mosaic_archive: and scratched or NPC charas... (Internet Theater)
Leviathan had the afternoon off and had planned to spend it on the beach in the Nexus with Thomas and Childre, but as soon as they arrived she had the feeling this was one of those days that was going to be an example of the old saying about Fate laughing when you make plans. Every part of the beach a high tide could have reached was littered with pieces of metal and plastics, circuitry and scrap.

"This is sick!" Thomas complained, as he picked up one of the fragments with a disgusted look. "Who litters on a beach like this? It looks like they raided a junkyard and just... dumped it."

"This violates about a thousand environmental regulations, or it would if the Nexus wasn't outside of everyone's jurisdiction," Childre agreed, and then half-smiled when he noticed Thomas squirm. He couldn't help enjoying the other boy's annoyance at being on the same side as him in anything.

After a second, Thomas sighed. "Fine. So me and the parolee actually agree on something. But what do we do now, Levi? We can't just leave the beach like this!"

"I'm calling in a salvage team," Leviathan told the boys. "They'll clean it up and see if anything's recyclable." Taking note of the piece Thomas is holding she sent an addendum to her message off, and sighed. "Though it could take a while. That looks like antique circuitry, and that means they won't be able to use Magflies if we want to find out if there's any interesting information Metal Shark or Gate can recover."

"I guess this means we're not going swimming." Childre scowled at the messy beach.

"Hey, I'm not just leaving things like this," Thomas insisted. "There could be bits of junk under the water. I want to stay and help with the clean-up."

Leviathan nodded. If they wanted to stay, she wasn't going to talk them out of helping. She pulled one of the black pieces free of the sand and frowned at it, sending off another message. "I've called Punk, too. Some of this... it looks like an old car." If anyone could positively identify parts of an antique automobile, it would be Punk Wily.

"So some jerk blew up a car all over the beach?" Thomas just shook his head. He couldn't understand why anyone would do that.

"That's what it looks like," Leviathan said, with a shrug.

It didn't take long for Punk to arrive on the scene. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. It only took a glance to see that Leviathan's report had been accurate... the beach was one hell of a mess. He walked over to the nearest decently-sized black fragment and tugged it loose for examination.

What he saw didn't make any sense. All that damage, and the paint didn't even look scratched. The force of the explosion seemed to have torn the fender panel off the frame, with the connecting bolts being the weak point. "Huh..." He searched around until he located a nearby door panel, and frowned as he glanced over the general suggested shape.

"What is it, Punk?" Leviathan asked.

Punk just scowled at her as he picked out a spot above the high-tide line to start trying to organize the black pieces into something recognizable. "I ain't sure what it is," he said after a moment. "I mean, the car looks to maybe be an 80's Pontiac... Trans-Am or Firebird. But there's somethin' weird here." His interest in classic cars made this worse than a bad case of littering, but the mystery grated on him as well.

"Have we come at a bad time?" A voice interrupted before Leviathan could question Punk as to just what he meant by that.

She didn't recognize the voice, and looked over to see an unfamiliar man with a picnic basket, accompanied by what she suspected were his wife and two children. "Oh. Sorry, sir. We had other plans too, but when we arrived... well, you see the mess."

Edward Nigma nodded, the picnic basket over one arm now feeling even more out of place than the rest of him. While being temporarily stuck on an island gave one plenty of beach access, it also meant that sometimes you really just wanted to see a different beach. Well, at least he could say this was certainly different.

Tad Nigma definitely saw the mess, noting the scattered debris all along the beach, the man with the yellow scarf picking through it with a frown as if looking for something specific, and the other man with the red and black hair gathering up all the bits with black paint. He broke into a huge grin as he looked up at his father. "It's all in pieces, like a big puzzle. Dad? Can we stay and help put it together? Please?"

Leviathan blinked in surprise at that. "I don't know if the salvage team would bother reassembling anything, just cleaning up the scrap for recycling..."

Tad turned his pleading expression on her instead. "Aww, that's no fun. Can't we try to match some of it up?"

Before he could get an answer the man with the yellow scarf approached them and placed a hand on Leviathan's arm to get her attention.

"Cancel salvage and call for med-evac," Blues said softly, looking at the twisted blue California licence plate he'd found. There were four letters on it in bright yellow.

KARR
mosaic_archive: and scratched or NPC charas... (Internet Theater)
The surreal dream was already falling into half-remembered fragments, replaced by an awareness of laying down and a confused mixture of aching pain and numbness. Memory began to reassert itself through the haze, but it only brought confusion. Based on the last things he could remember happening, the only way he should be waking up is if he were now less than two foot tall. And while Rick Myers felt decidedly strange, he didn't feel like a puppet. Though, he had to admit to himself, he didn't really know firsthand what being a puppet would feel like.

A familiar and cheery giggle nearby prompted him to attempt to open his eyes. To his confusion and relief, he wasn't the same size as the smiling marionette perched on the side of the bed. Another explanation for the way he felt came to mind. "I'm on some really heavy painkillers, right?"

"Uh huh," was the whispery reply that needed no translation.

Another sliver of memory resurfaced and, if one of the puppets hadn't been nearby to answer some questions, he might well have tried to force himself out of bed to find out on his own. "Susie..."

Jester pointed across the hospital room and Rick relaxed when he saw his wife asleep in another bed not far away. Pinhead waved from where he was sitting on the bedside table next to Susan's bed.

Rick still had no idea how they could have possibly survived what had just happened, but they had. For now, that would be enough. Later he'd want an explanation, when he felt up to listening to what he had no doubt was going to be a hell of a story.
It had taken hours to gather all the food, but it was done. The crates are ready, labeled in code, and suspected coordinates for Fafnir's Death Valley base have been discovered.

Now they just need to figure out how to get the food to Fafnir without getting shot. The large crates are stacked outside the warehouse, on hover-carts to make it easier to move them.

X is there, of course, after Zero showed up to wake him. He looks like he might actually have gotten some sleep at least. So are several others. It's going to take a lot of people to move those crates, even piled on carts.
[Below is an archived version of one thread response to a LiveJournal post here, because LiveJournal became hard to impossible for me to access. Icons and threading not preserved, nor are other peoples' replies.]


[DWN 022 Snake Man (sssfoundyou@livejournal.com)]
There's an odd snake themed robot taking in the sights of the Nexus. Or maybe it's been a while since he's been around. He doesn't seemed too surprised about where he is, either way. He stops when a small, more snake like robot slithers up to him and bends down to let it crawl up his arm.

"How free should information be? If some information could cause problems in certain hands, should it be limited to a select few who wouldn't spread it?" There's a slight hiss in his speech, but what else do you expect from a robot based on a snake.

[Below is an archived version of one thread response to a LiveJournal post here, because LiveJournal became hard to impossible for me to access. Icons and threading not preserved, nor are other peoples' replies.]


["Leo" (donsdammitdoll@livejournal.com)]
"N-nh!" There is a turtle clambering into the nexus, eyes dazed and confused. He keeps walking forward, trying to find some way back to where he was before. Not that it was a nice place to be, but at least he knew where he was dammit!

Still, it was nice to move around freely, with out the chain on his neck choking him, and this place, it smelled nice. It wasn't like the sanctuary.

He looks up at the sign, thinking for a moment. Words! He knew those! He could read those!

"I...I...Help?" He asks in a harsh, barely used voice. He tugs at the chain and collar around his neck and groans in pain.