Fian
Well-Known Member
OOC: Check recruitment topic for OOC notes.
Somewhere, YE32
"Status report."
"We have infected enough of the SMoDIN Net to shut it down, infiltrators and agents are on standby."
"What about the Sword?"
"It has been successfully spoofed in the ship registry, it will be in position soon."
"Excellent. Inform me once it has been hung high over Nepleslia, I wouldn't want to miss the moment when we bring the Imperium to its knees."
Meanwhile, Michener Station, Galactic South-West
If there were some kind of Purgatory existed in reality, the SMoDIN Office on Michener Station was it. Measuring about 15 by 15 meters, it was the only space the SMoDIN rented and really needed on the civilian trade station. Michener was no where near any planet that needed guarding and was situated far back enough from the frontlines to warrant a garrison, the only permanent SMoDIN staff was a Caretaker, who had only recently finished the day's cleaning and had already left the office.
Not that there were anything exciting outside the office. All commercial trading were done off the station, thousands upon thousands of lightyears away and in quantities more than a single person could use or consume in their lifetime, which is then shipped out wholesale from the docks. Michener was a barebones space warehouse, and in that 15 by 15 meter space owned by the SMoDIN, it was the Marines and the Navy files that were the goods.
The SMoDIN Office in Michener served primarily as a transit point for low-priority personnel en route to their next posting, normally getting there by hitching a ride on whichever merchant ship that happened to be going the same direction, this is usually automatically arranged by computer and then helpfully displayed on the flight information board on the office. Sometimes there would be no ships for days, and to those unlucky soldiers and sailors became less of a transit point and more of a holding point. It was not unheard for men to be sent to Michener ahead of schedule by their old units as a form of farewell punishment. Fortunately for the people currently in the office, the flight information board have indicated that the ISC Mayflower was due to pick them up in 12 hours.
As a result of having staff whose only job was to keep the place clean, the Office was not dilapidated, but merely spartan. A few rows of benches and chairs were arranged in one corner of the room facing a large projected screen. The Nepleslian News Network was on but the volume was down, it looked like a lot of important people were conducting vigorous but silent mouth exercises. Next to the screen was the reinforced door leading out to the rest of the station and another pair of less bulletproof doors leading to the shower and toilet.
The Office may have belonged to an important manager of the station, a set of thick metal blinds completely covered what is probably a commanding view of the station exterior. A lever is located just to the side of the blinds, just above a lit green light labeled 'SAFE'. The dark blue carpet that covered the office may have been part of the original furnishing, but a cheap looking plastic table just to the front of the blinds with an official SMoDIN computer terminal on it was not.
In the third corner of the room was a kitchenette complete with stove, sink, counters, microwave, an expensive looking and larger than normal fridge and a long unused and dusty coffeemaker. The kitchenette looks like it had seen recent use, but most recently someone was a lazy bastard and instead left out a small pile of Nepleslian Military Rations in lieu of cooked food.
The last corner of the room was empty except a tall plastic potted plant of alien origin, very flimsily attached animated poster of Flint Vanderhuge pointing at the viewer with the captions "I WANT YOU - TO KICK SQUID BUTT" and the aforesaid flight information board, still ticking down 12 hours. Little did the Marines and Sailors in the room know that their Purgatory would be a much much shorter one.
Somewhere, YE32
"Status report."
"We have infected enough of the SMoDIN Net to shut it down, infiltrators and agents are on standby."
"What about the Sword?"
"It has been successfully spoofed in the ship registry, it will be in position soon."
"Excellent. Inform me once it has been hung high over Nepleslia, I wouldn't want to miss the moment when we bring the Imperium to its knees."
Meanwhile, Michener Station, Galactic South-West
If there were some kind of Purgatory existed in reality, the SMoDIN Office on Michener Station was it. Measuring about 15 by 15 meters, it was the only space the SMoDIN rented and really needed on the civilian trade station. Michener was no where near any planet that needed guarding and was situated far back enough from the frontlines to warrant a garrison, the only permanent SMoDIN staff was a Caretaker, who had only recently finished the day's cleaning and had already left the office.
Not that there were anything exciting outside the office. All commercial trading were done off the station, thousands upon thousands of lightyears away and in quantities more than a single person could use or consume in their lifetime, which is then shipped out wholesale from the docks. Michener was a barebones space warehouse, and in that 15 by 15 meter space owned by the SMoDIN, it was the Marines and the Navy files that were the goods.
The SMoDIN Office in Michener served primarily as a transit point for low-priority personnel en route to their next posting, normally getting there by hitching a ride on whichever merchant ship that happened to be going the same direction, this is usually automatically arranged by computer and then helpfully displayed on the flight information board on the office. Sometimes there would be no ships for days, and to those unlucky soldiers and sailors became less of a transit point and more of a holding point. It was not unheard for men to be sent to Michener ahead of schedule by their old units as a form of farewell punishment. Fortunately for the people currently in the office, the flight information board have indicated that the ISC Mayflower was due to pick them up in 12 hours.
As a result of having staff whose only job was to keep the place clean, the Office was not dilapidated, but merely spartan. A few rows of benches and chairs were arranged in one corner of the room facing a large projected screen. The Nepleslian News Network was on but the volume was down, it looked like a lot of important people were conducting vigorous but silent mouth exercises. Next to the screen was the reinforced door leading out to the rest of the station and another pair of less bulletproof doors leading to the shower and toilet.
The Office may have belonged to an important manager of the station, a set of thick metal blinds completely covered what is probably a commanding view of the station exterior. A lever is located just to the side of the blinds, just above a lit green light labeled 'SAFE'. The dark blue carpet that covered the office may have been part of the original furnishing, but a cheap looking plastic table just to the front of the blinds with an official SMoDIN computer terminal on it was not.
In the third corner of the room was a kitchenette complete with stove, sink, counters, microwave, an expensive looking and larger than normal fridge and a long unused and dusty coffeemaker. The kitchenette looks like it had seen recent use, but most recently someone was a lazy bastard and instead left out a small pile of Nepleslian Military Rations in lieu of cooked food.
The last corner of the room was empty except a tall plastic potted plant of alien origin, very flimsily attached animated poster of Flint Vanderhuge pointing at the viewer with the captions "I WANT YOU - TO KICK SQUID BUTT" and the aforesaid flight information board, still ticking down 12 hours. Little did the Marines and Sailors in the room know that their Purgatory would be a much much shorter one.
