Captain's Cabin

[hellsbel]

A neat, soldierly space, with personal items stowed out of sight in latched cupboards. Station chairs are clamped to the floor by a small table and comconsole; a vast assortment of weapons hangs on one wall and a washroom door is outlined on the other. The reading lamp is a relic, made out of a slagged helmet. A neatly made bed is visible in the back.

PSLs

Out-of-game threading goes here! (And does not necessarily have to be set in Bel's cabin, though that's a great place to get a cup of tea.<3)

Comments

Wow, Bel. Learn to nanigans!

[notglitching]

Sound doesn't carry in a vacuum. There's very little vacuum left between them, though, and Bel will feel a jarring surge of vibration pressing through their suit from behind. Something mechanical and broken, something liquid and angry and wrong.

They'll also feel a curved edge digging in across their front—and rising to intercept the lifting hand. Activating his disk risks killing a potential source of data, but Rinzler recognized the shape of that weapon on his way down. If he can knock it aside without the blade, he will, and if not... better the user than him.

Not that he doesn't have other concerns. The sideways twist aims Rinzler's dock straight for the ground; he curls in, turning to take the blow on a shoulder instead. Rebound is immediate, only a fraction of an instant's contact with the ground... but speed has never been the enforcer's weak point. He slams down a foot at a sharp angle, sending them off at a corkscrewing, rapid spin across the room.

[hellsbel]

That broken-console sound thrums through the pressure suit, cold and deadly and familiar. A glint of red on one knuckle -- a bright glow through a film of desiccating blood -- confirms the impossible, even before Bel recognizes the wicked curve of the rising disc. It's a brand of impossible that seems to happen far too often nowadays.

Spotty memories or no, Bel's priorities shift immediately from 'disable' to 'disengage'. Despite rigorous training since returning to Ariel, there's a skill gap uncloseable by simple human reflex: Rinzler, damn the dehumanizing mores of the system that birthed him, is literally designed for this. The perfect, programmable soldier.

Secondary priority: get away from that disc.

The stunner hand lashes back to the right, forgoing the shot for a chance at deflecting Rinzler's disc arm. Simultaneously, Bel twists right and elbows down at the encircling arm, hoping to break its grip and let the next impact throw them apart.

Their helmets are touching, Bel's large enough to allow freedom of movement without providing a choke point in an industrial environment. Maybe a shout will transfer; maybe not. Bel shouts anyway.

"Rinzler! Stand down!"

[notglitching]

Weapon arm collides with weapon arm, each keeping the other from full effect. It's a fair trade as far as Rinzler's concerned, especially as he'd still prefer not to activate that blade. Bel's elbow, however, will simply be ignored; Rinzler's grip digging in tighter to lock down his prey despite the squirming. He's not a user—not as weak as one—and if Rinzler's taste runs more to precision strikes and displays of agility than this close-contact mess, that's all the more reason to get it over with quickly.

Rapid-fire calculations track their vector as the room twists past in periphery, a cycling blur of walls-ceiling-floor. This time, the user can be their point of impact, and his limbs tuck, shifting a little to be sure. There's a buzzing vibration at the point of contact in their shells, an odd noise that doesn't quite match the feedback from his own. Shouting? Stupid, pointless... unless it has a comm line open. Scans sharpen, checking to be sure...

The faint stiffness that coils through their captor's frame, Bel will definitely be able to feel. No comm line, no call, but a match, signature identified and known. Bel_Thorne. User security (former security) from the system they both shared until it crashed. Part of the group he's tagged along with since, in their (pointless) (hateful) search for the Portal.

Ally? No, not in the least. But Rinzler knows them.

And they, unlike the other errors who'd walked in, know Rinzler.

He clings on through the ricochet. It's only after that Bel will see a curve of light flare to life, white edge surrounding the red-orange ring as Rinzler activates his disk. They know the weapon, they know what it can do, but there's no move to slice or throw, no attempt to bypass their weak block. Instead, Rinzler twitches his blade carefully: toward the stunner, then away.

Drop it.

[hellsbel]

The grapple doesn't break. Getting the disc further away from the vulnerable pressure suit would have been a win, if they both hadn't been wheeling out of control. Rinzler's as much at home in null-g as Bel is, tucking in to sharpen their trajectory, and the impact catches Bel on one shoulder -- shit, that's going to be sore tomorrow.

All Bel can do is reach for the strap on the pressure-crate block they'd hit, fumbling the first one but latching firmly onto the second. The crates are secure, lashed down against any change in gravity, and Bel's arm becomes a pivot. It's pure luck that Bel's feet hit the crates next, landing them in a crouch that absorbs enough of the impact so the rest doesn't rip them away again.

It's a hectic half-second or two. But Bel doesn't miss Rinzler's reaction to the shout -- they hardly can, with the program plastered to their back, the grip immovable. He heard it, at least. Whether he understood or not... well, that's yet to be learned.

The lit disc, with its accompanying gesture, needs no further words.

Bel waits a fraction of a moment, just to show deliberation, and then extends the stunner arm away from Rinzler, fingers mostly opening. They're not going to use it, but letting it ricochet around the bay would not be the action of a responsible soldier. Stooping just a little more, Bel tucks the stunner between the cargo strap and the corrugated depressions in the crate beneath them, then releases it, shifts upward until it's out of easy reach, and goes still, looking over the aching shoulder at Rinzler's blank helmet.

Now what?

[notglitching]

The deliberation is noted. The response, acceptable. Rinzler waits a beat before the arm around the user loosens, legs drawing up to launch off their lower back with a silent burst of pressure that spells stay. Limbs uncoil as he spins, performing one full revolution before the program drifts back into the wall, foot hooking a protruding net of unused rigging. The black helmet stays fixed on the user, disk ready and in hand. Still, if Bel doesn't move for the stunner, the humming, ready edge will darken.

Easy enough to light the weapon at need. Easy to split it, easy to throw, to add another user shell to this room's complement. Maybe he should. Bel_Thorne isn't an ally, and they've proved themself a valid threat before. Bel_Thorne had made it clear they thought much worse of him, the last time he killed users. Thrashing and aimless, something to be caged and sent away. Given to other users for keeping and correction. Wasn't that what they had recommended?


Is that why he's here?


...Unlikely. If editing is (as always) an unknown, it seems improbable that any captors would manage to wipe all memory of how he got here without stopping him from fighting back. And if this user did have a part in it, he doubts they would be stupid enough to step so carelessly in reach.

No, calculations favor some kind of group transport. It wouldn't be the first time. Which means that ally or not, he and the user still share a likely goal. Assessment reached, Rinzler reaches down with his free hand, snagging an inventory tally off the wall. The pad gets tossed unceremoniously in Bel's direction as Rinzler reaches for his own communicator. The network functions have been down since he woke up, but it still works fine for base projections.

Location?