TALE Attack In Liberty Space!

Discussion in 'Tales From Liberty Space!' started by N-Spade, Oct 13, 2016.

  1. N-Spade

    N-Spade Active Member

    “Whoa, lookit their costumes!” Angele cried in awe to Flick behind her.

    The Xenomorph edged even closer in, gurgling its odd alien language as it raised its scythe-like hand. Angele merely raised her phone.

    “I’ve got to get some pics for Emma, she’s gonna be so jealous!”

    Suddenly, he grabbed at her collar, tugging her out of the way milliseconds before it could slash down on her.

    “Do you guys have an official hashtag or should I just-”

    “Have no fear, fair maiden!” a voice called from behind the Xeno.

    In a flash of blue, a buff-looking man in some serious-looking blue armor sped to her side, brandishing a humongous gun.

    “I shall be your rescue this perilous night!”

    Flick rolled his eyes, “Great, Perseus is here.”

    “Perseus is a myth, Flick, we’ve been over-”

    He tightened his grip on her jumpsuit and began to pull her at breakneck speed.

    “No time!” he called back, suddenly becoming the tactical general she’d heard of and not at all the humble scientist she’d come to know.

    They raced down the hallway, the Xeno clawing after them in hot pursuit, leaping on all fours against the walls as its tongue mouth lashed out like a whip.

    Angele turned, content to let him drag her along as she continually snapped pictures of the impressive alien snarling not too far behind. When it seemed as if it was about to reach out and capture them in its claws, Flick suddenly used his free hand to grab some hapless Assistant by the front of his grey jumpsuit, tossing him in the predator’s path. She only lowered her phone when she saw the spray of blood on the screen and was thrust into the darkness of the maintenance tunnel.

    “Guess they double-booked the station, huh?”

    “What… in the gods’ names… are you talking about….?” Flick panted, leaning his hands on his knees.

    “Y’know, for the reenactment group! Obviously this is a production of the SBHSoLS.”

    “The WHAT?”

    “Space Battle Historical Society of Liberty Space. Duh. This is just a bunch of history nerds in surprisingly good costumes.”

    “Angele, you need to listen to me,” Flick grasped her firmly by the shoulders and gave her a somewhat-violent shake, “These people, they’re going to kill you. No matter what side of history you happen to be on. These xenos will rip you open for the hell of it, and Perseus doesn’t give a damn whether you live or die. Get it?”

    She rolled her eyes and brushed his hand off her, “Flick, we’ve had this discussion. Perseus is a myth. My mom used to tell me she’d call them if I didn’t eat my vegetables. These guys are just pretending.”

    “What about the Assistant?”

    “Oh… oh god…” Angele slammed her back against the wall, clutching nervously at her head.

    “Now you’re getting it.”

    She slid to the plated floor with a thunk, “They can’t tell the difference any more. They think we’re all players.”

    Flick blinked in disbelief, “You know what? Sure. We need to evacuate the station, though, if it’s not safe, and that means we need a Head of Staff and- will you put that damn thing away?” he cried incredulously as she once again whipped out her phone.

    “Hush, I’m calling my brother. He'll help!”

    Somewhere deep into the endless night of space, the sound of an enthusiastic alpaca brayed.

    Obadiah Mayland grappled in the dark for his phone, wherever the hell he’d set it down, but sighed with a huff as it tumbled onto the floor. Finally, he dragged himself from his narrow, spartan bed and reached underneath for the glowing phone, stabbing at the Answer key.

    “Who’zerr?” he muttered before flipping the device over, speaking into the receiver end this time, “Who’s callin’ me?”

    “Obi, it’s your sister!”

    “Sister… I have one’a those…?”


    “Ohh. Hi. What's up?”

    “I need you. There’s been some kind of emergency, we need to evacuate but need a Head of Staff for it. Can you come in as a HoS so we- y’know- don’t end up as bloody uncloneable messes on the station floor?”

    “Angele, it’s-” he picked up the red alarm clock from the table beside his bed and stared at it without reading it, “Very dark in the mornin’. And I don’t do that any more. What about Paige Bonmot, ain’t she your BFF and the CMO?”

    “Yeah, but she’s halfway across the station, so is the other Head, the RD.”

    “What about the HoP?”

    “I refuse to talk to him. Can you bee-lieve what he said to me the other day? He said that my hair-”

    “Well, sis, I could come in, but I have important… Obi things… to do. You understand.”

    “If those plans are picking out a name for your new gun, I’m never speaking to you again.”

    He paused.

    “You do that, then.”


    “He hung up on me! Can you believe it?” Angele cried.

    Flick smiled a rueful smile and shook his head, “Good effort, Lockley, but we gotta keep moving. Science isn’t too far from here, and I’m sure Nik will agree that we need to get the Emergency Shuttle here, pronto.”

    “Nikolas Wise helping us. It must be the end of days.”

    It was dark, power-outage dark when Flick slinked along the grungy gray tiles of the hallway with a powerful army arm-crawl, waving Angele forward as soon as he was below the Science window. She sped up to meet him, although she seemed to instead be doing an imitation of a beached seal.

    Slowly, quietly, they drew themselves up to the counter and Angele had to bite her lip, hard, to keep from screaming.

    A Xenomorph as getting up close and personal with the RD who had an odd expression of fear and panic in his usually exhausted eyes. He never looked away from the alien, but tried to grapple for the screwdriver just out of reach, as if it would be enough to keep it at bay.

    Just as his fingers were about to brush the tool, the Xeno opened wide its mouth, the extra set of jagged teeth on the end of its tongue burying itself in the vulnerable flesh of his throat in an impressive fountain of blood.

    “THAT BASTARD!” Angele cried, throwing her shoulder at the plate-glass window with all her might, “I’LL KILL YOU. I’LL CLONE YOU AND KILL YOU TWICE. YOUR COSTUME IS THE WORST, YOU ASSHOLE- MMPHH!”

    Flick grabbed her, clamping a hand tight on her mouth and pulled her down to the floor and out of sight.

    “Will you hush? There’s nothing we can do for him now. Power’s out, even if we could get in there and somehow get his body out, we couldn’t clone him.”

    He let go of his vice-like grip.

    “I’ll get those bastards,” Angele growled, tears beginning to form in her fiery eyes, “I’ll get them for what they did, and then they’ll pay. Nobody kills my friends like that and gets away with it.”

    “Didn’t he shove you in a disposal at the beginning of the shift?”

    “He did,” she sniffled pathetically, “He did.”

    “What’s the plan, then? Find Paige?”

    “Yeah, but I need something first.”

    Angele twirled on a foot, the pleats of the golden skirt fanning out as she did.

    She struck a pose, her fingertips resting on her forehead, one knee bent up high, “Well, what do you think? Do you like it or do you love it?”

    “I’m just not sure how it’ll help.”

    “Listen, if these weirdos are getting their superpowers from wearing cool costumes and pretending to be awesome then, dammit, so can I!”

    “At least when we die, we’ll be very fashionable.”

    Suddenly, they heard a loud crash, the sounds of twisting and breaking metal, the cries of terrified men.

    “The Perseus- umm reenactors! They must have been pushed back to the dorms!” Flick identified the sounds with awe.

    “Well, I’m gonna do something about it.”

    “Angele, no! You saw what it did to Nik.”

    “That’s Sailor Angele now. And I will avenge him.”

    Before Flick could stop her, she pushed through the maintenance doors and into the corridor. She scooped up the black gun of one of the fallen soldiers - she swore she spied a tuft of blue hair under his helmet - and began to fire a volley of shots at its big, stupid, bald head. Every bullet bounced off it with an ineffectual thud.

    “They’re just Foam Force, dude!” the Perc to her right cried with a surprisingly familiar voice, “We’re just LARPers!”

    “Whoa… what’s goin’ down, bruh?” the one to her left wondered.

    “Jaxon…? Jaxon Power? What are you guys doing here?”

    “We had the day off, thought we’d have some quality dude-time, y’know? Guess we got more than we bargained for, so un-rad,” Damien Bonmot explained.

    Angele looked left, looked right and stood, firing a few shots into the ceiling which came right back down, bouncing off her head. “RETREAT,” she shouted, “PERSEUS FALL BACK.”

    The boys didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling for the maint tunnel behind them just as the xeno leapt and slashed in their wake.

    “Okay, new plan,” Angele announced breathlessly, her back to the door as Flick began to weld it shut. “We get to the Bridge. Unless you and Paige have some brother-sister telepathy going-”

    “Brah, you have a sister…?”

    “We’ll just have to hope she has the same idea. Worst comes to worst, we break into the Captain’s Quarters somehow. Flick, can you see what tools you can scrounge up around here? Maybe Ol’ Dusty the Disabler is still back here somewhere.”

    He nodded, ginger curls bobbing.

    “I just… need a second… dude. Xenobro got me a bit,” he slid to the floor, clutching at a bleeding shoulder.

    Angele immediately dropped to a knee beside him and whipped out one of the medkits she thought to pack.

    “Poor thing, hang on just a second,” she cooed.

    “Bruh, have I been smoking some bad ‘shrooms or am I bleeding in places I shouldn’t…?” Jaxon moaned, his head listing side to side on the wave of a trip.

    Angele tossed a bicardine packet that slapped him in the face.

    “You guys want to do something after this?” she asked.

    Damien shrugged, “We could always go to the mall.”

    “I so need new shoes,” she agreed, “All this running is so not good for them.”

    “And they have a new smoke shop,” Jaxon added.

    Flick pinched at the bridge of his nose before fastening a toolbelt, heavy with his finds, around his waist. “Oh, we are so doomed..”
    Wuuufles, JPR, Devon and 1 other person like this.
  2. JPR

    JPR Well-Known Member

    I like how you think Wise can be killed by ordinary damage.
    You gotta kill, gib, and THEN find the hidden autocloner. :D
    Wuuufles and N-Spade like this.
  3. N-Spade

    N-Spade Active Member

    He's like one of those super-strong zombie things where you never let your guard down until they resemble chunky salsa.
  4. Wuuufles

    Wuuufles Active Member

    Good read :)
    N-Spade likes this.

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