(no subject)

[gone_byebye]

Mid-January, 2008
RCMP/Ministry of Extraordinary Threats Emergency Hangar
Alert, Nunavut, CA

Even in times of the highest tension and most danger, people find ways to keep themselves busy, and neither the Ghostbusters nor the men and women of the world's northern watch bureaus were any great exception. "Ray? Ray! Ray, check it out." Venkman shook his friend's shoulder. "Egon's in a fight with one of the Inquanok guys."

Ray opened an eye and glanced sideways. Several of the Danish contingent and a couple of the Pohjola Project's Sami members were gathered in a semicircle centered on Egon and a broad-faced, dark-eyed man in Danish uniform. "Wow. Spengs is looking kinda..."

"Green," Winston finished for both of them. "That's freaky. What are they fighting about?"

"The worst thing they've ever eaten," said Venkman. "Eske's winning."

Ray and Winston exchanged glances. They both knew Egon's eating habits. "How?" Ray finally asked.

"That's not food," Egon suddenly said, loud enough to be heard over the snickering Greenlanders. "That's biological waste. You can't consider anything with that level of ammonia in it to qualify as edible."

"This from the man who admits to eating casu marzu," said his opponent with the serene smile of a man who knows he's won. "Hákarl is nothing-"

Winston shook his head. Ray gave up on the possibility of a nap and stood up. "Has anyone seen where Captain Korpan went?" he asked, and one of the Finns pointed. "Thank you."

He found the Canadian in the tiny office attached to the hangar, one hand pressing his headset against his ear and the other taking frantic notes. As Ray walked in Korpan lifted his eyes, winced, and held up a piece of paper that read:

Magnetic fields flaring
Deep ones report Russian helicopter near 82.7° N 114.4° W
Radio comms dorppinng like brick

A moment later Korpan scribbled one last line:

Dammit, I can spell. Marines on the way. Tell the others. We're going in.

Ray shuddered, nodded, and went in search of a better door.


[OOC: Assume everyone will be arriving from Milliways within five minutes of each other. Also, don't click on the food links above if you have a weak stomach.]

Comments

[works-in-space.livejournal.com]

Jim takes a seat, knowing that the situation is past grim, he knows that. It may be beyond his skills. And yet, he is looking forward to the chance to see some action.

[gone_byebye]

"Hang on a second," says Ray to Kirk. "There's someone I need to get-"

He trots off and comes back with a Canadian in tow. The other man is shorter than either Ray or Kirk, dressed in the most modern Arctic survival gear currently available in Canada, marked with a number of insignias of rank and accomplishment in addition to the five-flag patch everyone here is wearing and the logo seen in the icon here. "This is Captain John Korpan of the Ministry of Extraordinary Threats' rapid response force," Ray says. "He's the on-site coordinator for this operation."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," says Korpan, and salutes. "I understand you're an officer of some unusual experience yourself? This isn't exactly orbital conditions, but..."

[works-in-space.livejournal.com]

"...but I have some idea of what to expect, and I do have some training in arctic conditions." Not recent, but it will have to do. "Consider me completely at your disposal, Captain."

[gone_byebye]

Captain Korpan nods. "Fantastic. How are you with non-hostile nonhumans? Dr. Stantz here persuaded a unit of Deep Ones to lend us a hand with a possible rescue, but we need him and the other Ghostbusters in the same area in case of a full breach. My guys're good at handling the unusual, but they're... not so good at dealing with fish people, not just yet."

[trustydriver.livejournal.com]

It feels weird to be working as part of a large group. The Red Panda always eschewed this kind of teamwork, feeling that he could be more effective if left to his own devices. He only teamed up with other superheroes when facing an immediate threat to the entire world.

The Red Panda's not here, though. And if Dr. Stantz is right, this is one doozy of an immediate threat.

The girl in the steel-gray catsuit and goggles greets Ray with a mock-salute. "Flyin' Squirrel reportin' for duty."

[gone_byebye]

Several people glance in the girl's direction in mild surprise, but Ray just looks glad to see her. "Fantastic," he says. "Squirrel, um, these are representatives from all three northern watch bureaus and the United States Marine Corps. The ones in the red and blue are from Finland, they're with Project Pohjola. The ones in blue and yellow are from Greenland, they're the Inquanok Patrol. And the ones who look like Mounties on steroids are the Canadians, they're the Ministry of Extraordinary Threats Rapid Response Team. That fellow over there is Captain Korpan, with the Ministry. He's the local operation coordinator. Apparently we're having a lot of trouble with standard radio communications, since the magnetic fields are going completely berserk. I really don't mean to be stereotypical about Canadians and their skill set, but do you by any chance have any skill at piloting snowmobiles or powered sleds or anything of that nature?"

[trustydriver.livejournal.com]

"I can drive anything you've got," she says with confidence.

...no, she has no idea what a snowmobile is. Why do you ask?

[gone_byebye]

"Oh good," says Ray, relieved, and somewhere his dead grandfather is knocking his head against the wall about the whole failure-to-get-more-details thing. "Because the Russians seem to be doing something from both directions. The Deep Ones reported the presence of a helicopter with Russian markings at the site that used to be the North Magnetic Pole up until a few years ago, but they can't get close enough to tell what's going on. We need somebody to head in that direction for an intelligence sweep- can you and Tyler do it, do you think?"

[k_in_black]

Agent K steps across the threshold, bearing a gleaming, three-foot long, triple-barreled Korlian XT-17 on his shoulder. A jet-black MiBlackberry up to his ear. And what seems to be a grin on his face.

Been a while since he's had a mission worth toting one of these along.

Of course, the XT-17 isn't the only plasma heat he's packing. There's a Series 4 Deatomizer strapped to his hip, just in case. A Man in Black is never less than well-prepared.

"Zed, I'm crossing over now.... Affirmative, rest of the team's already assembling.... Right... Right... Got it. I'll check in with a preliminary After-Action Report at mission's end."

K stows the phone and takes a look around.

[gone_byebye]

The hangar is by and large a facility of the RCMP, at least in terms of logos and maintenance. Given that the Ministry of Extraordinary Threats was founded after a North-West Mounted Police encounter with Ithaqua the Wind Walker, the fact that it's shared isn't quite so surprising. Currently, it's got a lot of people in color-coded Arctic survival gear- red and blue suits, blue and yellow ones, and, yes, red, white, and black ones that strongly resemble Mounties on steroids in terms of design. The American contingent is probably the smallest, consisting pretty much of fifteen Marines (anyone who's ever dealt with the military can pick them out on sight no matter how they're dressed- this bunch looks like the people at GI Joe designed their clothes) and a couple of scientists who're conversing with people in Russian and in mangled English.

Oh, and four guys with proton packs strapped on over their winter gear. Three of them are in winter clothing provided by Dethklok and one of them is wearing the furs and leathers he had on him when he last saw the Dyer Expedition. That would be Ray, who waves in K's direction almost as soon as the man arrives.

[k_in_black]

K waves back and heads over to the four men. Oddly enough, the cold doesn't seem to be bothering him much at all, but he's definitely standing out like a bold-faced exclamation point on a blank page.

By the time he's in earshot, K is back to his usual game-face, as he calls out:

"You gents are looking like a suicidal stand against a potential Omega-Class Mythos Threat is somehow a bad thing."

[gone_byebye]

"I can think of better ways to spend my weekend," Winston returns- but he's smiling. "Good to see you again, man."

Ray just gives a wry, tired little smile. "I'm starting to understand some of the New Year's wishes I got this year," he says. "Hi, K. The Russians have a chopper out at the site that used to be the North Magnetic Pole before it started moving like a British royal with the paparazzi on its tail, which we figure can't mean anything good. Beaked Whale Moiety, and to a lesser degree Greenland Shark Moiety, sent a contingent of some of their better prepared deep sea swimmers to come and lend a hand. They've got even more reason not to want anything to come through the cracks than we do- they like it here just fine without the old home team."

Action Time: Team Helicopter

[gone_byebye]

It's a long, long way between the hangar at Alert and the site where the Russians' chopper was sighted. The snowmobile is easy enough to drive, and fast as any car owner of the late twentieth century might want, but the ice along the way is rippled, twisted and lumpy, the result of countless winter storms and winds whipping any free moisture at all into a frenzy before freezing it dead in place. Here and there are cracks, or holes big enough for something like a seal to poke its nose out, but those grow rapidly fewer with the distance. The GPS navigation built into the dash is trying valiantly to keep up with the snowmobile's location, but the amount of magnetic interference in the area is giving it an amazing amount of trouble. At least the odometer is working, and pretty consonant with what the Ministry said was the amount of ground they'd have to cover...

Re: Action Time: Team Helicopter

[trustydriver.livejournal.com]

In the past, Kit has boasted that she can drive anything. However, she never said she could drive anything particularly well--particularly not a vehicle that's seventy-three years more advanced than anything she's ever used before. It's all she can do to keep the snowmobile upright and avoid the more extreme dips and bulges in the ice.

She glances over her shoulder at Tyler--sorry, 'Moon Shadow'--who's clinging to her for dear life. "You okay back there?" she asks, raising her voice to be heard above the wind and engine noise.

Re: Action Time: Team Helicopter

[basic_powers]

Tyler's been on more bizarre bumpy rides than any gradeschooler should ever have to endure. That being said he doesn't particularly like riding on crazy-moving vehicles, so his expression through the cowl and helmet is as the icon depicts.

"I've had worse rides! Eyes FRONT PLEASE?" He yells over the wind and angine. "How much farther until we get to the goon squad?"

Re: Action Time: Team Helicopter

[trustydriver.livejournal.com]

"Should be gettin' close now..."

Action Time: Team Submarine

[gone_byebye]

In the distance a small blackish smudge in the midst of the white and blue grows into a larger blackish smudge, and then resolves itself- a gap in the ice of a shape too regular to be anything but artificial. Huddling along one side are a group of about twelve humanoid figures; Tsybenko grunts. "You talk," he says as they draw closer. "I have no experience. Deep Ones are not so much my thing."

Re: Action Time: Team Submarine

[works-in-space.livejournal.com]

"I'm sure that they won't seem that difficult to handle once you get to know them." Jim is clearly quite sure of himself.

Re: Action Time: Team Submarine

[gone_byebye]

"Americans are trouble enough," Tsybenko mutters, but he lets it drop as they pull up.

The Deep Ones present range in height from six feet tall to nearly seven. Their skin tones vary from dull greenish-grey to a grey-blue reminiscent of certain species of shark. Overall, their body designs are awfully similar- at least, to anyone who's read The Shadow Over Innsmouth and consequently expects a wider set of unwholesome mutations. Their eyes are too widely spaced to look them in both eyes at once comfortably, but it's obvious they have at least some degree of binocular vision, and they're all garbed in some form-fitting substance that hides the majority of their finnage from view.

Not the ones on their heads, though, or the webbing between their five fingers- one of the taller ones raises a hand in greeting. "Well, now," he says in passable English, "what do we have here?"

Action Time: Team Boom

[gone_byebye]

From above the scene resembles the preparation for some kind of parade, with little clusters of color-coded Arctic gear and equipment standing out against the snow and ice. The rapidly shimmering and changing aurorae gleam overhead, visible even under the daylight sky; they're shot through with streaks of red and other colors that don't normally make it into the annals. "We're getting close," mutters Korpan, gesturing to two units of responders to head off towards the next likely rupture sites. "Does the air taste funny to anyone else?"

Re: Action Time: Team Boom

[wellthrownstone.livejournal.com]

Garion grunts an affirmative.

"I wouldn't say funny," he adds a moment later. "The last time it was like this somewhere, I almost died."

...he realizes only after it's out that he could have phrased it more encouragingly.

"I got better."

Re: Action Time: Team Boom

[gone_byebye]

"Just as long as nobody turned you into a newt," mutters Venkman.

When The Smoke Clears...

[gone_byebye]

It takes a while to gather everyone up who's still able to make it back to the hangar at Alert. The first sight that greets the returnees is a lot of Russians- very nearly the full crew complement of a Typhoon-class submarine, few of whom if any speak English. An impromptu infirmary's been set up nearby, mostly for frostbite, impact injury, and utter exhaustion. Dark Schneider will be waking up there, and at Peter Venkman's insistence will have, shall we say, some of the better scenery available in the area. Hey, the man saved their asses from a lot. Venkman figures they owe him.

The next sight, one which might require more explanation, is a tent that's been set up within the hangar. Signs on all four sides request quiet, please, or at least no sudden moves, loud noises, or bright lights. Inside are:

- a space heater
- a lot of extremely miserable looking Deep Ones, and
- two large, deep buckets of water for each of the Deep Ones.

Greenland Shark Moiety's not really adapted for fully Arctic operations, hence the heater. They're adapted even less so for the sudden appearance of an ancestral deity who first attempted psychic contact with every single one of their species within range, then proceeded to explode. This may be the first time in Earth's history that every single member of a given species had a migraine headache at the same time. Hence the signs. As far as the buckets of water go, they're aquatic; every so often, one or another will stick his or her head into the bucket past the gills for a while.

It takes some more looking to locate the helicopter with the markings of the Russian President on the side. President Antonov himself is in the infirmary, being checked for frostbite or worse; Admiral Matochkin is bound up almost completely in Daffy Putty, and being held under guard by a battered-looking but still distinctly alive Captain-Lieutenant Apalkov. When we say 'under guard' we mean 'at gunpoint'. Apalkov's a little bit touchy right now. That's what happens when you manage to successfully defuse a runaway Wigner energy release and bring a nuclear reactor to heel, only to have your sub torn apart by Father Dagon and shaken around like a laptop in a Red Devil paint mixer. When you go down with the ship, you don't generally expect to come back UP with the ship, too.

And as for the rest, well... this operation is run by the Canadians. There's a big supper being laid on.

And beer.

Re: When The Smoke Clears...

[basic_powers]

There's one less-than-happy gadget hero poking at his dinner plate.

He just down one mentor, in the form of a Femme Fatale known only as The Flying Squirrel. "Ray? were you able to get anything on what might have happened to her?"

Re: When The Smoke Clears...

[gone_byebye]

Ray hasn't been looking too cheerful himself, despite Peter's and Winston's best efforts to the contrary. He looks up at Tyler's question. "No clue," he says. "The number of dimensional rifts and reality tears in the area make it all but impossible to trace down exactly what happened to her. I couldn't even use a PKE meter up here without it shutting down and refusing to work, let alone the really sensitive stuff. We may have to go back to Milliways and find someone to do a divination or a scry for us... I'm sorry, Tyler."