NCC Medical Ward
Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets.
The pointed furniture of the repair bay certainly doesn't make long stays comfortable. One of the larger bays is occupied by three adjacent bed, occupied in turn by Catechism, Fusillade, and Breakneck. Fusillade is awake, although she seems to be peering with some dissatisfaction at the leads connecting the other two to the depths of her thorax, and the few extra cables snaking around up to the black boxes located in her upper arms. She casts a few dirty looks to Breakneck from time to time.
Scrapper steps into the medical bay, passing through the heavy duty doors. The Constructicon doesn't have a normal shift right now, but still wants to check up on his patients. Say what one will about Scrapper, but he's a pretty dedicated individual. "Well how are my three favorite patients today, huh?" He asks in a fake cheerful tone. He figures it'll put them more at ease in case he has to pull the plug on any of them and start turning them into furniture. He heads over to the trio, noticing that Fusillade is awake.
The doors slide open to reveal the form of Mesa walking through the door. He Salutes all in the room and proceeds to sit in a near by chair by the door.
The myriad of readouts on signal variances, liquid cooling loops, power control assemblies, and in particular, the electrical multiplex system are waiting for Scrapper's perusual. They will reveal a pattern of spikes, followed by a long trailing drop-off. Glancing over at Fusillade's agitated, slightly haggard appearance would confirm the wear on her form. She gestures with the holofoil padd, indicating she's doing some reading on star charts. "You know, Scrapper, trying to find something to do that won't wake them up is kinda hard.... rest cycles for me are impossible when either of them ARE awake. How long with the physical link?"
Scrapper just waves back at Mesa's salute. Although he's alright in the line of battle, Scrapper isn't exactly a military mech. The Constructicon stops off at the scanner situated on Fusillade's medical slab. He looks it over and half listens to what she says. "Really? Can't go into a rest cycle when they're awake? Hrm... that's not normal." Whether he's talking about the scans or her report is tough to tell. He walks over to Breakneck's scanner and asks Fusillade, "I dunno how long it'll be. Any other issues? Headaches? Self diagnostic problems? Issues with your sensors?"
The door opens, and the figure of Magma is seen there, optics dim and datapad in hand. He steps in and looks around, frowning, "Mmm... made a wrong turn." he starts to turn away, pausing briefly and staring at the three beds from his vantage point, a visible chill running down his body, "Er... what... what is going on with them?" he inquires as he walks up behind Scrapper, "I mean.. it sounded like Catechism was dying..."
Mesa's optic moves to the left to identify the visitor. No one he recognises, but he stands up and gives him a proper salute none the less.
Fusillade drums her fingers on the edge of the table as she sits up, tilting her head as she tries to articulate the sensations. "Well..." She considers, mentally sizing up the two consciousnesses, the phantoms of which feel like they are balled up on either side of where kidneys would be on humans. "Well... maybe sensors. The multiplexer seems to be handling it okay, it deals with info without me being aware of it most of the time. Smelt, I called Fulcrum a liar when he first told me about it," she smirks despite herself. "Now though, it really feels like there's always something streaming in the back of my mind, and sensors... well it catches me off guard still. Whenever things go on with them, it takes a moment to remember where it's coming from... but it's enough to keep me awake." She nods to the helicopter, although her attention is quickly drawn to the molten flame motif along Magma's wings and feet.
Scrapper looks up at Magma, "Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah she probably will." He quickly glances at Catechism to make sure that she is, indeed, on a rest cycle. Yup, out like a daisy. "But hey, you never know, we might have a miracle on our hands. Basically I've delayed her death while Soundwave and Hook work on her brain. If they can find a cure... well, fantastic." Scrapper finishes reading Breakneck's scanner and heads over to Catechism's herself. He glares at the readouts for several seconds as he listens to Fusillade. "Really..." Scrapper says, thinking on this. "That's... uh... totally what I expected," he lies.
Mesa walks over to the ragged form of Fusillade. "Ma'am, is there anything I can do for you, to make you at ease? Something to listen to perhaps?"
The quaver in Scrapper's voice raises a few red flags in Fusillade's mind, and it takes a bit of effort to suppress the worry, lest she rouse the other two. "I take it you're disinclined to perform another round of resurrection, then? You did pretty well with the all-dead, and I say that from first-hand experience." She clenches her jaw, and sharply watches the Construction pace. "You've always struck me as supremely confident. What's so different now?" Ah, the simple faith that is placed in the technically inclined. She double-takes at Mesa, and absently breathes out, "Aeolian chimes of Klo, if you have them?" Boy, that's kinda pansy.
Scrapper transmits a message via radio to Soundwave.
Scrapper lets Mesa try to comfort Fusillade while he answers her questions. "Oh nothing in particular," he says. "Don't worry, you and Breakneck are in tip top shape. Catechism, however..." He glances at the sensor readout again. The Constructicon opens up a frequency to Soundwave, trying to hail the lasercore expert. Scrapper is confident in his abilities, but he's modest enough to know that it doesn't hurt to have the assistance of a specialist. He is an engineer first and a doctor second. Unfortunately, the lasercore expert himself is busy being spooky. Figures! He just might be needing another volunteer or two...
Mesa stares blankly ahead as if recalling something in his memory. A small box appears in his hand from subspace, and a small cable hurridly reaches for the box conecting itself. Then just like that it disconnects itself from the box and slides back into his arm. He then puts the small box in Fusillade's hand and says in his bassy voice, "All you need to is plug in here and everything will be on the box itself. Just play what you wish to hear, as you can see I have quite the collection for that particular section. I have even contructed a few of my own songs based off of the Aeolian chimes." Mesa smiles for a moment. Such comforting is atypical of the Decepticon ranks. "If you need anything else, just ask.
Magma just shudders once and turns on his heel, making a quick and all together direct path towards the exit. It's almost as if he believes death to be a disease that he could catch!
Scrapper transmits a message via radio to Soundwave.
"Well, what would be the best solution? More power? More processor speed? Space? Memory? Reversing the polarities?" Fusillade asks, lop-sided grin despite herself. It gets wiped off her face the moment that it's suggested that Catechism will indeed KICK the bucket instead of wearing it or collecting it. She looks on with interest at Mesa's offering, surprise clear on her features, although she sags a bit when she sees yet another cable offered her way. "Oh I think I've had enough of wires for now, ugh. But... really? Composing?" And as the silver pods on Magma's wings hover toward the exit, she finger-snaps, "Data crunching guy! That's what he does. Would he have some kind of fancy system that might help?"
Scrapper finishes his transmissions with Soundwave and immediately makes a decision. "Magma... stop where you are. Come on back here for a moment." The Constructicon motions with a lime green finger for the helicopter Con to approach him. Scrapper readies what looks like a tricorder-like handheld scanner. He lets Mesa entertain Fusillade for now. No Hook, no Soundwave... poor Scrapper has to do all the work by himself!
Mesa stands there and thinks for a moment which is then followed by an "Ah!" Another small box comes out of subspace he qucikly grabs the box from Fusillade and attaches it to the underside of the other box. A green light blinks on the top part of the box. He then detaches the bottom of it and sends it back to subspace. He then presses a recessed button on the top of the box and music starts playing just loud enough for Fusillade to hear. Mesa, satisfied with his work, puts the box back in her hand.
Magma freezes, a silent and -vicious- oath slipping from his vocoder, "Yessir..." he utters, turning and moving back. Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of the recharge cell. He comes to a stop a short distance from Scrapper, "How might I be of assistance, sir?"
Fusillade continues to sit upright on the slab, with the resting Catechism and Breakneck on either side of her, with a rainbow jungle of cables and leads joining her to the others and various monitoring equipment. "Good catch," she remarks to Scrapper as he orders Magma to halt. "You know, I have a data padd for that kind of thing," she responds to Mesa. "But it's still nice, and... oh, I really do like the hooting sound they make." The faint sound of whistling and resonant tones reminiscent of digeridoos can be heard from the speakerpack that Mesa attached to the gift. "I will return it once I am done." Fusillade appears to still not want to have to owe anyone.
Sunder enters the Medical Ward because he's still not quite fully healed, and also he needs refuelling. He barely acknowleges the "crowd" that is gathered within, at least for the moment.
Sunder asks the Gumby Medic for refueling. The medic complies.
Scrapper looks upat Magma. He tries to look friendly, but when all you have for a face is a faceplate and a visor, it's pretty tough. "Just hop onto the medical slab, will ya?" he asks, gesturing towards some nurses who are currently pushing over a fourth to join with the other three. "I just need to run a few tests..." it looks like Scrapper already is, as he waves the tricorder thing up and down in Magma's general direction. Initial reports suggest possibly compatibility. A more detailed scan with the help of the heavily equipment will reveal more, but ultimately there's never a way to tell 100, Out of the corner of his optic, Scrapper notices a certain Sweep (he has no idea which one beyond that it isn't Scourge).
Mesa shakes his head. "No worries Ma'am. I have plenty. Consider it a gift." Mesa then salutes Fusillade. He walks back over to his chair and sits down.
Magma replies stiffly, "Sir... I was in the middle of a rather important assignment from Soundwave. I do not think it wise to delay my work..."
Bandit arrives from the NCC Arena to the west after the polished doors swish open for him.
Mesa shakes his head. "No worries Ma'am. I have plenty. Consider it a gift." Mesa then salutes Fusillade. He walks back over to his chair and sits down.
Bandit walks into the medbay and is surprised to see all of the activity. He had been called in for what was supposed to be a routine examination, but things do not seem to be routine. "What is going on here comrades....I just have been receiving communication for a diagnostics....and...." he motions at all the wires. "This seems to be a little bit extreme no?"
Fusillade's shoulders sag a bit at Mesa's woefully predictable formality. "Can't you just be less..." She trails off, and just shakes her head. As Scrapper makes his interest in Magma clear, she begins to look him over more carefully. There were one or two times in passing that she's talked to him, but... the lack of any impression doesn't sit well with her, for some reason. The dark grey and white female hmms to herself, before Bandit strides in. "Hey there, Bandit. It's Catechism," Fusillade says with a bit of regret. "Some tech was trying to impress Soundwave and botched a diagnostic," she explains. "She's been through so much."
Scrapper folds his lime green arms across his chrome and purple chest. "Uh huh. Important assignment from Soundwave, eh?" The Constructicon opens up another frequency to Soundwave, and speaks out loud on it. "Scrapper to Soundwave. Scrapper to Soundwave. Hey Soundwave. I need to borrow Magma for a while. I'll owe you one. Ok?" After a pause, Soundwave's voice can be heard on Scrapper's radio: "Very well." The Constructicon quickly replies, "Thanks. Scrapper out." Turning to Magma, he again gestures to the medical slab. "Problem solved."
To Bandit, he merely nods and motions for him to approach. The Constructicon has been forced to go through -everybody's- medical records in order to find potential donors. "Take a seat," he simply says, motioning to yet another medical slab they're carting on over here.
Magma looks sour, "Very well." he states coldly, the orange blaze of his optics fading almost entirely as he tucks his datapad away, and lightly slides onto the table as he was earlier instructed, looking incredibly unsure about the entire process.
Bandit pauses for a moment and then nods to Fusillade and then to Scrapper. "A donor.....interesting." he makes his way over towards the table and takes a seat. "How long does this process take?" he looks over towards Catechism and his optics flicker. "It is unfortunate....are we knowing the extent of the damage?"
Mesa stops for a moment on his way back to his chair. He turns around to face Fusillade, while going to the at ease position (much to her dismay...) "Ma'am? Did you need something further?"
Sunder just sorta hangs back, listening to the conversations with interest.
Fusillade hmmms as Scrapper pulls Bandit and Magma over, glances down at herself, back to Catechism, and Breakneck. Notices a trend. Perhaps it had to do with fliers having similar construction. Well, a lot of them were Seekers... all of them were... which made her start to wonder -- oh right, emergency, and Scrapper did say she was not ideal. "I hope you guys sleep on the same schedule," she quips weakly, before anxiously rolling the cube around in her palms. The knots of awareness were more restless, one ebbing and flowing in erratic weakness, and the other on stand-by. What would two more be like? What would their phantoms manifest like?
Scrapper considers lying to Bandit, but ultimately figures he might as well play it straight with him. "You might be in it for the long haul, Bandit." The Constructicon first uses the heavy duty neurological scanner on Magma before wheeling it over to Bandit. After several long minutes of testing and poking and prodding, the Constructicon and the other workers huddle around and mutter to one another about what to do. Every so often one of them glances over at the five Decepticons laying next to one another. Magma and Bandit aren't perfect... but they aren't going to get anyone better before Catechism dies.
Magma furrows his brow, "Just... what exactly are you going to do to me?" he glances over at Fusillade as she speaks, his optics widening, "NO!" he starts rather plainly as it becomes clear. The fear that grips him is unmistakable as he starts to rise, intent on fleeing... orders be damned. The irrational fear of the situation grips his very core. It looks like he's ready to bolt right through the huddled group.
Fusillade flicks optics once at Magma's dismay. "You... geeze, thanks," she growls.
Bandit looks over towards Magma with a look of disgust. "Get a grip on yourself comrade...if the process would endanger the rest of us to the degree that you are thinking it would then we would no be here....there are not many decepticons that would be warranting saving by the loss of countless others." his face remains stoic as he waits for the process or procedure to commence.
Scrapper wishes more Decepticons couldb like Bandit. Ready to serve the Empire no matter how it might affect himself. Fantastic! "Hold on there..." Scrapper rushes away from the huddle to Magma's side, ready to hold him down if he needs to. "I can assure you that it's perfectly safe for anyone that isn't Catechism." More or less safe, anyway... "More to the point, you don't really have a choice in the matter. So just suck it up, lay back, and don't argue. Got it?" The other medics are dispersing to both Magma and Bandit's tables.
Fusillade wonders... and then sets aside the music cube and the holofoil pad she had been working on. Anticipation and worry cross her features, starting to wonder how much of the assistance, once the union is made, has to be mental. How much of it would require effort? Given the reactions and outright... incompatibilities of others, she begins to hope that the stabilization based on hardware.
Magma snarls, struggling for a few moments, "You take me for a fool, sir. I am -well- aware of the risks involved in manipulating my core. You expect me to believe that there is no risk?" his optics are blazing now, but he seems to settle slightly, glaring hard at Scrapper, as if he's trying to gather himself, "I... I..." he glances away settling, shamed and fearful. Death, it seems, is something that haunts this mech's very shadow.
The eerie sound of metal slowly creaking to life, movement with joints that have been dormant for a few days finally being moved sounds through the medical bay. Most of the time, Breakneck has been laying here 'asleep' though he's had a few minutes of wakefulness every once in awhile. But now, there's real movement from Breakneck.
"Megatron!? IS THAT YOU!!"
Breakneck says in his perfectly copied Starscream voice as he extends his arms into the air straight up then rises like one of those old zombie movies.
"It's alive! ALIVE!" he continues, this time in Dr. Frankenstein's voice.
Mesa walks back to Fusillad's bed side. Upon hearing the music stop, Mesa not even missing a beat continues the music from his own speakers. Mesa wonders what this meager soldier could offer in the way of moral support to someone like Fusillade. Mesa's optic begins to go over her frame, in an effort to see what sort of assistance he could be. As he studies her some, he is quite impressed with her form as it belies her large vehicle mode. He then repeats to her "Ma'am is there anything else you need?"
Bandit remains still and silent as if he had become a veritable statue. His optics seem to focus on something on the far wall, making his gaze seem as if he is adrift in some other dimension or parallel universe. The seeker has simply shut out all other distractions, hoping to allow himself to be prepared mentally, and to limit the possible mistakes that could be made when he becomes the subject of the project. Things have been quite odd about him ever since his experience with that alien creature....though Catechism's experience was equally as dramatic.
Scrapper snorts at Magma, "Yeah, I sort of do take you for a fool." Scrapper himself has gone through something similar, though admittedly at the time he was plastered out of his mind. It's always a party when Mixmaster's around. "Not lay back and shut up." Scrapper may be one of the more easy-going mechs when none of his hot buttons are being pushed, but he has his limits. Magma has almost reached it. Hopefully the other four won't get cooties from him or anything. Meanwhile, other medics converge on Bandit's position, prepping him for surgery. Unless Magma resists, the Constructicon and his medics work to shut off his motor relays and his tactile sensors. "Alright... now it's the delicate work..." he leans over with a laser scalpel in order to begin the complicated work of exposing the lasercore. Just as the scalpel is about to touch... *MEGATRON?! IS THAT YOU!! IT'S ALIVE! ALIVE!* "Gah!" Scrapper exclaims, almost dropping the tool.
The dulcet tones of the Aeolian chimes wafts Fusillade's way. There's a flicker behind her visor, and she murmurs, "Well, if you insist." At the balking by Magma, she frowns, and barks, "We cannot hestitate. Substitute the helicopter if need be, he's dutiful enough." By this point, the tips of her fingertalons are sunk in the edge of the table, outrage at the selfishness -- Decepticon a trait as it may be -- being displayed right now. And then Breakneck rouses, the tangerine effervescence mixed with the nails-on-chalkboard voice causing her to rise fully off the table from the force of her flinch. Whipping around -- as well as the cables and restraints will allow her, she snarls, "Will you CUT THAT OUT?!?"
Mesa steps back at Fusillade's shouting, but continues to remain in the at ease position. Considering the stress she is under, perhaps its best to not bother her again. So he just stands there. Occasionally he glances over at the rather dilapitated form of Catechism. Mesa wonders what sort of Frankenstein's Monster she will end up as.
Bandit remains where he is, unflinching at the drop of the tool and the excitement coming from across the room. He does not move a millimeter. It is almost eerie as if he has departed his body.
Magma flicks his gaze towards Fusillade, a snarl on his face as he states, "You would not understand, and likely never will." he lays back now however, resigned to his fate.
The sight of Scrapper almost severing some vitally important part of Magma is enough to cause Breakneck to snap into a smirk. But he refrains from it so as not to draw the ire of the infamous Scrapper. Instead his attention is drawn to Fusillade.
The Seeker hovers on over to her, he suddenly spins around so he fine orange and red ass is right in her face and starts to sing!
"Dont cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me! Dont cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me! Dont cha, dont cha! Dont cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me! Dont cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me! Dont cha, dont cha!"
Ass wiggling commences from Breakneck.
Scrapper really hopes Bandit's calm nature is able to overwhelm Breakneck so they can come out around even. He isn't too confident, though. Scrapper resumes work on Magma, ignoring his comments. It isn't long until the chopper mech has a wire going from him to Fusillade to Breakneck to Catechism and all around. It's getting tough to walk around this area of the medbay without tripping over wires - which would be hilarious, if fatal should any come out. Scrapper moves to Bandit and conducts the same procedure. It is long, delicate, and dull.
The thunderstorm, which sent sparks skittering everywhere, molten bright, burning out the structure from within has long since died. The structure's husk had laid there, smoking and slowly falling to ashes in the wind. An fading ember brightens, rekindled by the keening zephyr. The phoenix rises. Catechism's optics blaze to life, and the Seeker twitches. Predictably, she groans and mumbles something about a headache.
"Oh, I think I just MIGHT understand, more than you'd like, very soon," Fusillade jabs, none too thrilled about proposition of two more minds nestling so close to things they shouldn't know. Any consideration she had for the half-dead wholly evaporates at the licentious display before her. Even as the read-outs plateau out to a thankfully level plateua, there's a combative fulmination that dances on the circuits of all linked parties now as Fusillade lunges forward at Breakneck. She hooks fingertalons to dig into the offending posterior. "QUIT. IT."
You strike Breakneck with Clawed Scorn.
Fusillade would probably be less irritable if she just let the electrical multiplexer do its work -- but then again, she wasn't used to having it operating while in robot mode. There is a sizzling snappishness across all feeds, but the one inescapable truth of it all was that it was very much teeming with life.
Scrapper can tell this network is going to be buckets of fun for Breakneck and Fusillade. Ah well. Small price if it saves the life of a Decepticon warrior, right? And hey, this is one hell of a fun experiment! The lime green engineer finishes up on Bandit. After which, he steps towards Catechism's medical slab to review the logs of the various brain scans that the medical bed performs on a regular basis. "Easy now..." he says to Fusillade. "You really, really don't want to be slapping each other right now." He peers at the medical scanner attached to Catechism. Things are looking up! "Feel better?" he asks her now that she's awake.
Sunder watches all this entertainment with quiet bemusement. "So, the Seeker rises again," he muses, then smirks as Fusillade lashes out at Breakneck.
"I know I'm on your mind! I know we'll have a good time! I'm your friend! I'm fun! And I'm fine! I aint lying! Look at me, you aint blind!" Breakneck continues as he wiggles his ass right in front of Fusillade's face. The Seeker is apparently in a world all his own right now.
That is until he has claws sunk right into his ass plating. This causes him to give a grunt of pain as he pulls away. As he pulls away his ass plating /remains/ in Fusillade's hands. Uhoh, Breakneck's ass is now coverless!
"Y'know," Breakneck continues as if nothing wrong has happened here, turning to face Fusillade, "If you wanted my ass so badly, you could have just asked, I'd have given it to you."
Was that a wink from Breakneck?
Behold the phoenix, cast in titanium grey. Catechism sits up, insofar as the cables attached to her allow her to do so, and she answers Scrapper cheerily, "Just fine, oh Captain my Captain!" Catechism pauses and stares blankly. Now where did *that* come from?
Magma lies there, icy cold passing through his body as Scrapper works, not from anything he's doing, but rather the fear that has gripped him. The only means of escape left to him now? Deactivation, and so he enters a rest cycle, as best he can with a mad doctor fiddling with the very essence of him.
Bandit can feel the connection to the others. At first it is a slight tingle at the edge of his perception, but then the raw emotions of the others begin to assail his being. His optics flare angrilly in response to the outburst of Fusillade, but he represses it after a bit. With concentration that would impress some of the most reclusive monks, Bandit begins to use his willpower to try and exude a feeling of calm on the rest of the others. "Comrade Breakneck we must be keeping things as calm as possible....all of our lives are being at stake.....while entertaining.....please sit back down...."
Scrapper finishes his work and shakes his head. This is not where he wanted all of this to go. "You guys stay tight. There's going to be an around the clock watch on you, and medics on standby at all times." The Constructicon heads to one of the medical computers in order to file a report on all this...
Fusillade halts, but not for Scrapper's command. The blast of feedback over her sensors causes her to boggle, and so it's some time that she just sits there, flicking saffron optics a few times at the orange plating in her hands. "OH EW, put it back on!" She flings the metal at Breakneck's head, the physical familiarity nothing compared to what is looming before her. "Are you really... there?" She glances over skeptically at Catechism, before looking back to Bandit and the catatonic Magma. "Hnn. Wonder if he's out because she's awake?" She gets jabbed in the shoulder by one of the techs, who appears to be rather hands-on in demonstrating that yes, she can check this herself. "Smelt. I could go for a Hex Shooter. Who all wants to go down to the Shark's Rib? We can carry the guy with the cool paint job," she grins devilishly.
........................... Decepticon ...........................
Message: 2/35......Posted.......Author Catechism et al....Fri Mar 02...Scrapper
Scrapper again. He looks tired still, as if he just came from more surgery. "Scrapper here," he says in his gruff voice. "I've had to add Bandit and Magma to the lasercore network I have hooked up to Catechism. That makes Catechism, Fusillade, Breakneck, Magma, and Bandit linked together. Sorry to say but they're all on non-combat duty at the moment. On the plus side, Catechism's lasercore is finally completely stable. We should be able to repair the damage at our leisure."
"Lord Galvatron, Scourge, Cyclonus... I need to speak with one of you at your convenience in order to get authorization for certain things. I'm recalling all the Constructicons back to New Crystal City. We have work to do! Scrapper out!" ..................................................................
Catechism stills doesn't know where that phrase came form and glances around in utter bewilderment. She feels peculiar, like she's flying but without own wings. Catechism asks, tone plaintive, "Hey, what happened? Why I am hooked up to all of you? Why does my head hurt?" She sniffs. There's this faintly singed scent, like a lightning strike. Catechism sniffs some more. Scent is coming from inside her? Wha~?
Fusillade isn't quite sure why she chooses the words she does, but picking up a data padd, she advises Catechism casually, "Don't try to think to hard about it. Reports are up. All of this mess is making me sleepy, it hurts to just look at it for too long. Rest up, and maybe they'll let us out of here soon. I look like a spaghetti factory barfed on me." Another worried glance is sent to the Tornado, before she waves to the F-14 and the Sukhoi and the F-35B, "Night." She snaps out wingblades, and steeples them into a tent over her head, and clasps hands atop her still-opened chest. Once she ticks over into rest cycle, things seem less confusing, and quieter.
Bandit nods his head and goes into a sleep cycle. He ponders what his dreams will be like...and if the others will invade his thoughts. A slight grin crosses his face as he fades.
Catechism tries to flag down a medic to give her a datapad with reports on... why she's here. Again. This may be easier said than done. The medics tend to think she's crazy, for some reason. Well, she wanted to get some reading done, right? Looks like she'll have all the time in the world.