The Revival

‘Twas during the Battle of Vega II that our esteemed Founder held the line until his last breath, demonstrating unwavering resilience. Floating lifeless alongside his fallen brothers and sisters of the 2nd Fleet in the void of space, he became the embodiment of sacrifice. No rescue. No burial. No memory. Without warning, Tiberius Maximus III was given a vision from our Imperator himself. It is not yet spoken, the exact words, of what Ivar Messer told Tiberius. However, we do know our glorious Founder was told to traverse back to Earth and find the Platinum Throne of Ivar Messer. To spread the truth. To snuff out the lies. To break the knees of those who deny.

Our Founder, Tiberius Maximus III, then sprang back to life, in extreme pain from gaping wounds being sealed instantly. Frantically, he looks to take in his surroundings, only to realize he has been left to this mass graveyard of bodies and ships. As he notices his oxygen is running dangerously low, Tiberius panics, feeling the immediate threat to his survival. He searches desperately for the nearest ship with functioning life support, knowing every second counts. Finding a vessel, roughly a klick away and only minutes of air left, he pushes through the debris towards his haven. Dodging towering panels stripped from these Capital Ships. Avoiding the bodies of UEE Starmen and Vanduul Clansmen alike. Though not knowing it at the time, the mutilation of these once men and women would come to haunt the dreams of our Founder. The frozen blood from one of these corpses took the form of a phoenix. The uniqueness of this sight stuck in the mind of Maximus III. Though he may not fully grasp the reason, there is an undeniable allure to this imagery that captivates him deeply.

Pushing forward, with two percent oxygen left in his suit, nears the airlock of the last ship that appears operational. As he nears the porthole, Tiberius takes a quick look inside to check if it’s clear of any threats. With the fear of his oxygen now at one percent, he pushes through carelessly. As the Founder moves to pressurize the airlock, he feels a chill run down his spine. Snapping around, he finds… nothing. Shrugging it off, he turns back to the airlock, suit screaming with oxygen warnings, when Tiberius finds a Vanduul lounging towards him, just missing the Plasma Lance. Being pinned to the upper corner of the airlock and the lance stuck in the wall, the Vanduul grabs the Founder’s helmet in an attempt to rip it from his suit, or maybe head from body. In desperation, Maximus III reaches out to find his hand making contact with loosened piping. Ripping the pipe from its wall, He wonders if it was important. He cracks the Vanduul upside the head, breaking the helmet at the point of contact, and kicks the filthy toad off of him. Causing whatever form of air the Vanduul scum breathe to leak out at an alarming rate. Now in fear of asphyxiation, the Vanduul leaps forward and tears his Plasma Lance free from the wall. Moving out of the way just in time for the lunge, Tiberius manages to catch a backhand slash across the left side of his core. However, he now notices he is next to the pressurizing controls. The Vanduul makes another jump towards the Founder. He hits the controls and kicks the Vanduul once more, this time outside the airlock. Getting stuck halfway through the door, the worthless creature screams in pain and begs for mercy. It gets none, as it is slowly cut in half.

The Survival

The motionless Vanduul torso falls onto the airlock floor as the pressure cycle begins. Tiberius, now out of oxygen and fading out of consciousness, rips off his helmet as soon as the environment becomes breathable. Gasping deeply for that precious O2, he doesn’t dare remove his hand from this wound. Despite being unaware of how deep the wound has gone, he refuses to remove his hand in fear of losing what’s housed inside.

Upon further investigation, Maximus realizes the inner airlock door is jammed and unable to open beyond a small gap. After moving some debris out of the way, he pins his foot on one door and grabs the other door with his free hand. All while being mindful of his condition, Tiberius pushes with his leg and pulls with his arm. Doing so with what little strength he has left, the door starts to give way. Simultaneously, he feels a shift coming from within his wound. Not willing to lose his progress on the door, and fearing he won’t be able to start again, he pushes forward. With what appears to be just enough space, he squeezes through the gap in the doorway. In the process of slimming the gap, Tiberius’ arm is pushed away from the gaping gash on his abdomen, feeling something protrude from within. In a panic, he rushes through the doorway. Making it to the other side, he quickly pushes whatever came loose back inside and applies more pressure.

After finding shelter, Tiberius Maximus III is now bleeding out and needs to find the Med Bay an hour ago. Unfamiliar with this ship, swiftly yet cautiously, he carves a path through these debris-filled corridors. With no dice finding it on the lower decks, he pushes up a level only to find more Vanduul. Counting three, Tiberius takes a pause and sits in the shadows. They appear to be arguing about something, but without knowledge of their filthy tongue, it is unclear what they are saying. They seem to reach an agreement of sorts and split up. One of which is now approaching the Founder. Maximus notices a bent panel coming off the wall. Squeezing inside, he manages to do so without drawing any attention to himself, letting the Vanduul pass by, ignorant of his presence.

Being in no condition to fight this towering figure, the Founder sticks to the shadows and quietly moves forward, hearing screams in the distance as he does so. Now feeling lightheaded, he fears he has little time left and prays he can reach the Med Bay soon. Pushing forward for just a moment or two, a sign appears, pointing him down one last corridor to safety. He now sees the Med Bay doors, and as he approaches, one of the Vanduul turns a corner down the hall. Quickly concealing him self from within the Med Bay and waits for this abomination to pass by. Now that the coast is clear, for now, he throws himself into the last working Meb Bed to get his much-needed treatment. Feeling relieved, Tiberius has a second to catch his breath. The pain is now gone.

However, that second is passed quickly once a Vanduul ripped the monitor off the Med Bed, grabbed the Founder, and threw him across the room. Sliding into the wall and the Vanduul approaching, he finds himself in a moment of shock. By chance, he landed right next to the body of a previously unseen fallen security guard. Thinking quickly, Tiberius grabs the firearm, aims at the disgusting creature, and opens fire. After emptying the remaining rounds from the magazine, the Vanduul is severely injured but still standing. Tiberius is then grabbed by the throat and pinned against the wall. He finds a foothold to relieve pressure on his throat while kicking the entry wounds and striking the filthy Vanduul in the face with the P8-SC. He then finds a foothold to support his weight and relieve the pressure on his throat, while kicking the entry wounds with one foot and striking the filthy Vanduul in the face with the P8-SC. Just a few hits seemed to be enough for this pathetic excuse of life to release the Founder. Landing next to the body once more, he grabs the blade off the corpse and lunges at the creature.

With the knife gripped firmly in one hand and the palm of the other pressed against the pommel of the hilt, Tiberius drives his steel through the throat of the Vanduul. In an instant, The Founder is thrown back with the force of an Ox. As he slammed into the wall behind him, the sharp sound of a cracking rib echoed the room. A quick yell, a fast fall, a swift look. Tiberius locks his eyes back to the creature. Ripping the blade free from its throat, the Vanduul steps forward, raising his hand to strike. Helpless, Tiberius’ stomach sinks as he fears he may be out of options. With the distance between shortening, the toad is now only a few feet from him. It takes one last step before the next is a mere stumble, followed by the Vanduul collapsing on the ground next to Tiberius, with dark fluids flowing from its throat.

Aware that at least two more dirt snakes are on the ship and likely heard the gunshots, our brilliant Founder swiftly picked up the P8, reloaded it, and took a spare magazine taken from the slain guard. Before exiting the Med Bay, Tiberius looks it over one last time for a brief moment in the hopes of finding something to help with this broken rib of his. Fortune smiles upon him as he discovers an OpioPen to alleviate his pain. After injecting himself with the Roxaphen, the Founder makes haste and leaves the Med Bay. Continuing down the corridor, he hears the chatter and heavy footfalls of the two other Vanduuls from earlier. Reaching the end of the hallway, he takes note of the open elevator shaft behind him, sets up a position in the rubble with his sights down the hall, and waits. Now in view, the Vanduul approach the Med Bay. Stopping to look inside, one of the bastards stays in the hall. Tiberius, being confident that he is within effective range to put down his target with one mag, opens fire.

Taking controlled burst-fired shots, the lesser lifeform drops with five rounds to spare. Not yet reloading, Tiberius waits. After what feels like ages, the last Vanduul pre-fires the corner and charges the Founder. Firing the rest of the rounds in his current magazine, Tiberius reloads, turns, and jumps down the elevator shaft with Squidward hot on his heels. Able to break his fall enough to prevent further injury, while OpioPen numbed the impact of the current. He gets up and realizes that the elevator was above the floor he had jumped from. Tiberius begins to pry the bottom floor door open. Then, without warning, the Vanduul leaps down the shaft. Getting the door to give, the Founder turns his attention above and shoots out the elevator’s safety lock, sending it plummeting towards both parties. Tiberius dives to safety as the Vanduul lands where he once stood. With virtually no time to process what is happening, the creature is crushed by the elevator as it reaches out to the Founder. With its arm and dark, almost blackish, blood at his feet, Tiberius shrugs it off, gets up, takes a deep breath, and continues forward.

Realizing he is now in engineering, it becomes apparent that the reactor and nearly all systems are shot. Aside from Life Support being operational, Tiberius finds himself inside a floating tomb. Checking his last mag, he estimates he has about seventeen rounds left. Cautiously, he moves on to clear the rest of the ship of any lingering threats. As he sweeps through the Engineering and Cargo Decks, he feels relieved not to have encountered any other Vanduuls. With the keel half of the ship now clear, he scales the ladder to reach the main deck. Halfway up, Tiberius feels a dull pain in his side; with the Roxaphen wearing off, he knows he will need to find more soon. Reaching the top, the door opens abruptly, and something grabs him by the throat from the other side. Being lifted off the ground, the P8-SC is ripped from his hand as he’s thrown down the hallway. Tiberius is momentarily in shock as he sees another abomination, now dismantling the SMG that had taken the lives of its comrades.

Overwhelmed in a panic, the Founder now understands that his choices are not only limited but dwindling rapidly with each passing moment. With a sense of urgency gripping him, Tiberius finds himself with no choice but to retreat. Defiantly turning away, he races down the passageway, every muscle in his body pushing for his escape. As the Vanduul gains on him, getting closer and closer, Tiberius notices the Brig coming up on his left. Just as the disgusting Vanduul attempts to grab him, Tiberius leaps into the open doorway with not a second to spare. The clumsy bastard trips over its own feet and tumbles past the door. Now, having just a moment to prepare, the Founder positions himself in front of the cell door, facing the direction the Vanduul will approach from. With his hand over the controls, he prays to the Imperator that they still work. The threat emerges through the doorway, crying out in rage. Targeting the Founder, it forcefully lunges toward him. With impeccable timing, Tiberius opens the cell door, rolls in the direction the creature came from, springs up, and hits the controls once more, trapping the Vanduul in the locked cell.

Tiberius pauses for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. A wince of pain crosses his face as he instinctively grips his side, highlighting the struggle he faces in that fleeting moment. The Vanduul stumbles to its feet. Seeing its situation, it realizes it is now trapped. The lesser life form, showcasing the remarkable intelligence of its species, frantically screeches and claws at the cell walls, desperately striving for freedom. The Founder observes with amusement for a moment before limping out of the Brig. As he heads to the armory, he hopes to find something to aid him in exterminating this vile creature. Upon reaching his destination, he discovers that the only weapon left is a Coda Pistol with two spare cylinders’ worth of ammunition, and not a single grenade. After a moment of contemplation, Tiberius decides it is not worth the risk to open the cell door and shoot the foul beast. While pondering what to do, he notices that the screeching and thrashing from the Brig has come to an end. Rushing back to confront the escapee, weapon drawn, Tiberius reaches the Brig to find the Vanduul is still safely locked in its cage.

Realizing there’s nothing to fear, the Vanduul can starve for all the Founder cares. Leaving the Brig once more, Tiberius heads to the Bridge. Upon arrival, the horrifying sight of the lifeless crewman sends a quick shock through the spine. Shrugging it off, a brief investigation reveals that the assumption in the engineering deck was accurate. All communication equipment has been rendered useless. This cold tomb is where Tiberius will meet his fate. With nothing to be done about it at this moment, the Founder turns his attention to the Mess Hall. Stacking bodies certainly works up an appetite. After consuming some much-needed calories, Tiberius heads to the can to relieve himself. After, he notices a bucket of cleaning supplies. Consulting the knowledge from his younger self, he recalls the ability to mix chemical compounds to construct a toxic environment. Acting quickly, he grabs the needed material, a container, a mask, eye wear, and a thin strip of cloth that can be used as a wick. A short time later, the Founder developed a toxic gas that was contained in an explosive shell. Returning to the Brig, one last time, Tiberius opens the meal porthole, placing his improvised chemical weapon inside, lights the makeshift wick, and shuts the meal port on his side, taking a step back to be safe. Timing it just right, the chemical compound ignites as the call side porthole opens, sending an explosion of toxic gases into the Vanduul’s cell. Gasping for breath, the creature writhes in a struggle for life, its desperate fight evident as it is gradually put down.

With all threats eliminated, Tiberius can only cling to life and hope to survive, desperately awaiting help. With each passing day, another failure to get Comms back up and running. The repeated failures and solitude are affecting the Founders’ mental state. As it would with any rational human being. He knows not how long he can keep this up.

The Retrieval

To Be Continued…