Station Exterior

Jag

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Nexus GM
IC area for action mainly occurring in areas outside the physical confines of Triteia Station. All posts should begin with:

Character Name
Location in Station
 
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Marcos Navarro
Guam -- 120 Nautical Miles from Triteia Station

Navarro adjusted his sunglasses and drank in the soaking sun for a few more minutes. God knew when he would see it again. It wasn't that the former U.S. Navy officer wasn't use to long stretches without seeing the sun -- numerous tours aboard submarines had exhausted all instincts of claustrophobia from him years ago -- but there was still something about standing in the middle of a Pacific Ocean paradise and feeling the warm rays blanket the world that was incomparable to any other sensation on Earth. Still, this wasn't a vacation or pleasure trip. Marcos was there on business, to retrieve the members of the Research Team assigned to join him and others at the bottom of the ocean for the highly-sensitive Project Osiris, to transport them to their new collective home Triteia Station, a state-of-the-art underwater research laboratory nestled at the edge of Challenger Deep in the Mariana Trench.

Teracom Labs International had recruited every individual for Project Osiris over the last two years, wooing some of them out of lucrative positions and, for Marcos, out of the services of the Navy. The Ops Team had been aboard the Station during the final stages of its construction and during the last six weeks for its inaugural "sea trials," but the call had been made to begin the work in earnest and that meant the members of the Research Team.

Marcos ducked inside and poured himself a cup of coffee from the simple brewer into a styrofoam cup, waiting patiently in the break room of the shipping center not far from the resorts that dotted the coastline of Guam. The Research Team had been flown in separately, all getting three nights at the nearby resort to enjoy the accommodations before plunging beneath the depths. Now they were scheduled to arrive here, have a last moment briefing, and then depart via boat for the surface station and the elevator that would carry them down to Triteia. Navarro was their pilot.

Clad in a standard-issue TLI utility uniform slightly resembling a flight suit, Navarro's sleeves were rolled up and buttoned above the elbow. Short-cropped brown hair carried the habits and appearance of a Navy man. He stared over the itinerary and dossiers for the Research Team. As long as no one got seasick today, he'd consider it a win. And if someone did, Marcos already had a plan to put the job of cleaning it up into a game of darts against Juno and Andy.
 
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Delilah Hopkins
Guam resort / 120 Miles from Triteia Station

It was almost comedic how well Delilah played into the hermit-nerd stereotype sometimes. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy or appreciate her time at the resort; it was a nice send-off to remind the crew of what they'd be missing. But the uncomfortably warm rays of the sun, and the ever-present threat of dreaded small-talk would provide Delilah with a small level of excitement for the underwater isolation.
It was dwarfed when compared to the sheer amount of claustrophobic dread inside of her, though. It wasn't too prominent at first, and she was able to set it aside for most of the introductory period. But her final night on the resort was spent inside her room, running over-breathing exercises to combat an inevitable panic episode. It wasn't her proudest moment.

Yet no matter how many doubts flooded her mind, backing away was out of the question. The chance to work on something this huge was impossible to turn down. Studying a biological marvel, and having a possible breakthrough was an alluring concept. Being part of the team to do something so big would be a massive career boost!
...And would maybe save countless lives too, she guessed.

Holding a hand just above her brow to combat the sun, Delilah had left the rooms booked for the researches without so much as a word to anyone, save for the ones forced out of her. 'Thank you's and 'Good morning's were all delivered with a tone of impatience- She wasn't in the best mindset to chat. She hardly ever was but today? Today she was especially so. Hypocritically, despite making an effort to avoid people today, she felt a sting of panic when she didn't immediately see a gathering of researches when approaching the decided meeting spot. Was she late? Did the get the place mixed up? What if there was another deepsea endeavor meeting place, and she was at the wrong one?

No. That was a silly idea. There'd be more any second now. The woman crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers digging into her upper arms habitually. Normally, sleeves would carry down to her wrists and protect her arms from stressed squeezing, but the hot weather coaxed her into wearing a simple grey shirt and black leggings (with the bottom of the shirt being uncomfortably tugged downwards every once in a while). How scandalous.

Delilah sighed to herself, giving her best attempt at looking unphased while eyeing the way she came anxiously. She didn't dare to wander; instead choosing to stay put and stew in growing anticipation while fidgeting with a strap from the bag hoisted over her shoulder. She could hear faint sounds of someone inside, and she was half tempted to say something, but she didn't. She kept herself quiet and she waited.
 
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Maxwell Yoel Judah
Guam resort -- 120 Miles from Triteia Station

Maxwell awoke suddenly at the sound of his alarm. It wasn't the loudest on it's own, but from Maxwell's perspective it was a bullhorn siren being blared right into his head. The scientist's hangover wasn't going to be subsiding anytime soon, and he knew that as he slowly rolled himself out of his bed and to his feet. Maybe he had gone too hard the night before. Or the night before the night before. As far as Maxwell knew, he wouldn't get a chance to let loose again for a very long time. For the next several months, years possibly, he and his fellow researchers were going to be hunkered down in the underwater station working around the clock, making a difference.

It was nearly time Maxwell got himself there so that he could actually get to the station. He decided on a quick, somewhat cold shower to rid himself of the lingering stench of rum on his body and give himself something of a shock to wake himself up. It worked, mostly. He felt a lot better, but a coffee would definitely get him where he needed to be mentally and physically.

The neuroscientist threw on his clothes, a salmon button-down and a pair of black slacks, and gathered up the rest of his belongings before dipping out of his room. With a bag draped over his shoulder and another in his left hand, he decided to use his right to slip a pair of headphones into his ears.

He slid his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his music until he found something for his almost literal walk to the bottom of the ocean.

"Perfect." Maxwell said to himself, hitting play and letting a funky bassline fill his head. With James Brown in his ears and the warm sun on his skin, the young man felt as if he was in a paradise as he made his way to the shipping center.

As he approached his destination, Maxwell caught sight of a woman waiting outside. She was alone, and didn't seem in any rush to go inside the shipping center.

"Late?" He asked loudly as he got to the lone woman, "Or are we just early birds?"
 
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Theodore Tu'uao
Guam resort, 120 miles from Triteia station
Theodore's wife grumbled as she slapped the alarm. This was supposed to be a holiday, why was the alarm so damn early?

Theodore was on the floor completing his morning exercises, having woken up a little ahead of his alarm clock due to nerves. Upon finishing, he gave his wife an apologetic kiss even as she fell back asleep, had a cold shower to wash off the sweat and stink, gathered the last of his luggage, and made his way to the rendezvous point. Despite being sure his wife had gone back to sleep, the two texted nearly nonstop on the way, because she'd gotten it in his head that they would have no communication while he was down there.

After about a hundred texts between them, Theo arrived with the other two early risers. "You guys are early, huh? Excited for the first day of school?" He chuckled good-naturedly. "Oh, wait, you must be the pilot. He stepped forward and held a hand out to Marcos. "It's an honor, Mr.."
 
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Marcos Navarro
Guam -- 120 Nautical Miles from Triteia Station

The greatest transition from military life to the private sector from Marcos was the solitary nature. Normally, a port call would have meant a handful of comrades alongside him, tearing up any bar available and making havoc for local citizens in an attempt to cut loose and enjoy life away from the rigors and pressures of submarine life. Now, most everything was single-man business trips or pairings with stuffy associates who wanted to talk about last year's taxes. While that part was less than exhilarating, Marcos found comfort that taxes were at least a whole lot more important now with the paychecks the added an extra zero to what the Navy had deposited.

They trickled in slowly, walks of life carrying them from the island to Marcos and with Marcos to a new home under the ocean. He felt a certain mixture of amusement and and concern -- these were supposed to be the greatest minds of their generations brought together in the name of a world-saving crusade. He wasn't a scientist, but this group didn't strike him as the next Manhattan Project.

"Navarro. Marcos," he said with a quick return of handshake, looking up at the massive frame and friendly face of Theodore Tu'uao. He's not even gonna fit, the ex-officer told himself hidden behind a welcoming grin, making note of the strength in the man's hand. "Sure you're ready to give up the island life? The beach view at the station is, you know, a little cold."

He leaned around and noticed the others, waving them inside. A small table in the middle of the room and a bar against the wall with a coffee maker, sink, and toaster were about all that dotted the interior.

"Kitchen's a lot nicer on board, I promise you guys. Anyway, all your gear should have been brought over from the hotel and loaded by now, so I guess we're just waiting on one more," Navarro said, pausing to scan his roster quickly. "Lider, looks like."
 
Sebastian Lider
Guam -- 120 Nautical Miles from Triteia Station


The air-conditioner indoors was set at 20°C and the only light in the room was emanating gently from a word-filled computer screen; the room was impermeable to the outside world hence the man sitting before the computer desk was oblivious to the terrible conditions outside - a world of smiling people in the sun and sea.

A pair of nimble hands fluttered across the keyboard and mouse. The rhythm of the rapping sounds produced were like a lively symphony and likely the only source of sound in the room. The screen flashed with bright light as the Word document saved. The paper was almost done, boasting a word count that would make an English professor squirm. The research had finally culminated in this document which he titled "The Survival Guide - How to deal with being stuck with work colleges in an enclosed environment".

It could do with a snappier title... he thought to himself, a secondary thought to the product he had been working the past week on.

Sebastian was drowsy and struggling to hit the key to turn off the computer. Thereafter, he casually pushed his hair back and opened the mini-refrigerator beneath his desk, grabbed a can of some carbonated beverage, and gulped it down. Brain glucose levels have been restored. The passing of time was a concept foreign to a Sebastian in the throes of intellectual pursuit, so when he checked the time on his phone, he realised that it was already the day of meetup. And he was on the verge of being late. It was time to panic.

Shower. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Leave house. Lock doors. Run. Get out of breath. Catch a cab. The sequence of actions flowed seamlessly despite the manic panic that Sebastian was operating under. His outfit was quite mishmash, consisting of the clean clothing he hadn't already packed away, and he clutched his chest as he approached the meetup area. He saw the gathering of people and caught his name being said by one of the members and scampered over to them, noticeably out of breath and spluttered out "Sorry, no, I'm here. Lost track of time." with the voice crack of someone who hadn't spoken in several days before clearing his throat. "I'm the last one so I guess we're ready to go?"
 
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Delilah Hopkins
Guam resort / 120 Miles from Triteia Station

To say Delilah was relieved to see the other scientists arrive would be an insultingly low downplay of how she felt. Her bated breath left her in the form of a sigh, and her shoulders relaxed a little out of their bunched up position. The witty quips her new colleagues offered to ask if they were late/excited earned a quiet 'hope not' and a shake of her head, and even the tease of a small smile. She didn't need to worry about looking informal by the looks of things, either- Another bonus that helped soothe her haywiring nerves. The 'first day of school' comment almost rung true; she felt like she was out of her depth already. Though, she hoped she could chalk that up to being eager to show her capability.

'They seem pretty nice, at least.'
Delilah's hands moved from her arms to her hips, following the beckon into the break room with regained confidence. Now with no fear of being tardy, she could focus on who she was with. Their pilot revealed his name to be Marcos Navarro, and if she was going off what she saw, she could harbor a crazy guess he was from the Forces. That was good! Trained personnel were always appreciated. As for the other two men-
Oh. Three now.

"It's a pleasure Mr. Navarro. For all of you, actually. I'm glad we all got here in one piece."
Delilah made a point to give a quick glance at the newest addition. She tapped her fingers in a rhythmic motion against her leggings and thought for a moment before she spoke up again, appearing to either run over her words or debate saying them altogether.
"For the sake of me being bad at conversation-born introductions; I'm Delilah. Hopkins."
 
Marcos Navarro and John Serrin
Guam -- 120 Nautical Miles from Triteia Station

Introductions flew about the room quickly. Marcos was only able to keep pace because he'd been given a roster and knew who to expect, otherwise it would have been a long ride of "who are you agains" or, more likely, just avoiding the conversation for the sheer awkwardness of not wanting to admit that they couldn't remember each other's names.

"Great, now that we're all here, it's --"

"I believe your compliment includes one more," a voice spoke from the door that had carried the rest of them into the room, interrupting Navarro. Following the voice was a suit-clad man a hair over six foot, horseshoe balding with a generally stern expression softened somewhat by wire-frame glasses. On an island filled with laid-back locals or relaxing tourists, the man stuck out like a sore thumb in his dress more appropriate for a board room than a surfing board.

"I...There must have been some mistake, sir, this is --" The ex-naval officer was cut off once again as the suit-clad man walked across the room and handed him some papers in a manilla folder.

"There's been no mistake. I certainly understand if you need to step out and make a call to confirm all of this. You can use my phone," the man offered politely.

Navarro stared at the papers, the man, back to the papers again. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he accepted the phone and stepped out into the hall, murmuring something about hanging tight to the members of the research team as he did. The suit-clad man watched him leave cooly before turning to everyone else in the room.

"Forgive the dramatic entrance," he apologized with a small smile. "John Serrin. I work for TLI's compliance division. Last-minute addition to your excursion to help the board make sure everything is in full compliance with the station. Rest assured, I'm just here to make sure you all have everything you need to make your work as successful as possible."

Moments later, Navarro entered, clearly flustered but trying to push through the discomfort.

"Right then, so that makes a full crew. Mr. Serrin, welcome aboard," he swallowed. "Now, the boat waiting outside is a decent ride, but I might want to suggest that you stay off the outer deck for the first thirty minutes or so once we get going. With the tide this morning, it's a little choppy and it'll take a couple hours to get you to the elevator and then all the way down to the station, so getting wet now's going to make for a really uncomfortable trip. Just," he said, tossing the coffee cup into the trash and taking one long look over the rest of them, especially the sudden arrival, "just follow me."

He beckoned through the other doorway, leading out to the docks and a small gangplank onto the charter boat that would carry them to the elevator. Within twenty minutes, they were on their own power and Guam was slowly shrinking in the distance.
 
Maxwell Yoel Judah
Guam -- 120 Miles from Triteia Station

"Making sure we don't break anything too expensive, yeah?" Maxwell said quietly to his new colleagues as Navarro brought them to the boat. He climbed on, wasting no time in heading down to the lower deck and finding a good spot to plant himself. If the water was as choppy as Navarro told them, he needed somewhere to sit that wouldn't worsen his headache.

Maxwell wasn't one to get seasick, but he didn't the liquor still in his body to be tossed around by the ocean currents and lead to an unfortunate accident. "It takes how long to get there again?" He asked, addressing his question to anyone who could answer. "I got a bit out of sorts at the resort the last few nights." The scientist told the others, understating just how his last two nights went.

He sat back in his spot, giving some focus to the music still playing in his ears. Anything to distract himself from boat's movements and his own ails.
 
Delilah Hopkins
Guam resort / 120 Miles from Triteia Station

The suggested guideline of staying off the outer deck for thirty minutes was ignored; she planned to stay off the outer deck for the entirety of the ride. She'd had more than enough time to appreciate the wonders of the outdoors and build up a good mental image she could return to when underwater life got too much. More than enough mental images of life above sea level.

Delilah found a good place to sit and settle inside the boat, and was no sooner did she pull out a small puzzle book to mull over during the trip. She wished she hadn't finished the majority of the crosswords so quickly: those were the most amusing. It would also distract her from the few questions she wanted, and also didn't want, to ask. About the station, about her colleagues- Especially the last one to show. John Serrin. How does someone get added last minute to something like this?

"Uhm, a few hours. My guess would be around three or four, if we don't run into any problems," Delilah answered, at first not looking up from what she was doing. Then explanation of what went on in the past few nights did prompt a small side-eye glance. Delilah assumed 'out-of-sorts' meant drinking.
"That doesn't seem like the best course of action."
 
Theo Tu'uao
Guam, 12 miles from Triteia Station
Theo opted to sit inside. Being from the coast, he'd been on boats plenty, inside and out, and for now he'd prefer to be mostly dry for his journey downward - and a nineteen kilometre journey would be best taken seated and reading the latest papers in his field.
Ducking his head to properly fit inside, he looked around for a seat wide enough to comfortably accommodate him and was pleasantly surprised to find the interior was spacious enough to comfortably a gentleman on his statuesque frame. Murmuring happily so himself, he took a seat and began downloading PDFs onto his phone to sate him for the journey to Triteia.
 
Andy Sterling
In the SEER

Andy chuckled at Imani’s exasperation and left, arriving at the airlock twelve-and-a-half minutes later. This was practically early for him, as his hang-loose personality had never lended itself towards punctuality. Seeing the chef waiting impatiently, he grinned and gestured towards the airlock where the SEER was docked.

“I see you’re excited,” he said, tapping on a screen by the door. “Ready for this? You’ll love it, I’m sure. Almost as much as you love yelling at people who are late to dinner. Ladies love going fast.”

The airlock pressurized and unlocked with a hiss, the door slowly swinging open to reveal the cramped interior of the submersible. Andy clambered in, stepping lightly over all the scientific equipment and various arm controls to slide into the pilot’s seat. He gestured for Imani to sit beside him, a spot usually reserved for the navigator.

“Don’t worry about all that” he said, waving a hand towards the various scanners and radar screens arrayed around the navigator’s seat. “I know where I’m going, all you gotta worry about is looking out the window and holding on tight. Oh, you’ll probably want to buckle up, too.”

A series of flicked switches and pressed buttons powered up the SEER, its turbines whirring into life as it ran its automatic pre-expedition diagnostics. As the console lit up and the powerful LED floodlights illuminated the sea in front of them, Andy cracked his neck, tapped the roof of the cabin twice, and settled back into his seat. The SEER beeped and detached itself from the station, its buoyancy control system letting it float motionless just above the seafloor. Giving his passenger a cocky grin, Andy slammed the throttle forward, sending the submersible hurtling away from the station. A warning light above them flashed as a soft computer voice reminded him of the maximum speed protocols, but a punch of a button silenced it. One quick warm-up lap around the station later, and they were in a steep dive down into a deep undersea canyon that branched out from the Mariana Trench.
 
Imani Jones
In the SEER

Imani looked at the vehicle with a wide-eyed appreciation she wouldn't have had for a normal ride. One hand was pressed to her mouth, the other leaned up against her hip as she checked out the SEER, then turned her eyes to Andy, pupils pressed to the top of her lids. "Girls like to go fast, but this lady likes the big scary things at the deepest part of the ocean!" she professed, smirking. "And that's what I want to see, Sterling."

Sliding into the seat next to him, the chef strapped in and clasped her hands on her lap, putting through no effort to hide the excited smile that spread across her face. Just as the SEER lurched, she gasped at anything that could offer a handhold and let out a cheerful holler, kicking her feet.

"Oh, my God, Sterling! You're going to kill us!" she laughed.
 
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