Captain Thomas Phillips was sitting in the captains chair on the bridge of his ship, the Confederate Trade Ship Open Sea. It was evening, and the ship was returning from Colony 12 with a load of fresh load of machine parts, and two political dissidents who were being transported to the Homeland for trial and execution. Philips ran this ship for the past forty years. He had inherited it from his father; it was an old cargo ship, but it was large enough to get the job done. Phillips had almost blew his bank account modernizing the thigh with a pair of new gas turbine engines. His intercom buzzed. "Phillips, what is it?" He answered. "Captain, its Private Jackson. We need to take a prisoner to the infirmary, there's been a....situation." Jackson was one of the two Imperial Marines sent on the ship to guard the prisoners. Phillips was hesitant; he heard about the Lazarus Virus outbreaks accross the globe over his ships radio. "Is it Lazarus?" Phillips asked. "No. Just a headache and vomiting, classic flu symptoms. Do you have Zophran in the infirmary?" "I think so. Take him there and give him what they need, but don't take longer than necessary."
Open Sea's infirmary
Marine Private Jackson and the ships medic, who simply was known as Doc, had been given the prisoner an IV drip and Zophran, a popular anti-nausea drug. However, the prisoner took a turn for the worse. He went comatose, developed a high grade fever, and had a light, rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. Doc was worried. "Private, this looks like Lazarus. Get him out of my infirmary before he turns and gets us all killed!" Private Jackson was very irritate. Lazarus couldn't be here, not now. "How the hell would he have picked up Lazarus? The city we picked him up from was fine-" "No it wasn't! Didn't you hear the radio chatter?! Get him out of my infrimary and isolate him or I will do it for you. The way I see it is that Silva wants this guy dead; drowning would make him just as dead as a bullet would." Jackson knew Doc meant throwing the prisoner overboard. "Fine. I'll deal with him."
In the cargo ships sprawling, dimly lit and musty corridors, Jackson was wheeling the prisoner back to the brig. The prisoner was tied down on a gurney, and appeared to be still comatose. Jackson radio chattered, the chatter echoing of the cold steel around him. "Yeah, yeah, almost there. Give me a--" Jackson was cut off as the man in front of him suddenly sprang to life, snapping his restraints. The prisoner lunged for Jacksons face, and the resulting screams echoed off the halls.
A few minuets later, Jacksons partner, who heard the blood curdling scream, opened the bulkhead door to see Jackson being eaten by the prisoner, who then turned to see a fresh target. "Oh, shit." The Marine raised his rifle and opened fire, a round landing clean in the Zs face. The Marine went to check his freind. After confirming he was dead, the Marine went to the wall comm. "Captain, captain, we have a situation--" suddenly the Marine was attacked from behind.
As Doc was cleaning his infirmary, suddenly, there was a loud banging at the door. "Hold on a minuet!" The banging continued. Doc strode over and began to open the door. "Dammit, learn to show some respect. What the hell is so important?" As he opened the door, he was overwhelmed by two of the infected.
The infection began to spread across the ship at a very fast pace. The crew could do little to fight back, and Captain Phillips didn't realize it until his evening report. Of course, he'd been very suspicious after the Marines situation report abruptly cut out. "All stations, report." There was some static, then a few replies. "Foward crows nest, reporting. Everything's all clear, captain." "Engine room, reporting. Running like a beauty." "Reactor room, reporting. 100 percent output." But there were no more replies. "Brig, come in? Doc? Cargo bay?" Static. Suddenly, down the hall, there was a crash. Phillips looked over, caustiously. "Hello?" His voice echoed down the dimly lit cream colored steel hallway. Another crash, and five men sprinted s round the corner, crashing into a wall. They were growling, moving inhumanly. They began running down the hall towards the bridge. Phillips recognized Doc in the group. He immediatly shit the bridge door and locked it, and the whole room was filled with the sound of echoing steel as the infected began banging on the door, and howling. Phillips ran to the comm and pushed the transmit button. "All stations, lockdown! Lock it down! Lazarus is onboard!" He didn't wait for the replies, but he went to his radio and pressed transmit.
SOS, SOS. This Captain Thomas Phillips of the civilian cargo ship CTS Open Sea. We have a situation. Most of my crew is dead, or was. The Lazarus Virus is onboard, but we have survivors aboard, repeat, there are survivors aboard. Please, get us out.
Captain Phillips sat back, and set the message on a loop, and waited for the eventual reply.
RULES:
Don't blow up the ship. Yet.
Keep it MT, or slight PMT.
ONLY a squad of soldiers allowed on board.
Other general NS rules apply.
Enjoy, and let the Zombie KillFest begin!