PHD #079: EVENT - Zero Hour Part II
Zero Hour Part II
Summary: In which humans are penned like rabbits.
Date: 16 May 2041 AE
Related Logs: Zero Hour Part I.
Cappella Haeleah Oberlin Penelope Sawyer Stavrian Walker Diesel Barron Helios NPC Serpens 
Kythera General Hospital
A giant sign, a white Asklepian staff on a field of navy blue, marks the entrance to the low-slung frame of Kythera General Hospital. Front sliding doors no longer function, now having to be pried open with a crowbar — assuming one goes in that way and not through the gaping holes in the crumbling walls. The front desk in this reception area used to be an elegantly curved white affair, in front of a long glass panel with the words Kythera General frosted boldly on the front. An intense array of spidery cracks now render the words nearly illegible, the entire panel one vibration away from shattering into pieces. Bulletholes and shrapnel gouges pockmark the walls, paint in cracked pieces and furniture shredded.

The lights overhead are long dead, many of the glass domes in shattered pieces on the floor. Exposed beams and columns cast shadows through the large room, the sagging ceiling bulging and cracking in dangerously dark spots. The complex may not have much time left.
Post-Holocaust Day: #79

Not long before midnight, the dead, still hours ticking past in a dead, still city. So quiet, one could almost imagine a footfall landing somewhere across the city would be heard — and yet Barron's men maintain their vigil, hunkered down beneath the cinderblock-and-furniture barricades at the front of Kythera General Hospital. One smokes a cigarette — a single, sullen red point of illumination before the blasted cityscape beyond.
The MolGen group, for their part, is further within, not being tasked (or trusted?) with front-line defenses while the hospital is on nightly lockdown. There, at least, the unnerving non-sound of the city is dampened by more human noises — pacing footfalls, or the sounds of breathing.

Night has fallen and having made his rounds, the Baron himself has been holding court for whatever guests wished to attend. "Court" consists of his office and a makeshift pot of boiled tea. A few of his more trusted lieutenants are there. Ms. Butcher among them, as she leans against the wall languidly. The old gentleman himself has a map of the city unfurled upon his desk. "I never thought that my political career would have come to this," the good Doctor murmurs.

Haeleah is trying to sleep. Emphasis on trying. It's not at the moment a successful effort. She's bedded down on an unused gurney, one of the hospital blankets tucked over her. Staring up at the ceiling, dark eyes open. Occasionally she tries to close them. She'll be wiped in the morning if she lets the insomnia win. But sleep isn't coming to her, and they inevitably blink open again.

Stavrian made good on his promise to lend a hand to the ragtag group's medical effort. Up a good part of the night going around with an ex-EMT to look at what ailments he knows how to treat, he reeks of aging antiseptic as he comes back up through the hallways from the lower 'wards'.

Cappella has been helping out in what amounts to a galley in the hospital. He has been looking over thier food supplies and making suggestions for how best to stretch them and season them to make them as edible as possible. He is there now chatting with the person handling the stores.

Oberlin's been here and there. Mostly 'there.' He was chatting with Barron a bit before he excused himself again to catch a few hours' sleep. Other than that, he has been mulling over a map of the city and coming up with the best possible plan to blaze a path to safety, and possibly escape. He's been keeping to himself, but has been talking to some backwater Gemense man who doesn't speak a word of Standard. How the Hell that guy got here and how he survived are wonders. He's been acting as a makeshift translator here and there while the guy received cursory medical treatment. His knowledge of that dialect isn't great, but being able to know every fourth word or so, he's able to communicate with him in a terrible pidgin. Right now, though? He's caught some restless sleep.

Sawyer has been a busy little bee, collecting little snippets of stories from people like a child gathering shiny baubles. With the amount of pictures she's taken, the memory card of her camera is just about filled. With talk of moving out, Sawyer's now catching what little sleep she can, curled up on the floor with her head resting on her pack, having chosen a place nearest to the main activity of the others from the fleet.

Penelope sips a cup of the proffered tea in the Baron's ersatz study, grime-streaked and bleary-eyed after a day of attempting to shore up the hospital's collapsing infrastructure. Exhausted as she is, sleep has never seemed further out of reach, so she parks a hip on the table and has a look at the map. She offers the man a faint, wry smile. "The best laid plans of mice and men, they say."

Haeleah sighs, finally giving up and pushing herself upright on her elbows. Restless. One hand runs through her curls. They're too short, and habitually messy, for one to immediately notice how tangled they've gotten. She'll want an appointment with the barber once they're back on ship, though. With a soft thump she hops off the gurney, stretching, neck rolling in attempt to work out the kinks.

"So you say." Dr. Barron says, smiling gently into his teacup as the fringes of his white beard hang over its rim. And the smile turns a tad forced. "I lost three men trying to take this police station. We're still not sure where our common enemies are posted around there. But there are supplies there. Supplies we need if we're going to break you out of the little box you're in." The smile flickers some more and then fades. "And here I was, thinking that maybe it was only Leonis. But — every Colony is like this. Every single one. Are you going to try to save them all, Y — " he pauses. "Lieutenant?"

Oberlin's snoring and thrashing a little, muttering something about being late to class. He's having one of those dreams again. Y'know, the ones that everybody has.

Stavrian ducks into their "sleeping quarters", pulling his medical pack off his back. It's a little heavier than it started, carrying a few extra bottles and supplies grabbed from the pharmacy on his not-entirely-altruistic mission of mercy. Quiet so as not to disturb, he closes the door and turns around, spotting Haeleah. "Hey. Hay." The joke's kind of flat this time, unsmiling. But he tried. He mostly whispers, trying to avoid jarring Sawyer and Oberlin nearby.

Cappella walks as he talks, the quartermaster and him heading toward the Baron's court to see what news has been up, they get into a bit of a conversation about how best to use the last of the oregeno that has been scavenged.

Now, Oberlin's sleeptalking descends into a half-sung rendition, "Herded goats once or twice, livin' in a Saggie para-diiiiiise." And then more snoring.

It's hard to stay asleep long, when you're living in a constant nightmare. There's nothing in particular that wakes Sawyer, not the hum of voices or the scrape of boots, it's just her body deciding it is time to rouse out of slumber. She flops over onto her back, then her other side, as if trying to find some comfortable niche to coax herself back to sleep. 'Comfortable' and 'floor' really don't go together, however, and eventually Sawyer's eyes creak open to slits and the cobwebs of the dreamworld get swept away by a fringe of eyelashes.

Penelope shakes her head gently, looking down at the map and the indicated station. "I don't know," she admits, softly. "I wish I could tell you… that we were a vast, strong fleet still. That were weren't just running and hiding just as desperate as… as anyone surviving on the ground." She meets the Baron's eyes, her own soft with compassion and her own share of pain. "What the long-range plans are is above my pay-grade, Doctor. I know we'll do our damndest to save everyone we can."

<FS3> Haeleah rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness: Success.

You paged Sawyer and Stavrian with 'At the edges of your hearing, beyond the footsteps and snoring and quiet conversations, there's the sound of… commotion?… from the direction of the main/barricaded entrance. Like hearing a fight from several rooms over — scuffling.'
You paged Stavrian with 'You think you heard a couple shots being fired. Distant, echoing report.'

Haeleah crosses her arms along her chest, gaze rolling toward Stavrian. A grins. Not much of one, but she appreciates the effort. "Hey hey there." Her voice is kept soft. "How're the people here doing? Some of them looked kind of rough." Hard to tell whether that's an estimation of their medical condition of the fact that so many look like thugs. "The building's not in great shape, but it's still standing. For now. Not much you can do about structural punishment like this without a full construction crew, but it's probably not immediately dangerous."

"Yeah?" That's good news…right? Stavrian rubs his fingertips over his wan cheek, sliding them back to the knots at the back of his neck. "The folks ar-…" He trails off, eyes suddenly shifting away from Haeleah and back towards the corridor. His body seems to go very still, shoulders tensing. "The frak was that? Was that someone shooting?"

"There's something to be said for the small, unexpected threat." Dr. Barron says calmly. How he manages this beatific presence might be a mystery to some. The tentative smile as he finishes his tea and puts down to his cup is not just for Penelope's benefit, but for his lieutenants as well. "You made it here. Past the Cylons. Right down on this very planet. The fact that you can come here means that you — we," he makes no bones about the distinction now, "can leave. Never underestimate mobility." He stops suddenly, shoving the cup aside. "Butcher?"

Cappella is just getting to the Barrons door, as his companion opens the door Cappella stifles a little bit of a yawn.

Sawyer props herself up on her elbows, suddenly wide awake. Adrenaline will do that too you. "I heard it, too. Like someone's fighting…" Without any more preamble or the joy of hitting the snooze alarm, Sawyer's dragging her still booted feet beneath her and she scrambles to get to upright.

Penelope blinks at the Baron's sudden stop, pausing mid-sip of tea. Her eyes shift to Butcher, the rest of her gone still. Listening.

"Huh, wha? I still don't even know why I broke up with her, I was frakkin' seventeen an — " Oberlin, who has been crashing on a makeshift pile of blankets on the floor pulls himself up, groggily. "What? What's going on, people?" He blinks in an owlish manner.

You paged Penelope with '+roll Alertness for me, please?'
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness: Good Success.
You paged Penelope with 'There's the sound of a small commotion from the direction of the front/barricaded doors. Dragging noises, maybe? Human noises, too. Moans of pain.'

"Sounds like gunfire." The lanky, mop-haired woman says at Barron's prompting. "No alarm. Nothing." Butcher turns towards Penelope and stands forth. "Could be trouble. C'mon and get your gear, let's see if you people are as good as we hoped." She ducks out of the door and heads to a storeroom conveniently located a couple doors away. "Whiskey, keep an eye on the Baron."

"I don't know, sir," Stavrian says, voice lowering to far under his breath. His blue eyes have narrowed, fixed on the corridor beyond. "I hear noise out there. Could've sworn that was a gunshot. Averies heard it too." He glances at Oberlin and then back at the door. "Permission to arm and see what the frak is going on, Lieutenant?"

"Oh shit. For gods' sake. Yes." Oberlin snaps out of his little sleep-induced reverie as he scrambles to his feet. "Great. Now we have to hold this place. Um — listen." He mutters. "For sake of goodwill, let's remember to work with these people. They've got a /lot/ of guns."

"Where?" Haeleah asks Stavrian softly. Not that she really waits for an answer. A nod to Oberlin, then a large-eyed look toward the storeroom, where her trust rifle awaits her.

Cappella pauses at the door hearing Butcher's words he raises an eyebrow to Penelope, but falls in with her on the way to the Storeroom to get thier gear. "What is up?"

Penelope moves with quick efficiency, tense and alert as she gears up, the fog burned off her brain. "It sounded like it came from just outside the doors — " She freezes as she checks her weapon, listening again. All the blood drains abruptly from her face, making her freckles stand out like the pox. "Sounds like we've got casualties already," she reports, stepping to the side as her comrades arrive. "Permission to go ahead with Butcher," she requests of Oberlin.

No, looks like Sawyer's not going to be lucky by getting off this rock without having to discharge her weapons. Sigh. Nothing like waking up to imminent danger, it certainly works better than a double shot of espresso. Today, she picks the medic to stick near too, scrambling off with him in an effort to get armed.

Oberlin himself is on the move as words are exchanged, gliding out into the hallway towards the storeroom himself. "Yeah, but — remember, numbers. We stay in groups. I don't want to see a casualty list." He says, chidingly towards Penelope.

"Out here." Stavrian motions for Haeleah to follow him — as well as anyone else who's coming, the medic's not picky. "Storeroom's just there." He's moving out with Oberlin for number one priority: High Velocity Projectile Shooters. His medic bag's yanked across his chest and buckle pulled to lay it flat against his uniform front.

Penelope flashes Oberline a somewhat sickly smile. "I'm no hero. Just early to the party today." Lucky her. She looks to Butcher — if the militiawoman is content to wait a few minutes for the rest of the team to assemble, she'll wait, as well. But if Butcher goes ahead, she'll follow.

Cue meatshields. As the pair of marines who accompanied the team here, Walker and Diesel are roused by the commotion they too pour into the hallway to arm. Walker gets almost a vicious smile on her face. "Lock and Load." It's forced, though.

Butcher, for her part, meets up with Fat Steve who is acting as the group's de facto quartermaster and grabs her gun. "Look, if you people wanna come on, just keep up." She readies her rifle. Fat Steve grunts as he himself grabs a shotgun. He isn't as fat as his name would suggest, by the way. Something to do with crappy dining options after an apocalypse.

Haeleah gets her weapon and does what she's told. Colonial Military didn't raise no fool.

Oberlin locks and loads himself, finding his rifle just the way he left it. "This one is mine. Sorry I don't have time to tip the doorman." He says with feigned flippancy. "All right people. Strap on your shit and let's answer the door. Walker, Diesel. Take point with our friends here."

As the group makes its way up the stairwell, it quickly becomes apparent why they heard what they heard. The frontline defenders, previously contending with a dead, still night, are now dead and still themselves — all save one woman, sallow and junkie-thin, trying to drag herself back through the doors through a thick trail of her own blood.

Private Diesel calls out nervously, "Sir, I don't think these are looters…" Still, he readies his gun, and as he does so, taking position ahead with Corporal Walker, Walker snaps, "Gods, Chuckie. Don't be such a pussy." She clips off the statement in a derisive snort when she sees the bloodied defender trying to retreat though. So much for bravado.

And there, beyond the makeshift barricades? The devil's-red gleam of Centurion eyes, far enough back to barely be squinty pinpricks of light. Three of them — no, five, six or more — utterly silent for an eternity of a heartbeat, before all at once the terrible, metallic onrushing of feet. CLANK- CLANK- CLANK-

"OH FRAK ME RAW. Shit, tell me you people weren't followed. TELL ME." Butcher snaps quietly. It's not quite an accusation, though. Her rifle, yez, it is readied.

Oberlin's voice is a hiss. "Quiet. We've got bulletheads beyond cover. Get into position and into whatever cover you find." His rifle is slung too, as he moves for the nearest available hallway corner or similarly covered position.

"If we'd been followed, you don't think it would've taken them sooner than /three days/?" Stavrian hisses back at Butcher. He snaps up his rifle, pushing his back against whatever wall he can find. "Aye, sir." That's to Oberlin. Now? Now they're committed.

The Marines do what they're good at, here. Doing what they're told.

"If we were followed, they wouldn't have waited…" Sawyer stays huddled against the stairwell, her voice sticking heavy in her throat and struggling to make it out to just a mutter. The sight of so many scanning red eyes is unsettling to say the least. Retreat. Retreat should be their first choice, not staying here and fighting. Between the press of bodies, Sawyer has no choice but to stay. "Gods.." That single word is Sawyer's only prayer.

"We can argue all this later when they're dead and we're still alive." Oberlin says, determined. That seems to be enough for him with the fingerpointing.

Cappella whispers "Sir, permission, once we are engaged, to retreive the wounded." He stays in cover for now though, his rifle ready.

Penelope hunkers down against the wall, heart in her throat. She closes her eyes for a moment, kissing the medalion on her prayer beads before swallowing hard and raising her rifle.

Haeleah gets her rifle at the ready but she's not exactly amped up to lead any charges either. She sticks close to Cappella and Penelope. Which may or may not be a good idea. Engineering isn't exactly famed for its sharp-shooter training. No arguments with Oberiln, though. She just gives the LT a short nod.

Cappella gets the nod from Oberlin, so he waits and the moment the firing starts he bursts from the cover heading to collect the wounded militiaman, his rifle over his shoulder.

<COMBAT> Pvt Diesel attacks Centurion1 with Rifle AP - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Oberlin attacks Centurion3 with Rifle AP - Moderate wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher attacks Centurion3 with Rifle but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Haeleah attacks Centurion4 with Rifle Ap - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion1 with Rifle AP - Moderate wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion1 with Rifle AP - Moderate wound to Right Hand.
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion1 with Rifle AP - Light wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> Centurion8 attacks Penelope with LMG - Moderate wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> Centurion6 attacks Oberlin with LMG - Critical wound to Neck (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Centurion5 attacks Cappella with LMG - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Centurion4 attacks Cappella with LMG - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Centurion2 attacks Cpl Walker with LMG - ARMOR on Neck stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Oberlin has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Oberlin spends a luck point to keep fighting!
<COMBAT> Stavrian will treat Oberlin this turn.

Cappella doesn't have to wait but a moment — the Centurions open fire as one, and the rubble-filled corridor between the stairwell and the front barricades is awash in ricocheting bullets. Several skip off the tiles near the charging engineer's feet, another finding the man's midsection.
It's hard to tell for certain whether it's a ricochet or a direct shot that catches Lieutenant Oberlin — but one of those spraying bullets strikes home with murderous intent.
And beyond those first six — no, EIGHT — Centurions, pouring bullets into the hospital as they relentlessly advance? More glimmerings of unholy red light, and strobe-light flashes of steelly armor.

<OOC> Serpens says, "Can I get an +alertness roll from everyone still with eyes on the combat?"
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness: Success.

You paged Cappella with 'She's shot more times than you can count, and is bleeding very heavily. She's still alive, though, and trying to push herself along with your help.'

You paged Haeleah, Sawyer, and Penelope with 'Those distant glimmerings of Centurions you can see from the bursts of gunfire? At least a half-dozen of them, and they're moving in a pack off to the side of the building, as fast as they can.'

"Weak points! Remember! The armor's not so thick in the neck!" Oberlin snaps as he fires off a quick volley of rifle rounds which tear a small chunk out of one of the robotic monstrosities. But not enough, it keeps coming. Another one of them catches a less-armored spot in his left arm as he calls out a wordless grunt of pain and shock. His rifle drops and falls to the ground as he releases it. It can't really be fired one-armed anyway, and he slumps backwards against the wall, trying to get out of the line of fire.

It's a spatter of blood on Stavrian's cheek rather than any cries or even sounds of shots whizzing nearby that alert Stavrian that his de facto CO has just had part of a limb ripped up. Bits of wall vaporize as a slug slams into it right by his face, spraying dust into his eyes, and he whips his head around. Yanking his medical pack open at his hip, he drops to a knee, trying to shield Oberlin's body from further projectiles. Sulfa packets, right at the top to be yanked open with a vicious tear of teeth. "Sir, hold on!"

Sawyer pops up long enough to hitch the barrel of her rifle over the short wall she's behind. She doesn't have but a split second to remember everything Kulko tried to teach her in a hair's breath of time aboard the Eidolon. Her finger twitches on the trigger, and her eyes pinch shut when the recoil makes her shoulder jerk backwards. The first time she's ever shot a rifle with live fire is rather anti-climactic, and there's no telling where that bullet went besides not on target. Her eyes catch the gleam of more uninvited guests coming to the part, but there's no time to reflect on that, as a Centurion's fullauto fire chews up the wall she's barely protected by, missing her directly, but no doubt making her heart leap up into her throat. "Is there a back way outta here?" Apparently the reporter favors retreat over defending the hospital. "We're going to be overrun!"

Cappella makes it across the kill zone with only to hits, one of the leaving a trail of blood from him now. He leans down to collect the wounded woman, helping her up and turning to run for the cover. "Come on move move move..we gotta go"

"We sure as Hell ain't goin' forward, lady!" Private "Chuck" Diesel states the obvious. Chuck D is no joke. "Shit, Officer hit! Officer hit!" He keeps firing as he steps back, while Corporal Walker fires on with grim determination. Meanwhile, Butcher isn't exactly a professional, and she's screaming her head off, mostly a stream of expletives. She switches the firing mode. Going burst-fire, baby.

"Frak!" That's the only comment Haeleah has on the situation. She stays as close to the ground as she can. Which doesn't make her fire particularly impressive, but it keeps her alive. "Sir!" she chokes as Oberlin is hit. But she's not medic. There's nothing she can do for him. She pokes her head up just a little. Part to get in better position. In part to prepare to move out if they do so. And winces. "Frak me, there at least half a dozen toasters out there."

"Cal! SHIT!" Fear and shock tear a cry from Penelope — she casts a fleeting, horrified glance towards the fallen CIC officer before marshalling her wits and refocusing on the enemy. "There's another six, at least, that just broke off from the pack — they look like they're headed around the back!" she reports to anyone who's listening.

"Aw, SHIT." Diesel panics a little. But rather than panicking, he lowers his rifle as he pulls one of his pineapples from his belt. "Frag out!" he pulls the pin from his grenade and prepares to huck it.

<COMBAT> Stavrian treats Oberlin:
< Left Arm (Critical): successful
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion3 with Rifle AP - Moderate wound to Abdomen.
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion3 with Rifle AP - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion3 with Rifle AP but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Centurion6 attacks Haeleah with LMG - ARMOR on Neck stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Centurion5 fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Centurion5 attacks Cappella with LMG - Light wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> Centurion5 attacks Cappella with LMG but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Centurion5 attacks Cappella with LMG but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher attacks Centurion3 with Rifle - Serious wound to Abdomen.
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher attacks Centurion3 with Rifle - Moderate wound to Abdomen.
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher attacks Centurion3 with Rifle - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Haeleah attacks Centurion3 with Rifle Ap - Serious wound to Head.
<COMBAT> Centurion2 attacks Sawyer with LMG - COVER stops the attack.

The Centurions continue advancing in the wake of their hail of bullets, chips of plaster and masonry flying through the air, shredded wood flicked about like needles. The air starts filling with dust — the group is afforded no further glimpses of enemy movements beyond the barricades.
Of course, there are bigger, more steelly fish to fry, for the Centurions are cresting the outside steps, and about to pass the barricades. One is slightly further ahead than the others, and riddled with AP rounds for its positioning — a final shot from Haeleah splitting its head like a Faberge egg filled with sparks and wires.

<OOC> Serpens says, "Another +alertness roll from everyone, please."
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Oberlin rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Success.

In the midst of the chaos, a new complication — a sudden, deep sound, so basso profundo it registers more through the soles of the feet and one's bones, than through the ears, coming from the direction of the Centurions that split off, moments before. Unlike an explosion, the noise-slash-vibration is continuous.

You paged Haeleah with 'You are certain this sound is from outside the hospital, but very close to it.'

<OOC> Serpens says, "If the engineers that made their rolls would like further clarifications, please +roll whatever skill you feel would give further insight to you."
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Damage Control: Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Mech Eng: Great Success.

You paged Haeleah with 'You've been checking on the hospital's structural integrity since arriving here. Whatever that noise is, outside the hospital? It's near a very weakened load-bearing point.'

You paged Penelope with ''
You paged Penelope with 'Ever been around a mining or digging machine? Something is /tearing/ into the ground out there.'

Writhing in pain, Oberlin allows the Jesse to work on his chewed up arm even as he starts fumbling for the pistol at his belt and whips it out. No, not like /that/. "Ugh…We need to fall back before.." He doesn't finish that sentence as the thumping starts. "Oh HELL. Something down below!"

Sawyer repeats the little prairie dog routine, popping up just long enough to squeeze off another round. When she flops back down behind the wall, she can actually feel the rounds from the Centurion pounding against the stone vibrating against her spine. No wait, that's not the gunfire. It continues and is constant. There's a sound in her throat, a dry sob as the Journalist tries to hold it together. With a shaking hand, she thumbs the toggle on her rifle, chosing now to go with burst. "We're going to be trapped, they're going to close us in and pick us off…"

"NICE shootin'." Butcher yells a half-yell, half-cackle as one of the Centurions goes up in flames. She keeps firing. Living up to her name. Meanwhile, Walker maintains her bloodthirsty professionalism, and Diesel's pineapple goes hurtling through the air, in a Hail-Mary into the crowd of Centurions. He brings up his rifle shortly after.

"Frak." Stavrian so far's had the lucky Soma braid of Bullet Repelling, avoiding fire as he works on Oberlin's arm. It's not pretty, but it's not gouting blood in sprays on the wall like it was. Small blessings. "Can't stay here!" He shouts as he pulls his rifle off his shoulder, trying to line up a covering shot. And then the floor rumbles. "The /frak/ is that?"

Cappella takes another hit to the arm, he makes it to the stairs though, pulling the wounded woman with him he moves toward the inside of the building, trying to at least get out of the immediate line of fire.

Haeleah caps a bitch. A metallic bitch, that is. "Frak me…" she murmurs. Surprised. For a second she just stares, open-mouthed, at the toaster with the large hole in its head. If she had more time, she might try and grab that sucker to mount on her wall. They're all rather pressed as it is, however. And she soon has other concerns. The rumbling outside makes her shudder, head turning not so much toward it as to the nearest window, outside the hospital. "The frak…it's coming from outside. But damn close to us. That's not good, sirs. I've taken a look at the structural damage to this place and it's not very sturdy as it is. Wherever that is sounded like it was coming from around a not-so-strong load-bearing point."

Oberlin snaps as the wound gets ugly. Battlefield medicine, it's ugly. "Hold them so we can fall back! Hold!" He howls, "Stay in cover! And he leans out to fire.

Penelope jumps like a startled hare as the sound begins. She stares down the sight of her rifle like grim death. Exceedingly ineffectual death, really, but the grimness is spot-on. "Hae's right — they're going to bring this place down on top of us!"

<COMBAT> Pvt Diesel uses a Handgrenade Frag!
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Right Next To Centurion6 - Serious wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Critical wound to Right Foot.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Serious wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Critical wound to Right Leg.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Critical wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Moderate wound to Left Foot.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Critical wound to Left Foot.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - ARMOR on Left Leg stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion6 - Critical wound to Head.
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion1 - Light wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion1 - Serious wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion1 - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion2 - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion2 - Moderate wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion2 - Moderate wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion2 - Serious wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion2 - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion2 - Moderate wound to Left Leg.
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion4 - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion4 - Serious wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion4 - Serious wound to Abdomen.
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion5 - Light wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion5 - Light wound to Left Foot.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion5 - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion5 - ARMOR on Head stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion5 - ARMOR on Right Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion5 - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion7 - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion7 - ARMOR on Left Hand stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion7 - ARMOR on Right Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion7 - ARMOR on Left Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion7 - ARMOR on Left Hand stops the attack!
<COMBAT> EXPLOSION! Pretty Close To Centurion8 - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion8 - Serious wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion8 - Moderate wound to Chest.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion8 - ARMOR on Left Hand stops the attack!
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion8 - Moderate wound to Right Leg.
<COMBAT> SHRAPNEL! Centurion8 - Moderate wound to Left Foot.

<COMBAT> Cpl Walker attacks Centurion8 with Rifle AP - Serious wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Centurion7 attacks Cappella with LMG - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Centurion7 attacks Cappella with LMG - ARMOR on Neck stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Stavrian attacks Centurion1 with Rifle AP - Moderate wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Sawyer fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Sawyer attacks Centurion2 with Rifle Ap - Moderate wound to Head.
<COMBAT> Sawyer attacks Centurion2 with Rifle Ap - Moderate wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Sawyer attacks Centurion2 with Rifle Ap - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Ms Butcher attacks Centurion5 with Rifle - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Haeleah attacks Centurion1 with Rifle Ap - ARMOR on Left Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Centurion6 fires a 3 round burst!
<COMBAT> Centurion6 attacks Cappella with LMG - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Centurion6 attacks Cappella with LMG but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Centurion6 attacks Cappella with LMG and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Cappella has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Cappella spends a luck point to keep fighting!

Praise Ares, and pass the grenades and tinnitus — for the frag grenade is deafeningly loud in the corridor, drowning out even the neverending hail of bullets. It's hard to tell how many are felled, through the smoke — but at least one mangled torso is thrown clattering down the stairwell by the blast. And over there — another torso, one arm still attached, its servos twitching once, twice, then stilled. There seem to be less bullets hailing down upon the group — or maybe that's the ringing in the ears, drowning them out.
So close, less than fifty feet away — CLANK- CLANK- CLANK-

<OOC> Serpens says, "They will be within melee range by next round, if you do not reposition, or they are not all killed."
<OOC> Serpens says, "A grenade on them at this point will hit all of you as well."

Stavrian pops a centurion in the neck…that promptly gets hit by a GIGANTIC FRAKKIN FRAG GRENADE. "Ares' BALLS!" His head flinches to the side, instinctively turning away from the rush of white heat that washes over his cheek. Sometime later he'll remember to check his left side and see if the stubble burned clean off around the strap of his helmet. And now engineers are yelling about structural integrity; he's not an engineer but man, that didn't sound good. "Is the route out of here frakking clear?" He can't see shit behind him.

It's hard to say what makes the Centurion topple, the frag grenade or Sawyer's shot. Probably the former, but the Journalist at least gets to hear the satisfying TINK! as her burst hits that metal bastard. She's quick to drop back down, her cover likely what's saving her unexperienced ass. "We have to get out of here…NOW…" What the engineers have said is unsettling at best. "We have to get Barron's men out. Defending a pile of impending rubble is futile!" Her voices raises, partially in panic and partially just wanting to be heard. The message is clear: retreat.

"YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!" Diesel's suddenly looking very, very pleased, half-panicked, half bloodlusting. "I GOT MORE OF THIS, YOU COCKSUCKERS!" He pops back down trying to hunker behind some rubble. "Your blood for mine, jackass!" Comes this last taunt, a parody of the late Lance Corporal Brenner's religious invocation. He brings up his rifle starts to back up. "Stow it, Chuckie! You just blew the front door!" Walker responds, coolly as she too falls back. Butcher, meanwhile, continues her righteous crusade of Thug Vengeance. She seems to take umbrage at her newfound friends getting shot up, but the implication for Barron is clear. "I gotta get word to the Man!" She also starts to retreat.

<OOC> Serpens says, "Could I get another Alertness roll from the engineers, please?"
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness: Great Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness: Good Success.

You paged Penelope and Cappella with 'That ongoing roar? It changes in pitch — from earth to concrete.'

"Get him the frak out of here!" Penny shouts to Butcher, just in case the militiawoman missed the bit about the building's impending collapse. She fires short bursts of supressing fire as she ragtag squad falls back. "The borer's HIT concrete, people! We don't have much time!"

"What in the name of the— frak?" Oberlin shouts, as his shot goes wide. Grimacing in pain, he kicks his discarded rifle out into the fray. "HOLY SHIT, lookat that! Fall back! Everyone back!" He too moves to retreat, firing off shots himself. "Pen's right!"

Cappella makes it into the stairwell just as he hears the rumbling sound for the first time, he has taken a couple more bullets from the cylons and looks like he is struggling with the wounded woman he is helping into the building that is in trouble. He looks back at the others, "I'll take point, which way do we need to go to get everyone and get out?"

<OOC> Serpens says, "Stavrian, could you +roll First Aid for me, please?"
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Firstaid: Good Success.
You paged Stavrian with 'That wounded woman Cappella's dragging along? She's not unconscious, she's dead of massive blood loss.'

Haeleah doesn't know much about grenades, but she knows enough to duck the hell into her corner when Diesel lets his loose. When she pokes her head up again, she's just boggline. "Frak me…" Again. "Newsie's right, I don't think we want to stick around here much longer, sir," she shouts, adding to the get-the-frak-out chorus of Penelope and Cappella.

"Back out!" Stavrian shouts over his shoulder. "Don't turn your backs on them, get back and shoot if you see anything." Which is what he's doing, only peeling eyes off the oncoming sounds enough to not trample anyone behind him.

As the group moves back down the stairwell and around the corner, the sound of pinging and ricocheting bullets from the Centurions becomes muffled — only to be replaced with the bone-thrumming, grating rumble of SOMETHING steadily tearing through stone, concrete, and metal, from somewhere beyond the Morgue's walls. The sound is achingly loud and deep, even beyond the fuzzy ringing from the grenades.

In the relative safety of the basement, the Baron's men seem to have reached the same conclusion as those on the stairwell — gearing up, with no time wasted, to Make Safe The Baron and ensure a retreat.

The marines are the vanguard of the retreating crew, firing wildly, although maybe not as wildly as Butcher. The moment she makes it down the stairwell, she eschews firing at all as she plunges ahead. "Get everyone left! Ray, get Fat Steve, round up everyone and cover the Baron. This place is a death trap and they're caving us in!"

Yes. Yes, leaving is good. It's clear they have worn out their welcome in this Hospital, and the Centurians know now where The Baron has been hiding all this time. The location is no longer secure, so it's time to take their ball and go home. Sawyer is loathe to give up her cover, but it's much better then being buried beneath a wave of rubble. As the group beats feet, she stays in the throng, careful to keep facing the action as Oberlin has warned. Operation GTFO is underway.

Stavrian GTFOs. He GTFOs right well, staying up at the tail end of the retreating group to lay down cover if it comes to it. Stairwell, which makes his way down sideways with one foot crossing over the other, rifle aimed back where they came from. The rumbling underfoot are almost enough to make his teeth chatter, not a pleasant sensation in the least. Go go.

Oberlin Gets the FRAK OUT, nursing his wounded arm as he hobbles down the stairs, grunting. "Move move move. GET TO THE BARON!"

Cappella on lead makes it down to where the others are prepping to go, he calls for help with the wounded he is carrying, looking for anyone not planning on using a weapon to take her off his hands.

The steady, bone-shaking noise of the digger suddenly changes to the grating tear of shredded concrete as — somewhere within the Morgue, SOMETHING tears through the wall. There's a keening whine that accompanies it, blessedly muted by the tinnitus, the sound of spinning metal against metal starting to wind down.
And then, in the comparative silence, after the digger, the deep, sharp cracks of concrete settling against concrete in uncomfortable new configurations.

<OOC> Serpens says, "I'm assuming the GTFO is in the general direction of Not Toward The Morgue, as the sound has been generally from that direction from the get-go."
<OOC> Serpens says, "If the engineers would like more information, please +roll whatever skill you feel is most pertinent."

<FS3> Penelope rolls Mech Eng: Success.
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Damage Control: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Demolitions: Failure.

You paged Penelope and Haeleah with 'The whole hospital is shifting on its foundation. You are more likely to survive down here in the basement than aboveground when it collapses (for structural failure is sounding VERY imminent), but surviving may just mean you're entombed. The choice option continues to be GTFO. Feel free to pose knowing which walls to stick close to, as load-bearing walls / more secure areas, as you will.'

About this time, Butcher's cries do not go unheeded. Emerging from his office is the regal figure of Dr. Barron, in his faded, trashed suit, cradling a rather nasty looking shotgun as he is flanked by several capable-looking individuals. You might have seen them lurking around. One is a garden-variety-looking tough in a hoodie, wearing two diamond rings which probably hurt like hell when he punches one with them. "I hear you, Butch. They're tearin' through the walls!" Another, hefting a military-issue rifle is a man in tanks, covered in Tauron tattoos amidst a couple CMC-related ones. This man's life is illustrated, clearly. CMC, then crime. Finally, Barron himself speaks. "We cannot stay here." Somehow, although there are lines of worry on his weathered face, he maintains a sense of beatific calm. It's no surprise why these people view him as a leader.

"We have a bolthole, ladies and gentlemen. I suggest we use it. Steven, rouse anyone and everyone that can move, we're getting out. Fighting our way out, if we have to."

"The whole place is shifting on its foundation!" Haeleah shouts about the general cacophony of Centurion fire and shaking building. "Stick close to the left-side walls on the corridors if you can. They're not quite as frakked up. Might hold for a little longer before they collapse on that side." Accentuate the positive. "We need to get out of here fast. The place is collapsing."

Helios Peterson, AKA, 'Shivcraft' for reasons probably nobody wants to discover, hefts his rifle. "You're the man, Baron. We'll cover ya." The olive-skinned, tattooed mountain of a man nods curtly as the Colonials come barrelling down. "Yo, B.C." He turns to his hoodie-wearing companion, also known as 'Big Cubits.' "Remember that bet I made you? Let's go." With that, the de facto resistance residents of 'District 3' begin to assemble as they very much take Haeleah's advice. "This hospital had an emergency exit as a de facto bomb shelter, you see!" He explains, excitedly, cowering a bit as the walls and ground shake again. "If we can get to the tunnel to maintenance access it should see us to safety. Although where we're going next…" He sighs a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, my son." To nobody in particular.

Oberlin tries to keep up, wincing with every movement of his shot-up arm. "We run for cover. We have a bolthole, but its safety is questionable. Move! Move move move!"

"Come on, ladies and gents, you heard my esteemed colleague — left wall! Move it!" Penelope herds the straggling and confused towards the left, sticking close to that side herself. She winces at every horrible groan and grind the ailing building makes, as though certain THAT will be the end. Rocks fall. Everyone dies.

Cappella sees no response to his request and shrugs, he just moves to reposition the wounded girl in his arm, to keep her off the arm thats been shot and nods at Hal's worlds. He moves along the left hand side, following the locals down the tunnel.

Sawyer's breath sounds like a huff as she hotfoots it with the rest out of the Hospital. To the left, to the left - less chance of dying to the left. If Sawyer makes it off this planet, no doubt she's going to be vowing to hit the gym more often. Outfitted like a Marine, but unused to the weight of it all when having to double time it, she's starting to lag behind.

<OOC> Serpens says, "Okay. I'd like everyone to roll +reactive TWICE, please. Check your +damage before rolling, and apply your damage as a penalty to your roll. I.e., if you show -15 damage, you would +roll reactive-15 twice."

<FS3> Haeleah rolls Reactive: Success.
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Reactive: Success.

<FS3> Cappella rolls Reactive-35: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Reactive-35: Bad Failure.

<FS3> Stavrian rolls Reactive: Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Reactive: Good Success.

<FS3> Oberlin rolls Reactive-40: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Oberlin rolls Reactive-40: Bad Failure.

<FS3> Penelope rolls Reactive-10: Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Reactive-10: Bad Failure.

<FS3> Sawyer rolls Reactive: Good Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Reactive: Success.

It would make one hell of a pulse-pounding finale for some big-budget summer blockbuster — the wizened alderman and his thuggish retinue, the rag-tag band of soldiers, fleeing for their lives from the basement of a collapsing hospital. Cracks shattering up and along walls as they flee. Drywall dust blowing out of walls. Masonry grit treacherous underneath their feet. There would be an amazing soundtrack, tense and driving toward their escape.

In the movies, there's always a Big Escape.

In the depths of Kythera General Hospital, however, there is only the glimpse of that Maintenance Exit door up at the end of the corridor before the structure shudders, holds itself upright one quivering moment more, then starts to collapse around itself. The sound is like a man-made earthquake — tolerances and breaking-points racing eachother to see who will give out first — roaring over and through those trying to escape before it all comes down around them.

Silence — and darkness.

You paged Oberlin with 'Part of a wall collapses on you, from the side of your bad arm. You are pinned. Kinda hard to breathe with all those cinderblocks on you.'

You paged Stavrian with 'The hospital has it in for you — it tries to trap you in rubble, but you manage to stumble free. Nearby is Oberlin — as a wall slides down, trapping him beneath.'

You paged Penelope with 'Part of the ceiling comes down, hitting you and sending you reeling — just in time for a wall to crumble, trapping one of your feet beneath some masonry.'

You paged Sawyer with 'The hospital really tries to collapse Right On Top Of You, but you manage to stumble free. Nearby is Penelope — as a wall crumbles and traps one of her feet beneath masonry.'

You paged Haeleah with 'You're lucky. The wall you're nearest holds. Ahead of you is Oberlin, trapped by a wall collapsed down on him. Stavrian is near him. Behind you is Penelope, her leg trapped under rubble. Sawyer is near her. You can squeeze through the rubble in either direction.'

You paged Cappella with 'Part of the ceiling comes down on you, sending you reeling into a wall as it collapses. You are partially trapped beneath the rubble — and the wounded woman you've been carrying along has had her skull crushed by the collapsing concrete.'

Without flashlights, there is utter blackness within the collapsed basement of the hospital. Beyond eyeshot, moans of pain and cries for help start to trickle in, mixed with the sound of still-settling structure. There are small gaps of open area, where one wall has leaned up against another, or some pillar has miraculously held, but even those look to be short-lived — occasionally the crack and pop of further structural failure can be heard, muffled by the tons upon tons of masonry and concrete.

Stavrian trips and nearly goes stumbling into a pile of rubble, a years-old plate in his left ankle making a protesting sound that reverberates a whining pain all the way up the side of his leg and into his hip and back. His knees his pavement with a crash-thud, slamming him onto his chest and heels of hands — just beyond the worst of the fallen wreckage. A light blanket of it crumbles off his back and right arm, turning the back of his black curls gray with dust and debris. He coughs hard, struggling back up to his knees and grabbing for the pile of rock just behind him. Last thing he saw before being propelled forward was Oberlin. And he doesn't see Oberlin anymore. "Lieutenant…Lieutenant!"

Haeleah is lucky. The wall near her holds, and she's left with openings fore and aft of her where she can /probably/ squeeze through. She doesn't wriggle to freedom just yet, however. There are people down all around her. The first she sees is Oberlin, trapped by some wall. "Lieutenant Oberlin! Cal!" she calls, moving toward him to try and help free him. Gingerly. So much rubble.

Speaking of rocks falling and everyone dying — well, rocks fell. Part of the wall fell down horribly on Oberlin. We don't know about the dying part, but there's no good reason anyone should last long when covered with cinderblocks.

"This way!" Barron shouts in a strangely patrician manner. The guy could have been something of a stage actor. Right now, he certainly LEFT HIS INDOOR VOICE AT HOME. "Keep moving, keep moving!" Butcher shouts as more of the makeshift resistance escapes.

One minute your running down the hall, the next well your waking up in darkness, smoke and dust everywhere. Appolonius coughs a little and reaches up to wipe something sticky, brain matter to be exact, off his cheek. The woman he was carrying is a few feet away, her skull crushed in. He tries to get up, but finds his waist pinned by a large piece of concrete. He tries to get leverage to move it, but it seems lodged against something.

NOT WITHOUT MY LIEUTENANT! Stavrian coughs again, feeling the dust dry his throat and mouth. "Oberlin's under there! Go on, Dr. Barron, we'll get to you!" He doesn't want anyone waiting for them, not that he thinks they /would/. He grabs ahold of a large piece of cinderblock near where he /thinks/ Oberlin's face might be, trying to yank. "Sir! Sir, can you hear me?"

The adrenaline is intense and incredible as the group breaks into a full-on sprint, running like Cerberus and all of hades were nipping at their heels. Penelope feels a wild flicker of hope as the door comes into view — and then, with a profound crack likes Zeus's own thunder, a jagged fissure splits the ceiling overhead. The collosal chunk of death that falls from above only glances her as she jerks back, but it's enough to knock her off her feet; her head cracks off concrete, and then it's black. The passing of time is dim to her, but it's likely only seconds before she's coughing and trying to move once more… only to find herself pinned, her foot a screaming mass of pain beneath a twisted pile of stone and steel.

What's that Lassie? Little Timmeh has fallen down the well? No, that whine actually comes from Sawyer just bare seconds before the heavens open up and rain bits and pieces of Hospital. Didn't know Cylons were structural engineers, did you? Whatever they did, the managed to find the sweet spot, and tons of stone and debris crumbles around them. Sawyer's shoulder gets pummeled so hard her fingers go momentarily numb, but that board or drywall or whatever it was, was enough to propel her forward and she manages to stumble under the relative safety of a beam that got caught on the remnants of a wall. That little pocket saves her brunt of the collapse, and as the dust starts to settle she looks in a panic around her for someone. Anyone. "Gods…hello!?" Buried alive. Let's add that to the list of 'That Shit Ain't Cool'. Groping around in the darkness, her fingers close over the material of Penelope's pant leg. "It's…it's Sawyer. Are you okay? Can you get free?" She doesn't know /who/ she's talking to, just yet.

Haeleah coughs, crawling through the rubble as best she can to help Stavrian dig for poor Oberlin. "Cal? Lieutenant? Sir?" she calls as she digs through the broken concrete. Her hands are soon bleeding from pulling away the stones.

There may be some twitching under the cinderblocks. Maybe. Some scratching, and the sound of one desperate cough.

<FS3> Haeleah rolls Athletic: Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Athletic: Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Athletic: Failure.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletic-35: Success.
<FS3> Oberlin rolls Athletic-40: Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Athletic-20: Success.

Penelope blinks down at Sawyer's grasping, shock setting in nicely. The pain is distant. "S'Penny," she slurs a little, sort of awkwardly patting Sawyer's helmet. "M'here." She coughs a bit more, pushing herself to sit up, leg twisted at an awkward and wholly impossible angle. "Can you walk?" she asks the reporter, pointing up ahead to where Haeleah and Stavrian are excavating. "Up there. They need you… up there."

"Get him air, Hay," Stavrian tells Haeleah quickly. "Move the blocks off his face first." He looks back at the pile, scrabbling fingertips against the heavy stones. "Cal. Keep making noise if you can hear us. We're coming, we just got to to know where you are. Keep callin to us, sir."

You paged Stavrian and Haeleah with 'As you're clearing stones away from Oberlin, there's the grating crack of concrete crumbling from overhead. The collapsing chunk of plaster misses Haeleah (or she can dodge, as she will) but hits Stavrian across the head and back. Drywall dust everywhere. Cof cof.'

Oberlin makes noise. Something is stirring under that mass of blocks and stuff.

Sawyer pats Penelope a few more times, as if trying to reassure herself that the woman is still alive, even though she just talked for cripes sake. "Okay, okay, uh…." Sawyer tries to gather her thoughts, which are as dusty as the air. "Yeah. I'm fine I think. Took a tumble but…I'll come back for you, alright? Just. Just sit tight, stay concious and I'll come back for you." She starts to scuttle in the direction of Stavrian's voice, going to help uncover poor Oberlin.

Fat Steve, one of the thugs that comes barrelling along backtracks a little, seeing the fallen Colonials and bounds back, eyeing Penelope. "Shit, lady, can you walk?" He's completely out of breath, out of shape, but trucking along.

"Lieutenant! Hold on!" Haeleah yells at the rocks. Presumably the ones covering Oberlin. She scrambles to get him some air in the area that is making noise. On the assumption is face is somewhere under there. Then, suddenly, more rocks fall. Or pieces of ceiling, at least. With a high-pitched cry she rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit with more collapsing plaster. Coughing in a fit at the dust it stirs in the air.

"Airway, airway…" Stavrian's mind's back to Aerilon, digging the crushed out of wreckage. "Get him an airway. I need the saline out of my ba-…" He's in the middle of talking when that *crack* comes from above. A chunk of the collapsed ceiling beans him right in the back of the head, sending him face first into his own arm and the pile of rubble. Oh that's gonna be dizzyville later. "Gods…DAMMIT."

Penelope shakes her head at Fat Steve. "There's a ceiling on my leg," she explains, matter-of-factly. She points up ahead — same place she pointed Sawyer. "They need you up there. Big time. You can come back for me." Triage, baby.

There's another bone-deep groaning from the entire hospital, punctuated by a few sharp cracks and the screeching protest of some rebar sheared in directions never anticipated. Crumbling plaster and more chunks of concrete slide down from the collapsed floors above — and suddenly, from somewhere far behind and to the side of the group, a horrible bubbling scream that goes on and on past when one's air ought to give out, before fading away.

Cappella begins wiggling and pushing on the large block on his hips and legs slowly he starts to slide, not moving the block as much as moving himself. There is some scrapping and tearing cloth. The blood from his legs being carpet burned by the rough stone actually provides some lubrication and he starts to slip free.

Sawyer feels her way over more then she can visually get clues on where she is, aren't these damn combat outfits fitted with /some/ type of flashlight or glow stick or…she starts to pat herself down, fingers searching. "I'm coming…keep making noise."

<OOC> Serpens says, "For those digging or trying to get themselves free, +roll Athletic(-wounds) for me, please?"
<FS3> Penelope rolls Athletic-20: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletic-35: Success.
<FS3> Oberlin rolls Athletic-40: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Athletic: Success.

You paged Stavrian and Haeleah with 'Oberlin's breathing is sounding more and more laboured — but as you pull more rubble away, there he is.'

Fat Steve's heavy brows fall and just nods as he meanders on past Penelope. Butcher herself ends up doubling on back and eventually rejoining the crew, too, apparently offering some assistance mutely. She winces when that scream is heard. "The /frak/?"

Frantic scratching is heard in the OberlinRubble.

"Jesse!?" Haeleah calls to his frantically as he gets slammed by pieces of collapsing plaster. But, his skull wasn't crushed. So she keeps digging. "I see him! I see him! Cal, hang on, we've got you!" Which may be prematurely optimistic, but they have managed to make a hole around the Intel officer.

Penelope jerks as the building groans and… someone screams. She takes a breath, giving herself a firm shake. "Okay, Penny. Dig, girl." She grabs a metal beam and shoves it to the side, bracing her free foot against it and pushing with all her might until it grudgingly scrapes its way off the pile. Any bit of rubble she can reach, she muscles away with white-lipped and bloody-knuckled determination. The process takes several, nerve-raw minutes, but finally there's a bit of give… and she begins to inch free that pulp of meat she once called a foot.

Holy motherfrak. "I'm fine!" Gray swims around the edges of Stavrian's vision, a wave of nausea clogging the back of his throat. He swallows it back thickly, hearing his voice ringing in his ears. "Air…get the air. Then get the rest. Got five minutes to get him out. Watch his breathing." Reperfusion, it's a bitch. He grabs for stones, helping with the others as his back groans at him, yanking rubble away. "Butcher! My bag, grab the bag of saline in there /please/. I need it now!"

Cappella pulls himself free, and starts to get up, he sighs softly and begins reaching through the dark, squeezing through various openings to try to reach everyone else.

"Yeah. Sure thing, Dr. Feelgood." Butcher finally says in a laconic tone as Stavrian's request snaps her out of her chilled distraction, and proceeds to duck towards the bag, fumbling around a bit until she finds something that resembles, no, that's not it. Is that it? Aha! Saline. She passes it over.

Sawyer starts to dig with the rest of them, lest it be said the Reporter is afraid of chipping a nail.

"Help. Someone. Gods. Help me." The words are weak — muffled and somewhere far, far behind walls of rubble. It comes from the direction of that first bloodcurdling scream — now repeated, just as shriekingly, as a distant chunk of structure slides down into the basement.

"Frak… oh, frak…" Penelope whimpers. She's paler than the masonry dust, a kind of grey-green more commonly seen in the underbellies of fish. To her credit, she manages not to pass out from the pain — but she does have to bite off a scream as her foot finally comes free. Nausea overtakes her as she climbs to her knees; she vomits. A few moments later, she's crawling over the rubble towards the excavation, shaking as she drags her foot behind her… and then her bloody, nail-broken hands join the digging.

<FS3> Penelope rolls Athletic-20: Good Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Athletic: Success.
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Athletic: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletic-35: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Athletic: Success.

The more rubble cleared away from Lieutenant Oberlin, the less laboured his breathing should become — yet it wheezes away shallower and shallower.

Impossible to hear if it stops entirely, for another grinding pop of concrete sends more plaster and masonry tumbling down around the group. One chunk, with twisted rebar jutting out, pelts Haeleah, sending her to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from her head. And another wall gives way, sending Cappella sliding and tumbling to the side, half-trapped again.

Kythera General looks like it won't run out of collapsing rubble any time soon.

"Shit!" Just what Stavrian didn't need, an unconscious engineer. "Averies, if you can lift her get Haeleah out of here!" The medic calls over his shoulder at Sawyer. "Paris, get these rocks off Cal's chest and then get cappella out of here, I'll get him from there." He reaches into the near-coffin of Oberlin's little rock den, holding his fingertips under Oberlin's nose to check for breathing. If it's still going he'll dig till the man's free. Or till there's no breath. Whichever comes first.

Cappella is almost there and then he hears a crack and looks up, down comes the ceiling again, talk about having a bad day. He groans a bit as his wounded arm is pinned under the stone, and he starts trying to get it off.

Perhaps this latest bout of structural collapse sticks Penelope with an ampule of adrenaline, or maybe shock has just set in on top of shock… but suddenly she's moving rather fast and with considerable vigor, muscling some rocks of unusual size off the half-buried officer. She grunts and pants as she works, pouring cold sweat. "Hang in there, Cap! I'm coming…" Just… one disinterment at a time.

Sawyer turns her head away from another wuff of disturbed, coughing into the crook of her arm. The grit is starting to make her eyes water and no doubt she'll be feeling it in her teeth for days to come. She struggles to pull another block away, putting her legs behind it so when it finally gives, she ends up oofed on her ass. "We all need to get out of here. I don't know how much longer this is going to hold. It keeps shifting…" With a groan, she's pulling herself away, trying to navigate in near blindness to where Haeleah went down. "I forgot to eat my Wheaties this morning…" She mumbles under her breath, then tries to hoist the slight woman from the rubble and carry/drag her as far as possible.

Oberlin's breath is there, albeit weakly, when Stavrian checks. The final few pieces of cinderblock and twisted rebar set in concrete are dragged away, freeing the man from his early tomb — battered and bleeding, but alive.

Back and to the side, the freshest shifting of rubble has again trapped Cappella, his arm held mercilessly by a slab of concrete, with nothing but crumbled debris at his feet to find purchase to push.

And still, above all their heads, the hospital continues to crack and grind, settling down heavier and heavier with each passing moment. There is dust and small bits of rubble sifting down continuously, and the air is getting thicker with choking plumes of dust.

"We got you, Cal. Hold on." Stavrian takes the bag of saline from Butcher, fumbling with the tubing and the emergency needle he's got for it. Not an easy task, getting an IV started like this, but the clock's ticking when someone's been crushed under rubble. "Can someone get him the hell out of here?" He calls out, hoping some of those militia have stuck around. If not, well. He'll be doing it himself. He coughs, turning on his torn knees to shout towards the crying voice. "We're coming! I promise we're coming!"

Oberlin's dazed and cut head lolls to and fro, as he unconsciously heaves in a deep breath. He's not quite there.

Haeleah is well and truly out, though she's definitely breathing. She groans when Sawyer reaches for her knocked-out form.

Cappella is still consciece at least, he is kicking at the rocks and trying to find purchase but failing, his one good hand pushing at the rock pinning his other arm. The chef turned engineer swears quietly as he tries to work himself free.

Sawyer gets an arm underneath Haeleah, pulling her torso up until she's supporting the woman's weight. She taps her fingers against Haeleah's cheeks, non-too gently. "C'mon, sugar. You gotta wake up. No time to take a nap. C'mon." All the while she's trying to drag Haeleah towards their original goal, the unconcious engineers heels cutting little troughs through the debris.

Once Penelope is reassured by the faint rise and fall of Oberlin's breathing, the gimped engineer scrambles her way over to Cappella. "Cappy, I'm going to lift on three… alright? Ready? One, two, THREE!" She strains to lift the slab of concrete from his arm, her one good leg braced beneath her… hopefully giving Cappella just enough space to work free.

And there are thug mooks still nearby. Most of them have moved on but they are here for Stavrian's assistance. Butcher dutifully works on the excavation process with a sullen expression.

After clearing the final bit of cinderblock between herself and Oberlin, Butcher stoops to collect the wounded Lieutenant and the emergency IV, then stagger heavily toward the exit.

<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletic-35: Bad Failure.

Penelope's pushing with one good foot, Cappella's pushing with one good arm. The slab of concrete grates against the floor, pulverizing bits of plaster beneath itself as it starts to shift — and then, horrifingly, the half-collapsed ceiling above it starts to groan and rain down dust as it's shifted by the engineers' efforts.

"Come on. Move, move, move, people!" There's a yell up front, on the part of the burly Helios P. "I don't know where we're going, but /move!"

"Thank you." Stavrian presses his fingertips against his temples, feeling a wave of nausea from his bashed head threaten to overwhelm again. Focus through it, focus…alright. He struggles up to his feet, grabbing his medical pack. About to head towards the sound of the other screaming, but the raining plaster above Penny distracts him. Cripes. "Here, let me help you LT. That thing's about to fall."

"Ugh…" This is the first sign Haeleah is coming back to the land of the conscious. She reaches up a hand to pat her curly head where she plaster impacted it. Bad idea. "Frak me. What happened? Is Cal okay?"

Cappella looks up as the dust settles again his eye takes in the structure, "Paris…save yourself, It's not worth all of us dieing." He keeps trying to pull the arm out though, not having given up yet.

Penelope looks up, frozen for a nanosecond of pure horror. She redoubles her efforts, barking at Cappella, "I need you to PULL your FRAKKING ARM OUT, SOLDIER! Right. NOW!" She puts her frakking back into it, gone from the sheet white of shock to the beet red of exertion. "PULL!" She's far too focused on what she's doing to ackowledge Stavrian's assistance in so many words.

<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness-35: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness-20: Failure.

You paged Stavrian with 'That concrete slab is going to pulverize his arm. That's if the ceiling doesn't come down by moving that slab out of the way.'

They really should have all slept in their helmets, they'd have far less head injuries floating around now if they had proper head gear. Not as effective as hard hats, perhaps, but hey. Sawyer's arm tightens around Haeleah, incase the woman flails when she starts to wake up. The dragging has stopped though, and she basically is hugging Haeleah's back to her chest. "You're okay, took a bit of a knock. They're getting him out now, he's free. We gotta get out of here, though, can you walk? I'm going to try and let you put your weight on your own feet, but lean on me if you need to or get dizzy, okay. Here we go…"

"Son of a bitch," Stavrian mutters. "This isn't going to be pretty, Lieutenant Cappella. Your arm's in there damn good." But what choice do they have? "Shit…alright. We need to get him out of here fast, and I mean /fast/. This ceiling's about to go. Everyone on three."

"There must be a way out of here." There's a disjointed, almost delerious mumble on the part of Oberlin as he starts to come to. Kind of. As he's hauled. That was helpful.

Cappella looks up, wincing as it grins against his bones "I think it's a load bearing wall, and there is no time for an amputation, if this doesn't work this time, I want you all to get the frak out of here."

<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletics-35: Bad Failure.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Athletic: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Athletic-35: Success.
<FS3> Penelope rolls Athletic-20: Success.

"I…I think I can…" Haeleah answers Sawyer, groggily, but she does manage to get to her feet. Using the reporter for support. "Frak…" She blinks. That's definitely not going to sit well with her brain. But she is on her feet.

As the count to three is timed off, the weak voice is heard again, from somewhere beyond those tons of rubble. "Please. Someone. Please." There's the thin, scrabbling click of uselessly small bits of rubble being scraped away.

On three, the slab of concrete is heaved together. Does it find purchase on Cappella's bones, and use them for leverage? Does it slip on his blood? To the trapped engineer, both feel excruciatingly likely.

But slowly, amongst a thick showering of dust and rubble, the slab moves enough for Cappella to be freed.

<FS3> Penelope rolls Alertness-20: Good Success.
<FS3> Sawyer rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Stavrian rolls Alertness: Success.
<FS3> Cappella rolls Alertness-35: Success.
<FS3> Haeleah rolls Alertness: Failure.

You paged Penelope with 'As the owner of the Good Success, I'd like to encourage you to encourage everyone to Leave Really Soon Now.'

The ceiling trembles once, then again, sending more dust and rubble down. Larger pieces, now, large enough to bruise those they strike.

And, suddenly, from behind them, the sudden WHUMP of some massive mechanical contraption striking hard against crumbling walls, accompanied with the hissing whine of hydraulics.

Even more unbelievably, beyond that — CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. Coming in through the Morgue's walls.

Cappella rolls out from under the debries and gets to his feet, he holds the previously shot and pinned arm with his spare one and looks up at the others. "I've got a rather novel idea, let's get out of here." He smiles a little and them moves to make his statement fact not even pausing as he hear the sound of cylons approaching.

Sawyer can't see Cappella's smile, but Sawyer seconds that motion with a, "Frak yes." She eases Haeleah around, keeping the engineer's arm around her shoulders and becoming a living crutch. "I don't know who that was screaming…but I don't think we can get to them in time. We need to go." And then in a smaller voice aimed at the darkness. "I'm sorry…"

Butcher grunts as she helps haul the semi-unconcsious Lieutenant along. "Ya think?" she asks, incredulously. "Let's get our thumbs out of our asses, post-haste." She glances back at the rubble behind her and her dirt-stained face is a glower.

Time slows down for Penelope. It all happens in an instant — her head snaps around at the WHUMP and the clanking. Her eyes quickly inventory the crumbling walls, then look toward that faint, plaintive scraping. The cries for help that will never come. "Gods, I am so sorry…" she whispers, then shouts to her companions, "We have to move NOW! Double-triple-time people! I mean RUN!"

Haeleah keeps a hand on Sawyer's shoulder. She's still not moving at top speed. Her head rolls back toward the direction the screams were coming from. Shuddering. But she's got to move, and she'll do it as fast as she can.

"What?" Leave it to the medic to look horrified at the notion of leaving people, Stavrian's complexion paling slightly. Either from that or from the pain pounding through his head, toss up as to which it actually is. "We-…!" And then he hears the clanking. "Frak. Frak frak frak. Gods damn you…" He's the last to be moving along, torn almost physically away from the sounds of pain at order to GTFO. That's supposed to be his duty.

Double-triple time, and it's barely fast enough — for as the dust-caked and bloodied group finally moves to flee, the sound of gunfire kicks up, uselessly ricocheting from far behind. Through it, that weakened voice, raised in a maddened, cracking shriek. "HELP ME, YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME-"

Another massive WHUMP added to the cacophany, drowning out the scream. Whether it is the device's purpose or not is left for the escapees to decide — but the impact spurs that quivering ceiling the final fraction needed, spilling fresh tons of rubble behind them, entombing Cylon and human alike.

As Stavrian, the last of the escapees, makes it to the Maintenance Exit, a final slab of concrete shears down, crumbling the door off its hinges as easily as if it was made of tinfoil.

The only way left is through — and there, far ahead of them, the tail end of the Baron's group, waiting with the last of their patience for the stragglers.

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