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☺ F I V E
[ There’s a grating crackle, a sharp burst of static, and voices abruptly begin to rasp across the feed. They’re indistinguishable at first, but eventually separate themselves from the fuzzy base white noise, which quickly fades into a bizarrely clear transmission. Every sound is amplified. ]
—ink will happen? To us.
[ Hayes’ voice is still strident as ever, but there’s a new undertone of fear to it. She’s close to the feed, almost a little too loud. ]
Nothing. They have nothing. They bring this ship into the wrong area, they’ll be hauled in too—they’re wanted just as much as we are.
[ Laurens sounds as unfazed as before, tone still light but words firm as he speaks with his crew. Noam just scoffs in response, voice fainter than the others; wherever the transmission is coming from, he’s not close to the mic. ] Yeah, but—
[ Juliana cuts him off, her voice strained and weak from crying, clearly not wanting to hear any possible objections on the matter. ]
It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.
[ It’s enough to quiet any further discussion, and no one argues with her. Clothes rustle, boots squeak on the smooth floor. A noise of quiet irritation and discomfort. Then: ]
—fuck!
[ A pair of footsteps—too close to the feed to have walked through the door—echoes quietly, walking a few short strides before stopping. A quiet metallic click can be heard, reminiscent of a weapon’s safety being thumbed off—almost exactly like a safety being thumbed off, as a matter of fact. ]
How did you get in here?
[ For the first time, Laurens sounds alarmed, fear threading sharply through his voice. The rest of his crews erupts in panicked, angry protest, overlapping into an unintelligible cacophony until one manages to cut through. ]
Hang on a fucking second! You’re legally obligated to take us to the nearest station so we can stand trial.
This isn’t a punishment. There won’t be a trial. You were never supposed to find this ship.
Yeah, well, we did, and you can’t just—you have to take us to the nearest station.
No, I don’t. [ A pause, and Ward’s voice gains a faint, resigned note of condolence—but not enough to indicate true compassion. He’s just doing his job. ] I can’t let you leave. I’m sorry it has to be like this.
It has to be like what? [ Hayes is shrill now, even louder in her terror. ] Why are you sorr—don’t do this!
[ A thunderous staccato breaks the air, shattering the transmission quality, violently cutting the angry pleas short. The sound of bodies slumping quietly to the floor is the last discernable sound before the transmission cuts to static—and then nothing. ]
[ ooc: there will be no npc response to this post. an ooc post detailing the end of this event can be found here!
NPC font colors:
red → hayes
orange → laurens
green → noam
indigo → juliana
blue → ward ]
voice;
voice;
[ Cold and angry and bitter. They'd have been safer under guard in the shuttle bay, but then would Ward have just shot all the flight crew to keep them quiet too? ]
voice;
voice;
I need to talk to you, and I need your expertise.
voice;
voice;
[ Please read his mind Ianto. ]
The Chapel. I'll be there.
[ And also from now on he is never saying he's meeting someone in a room where there won't be dozens of other people. Call it self defense. ]
voice;
[ooc: Log?]
no subject
no subject