck next to her. Whoo! Magic school bus.

Able Five Actual, aka Lieutenant Jesse Stavrian, is in his dark combat gear with the blazing red caduceus brassards on both arms. No mistaking him for anything but a medic (or a target). He's got his medical kit on one side and rifle on the other, dichotomy as he always is on these missions, and has been stone silent through the trip towards the facility.

Keeping quiet for the moment, Samuel listens to the others as they approach the facility. He looks relatively relaxed for the moment, although his expression darkens a little as he hears Sofia's words, nodding a bit quietly.

Drew has ridden along so far in relative silence, nervously checking and double checking supplies to pass the time. Sofia's comments cause him to glance that way and he admits, "I find it fascinating myself. What people build matters, how they build it matters. I've wondered just how much we could come to understand them if we could but walk around that which they had created enough. A task I admit made rather difficult by most of what they've created generally being homicidal and unwelcoming in the extreme."

A look over to Drew. "… what do you think of their art? If they had it?" She asks quietly. Sofia is cautious, as if dancing about the edge of a circle. She pauses. "I don't know. Um. I think I forgot your name though," She frowns at the Doctor.

Stavrian's eyes are focused out the Raptor's faux-glass window, a dark brow cocking at the conversation going on to his right. No input from him, however; the Sagittarian's been much less talkative than usual (and that's a feat) since the return to his home colony.

Samuel shrugs a little bit as he listens to what's being said. "Most of what they've created? Have we encountered something that wasn't?" he offers a bit quietly. Offering a bit of a nod over in Stavrian's direction as well.

"Doctor George Drew" Drew says towards Sofia while settling back a little and looking down, "I suppose it depends on what you think of art. Is it capturing what we think of as beautiful? As ugly? Is it an effort to understand? I suspect it would not make a lot of sense to me, but I'd be curious to see it." Wry look goes towards Samuel, "Provided it was not artistically shooting at me, of course."

Thankfully for all involved, this facility is quite dead. No welcoming AA fire, as warm and flesh-and-metal shreddy though it may be. The Raptor flight is uneventful save for the idle chatter of the Marines and others, the com traffic of the pilots and ECOs, and the general sound of supersonic flight in a space-worthy transport vessel. Landing is just as unventful - a little bump, a post-flight check list, and then finally the crews give the all clear. The hatches on the ships open in staggered order facing away from the facility, so they ship itself provides some cover. The first one down on the LZ is the closet to the facility itself, with the others landing in a diagonal from that.

Once the Raptors power down, the only sounds to be heard are the scuffling of feet on the tarmac, and the sounds of nature. No heavy production noises from inside. No whir-clank. No hydraulic whirring from the defense mechanisms. This place is dead. At the end of the tarmac, perhaps 200 feet from where the Raptors have set down is the obvious entrance into this facility: two massive doors. Opened fully, they could easily accomodate a Heavy Raider or three. Shaped in a truncated and fat A-shape, they look similarish to the openings on Cerberus' landing pods. Only one stands open at the moment, crooked on the tracks and likely never to close again.

First out of course are the Marines, not letting their guard down as they pull their rifles up and quickly assess the perimeter - one fireteam assembling north and west, the other assembling south and east. Then, the march of the deckies and snipes, as one crazy-haired deckie climbs out of a different Raptor and blinks around into the midday sunlight.

"I see, pleased to meet you sir," Sofia replies quietly. She tilts her head. She considers that. "What about drawings?" She asks. "I suppose you have kind of a point," A shrug and a smile. She just looks out the window and winces at the landing. She'll follow along behind the Marines obediently. A wince at the sun. Soo bright.

Samuel moves out with the rest of the Marines, looking around at the facility and the lack of any sounds or other kinds of resistance. Almost looking a bit nervous for a few moments. He doesn't say anything for now, though.

Stavrian stands up as landing gear touches down, shouldering the heavy strap of his pack. The brim of his cap casts a deep shadow over both eyes under the sunlight, and even despite that he has to squint for the little while it takes to adjust to the glare. It brings out lines at the corners of his eyes that nobody his age should have yet. Lifting a hand, he signals the number of heads out of their Raptor to the other fireteam, waiting for recognition before he secures his straps and checks his rifle. Ready to fire — though it stays on his shoulder for now. "Ready." Terse, though his strong accent comes out even in those two syllables.

"Lots of drawings can be purely technical in nature" Drew muses even while disembarking, "There may be artistry in that but I think it is of a different sort. Maybe for them it is the same sort. Maybe a technical diagram is the epitome of Cylon beauty." A look towards the facility, "Maybe this actually is the Cylon equivalent of an art gallery."

"… the ones I have aren't," Sofia states cryptically. She doesn't seem to elaborate beyond that. She peers over, green eyes narrowed in the sun. "You think so?" She and the others have just disembarked or are in the process of disembarking. She smiles a little at Samuel and Stavrian, cautious. Then a peer back to the facility. "Oh well."

"Marines…secure that door. Able Three-Two in first, then the techs, then Able Three-One. Understood?" The voice belongs to one Lance Corporal Malcolm Scott. Already, he's pointing at that inoperable facility door. It's a gaping maw into the facility; an endless black hole that gives up no secrets from the outside with the lighting such as it is. That's the cue for everyone to move, it would seem. Boots crunch on the tarmac as Able Three-Two hits the door first. Flashlights on barrels, then filter in and take up sweeping cover positions, before waving the rest inside.

The sounds of footsteps on the tarmac change from tiny crunches outside to echoing footfalls inside. High-ceilinged and open, not marred by any sort of walls, this would appear to be a hangar. No Raiders or Heavy Raiders are in sight though. Only the service bays appear to have been left, toppled, fluids spilled, and in some cases, burned off - long black streaks up the walls and partially melted sheet metal is a testament to that. Of course, this is only visible after one steps inside and lets their eyes get adjusted to the light a bit. Windows high up in the wall admit some of that light, making it easy to look around in here, as uninteresting as this first room may be.

At the end of the central 'aisle,' the dividing line of sorts down the middle of the hangar with the bays off to the sides, is the first indication of true Cylon activity: a hatchway made of sleek steel in an A-frame shape, with dim purple, blue, and red lights shining in banks along the interior walls of the hangar.

Pupils go from outdoor pinpoints to widened black as Stavrian's blue eyes slowly adjust, chin tilting up so his cap shadow draws a line above his eyes rather than under them. The conversation about the potential for cylon art gets no comment from the Sagittarian, attention focused ahead on the array of lights. Then the hatchway. Then the walls, searching them for writing or other leftover indicators of literate presence.

Samuel frowns as he looks around as they step inside the structure, grimacing a little bit at the lack of resistance. Looking around for a few moments as he studies the room in quiet.

Drew follows in eventually, somewhere after all those sorts more talented at death and destruction. Eyes roam around the interior and he comments, "Guess they left in a hurry. You'd think they would have done some damage control if they thought they might be coming back one day."

Last in the line of 'techs' is Damon. He's mostly been silent thus far, uncomfortable as usual in unfamiliar dress - he's at home in bright orange coveralls, not black battledress. Either way, he keeps a close eye on the mechanics and technicians as they enter the hangar, sandwiched in between the marines. "Gives me the creeps," he mutters under his breath, shifting the heavy bag-o-tools on his shoulder.

Frown. "Then why did they clean up outside?" Sofia doesn't understand, peering around. Her green eyees are intent, curious and hunting. She smiles, staying near Damon and the others. "Damon!" She chirps softly, before resuming her attention around her. "It looks like they left in a hurry…"
Drew has reconnected.

With practiced ease (thank you MOUT training!), the first and second fireteams, bolstered by the Corpsmen, make their way across the floor, down the central aisle. "If you see anything you think is a clue, give us a shout, and we'll detour," Scott instructs. It would seem that with the Marine presence, he's unofficially taken operational control. "Otherwise, we're heading for that hatch. Looks like they piled in their heavies and hauled ass out of here though. One of you techs want to see about getting that hatch opened? I don't want to have to blow it sky high, but we're equipped for that if that's what it takes." Private Jenkins, a mousey-looking Marine demoman with old-school browline glasses, looks a little too excited at the thought.

<OOC> Cilusia says, "Techs that plan to try and bust open the hatch using the panel, please roll Alertness-10, seeing as how it's Cylon and all. I can give a short desc of what you see."
<FS3> Damon rolls Alertness-10: Failure.
<FS3> Sofia rolls Alertness-10: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Cilusia rolls Alertness-10: Success.

The hatch itself doesn't look like anything too out of the ordinary for Cylon tech. Sleek, A-shaped, it looks like it could be equally at home on a basestar, a space facility, or here, on a planet. The information panels, with their red, blue, and purple text sit next to the door, blinking. A few extra red characters seem to be blinking aggressive. Though it's not exactly familiar to them all, the techs might want to have a little conference. "Uh…hey…does this look right to you all?" Cilusia calls to the other techs, as the marines fan out to give them plenty of space to work diagnosing the panel. If the Cylons were pressed to shredding their AA and wrecking their service equipment, what's to say tampering with this hatch won't short the panel or something?

<OOC> Cilusia says, "All PCs can feel free to take a look and comment. Sofa and Damon can roll Technical to try and get that thing working, since the dangers have been ID'ed. At least, that's my goal with those rolls."
<FS3> Damon rolls Technical: Success.
<FS3> Sofia rolls Technical: Good Success.

Drew simply hangs back while the technicians play with tech and others hope to play with explosives. He looks up towards the ceiling and then back around towards the scorch marks and the destruction. Perhaps he's trying to figure out if it all makes some artistic sort of sense.

You paged Damon with 'If you want to have it crack open while you work on it, go for it. It would've shorted had you tried to use it, giving the person a nasty shock and blowing wiring.'
Damon (AD) pages: So if I push something, it'll shock me and blow the wiring? :D
You paged Damon with 'Ah, well, assume the panel is slightly askew. And those lights are not right. Some machine didn't put it back on so precisely.'
From afar, Damon (AD) assumed he was rolling Technical for prying open the panel and checking out the wiring behind it to see if he could 'override' the panel.

Samuel looks around a bit carefully, while still keeping some of his attention on what the techs are doing, watching it a bit curiously when he's not busy looking around.

Sofia blinks and peers over at the doors. "Well, it doesn't um, seem booby trapped. I don't see any wires," She admits, tapping her chin. She thinks simple first and moves to poke at it. "I remember … last time, the doors opened by touch or going through them," She explains, running her hands along it. "I wonder if these are the same."

Damon peers at the panel, squinting unattractively and rubbing at the scruff on his chin. "Hmm… well, if their system's set up the logical way, then…" Headtilt. "Then again, it might…" His fingers hover toward the panel, pause in hesitation, and draw back. "But who's to say…" Mutter, mutter. He looks at the others with a shrug. "I say we pry the panel off. Looks like it's slightly off, the way it's sitting, yeah?"

"Um. I'd be careful. This looks trapped," Sofia frowns, stopping her hands from running along it any further. "I wonder if it can be disarmed," She considers it and looks almost comical, craning her neck to see what she can do for it.
You paged Sofia with 'It would've shorted had you tried to use it, giving the person a nasty shock and blowing wiring.'

Damon sets down his handy bag-o-tools with a loud _clunk_ and opens it up. A crowbar and wire stripper are first out of the bag. "Maybe we won't have to," he says, handing Sofia the wire stripper and slowly prying the panel off. "If we can make sense of the wiring, we might be able to manually override the panel itself. That's assuming that Cylon engineering looks anything like ours - which, sometimes, it's not too far off, I guess." Once he's got the thing exposed enough to see in behind, he works in a little flashlight and shiens it about. "See anything you can make sense of?"

"Well, it looks like if we would have used it, it would have zapped someone and blown the iwring," She frowns. "I guess we could try that. Only so many laws of physics yeah?" Sofia offers. She considers it. "I can tell some of the wires I think…"

While they work on the panel, Scott is talking with some of the other marines. He calls Samuel over and they get to talking, off to the side, holding out a hand and pointing to one of the nearer service bays. "Do you see that, over there? Behind that equipment box?" What he's pointing out appears to be the domed head of a Cylon…or maybe they're just seeing things. "Grab Jenkins and check it out."

Damon leans in to take a look, his face pressed against the wall. "Yeah, hmm. OK, what if - " he indicates with the light. "What if we cross these two here - see which ones I mean? - since they seem to be the main connectors that go off toward the hatch?"

Samuel pauses for a few moments as he's called over, before he nods a bit at Scott's words, frowning as he looks over at that thing. Turning to glance to Jenkins, he nods a bit, "Let's go," he offers to the kid, starting to move in the direction of the thing behind the box. "Carefully," he adds.

Jenkins is already squirrely enough that he doesn't need to be told to be careful when it comes to Cylons. Thankfully, as the duo approaches, the round dome of the presumed Cylon doesn't move. When they round the bend on that equipment crate, they can see why: this unlucky tin can was a little too late to the party. The chest panels are warped and distorted, the red eye cracked…and the limbs a mangled mess that is difficult to distinguish from the floor.

Sofia pauses, and looks worries as Samuel and Jenkins move over. She looks to Damon. "I can give it a try," She offers. "Here," She pulls on her gloves, insulated. Likely the kind electricians use. "Stand back just in case, okay?"
Drew pages: Your hatch has proven to be a nemesis of epic proportions.

"Don't you worry about me," Damon says with a grin. But he still takes a couple paces back, regardless. Still close enough to hold that flashlight up to make sure she can see what she's doing behind that panel, though. He glances around nervously, tapping his toe on the floor.

"Looks like they had a party, it turned into a fight, and this guy lost," Samuel remarks as he studies the messed up remains of the Cylon. "I wonder what, and why, did this to it…" Glancing around the area near the metal corpse-like thing to see if there's any clues there.

Sofia, once she has her gloves on, will begin her wirework… tense.

When Sofia and Damon pry open the panel and diagnoses the problem - first, it was booby-trapped, and not well, given that the panel definitely wasn't replaced with machine-like precision - the fix is pretty simple. A little rewiring action to ensure that a few presses on the access pad don't result in a huge electric shock designed to short the wires and burn out the components to render it useless and…voila! The hatch hisses open to reveal the main artery of the facility. It's a big and tall hallway, dim, with only the weird lights of those multicolored panels and a few flickering normal lights. There appears to be three main doors, one at the end, one off to each side, identical in size and shape to this one - the different 'divisions' of this facility.

The partially melted Cylon (looks like he took some afterburner to the face) doesn't have any additional clues near it. It's the sole remnant visible here, at the back of one of those charred, destroyed service bays. "Must've been one hell of an exodus," Jenkins comments, before looking up at the hiss of the hatch. The other Marines sweep inside, which is still devoid of any Cylon sounds.

Samuel nods a bit in agreement as he hears Jenkins, "Too bad they didn't do that before even arriving at the colonies," he offers, before he starts moving back towards the others again, shaking his head a bit.

Whew. Damon lets out a tense breath as the hatch pops open. "Good job," he says to Sofia, laying his hand on her shoulder for a quick second. The bag gets packed up and brought back up onto his shoulder. "Good thing I didn't decide to take a chance on pressing something on a random guess, hey?"

Drew wanders back towards the others now that the door has hissed open, peering down the hallway and towards the three doorways at the end. "They don't exactly have a nice floor directory laying around do they? I'd think the main purpose of the facility would probably be straight down the hall right? They quickest and most direct route."

Sofia nods and smiles. "Thanks, and yeah. I usually do that too after all else fails," She winks at Damon. "Door's open," She calls to the two just in case. She seems relieved though, that nothing zapped her. She keeps her gloves on for now. "Still, you're the mechanics expert I think," She concedes to the Damon.

The hallways are abandoned, as predicted, but aside from the flickering lights, there doesn't seem to be any sign of sabotage here. Well, except for the first hatch they gruop enters. Though, this time, there's not so much a trick - these panels are hastily rigged in an identical fashion to the hatch leading down the hall. A quick check of the panel, a little rewiring, and it's all good. Some of the Marines can be heard snickering a little at the Cylons' feeble attempts to booby-trap this place. It's simple for them, of course, but yet if those hatches had shorted, they could've fried a good tech, burned them bad, or even killed them. And…it did take the Colonials a while to get through the first one.

The facility seems to be laid out in logical fashion, with two large rooms at the end of the single long hall, and then two smaller (but still quite large) rooms off to the sides of the hall. As Drew says, the Marines are heading right for the far end, where they wait for the hatch to hiss open. The room inside isn't nearly as well-lit as the hangar, necessitating flashlights. The word is passed back for ever Marine to affix rifle lights, and for any others to use their personal flashlights.

The first sweep of the room, the slender beams of light visible from the hall, reveal heavy machinery, belt-type assembly-style machines, with overhead- and floor-mounted devices. They were building something here, and in large numbers.

"When it comes to fixing ships, sure," Damon replies to Sofia. "And most of that I learned through trial-and-error anyway. Not a good tactic in a place like this, I think." As they start delving deeper into the facility, he keeps his silence until they get into the darkened room. "I wonder what they were building here," he says in a hushed voice, the beam from his flashlight going this way and that with childlike curiosity. "This is some heavy machinery. Similar in nature to what we use for Viper production, I guess you could say. Industrial-grade - as if Cylons have anything that isn't."

"True, I guess that's how it is when you can't just have a kid," Sofia admits. She grins at Damon's reply to her comment. "That's true, but it's still all new to me," She admits in a whisper back. "This might be how they make more of themselves," She shrugs. She follows Damon, just as wide-eyed and curious. Though there's a faint puzzlement and thoughtfulness. "I wonder what she- No. Hm." She peers around. "Do you guys see anywhere we should look at in particular here?"

Drew swivels his flashflight this way and that, looking towards Damon at his commentary on the nature of the facility. Sophia's question draws his attention and he suggests, "If it's an assembly facility they have to have some kind of end of the line. Try to find it. Whatever they were manufacturing here would be nearly complete there and you mechanically inclined sorts can do a little proper poking about."

Samuel keeps silent as he looks around rather carefully. Trying his best to study as much as possible now.

The first marines into the room manage to avoid it, but of course, leave it to Scott to find it. What is is? Well, it's a trip line, of all things. But rather than staying taut when he staggers into it, it comes lose. There's the sharp sizzle and crack of an electric arc, accompanied by a flash from at one of the machines inside the door. At first, it would seem to be nothing…until there's an ominous red glow from inside the machine. Something is heating up, and the end result may not be good: a few loose shell casings around the end of one machine - fresh, pristine casings for the large-caliber Cylon weapons - suggests that this is some sort of weapons production facility.

"Uh," Damon says helpfully, pointing to the sinister red glow. "That… does not look great." He wastes a second gawking at the mechanism, then runs for cover behind the biggest, thickest piece of machinery he can see. Of course, not really knowing the nature or the direction of the potential threat, he might just be pinning himself down for slaughter.

"Are you okay?" Sofia asks, seeing Scott trip. She looks to Drew and nods. Though, the ominous red glow makes her frown. "I see loose shell casings at one end. This might load or produce them, I think," She offers. Hello Crewman Obvious! She tries to see what else she can see, cautiously moving cloesr.

Samuel ducks down a bit as Scott trips, looking around for a few moments. "Something about this…" he mutters to himself, with a bit of a grimace.

"Pull the plug or something!" Drew grumbles towards the others as that red glow begins to manifest before quickly moving to seek cover himself with his foot impacting a shell casing and he swivels his flashlight down for a moment. "Because.. this places appears to have ammunition of sort laying around and I really don't think we want explosions to start going off."

Drew can barely finish his sentence before the inevitable begins: there's a pop of a bullet. Then another. Then another. The short in the machine is heating it up…and those pesky Cylons saw fit to leave a few nice rounds of ammunition in there to go off. They aren't focused, or aimed, or even in any direction, but with all the machinery and the metal walls, who knows what a richochet would do! The Marines all duck for cover, bringing their rifles up at the sound of 'gunfire,' most of them using said machines and their bulk to keep them safe. "Get down!" Scott howls out to the whole crew.

<OOC> Cilusia says, "Roll Reactive; successes get out of the way. Failures are just really really unlucky."
<FS3> Cilusia rolls Reactive: Success.
<FS3> Samuel rolls Reactive: Good Success.
<FS3> Drew rolls Reactive: Great Success.
<FS3> Damon rolls Reactive: Failure.
<FS3> Sofia rolls Reactive: Success.
You paged Damon with 'Since you move like a drunken orangutan, one of those stray bullets - strange though it may be - winds up grazing you, arm or leg. Not serious, though. But it'll bleed and you'll want to get it cleaned up when we get back.'

Wrong way to dive for cover! Bullets cook off all over the place, and the shield of metal that Damon was counting on proves to be no help. One round in particular ricochets and hits him in the shoulder, drawing blood and a shout of pain, partially masked by the heavy metal clunk of the toolbag dropping. "Son of a bitch!" he hisses, clutching at the wound with his hand and scurrying to trying and avoid any further holes in his body. "Ahhh, frak!" Movement is painful.

Poor Damon! "Damon!" She calls out, pained seeing her buddy hit. Sofia moves over to help move him or at least wrap the guy up if the medic is otherwise occupied. Sofia hisses, at least her reflexes are attuned by all the havoc she's gone through.

Ducking. Nice thing to do. And easy when you've already ducked down a bit. Samuel gets out of the way of the bullets, nodding a little bit, "Knew it was to good to be true…" he mutters to himself.

You paged Samuel with 'Roll alertness-20, plz!'
<FS3> Samuel rolls Alertness-20: Success.

Drew seems to have found his calling in avoiding being shot. I mean there is not being shot, and then there is REALLY not being shot. The differences while subtle to behold are complex in their artistry. At least for today. The cry of pain almost at once has the Doctor rushing in that direction however, sliding into place behind that bit of cover even as he's grabbing for supplies from his medical kit. "Are we about to all explode" he asks Sophia, "Or have I got a moment to work?"

<FS3> Drew rolls Firstaid: Success.

"Everyone alright?" Scott calls out from where he's taking cover. Like some short but sinister popcorn machine, the exceedingly rude trap ends shortly after it begins. Maybe two or three dozen stamped rounds cooked-off inside the shorted machine. There's a quiet murmur of assent from the rest of the group, as the final few rounds pop. A few minutes of silence, then the lights bob around in the dark as the Marines start to get back up. "Ammo production, it looks like. Damn, they have this place rigged like a grade-school funhouse, though," he comments.

"I'm hit, but I'm fine," Damon groans to Scott. "Took a round in the shoulder." He lifts up the covering hand for a moment - blood everywhere. "It hurts, but I think it looks worse than it actually is," he says to Drew, wincing with every small movement. "Everyone else okay? Cilusia? Sofie?" He looks around for the others to make sure they didn't get tagged.

"Some injuries, but sheesh," She winces. "Unpleasant sorts. I am okay. I hope Damon is too," Sofia frets, looking worried about the Deckie. "As far as I can tell, we shouldn't explode. Not immediately. Even powder needs a spark or flame," She wrinkles her nose. "I think we've got time for first aid," She affirms gently.

"You'll live" Drew confirms to Damon, quickly and efficiently disinfecting the wound before slapping on a bandage. "I don't want to give you anything for the pain right now, you need to stay clearheaded. If it gets too much for you though let me know and I'll see if we can't dull it a little." He turns his attention up towards the others, "So ammo production. Anything worth salvaging here? The ammo itself? Would the technical specifications be of use if we could find them?"

"What? They make ammo here? What gave you that idea?" Samuel's comments are made as he looks around under the machine he was ducking down by. "And what's this?" He reaches under the machine to pull out something that looks to be a small ceramic square box. Getting to his feet slowly, he studies the object carefully.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine," Cilusia calls back to Damon, standing herself up from behind her machine. "I don't know about any of you, but…that seems to be about all in this place. One big-ass factory for making ammo. Small shit here," she says, motioning with her flashlight towards the machines where folks are covering. "Larger shit in the back. Look at how much bigger those things are." And, of course, those machines are much larger, likely churning out larger caliber Raider KEW and stuff. The beam of light, while playing over one machine, shows that the guts have been ripped out hastily…and a Centurion's legs stick out of a hydraulic press on the belt machine. "Guess it wasn't patient enough for the thing to shut down, huh?"

"Hey…hey I know what this is!" Jenkins barks though, roughly snatching the thing from Samuel, and shining his light on it. It seems to have two halves that can be split, with a small pour hole on one of the sides. "This is some kinda mold. For like, casting metal or something!" He's turning it over in his hands, before Scott tells him to stow it…in just exactly those terms. Stow it and take it back with them. "Alright…we got two more doors to get through, and I don't want to risk more booby traps in here. We know what this end is all about, and the decision to do anything with these machines'll come from higher-up the totem pole."

Sofia looks amused briefly by the exchange. "Guess not," She winces. Sofia's not unsympathetic to things being squished. "Do you want me to take a look at them or call it here for now?" She looks to Damon, worriedly. She seems torn. This whole place seems odd to her, but not as much as she might not expect.

Drew theorizes, "A facility this size they probably lived on site. Well.. whatever Cylons do in place of living. One of those doors probably leads to whatever passes for living quarters or repair bays or.. something. And I bet all that weaponry outside and machines in here have some kind of control center, maybe that is through the other door?" He narrows his eyes at the press Cilusia points out, "They really were desperately eager nobody come after them and get this facility up and running. Being as rushed as they were though, maybe they really did leave some important things behind."

"Thanks," Damon grunts to Drew as he's hastily patched up. "I'll be all right. Took a few rounds to the stomach last time, so this should be a breeze, right?" Not so much, maybe, since he grunts with pain when he tries to stand up. "As long as everyone else is okay. Someone might have to take those tools, though." He nods to the bag he dropped.

Samuel pauses for a few moments as the object is snatched from him, nodding a little bit as the explantion's given. "Nice…" he mutters, before he nods a bit at Drew's words, "Quite possible," he offers.

Sofia still looks worried, "I can help you or-" Well, she looks to Cilusia to see who will take the tools. She listens to Drew's words a bit and frowns. "But would they really run away from us like that?" She seems somewhat disbelieving, green eyes wide once more.

Back out into the halls the merry band goes. This time, one of the side rooms is the goal, Cilusia helping Damon with the tools, Marines taking point, and the techies getting the door open. This room is much smaller than either of the two…and it reeks of SCIENCE! It's sterile as sterile can be. Where the others had mildly reflective steel, this room is all glistening, polished steel. There's a lot of lights that at one point would've made this place blindingly bright. Luckily, it's not human research that was done here - each of those tables has something on it. Most of them are smashed, however - cleaved right in half in most cases. They're long and lean and…well, it's pretty easy to see that they look like guns. Colonial rifles.

Given the Cylons' apparent newfound reliance on booby traps, the Marines hold up a closed fist just outside the door, and call a few pairs of eyes forward. "Have a looksie…check for trip wires, pitfalls…anything. If it's in this room, I want it found."

<OOC> Cilusia says, "Alertness-10, if you want to take a look for the traps."
<FS3> Samuel rolls Alertness-10: Success.
<FS3> Sofia rolls Alertness-10: Failure.
<FS3> Damon rolls Alertness-10: Success.
<FS3> Drew rolls Alertness-10: Success.

With a half-dozen flashlights shining into the room, and helped by the flickering and sparking lights, they can see that this room is rigged up with a little more extravagence. The name of the game here is once again a trip wire, but connected to something a little more sinister than an ammo press - there's a mess of thin wires that catch the lights, starting at ankle level and spanning the room from side to side at various heights. Each and everyone is run through small eyelets, hastily forced into the walls, and all leading to something in the middle of the floor. Small but deadly in a confined space like this: a Colonia claymore pointed right at the door.

Engineers apparently are born with death wishes. Sofia wanders in, letting her curiousity guide her. She doesn't quite notice thhe trap lying in wait though. Thoughtfully, she's picked up Damon's tools and carries them in her left hand, her own in a belt about her waist. "Hmmm."

Damon looks skeptically at the booby-trapped room with all its wires. "Great," he mutters, looking down at his shoulder. "I'm gonna stay very still. Because Gods know that if I take three steps in there, I'll trip over something and set those traps off." He crouches down near the doorway and watches as Sofia begins to make her way in.

Samuel makes his way over in the general direction of the entrance, looking around carefully. Pausing a bit as he sees Sofia starting to make her way in, and reaches out to attempt to hold her back. "Careful! Trap in there as well," he hisses, with a bit of a frown.

Drew is hanging back a bit from the entrance although he does crane his head forward to look through the doorway. Samuel's chastisement to Sophia earns a nod and he says, "Yeah. And are those.. guns on the table? Guess they had the idea for getting technical specifications on the enemies weapons as well. Either that or they wanted to learn how to manufacture them for some reason."

"Or they were going to put traps on 'em, reassemble 'em, and leave 'em for us to find somewhere," Damon adds. "Who knows. If we could think like Cylons…" That sentence hangs unfinished. "Careful," he calls out to Sofia. "Let's just grab whatever's in there and get the hell away from this room."

Yikes. Mercifully, Sofia is grabbable and not that fast. She's halted. "Okay," She agrees quietly. She frowns at what's in here, looking around. "That sounds good. I can try to get over there if you want," She offers. "But don't get too close."

Samuel frowns a little bit, "I'm not sure that I should try getting over there myself…" he says, studying the wires carefully.

When the initial scare of Sofia walking in there and plowing through the wires is discovered, Scott has everyone pull back some, back out into the hall to formulate a plan of attack. "Alright…you all saw what I saw. It looks pretty plain in there. Simple trip wires on the stock pressure trigger…I think. We can either check, and then risk maneuvering through…or we can just cut the frakker nearest the door while taking cover the best we can. If any of you have any bright ideas? I think we need to pull those weapons out of there though. They look Colonial…which makes me think those tinheads were doing something bad to them - bad for us."

"Do the tripwires look like they're rigged to trigger when tension is put on them, or when tension is released?" Damon asks, trying to peer in through the doorway. "It could very easily be both, but if it's the former, we might be able to disarm them one by one. Or try to dismantle just the charge itself."

"Let me see, I can try checking," Sofia offers. "Just one of us at a time. Don't get too close and my stuff is in my locker if I do blow up," She notes. She glances to the others before turning back and considering the tripwires.

Drew is hanging back considering the rather explosive nature of the room. "Most clever thing I have to offer is maybe someone could just shoot the charge. Just clip it and turn it away from the door and let it blast a wall to rubble instead. Even if it doesn't work as intended, least we can do it from way back with one of you riflemen doing the shooting."

Sofia interjects softly, "And you might destroy the stuff inside too?"

Samuel keeps quiet for a few moments as he listens to what's being said now.

"Let's think about it though," Cilusia offers. "If they were wired for tension-release, it'd be a lot harder to rig up. Each wire'd have to be tethered at the right tension. Set for tension-application'd be much easier…" and then she stops, looking at Drew. Some of the marines (Jenkins, particularly) looks at him. Then Jenkins ducks around the wall and peeks in. "Looks like a standard-issue claymore. You turn that sucker anyway not pointing at the door and blow it? We probably won't even feet so much as a mouse fart. I pity the wall we point it at though."

Well then. Sofia will do as Jenkins suggests, heeding their warnings. She turns the explosive away, so neither evidence nor person is harmed. There's a … strangely serene look on her face. As if something that makes her fear death was seared away or turned away for the moment.

With the help of a rifle, it's possible for someone to reach inside the room and touch the shaped charge. The wires aren't so close that stretching a rifle through is impossible…just so long as the person is careful not too slide too far into the room to trip the nearest wire. Using the principle of shaped charges, Jenkins - the demoman shows some chivalry by not letting Sofia volunteer - fixes his combat knife to the barrel of his rifle for a few extra inches, bayonet style. Carefully, carefully, he turns the thing. Away from the door. Away from the tables. Toward the bare back wall. Then, like any good demo should have, he pulls wire snippers out of a pocket. "Ok…hold onto your butts," he whispers. SNIP! The first wire gets cut, and the cut ends fall to the floor - nothing happens. "Okay…pull to activate. One. Two. Three!" he says, before pulling one of those halves. Hope you covered your ears, because it blows! Metal balls shoot out and clang against the wall, some bouncing around, some embedding. But that's the all clear. He gets in and start to cut more of the wires, to render it safe.

Inspection reveals that the weapons are in fact Colonial. Rifles. Handguns. Squad weapons. One table has a rocket launcher on it. Some weapons are newish, but most are last generation types of things - the stuff you'd find on older battlestars, older stations, academies…or in the hands of terrorists. Each piece of weaponry seems to be jacked on Cylon steroids - a sick combination of shiny Cylon steel and glowing red over some of the 'classic' powder-coated steel and wood grips. Some look like the adjustments are to make them compatible with Cylon hardpoints…but why? Only one weapon remains intact, but several pieces of other weapons are rounded up just the same.

During that happening, the second fireteam busied itself with investigating the last room…surprisingly un-booby trapped, and shockingly empty. If the first room was ammo manufacture, this room appears to once have been weapon manufacture. One of them is in the hall holding the barrel of a gun. A very familiar gun: the arm cannon of a Centurion. Mangled, tip melted together, and the barrel crinkled, it'll never fire again, but it is a piece of Cylon technology all the same. The rest of the recon mission is smooth…mostly because it's little more than departing. Back to the Raptors for the short flight back to the penetentiary.

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