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Clypsiphaya
Moon
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2020
WARNINGS: May-December relationship (16 and 34), mutants, hermaphrodites, sexytimes, awkwardness, possible conception, general romance and weird cuteness
There it was. The motherload: an abandoned, virtually untouched derelict, out of the reach of most vessels, marooned on an undersea ridge exposed by the falling water levels in this part of the ocean. It was far enough off the coast that most didn't bother to look; a telescope or binoculars would be needed to spot the ship from shore... but Cassandra Wakefield didn't stick to the shoreline in her travels.
She rarely came ashore at all, in fact, preferring to live and work on her catamaran - a hodge-podge concoction of outriggers and platforms that she'd outfitted as something of a floating home and workshop, with water purification, cold storage, sleeping and living areas, the works. It was her own little floating fortress, and the former engineer had little use for the hardscrabble existence of the wastelands farther inland. She made her living as a treasure hunter and mechanic, finding old technology and valuables in places others feared to tread... what others considered outright black magic or forgotten skills, she came to naturally, fixing up the choice bits of tech and upgrading her little oceanfaring home whenever possible.
Now, as her vessel came up near the massive derelict, she scouted across its breadth with a pair of binoculars; her other hand guided the wheel of her ship, bringing it alongside the likely source of the transport's failing - a massive rend in the hull near the bow, apparently from some kind of explosive weapon. Whoever this had once belonged to, they made enemies... but the markings, the design, all spoke of a Pre-War relic, lost to history... until now. Quick work secured the Argo to an outcropping of torn steel, mooring her home in place before she started getting ready to explore.
A tall, athletic woman, just shy of two meters as the old systems of measurement would have it, Cassie had seen her fair share of action. Her shaggy black hair was close-cropped, framing an angular face and expressive green eyes; someone from before the World's End might have recognized Asian and Hindi ancestry in her, but like so many who traveled the Post-American Wastes, she was something of a mutt. Her lithe body was clad in simple, functional leather armor, the hide bearing a green tint from the oceanfaring beasts she'd slain for the materials. Knives, various tools, and a massive 12.7mm hand cannon were strapped in strategic places along her body. Heavy boots with high-grip soles, and a pair of night-vision goggles, completed the ensemble; her gloves weren't fingerless, but in a pinch the fingers could be undone and folded back to allow for delicate work.
Her first impression upon entering the dim gloom of the massive vessel, was of incredible age; the outer bulkheads, seen in cross-section from the damage to their exterior, were layered alloys of a kind she didn't recognize. Electrical conduits ran their length, showcasing the incredible power capabilities of the ship... and as she delved further down the corridor, carefully picking her way along the tilted passage, she began to hear a faint hum. The thought that the ship still had power, after all this time, was ludicrous - but as an old Pre-War sage had once said, "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
And the truth in front of her, as she made her way to the command deck of the ship... as she lit up an old console, and looked at the internal map it displayed... was that not only did the ship still have power - it still had a live occupant.
Just one.
Poring through the records available to her lack of credentials, a few things became clear: whoever had constructed this ship was American in origin, and had envisioned it as a floating site for the blackest of experiments, far from the jurisdiction of her parent country where even international law didn't apply. Weapons research, physics experiments, powered armor... and genetic recombination, one lab buried in the heart of the ship, encased in walls thick enough that almost nothing else on the ship had a prayer of breaching them. Whatever they were working on, it was dangerous - and if the readouts were any indication... it was still alive. And that was a mystery Cassie simply could not resist.
The weapons, the hardsuits, the power sources... they could wait. They weren't going anywhere, not after surviving for over a century marooned beneath the waves. If there was some sort of suspension chamber where creatures were being kept, the genetic information alone would be worth a fortune to some of the splicer enclaves to the north. It was the work of moments to navigate into the bowels of the ship, with the aid of the map and Cassie's own eidetic memory... a moment more, to defeat the rusted, damaged interlock mechanism that kept the door secure. With a deep, slow breath, and her electrothermal revolver at the ready, she pushed it open...
There it was. The motherload: an abandoned, virtually untouched derelict, out of the reach of most vessels, marooned on an undersea ridge exposed by the falling water levels in this part of the ocean. It was far enough off the coast that most didn't bother to look; a telescope or binoculars would be needed to spot the ship from shore... but Cassandra Wakefield didn't stick to the shoreline in her travels.
She rarely came ashore at all, in fact, preferring to live and work on her catamaran - a hodge-podge concoction of outriggers and platforms that she'd outfitted as something of a floating home and workshop, with water purification, cold storage, sleeping and living areas, the works. It was her own little floating fortress, and the former engineer had little use for the hardscrabble existence of the wastelands farther inland. She made her living as a treasure hunter and mechanic, finding old technology and valuables in places others feared to tread... what others considered outright black magic or forgotten skills, she came to naturally, fixing up the choice bits of tech and upgrading her little oceanfaring home whenever possible.
Now, as her vessel came up near the massive derelict, she scouted across its breadth with a pair of binoculars; her other hand guided the wheel of her ship, bringing it alongside the likely source of the transport's failing - a massive rend in the hull near the bow, apparently from some kind of explosive weapon. Whoever this had once belonged to, they made enemies... but the markings, the design, all spoke of a Pre-War relic, lost to history... until now. Quick work secured the Argo to an outcropping of torn steel, mooring her home in place before she started getting ready to explore.
A tall, athletic woman, just shy of two meters as the old systems of measurement would have it, Cassie had seen her fair share of action. Her shaggy black hair was close-cropped, framing an angular face and expressive green eyes; someone from before the World's End might have recognized Asian and Hindi ancestry in her, but like so many who traveled the Post-American Wastes, she was something of a mutt. Her lithe body was clad in simple, functional leather armor, the hide bearing a green tint from the oceanfaring beasts she'd slain for the materials. Knives, various tools, and a massive 12.7mm hand cannon were strapped in strategic places along her body. Heavy boots with high-grip soles, and a pair of night-vision goggles, completed the ensemble; her gloves weren't fingerless, but in a pinch the fingers could be undone and folded back to allow for delicate work.
Her first impression upon entering the dim gloom of the massive vessel, was of incredible age; the outer bulkheads, seen in cross-section from the damage to their exterior, were layered alloys of a kind she didn't recognize. Electrical conduits ran their length, showcasing the incredible power capabilities of the ship... and as she delved further down the corridor, carefully picking her way along the tilted passage, she began to hear a faint hum. The thought that the ship still had power, after all this time, was ludicrous - but as an old Pre-War sage had once said, "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
And the truth in front of her, as she made her way to the command deck of the ship... as she lit up an old console, and looked at the internal map it displayed... was that not only did the ship still have power - it still had a live occupant.
Just one.
Poring through the records available to her lack of credentials, a few things became clear: whoever had constructed this ship was American in origin, and had envisioned it as a floating site for the blackest of experiments, far from the jurisdiction of her parent country where even international law didn't apply. Weapons research, physics experiments, powered armor... and genetic recombination, one lab buried in the heart of the ship, encased in walls thick enough that almost nothing else on the ship had a prayer of breaching them. Whatever they were working on, it was dangerous - and if the readouts were any indication... it was still alive. And that was a mystery Cassie simply could not resist.
The weapons, the hardsuits, the power sources... they could wait. They weren't going anywhere, not after surviving for over a century marooned beneath the waves. If there was some sort of suspension chamber where creatures were being kept, the genetic information alone would be worth a fortune to some of the splicer enclaves to the north. It was the work of moments to navigate into the bowels of the ship, with the aid of the map and Cassie's own eidetic memory... a moment more, to defeat the rusted, damaged interlock mechanism that kept the door secure. With a deep, slow breath, and her electrothermal revolver at the ready, she pushed it open...