Log started on Tuesday, 25 Apr 2000, 7:22 PM EST by "Greywolf4" at "Holodeck 4"

Feldspar Auditorium at Night Cycle
From the air, the layout of this open-air auditorium looks something like a giant slice of pie, with the stage and a jungle of lights and speakers at one corner. Searchlights sweep the sky, sending glowing discs to ripple across the undersides of low-hanging clouds, and occasionally the dirty disc of Dark Eden, hanging directly overhead, peeks through a break. The tiered stadium seats radiate outward and upward from the stage, with tunnels at multiple levels that provide shortcuts to the outer multi-storied ring where concessions are sold and tickets are taken.

GM Note: Hero Point Totals so far -- Duffy: 19; Ice: 9; Jamie: 3; Jet: 7; Jimbo: 14; Taro: 10

Even with advance tickets provided by Detective Danzwyck, getting through the lines was something of an ordeal. Outside the auditorium itself is a "C"-shaped multi-storied ring of corridors that provide access to the tunnels that go into the auditorium proper, coming out on the tiered stands. In between these tunnel accesses, counter-service concessions and souvenir shops are set up, offering standard fare of beverages, junk food and "healthy alternatives" at criminally inflated prices, along with gimmick items specially made for die-hard Antonia fans. This ranges from T-shirts and caps bearing her likeness and the slogan "Don't Fear the Darkness", to vinyl records of her albums ... to "Antonia Dress-Up Sets" for aspiring little superstars.

There is the occasional island of relative calm amidst the tide of frenzied humanity (non-humans are rare, and even rarer those who can afford these ticket prices) where one might press against a wall for a moment's reprieve. On the outer wall of the curving corridor, duroglas windows provide a panoramic view of the Feldspar Auditorium parking garages and of the city beyond -- the view interrupted by the occasional elevator shaft providing access to all eight floors.

Most of the crowd has crammed itself into the auditorium, and those still out here in this area are those buying souvenirs and junk food before Antonia hits the stage -- though there's supposed to be a local band doing the opening set any minute now. Still, it's pretty much an unknown, save for getting the honor of playing before Antonia -- some of the vendors have misnamed the band "Barely Breathing" instead of "Still Breathing", no doubt inspired by a scathing review of the Luna City-based band by Manson "Mad Dog" Marley of the Luna Chronicle, in which he misnamed the group (probably deliberately).

A big, muscular, uniformed janitor rolls his cleaning cart over toward a door marked "employees only", while two police officers of the Bleu -- easily picked out by their appropriately blue uniforms and the golden cogwheel insignia on their badges -- make their way down the corridor, with pistols and batons at their sides. The officers are the only ones let in with any weapons, save for "ceremonial sidearms" -- that is, swords, since the Bauhaus nobility are so big on that.

A couple of freckle-faced kids argue in front of their parents whether to get Capitol Cola, Victoria Crown, or Tsunami. "But Tsunami has GO-ZERO!" exclaims the boy in a reference to the commercials featuring everyone's favorite city-stomping reptile, while his sister just expresses her distaste of the vaguely watermelon-flavored Mishiman drink by wrinkling her nose and sticking the tip of her tongue between a gap in her teeth.

Ragged flannel over a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans blends Jimbo a bit with the crowd. There's already a splash of cola on his left knee where a drink has been knocked from his hands, but the evening finds Watterson in good spirits, wandering around the crush of people with a smile on his weary face. He glances at his ticket to see where it "seats" him, though he doubts there'll be much sitting at all.

A little bulk beneath the flannel suggests some padding in anticipation of crash-happy teens, but otherwise, James looks fairly comfortable in his slightly worn-out threads.

Looks like he's got a pretty good seat. Way up in the front. The two kids finally trot off with one Tsunami Big-Splash, and a Capitol Cola Gulp-O-Rama. The janitor pushes his "Squeaky Cleaners" cart through the door and out of the milling concessions crowds. The Bleu patrolmen disappear around the curve of the corridor.

Pocketting the ticket, Jimbo starts toward the foreward part of the theatre. "Man," he muses to himself. "I remember when I used to get all worked up about stuff like this... It feels kinda good to get out again." He pauses thoughtfully, however, as though something were nagging at the back of his mind, and looks after the departing janitor. "Squeaky Cleaners. Where've I heard that name before? Huh."

Outside, someone can be heard asking Luna City how it's feeling, which is responded by lots of enthusiastic cheers, thumping and applause. Hey ... was that Jet's voice?

The "Employees Only" door swings shut behind the janitor's cart, though the hydraulic piston slows it before it can latch all the way just yet.

A man in a black suit holds a walkie-talkie. "Hey, we got another spill here on Level One, mid-section of the crust. Where's cleanup?" He looks around, carefully side-stepping a messy spill that has apparently been sitting there for a while, next to the Employees Only door.

"Verago worked for that outfit," muses Jimbo. At the sound of the intro, he glances back at the stage, and bites his lip, then moves to stick his foot between the door of the jamb and the closing door itself. "And that guy wasn't doing any cleaning. Well ... probably nothing, but couldn't hurt to look around."

Just inside the door, Jimbo spots the cleaning cart, untended. There's a stairwell leading up and down. No sign of the janitor.

A slight frown creases Jimbo's face, and he glances back at the door before adjusting his goggles. He reflexively feels at his belt for a sidearm that isn't there, then starts to snap his fingers when he realizes it isn't ... but stops himself. Instead, he gives the cleaning cart a cursory inspection.

The cart is open ... and the interior is completely empty. There are racks and holders on the outside with assorted bottles and wipers and such things, but whatever's supposed to be inside isn't.

Footsteps can be heard echoing down the stairwell, somewhere below.

The door closes with a loud clack behind Jimbo, latching itself.

"Dark. This ain't right. I ...," With a wince, Jimbo listens carefully to hear if the footsteps have paused, making to move up the stairwell in case footsteps begin approaching.

The footsteps pause for a moment, but Jimbo manages to cease just in time. There's a long, uncomfortable wait, during which the only sounds that can be heard are the whine of the ventilation fans, and the muffled stomping, clapping and music-playing of the band and its audience in the main auditorium.

The officer just stands there like a statue, his breathing slow and hushed, and his ears strained to their pedestrian limits.

There's a crackle of a hand-held radio, and a guttural, almost inhuman voice mumbles into it somewhere below, in a language ... which sounds like Eurostandard, but with a funny accent. Alas, that's not one of Watterson's languages. It's only a short sentence, though ... and then the footsteps resume, heading on down the stairs. Well, Eurostandard wouldn't be unusual here. That's the language Bauhaus uses, after all. But that didn't sound like a Bauhaus accent.

Jimbo's brows lower slightly, the man wishing he could make sense of the garbled speech. Once he's sure the footsteps have picked up again, he begins making his way down the stairs, treading lightly on worn sneakers. ( Hope I'm not in over my head, here... )

Watterson is in rare form, hardly making so much as a sound as he makes his way down the staircase. The sounds of the footsteps preceding him down the stairs sound like whomever it is is carrying something heavy ... and considering how large that janitor was, that'd be something heavy indeed.

Meanwhile, the sounds coming through the walls subside a bit ... and it sounds like a new song must have started up. Watterson must have been at this for several minutes now. This stairwell must go down pretty far ... but then, this isn't exactly a mad dash down the stairs, either.

Watterson reaches a landing, with a utility closet off to one side. The door is shut, and it looks like the janitor hasn't bothered with it, judging from the sounds further downstairs.

Ninjimbo continues his descent, concern rising in the back of his mind the deeper he gets and the farther he is from help. He pauses at the closet to test the doorknob, mindful of having a hiding place to retreat to, and careful not to open it immeadiately lest badly balanced cleaning supplies give away his position.

The knob turns just enough to let the officer know that the door is capable of opening. There ought to be just enough room to jam inside ... assuming that it's not totally packed with whatever's inside already. The second song ends after a bit ... and then Watterson can hear words reverberate through the ventilation ducts. "Your day was bright, but never warm..." Jet's definitely got a singing voice, all right.

"I loved your light, but needed more."

"I stepped away, I heard her call,
'Forget the day, I'll give you all!"

Satisfied with the closet's potential, James returns to his stealthy pursuit of the suspicious janitor. "Keep singing for all you're worth, Jet," he silently requests. "Cover for me, and maybe I'll see day again."

"Brother, you weren't there.
Brother, did you ever care?"

"When the night falls and the Darkness calls,
When the light fails and the Dark prevails,"

"Where are you? Brother, where are you?""

Down the stairs, the footsteps stop ... and Watterson manages to stop in time, his last step covered by the resounding noise of the chorus of the song.

There's a heavy thump ... and then the sound of a ring of keys jingling as they are rattled around in a lock.

"She led me away from your hollow halls..."

As Watterson manages to peek around the corner, he spies the big muscular janitor, cycling through a ring of keys in the lock of a door at the base of the stairs. Beside him, a large box has been set down -- At first glance, it looks like an amplifier box, but it looks like the casing has been filled with vacuum tubes and lots of wiring and miscellaneous ... gizmos. No wonder it's heavy.

The janitor seems to have no clue whatsoever that he's being watched from behind.

Jimbo gauges the distance to the door in his mind, mentally calculating the likelihood of managing to stay quiet and still getting to the door in time to catch it before it closes. As he does so, he raises a foot to peel off a shoe, deciding the need to feel the floor beneath his feet while he walks takes priority over not looking any dumber than he already does.

The door at last unlatches, and pulls open. It looks heavy, and the hydraulic piston doesn't seem to give it much resistance. In fact, as soon as the janitor lets go of it, it promptly slams shut, before he can get the "amp" off the floor. The janitor mutters something that sounds like a curse, and opens the door again, positioning himself to brace it open with his own body as he stoops over to lift up the contraption.

Jet's song continues in the background, though it's harder to hear now, so far down, further away from the ventilation ducts, and also since it sounds like the song is taking on a quieter, more contemplative sound.

The walls rumble with the sounds of tumultuous cheering, stomping and applause. Sounds like Jet must have made a good impression!

The janitor hefts the block up in his arms, and turns toward the doorway.

( Now or never. ) The officer makes his move, padding hurriedly towards the "janitor" as he struggles with the door. Without so much as a rustle of flannel, "Ninjimbo" tucks himself into the alcove near the door, and huddles there, trying to keep the shakes down. ( Just like old times... )

The janitor hustles himself through the doorway, into a darkened chamber ... pitch black, it seems. And the door begins to swing shut...

Jimbo's hand reaches out to stop it for a split second ... just long enough for the officer to swing himself around it and to the other side. He immediately casts about for another hiding place to jump to while the door's slamming can cover him.

The door slams shut ... leaving Jimbo in pitch black ... darkness.

Around him, there is the low rumble of machinery, and the hiss of vents. It's a bit warm down here. Boiler room around here, perhaps?

( Dark. ) Whether the thought is an invective or simply a commentary on his situation, Jimbo's not even sure himself. He listens for the tread of the janitor, feeling in his pockets for his penlight.

The janitor's footsteps sound sure ... as if he doesn't share Jimbo's problem with the lack of light at all.

It's uncomfortably warm down here ... but not unbearable. Still, Jimbo's forehead starts breaking out in a sweat.

Jimbo wipes at his forehead with a sleeve, shifting his goggles slightly to channel the sweat away from stinging his eyes. The penlight and Jim's hand have a chance meeting in one of his pockets, and he draws it to shine at the floor, being careful not to let any of the illumination carry down the hall.

As Jimbo walks along, his feet don't encounter any debris ... but his arm, held up to protect his head, encounters some hot pipes more than once. Fortunately, his sleeve serves to insulate him from any burns.

As he works his way forward, using his ears to lead the way ... he can see a faint light up ahead ... coming from the floor. It looks like a hole has been knocked through the tile floor, and some lamps on extension cords have been set inside. The big muscular man carefully lowers his burden into the hole ... then crawls down inside.

The officer sidles along cautiously, wincing slightly as a hot pipe heats up his arm past the comfort level. Spying the light gives him a little hope, and once he's sure his stalk-bait's head is out of view, he moves forward with a bit more confidence to listen at the hole.

As Jimbo appraoches the hole, it's evident that it goes some distance down through a layer of broken tile, concrete ... and then opens into some sort of a vertical access shaft with ladder rungs running down its length. A pulley arrangement has been bolted into the floor next to the hole, and it looks like this has been used to lower the burden down the length of the hole. The janitor has already made it to the bottom, evidently, where there's some sort of chamber that the shaft widens out into.

There's a curious logo on the interior of the shaft, next to the ladder rungs. At first, it looks like the Capitol symbol ... but, no, it's different. Some sort of banner. And there are letters. "NASA."

( NASA, ) muses a puzzled Watterson. ( Sounds like a health-food cereal. Acronym maybe, but ... eh, no time for that now. ) He eyes the shaft with some trepidation, but plants his hands at the edges of the hole to ease himself down it as well with an odd, monkey-like sort of grace.

The climb down the shaft goes without a hitch ... though once Jimbo reaches the bottom, it looks like he'll have to chance a leap down to the floor, as the rungs abruptly end at the bottom of the shaft, which forms a hole in the ceiling of a roughly cubical chamber. There are extension cords running down the length of the shaft, and they're attached to lamps along the length, and some light stands set up in the chamber down there. There are sounds of some scraping and switching in the chamber ... though Jimbo can't see the janitor from his current vantage point.

There's the sound of a crackling radio down in the chamber. It sounds like another voice in the same language the janitor was speaking in. And it sounds like ... gunfire in the background?

Jimbo squints down at the chamber below, but doesn't catch sight of his quarry. Instead, he reaches out to test the rope, then pauses. ( Gunfire?! ) He begins slithering down the rope hurriedly.

Hmm. Sounds like screaming, too.

( Oh, man ... I hope I'm not too late. ) The officer picks up the pace, putting less into stealth than into speed, his heart starting to race.

Jimbo is now at the bottom of the shaft, dangling on the rope. He can see the janitor hunched over a box-like device, with several cables running toward a number of large cylinders. They have yellow symbols on them and labels that read, "Warning: Radiation Hazard. Do not open without protective gear." The janitor apparently can't read, or doesn't care.

There's something about this place that speaks of great age. It smells ... ancient down here.

The janitor speaks while operating the machine. "Ein ..." Sounds like he's counting off in Bauhaus-ese, though the numbers aren't in any particular order.

( This is bad. This is very bad. ) The officer's brow furrows. ( NASA ... radiation ... There must be more to this.... What is he doing? )

Now it comes back to Jimbo. NASA. It was this space organization, from a nation that was the birthplace of Capitol -- The United States of America. The Americans were the first to land on Luna ... and the first to, in later centuries, give it a blanket of atmosphere. They were also the first to build a city on it ... and to plant weapons under its crust as part of a military defense system.

Not that all the details are crystal clear ... but that book on Earth History that the Patriarch had seems to apply here, after all.

As these facts filter through Jimmy's mind, he grits his teeth. ( Space ... weapons beneath the surface? Numbers? Durand, it couldn't... ) It's enough for the man to go on. He lowers himself a little ways farther down the rope, and eyes his target...

As Jimbo lowers himself down ... the janitor stops calling out numbers ... then turns to look in the direction of the officer, a look of surprise on his face -- and his pupilless eyes.

"Freeze, buddy!" shouts Jimbo, as he drops to the floor. "Dawn Alert! Get face down, and put your hands on your h-..."

The janitor's face contorts into a bestial snarl, as he turns about, picking up a wrench as a makeshift bludgeon!

A twitch has already put Jimbo in motion, lunging forward. "... on your HYAH!" His foot kicks out at the janitor's wrench-wielding wrist!

It's a well-delivered kick ... but the janitor seems to be all too strong enough to deal with it, as he grabs Jimbo by the leg ... then flings him across the room, whereupon he smashes into some metal tanks labeled, "Warning: Contents Under Explosive Pressure."

"WhuoooOOOAAAaaa!! Hrunf!" The breath wheezes out of Jim's lungs as he's plastered against the tanks, slumping, his face contorted in pain.

Jimbo groans, "Uhhnnn..... scrud...."

The janitor grins ferally, standing all the way up, having to stoop slightly under the low ceiling. He tosses the wrench aside, as if it is a petty thing for him to bother with ... then grabs hold of his janitor's uniform shirt ... and tears it off in one swift motion, revealing rippling muscles underneath.

Tattooed on the man's chest is an emblem of a shield with two crossed tusks or horns.

Jimbo slowly drags himself back upright. "Oh... okay... a tough guy, huh?" He begins shouldering his way out of his shirt as well, though not in nearly as explosive a manner as the fellow before him. "All right, we'll just see how tough you are, pal." ( Way too darkin' tough, is what I'm guessing. ) His right hand drags at his side for his survival knife.

The big brute grins, and puts his hands together, cracking his knuckles ... then putting his feet apart in a fighter's stance, as if this were some sort of contest, and not a battle of life or death.

The pale officer squares off as well, though he doesn't move far from the tank at his back. He holds his shirt loosely in his left hand, and holds his knife in his right at a practiced angle. "All right, buddy... so I'm guessing if I'm not dragging you back up that shaft, you're leaving without me. So just between you and me, then ... what the frak is up? What's with the correspondance course electronics gizmo box you got there?"

The big man laughs, then says, "You may as well know, before I send you to oblivion. We seek to bring about Armageddon. That diversion up above should keep everyone busy, while I finish the sequence with this machine ... and once the calculation is complete, these devices about us ..." He gestures with an expansive wave of his hand. "... will detonate. It is only one of many such weapons buried under the crust of Luna. But it will be a demonstration to the corporations that the Megabody does exist. We need only find more of these hidden caches ... and complete the sequence for each."

"But... but why?" Jimbo asks, tilting his head to one side, incredulous. "Armageddon? Everyone dead? What's the point, man?"

"Vengeance!" roars the man. "And a return to the natural order! Only when the corruption of Luna is gone, can Gaia reign supreme once more!"

Jimbo points his knife, prodding at the air. "Oh yeah? Do your higher ups think that too, chief? Just how much are they telling you? They're just fine letting you vaporize yourself, me, and thousands of other folks, but how do you know they aren't just digging out another corperate niche for themselves with blackmailed funds?"

The man laughs. "Whatever. I know that this day, thousands will die for the grand cause of Gaia. I have lived my life for this day. And I will not let some puny throwback such as yourself stand in my way!" With that, he snarls and braces, looking like he's ready to charge Jimbo like a raging rivetbull!

"Suit yourself, chief." The officer lowers as well, wrapping his left hand in flannel, and reaching behind himself for a hose. ( Durand, I hope this works... )

"RrrrrRRRGH!" With a crack and squeal of pipe fittings, Jim wrenches a hose from the tank free. There's a great "fwoosh" as a cloud of white billows from the end!

The Gaian gets only a split moment for his face to shift from a snarl to a look of genuine surprise ... before the super-frozen liquid hits him, and the room fills with mist! There are crackling and hissing noises ... and his radio goes silent.

Despite the insulation, Jimbo's fingers hurt ... and it seems that staying down in this chamber could be hazardous to his health.

A flash of cold and then numbness bite at Watterson's fingers, and with a cry, he drops the hose, dancing back away from the billowing mists and towards the pulley. Teeth clenched and already starting to chatter, he makes a lunge for the rungs, dragging his rear up as fast as he can manage.

Fortunately, Watterson's fingers still work enough to get him up the rungs, as the mist billows past him. At last, he makes his way up to the top of the shaft.

Badly shaken, the man hauls himself out of the hole, and flops on his side for a bit to blow on his fingers and clutch them between his legs, cradling them. Panting heavily, Jimbo's eyes dart back to the shaft to see if the mists are creeping all the way up,

The mists seem to be abating already. Maybe, with any luck, there was some sort of an automatic shut-off mechanism. Or else it ran out of freeze-juice.

Nearby, Jimbo spies what looks like some sort of a satchel, opened up, with a few tools in it, and a few other tools scattered about -- perhaps used to open up this hole in the floor. There's another hand-held radio nearby, though it's presently turned off.

It takes a few minutes before James really catches his breath, and all the while he stares down the hole in the floor, half expecting the giant of a "janitor" to come lunging up the shaft in a rage, covered in frost. As blood flow returns to his hand, he looks over at the radio, then takes it up, looking it over for a frequency indicator.

Looks like it's switched to the same frequency used by the security here. No doubt used for listening in on transmissions.

Jimbo heaves a sigh of relief, and rubs at the side of his head, taking the radio up to switch it on. "This is DA Officer James Watterson ... anybody read? What's the situation out there?"

The frequency is crowded with all sorts of chatter. Sounds like there's a riot going on up there!

The radio blasts, "Watterson!" Sounds like ... Jet's voice?

The pale man just tugs his goggles off to wipe at his forehead with his flannel. He searches his vocabulary for another more swear words, but just gives a resign sigh.. then perks up a bit at the transmission. "It's Jimbo, I copy! Is everybody all right out there?"

The radio crackles almost simultaneously, "Detective Danzwyck here, Watterson, do you copy?"

"I read you, Danzwyck," James croaks, somewhat lethargically. "Great Durand, you wouldn't believe what happened. What's the situation? Is it under control out there?"

"Mostly, Jay," Jet answers. "Some downed guards, lots of confusion, but no apparent specific targets. What's your status?"

Jimbo rubs at his back, and his voice gets a bit more gutteral than usual. "Urgh. I've had better. I just got worked over something fierce by one of our 'Doom to Luna' boys... you better get some techs over here... I think it's one of the... ugh, hang on... what's your location? I've got something serious to bring up."

A voice breaks in over the channel. "This channel is for authorized Feldspar Auditorium security," the voice barks.

"Relatively speaking," crackles the radio in Jet's voice. "We got some Blue Heaven O.D.'s causing a ruckus, but the guards are taking them down, Jay."

Jimbo staggers to his feet, and fumbles for his penlight so he can navigate more easily back down the darkened hall. "Acknowledged. Meet me at the crust if you can, Jet, I'll make it worth your while. And sorry for borrowing your frequency, security! Over and out."

Fortunately, the penlight still works ... and its light is sufficient to navigate Jimbo's way back to the heavy door. No bogeyman leap out at him, thank the Cardinal.

The radio crackles, "Feldspar, this is Collins, be advised my patron is a Dawn Alert detective, something they are working on is linked to this problem. We will be using channel 3, over." There is a pause, and then, "Got that Watterson? Go to channel 3."

"10-4, Collins," grunts James. He fiddles with the radio set as he goes, then nearly falls back down the stairs when he steps on one of his discarded shoes.

The radio clicks, "-copy?" as if something got cut off.

The way back up the steps is much smoother, without any need for stealth involved ... and once Jimbo is able to retrieve his shoes. He manages to make it back up to level one in short order.

Jimbo, as he moves along, adjusts the radio to channel 3, and then speaks into it experimentally. "This is Watterson, y'all read?"

The radio squawks, "Watterson, the crowd's too thick and panicked for us to get a tech team down here in short order. Maybe fifteen, thirty minutes at the soonest. I repeat, we'll meet you by the Bauhaus VIP exit on level one. Do you copy?"

"Yeah, well..." The man scrubs at the back of his head, finally notices his goggles looped around his forearm, and stretches them back over his forehead, shifting the circles of sweat and grime that smear his skin. "This is pretty Darkin' heavy, so I advise a 10-46 riot squad clear 'em out as fast as possible. I copy, 10-4. En route."

*** GM Note: No separate point awards for this log. See Still Breathing.

Log stopped on Tuesday, 25 Apr 2000, 10:40 PM EST by "Greywolf4" at "Holodeck 4"