gone_byebye | (no subject)

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.]

Threaded | Flat

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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.

Edited Date: 2008-01-26 03:41 am (UTC)

From:

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...

From:

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."

From:

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?"

From:

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.

Edited Date: 2008-02-02 08:05 am (UTC)