Actually it's more like Welcome Back. It's been a few years since I've last played, but this is the first time I've ever gone on the forums. Thanks though regardless!
(Player's Note: If anybody here has seen J.J. Abrams' take on Star Trek, then the short story that you're about to here may sound very familiar... Also, this introduction is going to be written in a vastly different manner than my previous two, simply because this "character" isn't one that I'm used to playing.)
The side of my face is damp and sticky and somewhat numb... I can hear people shouting... I can smell smoke... I can feel heat... What's happening? Were we attacked? Yeah... That's right... We were answering a distress call from one of the stations in Ontario... 'Ensign Howlett!' What? Was somebody calling me? 'Ensign Howlett!' Yes, somebody was calling my name. I open my eyes. My God. The bridge was in chaos. Fire had engulfed several terminals. Bodies, blood and detritus floated through the air without gravity to support them. The forward shutters had been closed, and judging from the difficulty I was having breathing I could only assume that one or more of the windows had been breached in the blitzkrieg. I coughed. "Oh, thank God. I thought we'd lost you, too." I finally realized that it had been my fellow ensign, Harry Sutherland, who had been addressing me this entire time. "Harry," I choked. "What happened?" Harry looked pained. "The Lieutenant's dead," he said. I winced. He went on, "The Furies were waiting for us. We're still fighting back, but I don't know how much longer we can last." As if on cue the entire ship shook under the impact of a detonation upon the hull. "What guns we have left are operating under computer control," he went on. "But I don't think we've managed to tag even one of them! I don't know what they're flying, but without fighter cover we're as good as dead." "What about sending calling from aid from Toronto or the Ottawa?" Harry shook his head. "Their tactics were brutal. They hit the bridges of the Kirkland and the Tempe as soon as we appeared. As far as our capability to send communications goes, we'd have more luck opening a window and shouting for attention." "What's the Tempe's status?" "Better than ours, but not by much. The Furies came in from our side of the gate, so we got hit hardest. By that logic we gave the Tempe a couple of seconds to prepare themselves before they were hit." "Do we know how many of them there are?" "Only three; but like I said, they're in ships that outshine ours."
I stood up. I don't know what made me do it. Maybe it was a sense of pride. Maybe it was because I realized that the status reports that should have been filing in at a machine gun's pace were instead doing so with the consistency of syrup in winter. Or maybe it was because I was getting really damn annoyed with those warning alarms. "Leonard, what're you --" But I had already maneuvered my way into the captain's chair. My mind quickly scrambled to formulate the command structure of a naval vessel and where I would logically be at this point following the necessary field promotions. I thumbed the button that would broadcast a ship-wide message. "Attention crew of the Kirkland. This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Leonard Howlett. Lieutenant Robau is dead. I am assuming command of this vessel. If anybody disagrees with me, then you can file a formal complaint once this ordeal is over; be it back at headquarters or in Hell." Harry stared at me, mouth agape. I couldn't tell if he was in shock or awe, but I didn't have time to mull over such things. At that moment people were dying - my friends were dying - and I wasn't about to let another one of those bastards outside claim another soul. "Ensign, is the forward gun still operational?" Harry's shock seemed to have worn off, replaced instead by a grim finality. He resumed his station and then addressed me from over his shoulder, "Yes, but without our engines or the higher functions of our targeting computers we're not going to be able to maneuver into a position to use it affectively." "That's fine. We're not going to use it against the Furies." "Then what --" "Target the last known coordinates of the Ottawa. Pour all of the energy into the shot. It's going to be our only chance to get their attention." "Are you crazy?!" "Their shields were hold, unlike ours if this keeps up much longer!" Again as if it had been planned another violent explosion rocked the ship, sending a couple members of the bridge crew sprawling onto the floor. "Do it, Ensign Sutherland! That's an order!" (...)