DGS4 Phase 2 -- The Beacon

[The Man in Red]

Persons Present:
Rebecca Chambers
Sherlock Holmes
Wunya
Stitch
4 generic Carnivale employees

Perhaps in some small mercy, the foul weather brought with it a small blessing. Once getting clear of the actual scene of the crash where the snow and ice had been churned and disturbed, it became evident it was packed so densely that in spite of how deep it appeared, it was quite easy to walk atop, only a few inches giving way underfoot.

After taking a moment to borrow a suitably warm coat and scarf (or at least warmer than his ordinary clothing, meant only to repel the chilly rain of city streets and not this hellish blizzard), Holmes had quickly dashed after the others as they trekked out toward the distant beacon. Whether by fault or charm of the detective's antics, a small handful of the surviving employees of the crash had likewise broken off after them. They were only marginally better prepared for any of this than the contestants, having been kept in the dark about any details of the entire affair, but did at least seem to know that the area would be quite cold. Thus they had at the least adopted the standard Carnivale cold weather uniforms, for all the good it would do them.

If nothing else, they would be more hands to drag along supplies.

The swirling winds made it hard to tell how far the beacon was, its dim red light pulsing steadily in the distance at what seemed like an almost mockingly consistent distance. Time, too, became hard to really measure or keep track of in this cold and wind, blocking out even the sun to keep track of passage or time; had it been minutes or hours since they'd trudged off away from the crash?

It wasn't until the scene of the crash itself had well and truly vanished into the snow behind them, that something began to actually waver into view ahead against the veil of white. A red and white communications tower or the like, though quite small in scale, only rising up about fifteen feet at most. At its top, a red light was fixed, softly and steadily brightening and dimming in a rotating pattern.

It was fenced in, within an area perhaps twenty feet on a side, which gave only slight shelter from the wind but did manage to keep out some of the snow and leave the ground more clear. The most bizarre thing of all though...was what seemed to be within the fence. At the console at the small tower's base there was a humanoid shape, slumped over against the panel. Clad in thick cold weather survival gear in the Carnivale's patterns, lined with heavy fur and snow-encrusted boots. They were covered only in a thin layer of frost and rime, and now completely frozen stiff as one might expect if they'd been out here for any length of time. Most bizarrely was the complete absence of any tracks or prints at all, and the nearby sign of a heavy backpack, covered in thick layers of ice and snow, frozen shut and nearly solid.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

The thickly-clumped powder underfoot was a small grace, allowing their motley crew to travel at a swifter pace than the barren tundra might have otherwise allowed.

Rebecca was glad for it, too. Clad in her field gear and a greyish woolen coat drawn tight, she couldn't suppress the tremors that wracked her frame with every step—her boots crunching lightly over the snow's surface, leaving shallow prints in their wake. Her breath, made visible by the bitter cold, dissipated into misty phantoms with every exhale, whisked away mere seconds later by the coarse wind scouring the icy terrain.

At her side stalked Colonel Moran, straight-backed and glaring around at their surroundings, a faint sneer of derision tugging at her upper lip. Upon hearing Rebecca's teeth starting to chat-chat-chatter, she swiftly turned her head and regarded the scientist with a hint of purely practical concern, her apparent dislike for their surroundings only increasing.

"Are you alright there, Dr. Chambers?" the sniper asked, her crisp words cutting across the howling wind.

Hunching her shoulders to turtle further inside her coat's ruffled collar, shielding her already stinging, red-tinged cheeks from the elements, Rebecca nodded weakly.

"I'll... I'll m-manage, Colonel. This is just... a b-bit more extreme than I thought," she managed to stammer out, her voice sounding shaky and feeble in the face of the harsh, biting cold. She nervously licked at her chapped lips, then immediately regretted it—the incredible frigidity in the air making even the tiniest introduction of moisture a monumentally bad idea.

Sebastian's mouth curled in a tight-lipped smile, the sort that spoke volumes of her own discomfort and her staunch refusal to bow to it. "We're made of stern stuff, you and I. A bit of snow won't be our undoing, of that I’m certain."

It was then that the peculiar sight of a tower loomed into view from amidst the curtain of falling snow and dark clouds, its pulsing red beacon coming into stark focus above lofty walls made of stone. As they neared, a slumped figure at the base of the tower took shape through the chain link gate—a person, or what once was, frozen in a tragic slump over what appeared to be a panel of some sort.

"A communications tower," Rebecca murmured, tilting her head back to take in the full breadth of the red and white-striped structure, pursing her lips. Her bright green gaze turned to the four Carnivale employees who had accompanied them, questioning. "Do you guys know what's up with this, then?"

"...Communications?" a man in a coat and masquerade mask suggested, shrugging his shoulders in evident uncertainty.

It took everything Rebecca had not to scowl at him. Smart-ass.

An equally masked woman, stepping a bit ahead of her comrades, spoke up next. "It's a tower designed specifically for whatever Carnivale facility is in the area. In case of an emergency, it can be used to directly communicate with HQ, even if there’re disruptions in internal communications within the facility itself..."

Holmes, always attuned to the minutiae of what was quite evidently a crime scene, muttered conjectures under his breath, his piercing gaze fixed upon the situation through the gate. Beside him stood Wunya, bundled in her tracksuit, guarding the small creature known as Experiment 626, the blue alien nestled safely over her muscled chest inside what appeared to be... a baby carrier, scavenged from the wreck.

"It appears," began Holmes, lightly fixing his plum-colored scarf with a short, quick tug. "That someone was trying to alert your headquarters of an urgent matter, but was foiled in the attempt."

"Foiled," repeated Rebecca, staring bleakly at the frozen body, the intermittent, hellish-red glare of the beacon casting over her features, illuminating the dainty snowflakes clinging to her lashes. "Seems about right."

Scanning what was visible of the area via the gate with a tactical eye, Moran cleared her throat.

"I'll scale the wall," she stated bluntly, tipping her face down to look squarely at Rebecca, otherwise completely ignoring the others. "The rest of you, stay here by the gate. If there's danger afoot, I’d rather not have it catch us all unawares."

Without waiting for a response, she slung her rifle from her back, its dark barrel a clear contrast against the unspoiled white of the snowfield around them. Then, in a blur of her stark red uniform, Moran leaped, her boots finding purchase on the cold stone before propelling her atop the wall in a single, graceful bound.

She perched there, crouched and silent as a cat, her boots lightly scraping against the collected rime of frost lining the stone underfoot. Her fingertips and palms gently gripped the ledge to steady herself, the freezing ice burning against her hands.

Her face creased with concern, Rebecca watched her go—the colonel's uniform like a spot of blood against the endless white.

"Be careful!" she called out as loudly as she dared, her words barely carrying over the raging of the wind.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Moran gave a brisk nod, her focus now on the slumped figure. She began to advance, pacing atop the wall, her steps careful and deliberate, scanning the interior of the fenced-in area for any danger.

Holmes, who seemed content to observe from afar for now, turned his attention to Rebecca. "An unusual scene, but certainly not one I’m unfamiliar with… considering. What are your thoughts on the situation, doctor?"

Rebecca shifted her weight, the crunch of the snow beneath her boots ringing in her ears.

"It’s strange," she replied quietly after a moment, watching Moran's figure balance atop the wall with a frown. "There are no tracks, no real signs of a struggle. It's almost as if they just… appeared there, with the snow and everything. This has to be one of this... this Site Seven's towers, though. I don't think it's just a simple issue of assassins and murder attempts. Whoever contacted me through that laptop... they had something to do with the train crash, and maybe this, as well. But the freezing temperatures have both preserved things and made it difficult to spot any immediate answers..."

His green eyes lighting up with interest, the detective nodded. "Precisely," he murmured, evident excitement coloring his tone. "A mystery, shrouded by this loathsome cold!"

They watched in silence as Moran circled along the wall, searching for an angle to jump down and get a closer look.

I can't just stand here and do nothing. I just can't, thought Rebecca, looking at the chain link gate before her. If anything happens, I'll get in there and help her out.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes, Wunya, Stitch.
CURRENT LOCATION: North beacon, communications tower.
ACTION(S): After finding what she believes to be a good spot, Sebastian Moran will jump down into the fenced-in area and check out the body and backpack. Rebecca will open the gate, but only venture inside to look around if given an all clear or if trouble brews.
FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA.
• Sunglasses.
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop.
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Pince-nez style glasses.
• Legal pad (Carnivale contestants' names listed).
• Psychology manuals.
• Site Seven notebook.

 

[The Man in Red]

Trouble!​

As Moran jumped down into the small fenced in area around the comms tower, the noise of wind outside seemed to starkly and suddenly dissipate, howling overhead but mostly blocked out by the sturdy walls. Drawing close to the body, and slowly pulling it aside, its entire mass crackled and crinkled like delicate ice splintering and shattering. As it finally toppled over altogether onto the snowy ground, it rolled over once to sprawl out on its side, head lolling face-first down into the snow, and the true extent of what had befallen it was revealed.

The entire front of the poor sod's gear had been torn apart by something, sporting a mixture of burn marks, slashes what looked like bullet holes to a cursory inspection. Beneath the heavy cold weather gear was what looked almost like some kind of diving suit, or other similar form-fitting bodysuit or the like. What skin and flesh was visible through the damage was frozen nearly solid, a dark sickly blue tinging in places with green and black.

The more surprising thing was the console for the comms tower itself: an access card had been left inserted, as if it were in the midst of being used, but it was perforated and nearly destroyed by what looked like a savage assault from...icicles? Large spikes of ice were impaled and jabbed into the machinery, shattering the screens and keys beyond any hope of use.

As Moran turned around to regard the backpack, breaking the ice and ripping it open, she found....perhaps some expected supplies. Emergency survival and cold weather exposure gear, spare boots and gloves, some survival rations, a large ring of keys, and a partially crumpled folder labeled 'Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols'.

No sooner had she fished this last item out, however, did something shift amid the snow. The seeming corpse of the Carnivale employee stirred, and then slowly rose up from its prone position. Silent as the grave, it heaved up to stand, and slowly turned around, the ragged edges of its fur-lined hood hovering into view to reveal....a piercing, cold blue-white light, shining like a searchlight, from within the shadowy depths, hiding whatever face might have been within. The same ghostly blue light filtered down, flaring to life and erupting out of every rend and tear in the thing's clothes, casting the entire yard around the comms tower into stark, pale illumination.

It lifted one arm, the more intact one, as it took a step forward. A sound burst forth, whether from what was left of the comms tower's speakers or from the creature itself it was hard to tell: static-y, screeching, echoing and resonating like electronic microphone feedback. Sparks and flickering arcs of electricity jumped and flashed down the tower, into the panel and out through the ground, racing away into the distance along what must have been buried wires, as the walking abomination lumbered forward, icy mist seeping off of every inch of its body.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

The sudden flare of light seized Sebastian's attention, of course—the yard around her distorted into a violent chiaroscuro of stark whites and depthless shadows, her already pale features rendered a ghostly mask in the otherworldly glow emanating from the abomination.

She didn't have time to marvel at the surreal horror of it all; survival instincts kicked in, every ether-laced nerve inside her body screaming to act.

Sebastian quickly lowered her gaze, using her cap's visor to shield her eyes from the blinding glare. She snatched up the keys and the crumpled folder, her fingers numb, blundering with cold. As she backed away, the creature's light cast long, twisting shadows around her that seemed to come alive, stretching and contorting like spindly hands reaching out to drag her back towards it.

"Colonel!" Rebecca shouted from the gate, and Sebastian grit her teeth at the sound of metal rattling as the scientist tried to wrestle it open.

Sharp and urgent, Sebastian's voice cut through the raging wind and the sound of electrical components sizzling and popping like fireworks in the night. "Dr. Chambers, hold your position!"

Rebecca's eyes widened in worry, her body tensed as if to spring into action, but she held herself back—for now. She averted her gaze from the dreadful shine emanating from the strange creature, her focus instead locked on Sebastian's comparatively dark silhouette, gripping the cold metal of the gun holstered at her hip until her knuckles turned white.

The icy mist that clung to the creature's tattered, staggering frame swirled and eddied around Sebastian's feet as it continued its slow, relentless approach, the unnatural blue-white light beneath its hood pulsing like a heartbeat, intensifying with every forward lurch. The static screech that had erupted earlier gave way to an unnerving silence, the only sound the crunch of ice as the creature moved and the ravenous wailing of the wind.

It grasped for her with one cadaverous hand, the air around them crackling with a palpably frigid energy that set Sebastian's teeth on edge.

Watching from the gate, Rebecca lifted a hand to shield her eyes at the new flash of light, looking over again with a slight wince.

"Come on, come on," she whispered, her heart in her throat, barely able to glimpse the faintest shadow of Sebastian's form backing slowly away from the creeping, ice-cold menace, the soft hiss of snow underfoot drowned out by the creature's ghastly screaming.

She needed to buy Sebastian more time... but how?!

The Samurai Edge hung at her side, heavy and reliable. With practiced ease born from countless drills, Rebecca's fingers curled around the molded grip of the handgun, snapping it from its holster with a sharp click.

Sebastian's eyes flicked to the keys and folder in her hand, then to the tower, to Rebecca, to the abominable monstrosity before her.

With a sudden, reckless decision, the Assassin-class servant punted what remained of the frozen backpack at the creature's glowing form. She used the distraction to hurl herself to the side, her boots skidding across the ice and spraying a curtain of slush, every scrap of military training she'd ever received now honed to a single impetus: getting the fuck out of dodge.

The creature emitted a sound—a staticky, distorted and unintelligible screeching noise that might have been a shriek of rage. Frigid light erupted from it once more, slicing across the yard in a wave of blue-tinged white.

But Sebastian didn't look back. She raced towards the wall, the keys and folder clenched tightly in her grasp.

Raising her handgun, Rebecca took a split second to steady her aim through the chain link. The... the thing was a morass of blackened flesh and pulsating, cold light beneath the threadbare husk of its rippling, fur-lined coat, a blight upon the pristine snow surrounding it. It moved with ungainly movements, the sort one might expect of a corpse unluckily bound to life.

Her finger found the safety, flicking it off without so much as a glance.

Rebecca sucked in a sharp breath, held it—the way she'd been trained—and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! The report of the gun rang out, the bullet striking the creature in the head—its hooded skull snapping back as if on a hinge, slowly craning in the direction of the party gathered beyond the gate.

Her movements a blur of red and black, Sebastian crested the wall in a remarkable bound, her boots skidding lightly against the stone as they gripped the tiniest crevice.

As she reached the top of the wall, she spun 'round and raised her rifle to her shoulder. She peered through the scope, glaring down at her target and steadying her breath.

"Not salvageable," she muttered, and lined up the shot.

CRACK!

WORDCOUNT: 802 words.

ACTION(S): Rebecca and Moran providing suppressive fire. Wunya and Experiment 626 will also be posting, probably tomorrow.

LOOTED ITEMS:

Ring of Keys
Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

The frozen fractals all around the ground shone like miniature diamonds when the entity burst the purest of light from beneath its hood. The entire stone enclosure was lit up in the darkness around them as Wunya took in the scene, scanning quickly and only moving her bright green eyes as they darted from Moran to Rebecca to Holmes.


The large Coach was already on the move as she spoke to the Experiment strapped to her chest before both shots from the two other women filled the otherwise silent night.


“I do not like this,” she said out loud, reaching Rebecca at the chain-link gate and placing a hand on her that nearly swallowed the Scientist's entire shoulder. “Good shot. Keep steady hands in this thing, please. Do not miss and hit me or tiny blue creature,” and with that, Wunya and the bobbing Stitch in the baby carrier were through the gate.


The hooded monstrosity was still recoiling from the high-powered round that Moran had fired as Wunya grabbed the frozen backpack up by a strap and spun once before letting it fly to smack into the back of the thing. It was quicker to recover from that, but the intention proved fruitful as its focus shifted off the wall-running Colonel, moving the spotlight face to try and catch the blur of green in a tracksuit like she was an escaped prisoner within the stone walls that surrounded them.


The half-orc dove behind the control panel as blinding light burst around all sides of it and Wunya shut her eyes, holding Stitch close to her chest as he squirmed for freedom.


“Hold on little Experiment six-two-six. It is not time for you to do a thing,” she said, before another report from the rifle came from above and the light spun away from their direction. Wunya blinked open her eyes, popping her head up and doing a new calibration of the predicament.


Another gunshot rang out, softer but with the same effect of distraction. The Coach caught the eyes of Moran who pointed to a crouching Detective Holmes as he moved along the wall, unnoticed within the current barrage the three women were unleashing upon the frozen light-up cadaver. Wunya nodded to Moran, then sprinted as the beam-face shone in Rebecca's direction as she hid behind the wall near the gate, Doctor Chambers being the latest to pull attention towards her.


The Mage-Hunter scooped the icy and hard-like-stone backpack up again, this time carrying it with her as she bounded the last few steps and gave a THWACK, to the back of the frozen hood, which caused it to take a stutter step in its cold rigor mortis, and only inches separated her large and muscular back from theirs as she stepped around it, using her ever shuffling feet in small steps and turns to keep its back almost against hers like she would do with so many magic users before, wary of hands that could burn, shock, or freeze, as the creature tried to keep up with its dumb, frozen legs.


Wunya caught Rebecca’s stare now and they too nodded at one another, before both located Holmes who was almost accomplished in his mission of sleuthing to the control panel. The Coach bounded away, dodging one way, and another, zig-zagging to keep the light away and off her and Stitch. Another shot rang out, the entity spinning with the momentum of a bullet-punch to its shoulder.


“Little Blue Champion of Chaos, are you ready to be unleashed? Go help the pretty man with bad ratiocination in this thing. We will continue to distract,” Wunya said, and with one click from between her shoulders, and a second click from around her waist, Experiment 626 dropped to the ground, set free in all his mischievous glory.

Party: Rebecca (Moran), Holmes, Stitch, Wunya
Action: Distracting ‘Lightdude’ with Moran and Rebecca while Stitch and Holmes investigate the control box. Experiment 626 will be posting today, too.
Focus: 3/3

 

[King Shark]

Stitch, unleashed, touched down on the ground close to Wunya and their shambling adversary. Like a sprinter he coiled then pushed himself off the ground with the force of a spring pinched between thumb and forefinger; he raced on all six paws, spider-like in his speed and his form, and crossed the gap between the ongoing melee and the porcupined control panel.

There he found Holmes, deaf to the chaos in his rearview, focused on the machinery rendered useless by the icicles jutting from its paneling like so many needles in a pincushion.

Perhaps jarred by a sudden shock of hyacinth blue in his peripheral vision, Holmes looked down to observe Stitch drawing up close to his knee. The experiment spared the detective a cursory glance with giant coal eyes before looking over his shoulder to take in the state of the events at his back.

Wunya’s footwork was immaculate, as could be expected from a coach and a former Mage Hunter. When her opponent lurched to gain ground she kept pace, engaging in a bizarre, high-stakes, reverse box step dance that kept her back to back with their luminous quarry. Shots rang out, punching a harsh rhythm to their unusual tango. The strange beacon of lights combined with the low visibility of the storm painted strange lighting across Wunya’s green skin. Stitch was reminded of a dark ballet, where Wunya held center stage, and the consequences of a misstep might draw the performance to an abrupt and disastrous end. Curtain call for the orc, perhaps, who’d risen in Stitch’s ranking system from expendable to expendable but useful. The fur on the back of his neck stood up, and he forced down a shudder of horror or excitement.

Holmes, too, watched in mute fascination before exchanging a glance with the small alien, whose companionable silence drew an appreciative nod from the gumshoe. Stitch wondered if they were going to kiss, and felt a crazy laughter bubbling up in his chest, threatening to burst from him at any moment.

Then the moment passed, though the experiment’s smirk remained. Two neuro-divergents wrapped up in chaos who couldn’t help but stop to appreciate the absurdity of the moment.

In wordless tandem the duo focused their attention on the console.

The cold was getting to Holmes. Stitch could tell by the stiff way the detective maneuvered his fingers around the lectern-like console; while he endeavored to be delicate, there was a notable clumsiness in the way the man searched the disheveled electronics. He touched one of the icicles with the tip of his finger, chewed his lip in thought, then gestured for Stitch to offer his assistance.

And so he did.

Tough as starched denim, and covered in fur, Stitch found that his digits were still fully functioning. He clambered up the height of the console and stood, one foot on either side of its control panel, and regarded it with careful consideration.

“Not good!” he croaked, pointing at the screen, before cracking a toothy grin. “Broken.”

There was a moment’s pause within which Stitch considered his next course of action before his tenuous hold on his impulse control gained the upper-hand in his considerations.

He reached for the access card with four hands, wrapped an incredible amount of fingers around the entirety of its rectangular edges, then gave the card a sharp yank.

WORD COUNT: 560
PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes, Wunya, Stitch.
CURRENT LOCATION: North beacon, communications tower.
ACTION(S): Stitch, accompanied by Holmes, will investigate the console while Wunya, Sebastion Moran, and Rebecca Chambers attempt to distract their strange foe. Additionally, Stitch will attempt to procure the access card lodged in the machinery.
FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
INVENTORY: Survival Gear

 

[The Man in Red]

Conclusion​

The onslaught against the bizarre walking corpse had seemed to do a number on it. Its brittle, ragged form sported several new and grievous additions to its already present damage, but it seemed miraculously unbothered and continued its lumbering pursuit, its outstretched arm groping and grasping at who and whatever its attention was focused on.

As Stich ripped the access card free from the console, it came loose with a crackling of ice, and what was left of the console's functions shut down with a low groaning of tortured machinery and electrical components.

The moment it did, another flickering arc of electricity sputtered and crackled, racing along buried wires beneath the ice and up the tower. It flared and arced, crackling wildly as it shot out and carved sizzling lines across the walls and turned snow to slush and steaming water. The frozen cadaver went stock still, jerking and spasming intermittently as electrical arcs and pops shot out of it.

The blinding light from within its frame went out with a weak, feeble sputtering, leaving behind only a dim blinking green light somewhere at its collar. A weak voice, tinny and quiet as if struggling to speak, could faintly be heard over the wind. Interspersed with static, it was hard to make out clearly, but it seemed frantic, frightened, and tired.

"Shit...shit! Damn suit...it's..." There was a noise of something shuffling, cracking, followed by a strangled gasp and scream of unarticulated pain. "My...my arm...! It...it's...th-the medical lockdown. The cold is..." There was a droning, grinding whine of servos and the sound of something wet spattering and another whimpering, screaming sound of pain. "No...I was...almost to the c-comms..."

The blinking light at the suit's collar sputtered and grew dimmer, fading to red. "It's...so cold...I ain't gonna make it, huh?" The voice drifted off, into nothing but static, as the wind blew the corpse's hood back, and ripped off the remains of the cold weather gear. Some manner of full body jumpsuit, ruptured in places and with some kind of mechanical skeleton and artificial musculature worked into it, covered the corpse from head to to. The left arm was positively mangled and ruined, crushed and locked firmly in place like some garish over-exaggerated cast and medical restraint. Several places in the chest and legs, spattered with dried and frozen blood, looked to be in the same situation.

Through the static, the voice feebly went on. "It's...so cold..." Ice started to crackle and snap, rising up from the ground to spread across and entomb the remains of the former staff member. "It's...so cold..." The dim light at its collar sputtered one final time, and with a bizarre finality, it went out altogether. Somewhere along the tower, something electrical popped in a shower of sparks, and bits of red-tinged glass came raining down from the beacon overhead.

"...so...cold..."

A final crackling snap signaled the complete freezing of the would-be corpse, sparkling blue ice enshrouding it in a layer several inches thick.

Results
• All parties involved suffer 1 Reason damage
• Comms tower shut down permanently, but the frying wires revealed a path leading to the west
• Comms Department Access Card looted

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Sebastian didn't linger a moment more atop the wall; she nimbly alighted down, her boots crunching through the thick layer of hoarfrost that coated the ground like a layer of fine, crumbling stucco. She strode over to the frozen corpse with quick steps, half-melted ice crystals glistening underfoot with each footfall, almost as if she was walking across a field of tiny stars.

Her rifle, a heavily-modified yet rigorously maintained piece of weaponry, extended before her. With little respect for the dead, the Assassin-class servant prodded at the corpse's rigid form. Tiny splinters of ice broke off with a tinkling sound like breaking glass, but the body did not otherwise stir.

Ignoring the murmurings of Holmes and the babbling of the peculiar blueberry blue dog-creature, Sebastian tilted her head, scanning the deceased Carnivale employee. The mechanical skeleton embedded within the jumpsuit seemed almost alien in design to her rather old-fashioned sensibilities, its intricacy far surpassing that of any common implant or prosthetic.

A haphazard fusion of metal and flesh—as blood-soaked and gore-ridden as one might expect.

As Sebastian shifted her focus to their surroundings, losing interest, Rebecca slipped in through the gate. She ran over, her breaths ghosting in the frigid air, green eyes wide and her boots crunch-squishing loudly over the mixture of snow and slush.

"What the hell was that?" she burst out with, grateful for the break in wind as she reached the heart of the yard.

"Some form of undead creature, no doubt," Moran commented, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. She observed as Rebecca half-bent at the waist, panting lightly with her hands planted on her knees, before glancing up to examine the ice-encrusted figure.

The arm that was twisted and gnarled appeared caught in the ghoulish act of a perpetual flex, servos and actuators exposed to the unforgiving cold, peeking out from the suit's material. Sporadic sparks interrupted the growing gloom as more electrical systems scattered around the comms tower gave up the ghost, the light coruscating wildly off the sparkling blue ice encasing the dead man's form.

Rebecca's fingers shook as she reached towards the frozen cocoon, venturing to touch it—but she pulled back quickly, her features crumpling. It wasn't just the chill that made her retract her hand, but a sense of reverence for the person trapped inside, forever preserved in one last moment of intense helplessness.

So... cold...

A quiver running down her spine and a gnawing sorrow building inside her chest, Rebecca turned at Holmes's approach, the detective striding up, his coat flapping in the wind. He paused a few paces away, dusting a few stray shards of red-tinted glass from his hat, fluffy white snowflakes clinging to his platinum blond curls.

"Well, that was rather... unpleasant," he observed, though his sharp green eyes remained bright. "Though I suppose a little excitement is to be expected."

Moran pulled her gaze away from the scorched line of fried wires stretching across the tundra to the west, giving Holmes a cursory glance. Her fingers twitched briefly, hovering over the trigger of her rifle, before she swiftly slung it back over her shoulder. "...Certainly. Did you and the little beast discover anything of use?"

Holmes opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Stitch came scampering over on his unusual, stubby feet. The little creature looked up at Moran with his big, jet-black eyes, blinking like a simpleton.

"Well?" prompted Moran with a hint of sharpness to her tone, swiftly losing patience.

Stitch's jaws unhinged, his tongue lolling out from between his jagged teeth like a pink Fruit by the Foot. With nimble fingers (or whatever passes for fingers on a genetically-engineered alien creature), he plucked the slimy access card from his salivating mouth.

It was coated in a layer of glistening slobber, but Stitch didn't seem to mind as he presented it with a flourish and a toothy, sneer-like grin.

"..." Sebastian stared down at him, dumbfounded. She blinked. Slowly. "Hm. Yes, I see. You may... keep it."

Shrugging his shoulders, Stitch promptly began to use the access card as a makeshift toothpick, sliding it between his front-most teeth like a card reader at a grocery checkout counter.

Wunya sauntered over from where she'd returned to the yard's entrance, the four Carnivale employees trailing behind her like a crèche of ducklings. She gave a thorough inspection of the frozen body, raising an eyebrow. Then, with a huff and a puff, she turned to join the discussion, firmly crossing her bulging, well-muscled arms over her chest.

"I do not like this," she declared, her silver-maned head tilting down to observe Stitch and his antics. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Snow is not suitable for workout without right equipment."

Casting her a slightly puzzled look, Rebecca cleared her throat. "Um, yeah. I'm inclined to agree. We won't survive if we're out in the elements for too long. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if we should've even left the train."

She shivered—not only from the bitter cold, but from the memory of the recorded voice, crackling and echoing in her thoughts even now.

"No use in entertaining what-ifs, dear doctor," Moran murmured, passing the ring of keys and crumpled folder she'd recovered to Rebecca, who tucked both securely inside her crimson cross-emblazoned medic's bag. The servant's eyes slid to the tracks of charred black burnt into the snow by the singed wiring, trailing under the stone wall. "Heading west seems like a fine course of action, yes?"

With a resolute set to her jaw, Rebecca gave an assertive nod, tightening her grip on the medical bag slung over her shoulder. "Maybe this time we'll find some shelter, and not more trouble... though going by my track record in the last forty-eight hours, I don't have much confidence."

Holmes gave a subtle sniff, a wry twist to his lips. "Well now, let's not be too optimistic, Dr. Chambers."

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes, Wunya, Stitch.
CURRENT LOCATION: Northern Communications Tower.
DESIRED LOCATION: Whatever’s at the end of those charred wires leading West.
ACTION(S): Our party would like to head west, following the burnt wires. Would like to use Rebecca’s role bonus with whatever we find at the end.

FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA.
• Sunglasses.
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop.
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Pince-nez style glasses.
• Legal pad (Carnivale contestants' names listed).
• Psychology manuals.
• Site Seven notebook.
• Ring of Keys.
• Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.