MARS Award Ceremony

MARS Award Ceremony

Metal-Head, MicroChip, Nightgaunt, Over Kill,

Quagmire, Typhoid

2005

Cobra Base - Command Sector

As Logged by Typhoid - Thursday, July 07, 2005, 8:55 PM

Cobra Base - Command Sector

This small cluster of buildings lies just off of the main road, directly in the center of the base. Serving the purpose of a command area, its primary function is to provide administrative offices and a communications center. In addition, one of the structures was built specifically for command staff quarters, with the rear of the building overlooking the parade deck. Standing in the center of this cluster of buildings is a fourty-foot tall pole, from which is proudly flown a black flag with a red Cobra insignia.

Contents:
 * BAT Mk 1
 * BAT Squad
 * Metal-Head
 * Baroness
 * MicroChip
 * Edgar Nodens
 * Nightgaunt's Office
 * Over Kill

Metal-Head glances back and sees the BATs standing at attention and attempts to straighten himself up. This lasts for a grand total of a minute and a half before he's fidgeting again.

Metal-Head

Before you stands a hairy, orangutan of a man wearing an embarassing dress uniform!

Metal-Head's working kit has replaced with [Iron Grenadiers|Iron Grenadier]] Officer Formal Wear: Full Scottish togs, including a kilt in the McCullenfamily tartan, with sporran, knee socks and those prissy looking shoes with buckles. His hair has been washed, blown dry and pulled back into a pony tail so tight that the hair on the top of his head is flat against his skull and laquered into place.

Atop this, he wears a jaunty little beret. His goggles have been replaced by a set of expensive looking sunglasses that at least partially hide the shame and embarassment in his face.

As for what's under the kilt -- Don't Ask.

Carrying: The Rig

Edgar Nodens nods once again, "Excellent. Viper 246 will be reading the award at the podium. You and I will be standing at the end of the columns to present the MARS Stars. We'll stand centered as the awards are read off, then step up to the leftmost recipient..." He glances over to the kilted one, "Metal-Head, from the looks of things.

"As we move to each of them in turn, you'll hand the medal to me. The cases are labeled." Leave it to Nightgaunt to leave things cut-and-dry.

MicroChip nods, "Understood."

Metal-Head hears his name. "Huh? What? I'm wearing underwear, I swear...what?"

Edgar Nodens raises his left eyebrow, the metal orb focusing in on the ordnance-toting simian, "Let's hope for no wind, in either case..." Yeah, one good breeze and...*shudder*

Metal-Head stands by Over Kill, dressed in Dress Wear Finery as dictated by Destro McCullen, the Mad Scottish Git...err...Loveable Scamp who Signs the Checks.

MicroChip is standing near Edgar, receiving instructions, while the squad of BATs and the Mk 1 are off to the side in formation at attention.

Two formations face each other, one of standard Enlisted Cobra, the other of Cobra Officers. The recipients (Metal-Head, Over Kill, and

Kinetic) stand in their own formation behind the bleachers, with an entourage of BATs waiting to escort them up to the podium at the end of the columns. All this takes place at the Parade Deck.

Metal-Head is fighting the urge to scratch that itch. Really hard.

REALLY REALLY hard. Which of course, makes the urge to scratch all the stronger. Stupid traditional wool kilts.

Typhoid slips quietly into the area, looking around curiously. She keeps to the periphery, and watches the goings-on. She lacks her usual lab coat, so is merely an average-height woman in tight Kevlar and leather, wearing a gas-mask.

Typhoid

Faction: Cobra  Species: Human Function: BIOLOGICAL WARFARE Rank: 7/R&D XO

Motto: "In science, there is no room for emotion."

Note:  TYPHOID is a medical genius, and skilled virologist. She dispenses death and healing with the same detached, professional calm.

Kevlar armor hides her features, and her personality reveals little else about her. She climbed her way up the Cobra ladder over the bodies of its enemies, and now assists Dr. Mindbender in overseeing the Medi-Viper Corps, often helping him in his diabolical mental experimentation. Not one for personal combat, she is usually armed with little more than a pistol sidearm and a set of surgical tools, although she has been known to pack heavier ordinance during field missions.

While her impersonal nature and complete lack of a bedside manner haven't won her many friends within the Cobra organization, most who have had dealings with her respect her abilities and commitment.

Typhoid is an odd-looking figure in a gas mask. Her black Kevlar armor is decorated by a Cobra sigil overlaying a biohazard logo. The figure's frame is slight, and little can be seen about the person under the mask, other than the fact that she is thin and walks with a light limp. Rank insignias indicate she is SIC of Dr. Mindbender's Medical Services division.

Edgar Nodens looks over his shoulder at the podium. Viper 246 stands there, shuffling his papers. He looks back to the others, "Ready?"

MicroChip nods, "I'm ready"

Over Kill stands at full military attention. "Prepared, sir." He comments.

Over Kill

Faction: Cobra  Species: Android Function: BAT LEADER Rank: 3/CW/BAT Commander

Motto: "Kill! Maim! Destroy! Kiss my ass!"

Note:  Being the leader of an entire unit of android troopers comes quite naturally to OVER KILL, since more than fifty percent of his body has been replaced by mechanical parts. He is also equipped with integral body armor, a self-contained breathing unit, and a wireless modem implanted in his brain. His vision has been enhanced with image intensifiers and infrared scanners. A targetting computer is hard-wired between his right eye and his trigger finger. Having command of a small army of mindless robots has affected his outlook, making him overly sentimental and protective of his troops. OVER KILL sees them as individuals and gives them secret names, picking some out for special attention. He carries a special grudge against enemies who take out his cybernetic cannon-fodder in battle.

Metal-Head mimics Over Kill, straightening up and holding himself at attention.

Typhoid slips around to an appropriate section for an R&D officer to be, but doesn't seem too sure about it.

Edgar Nodens nods, "Very well, then." He turns to Microchip and nods before coming to attention, himself. He then proceeds outward, marching across the parade deck between the two columns of troops. He and Microchip come to halt and perform an about-face. The Viper at the podium reaches beneath, bringing three small cases over to MicroChip.

He then returns to the podium as the marching band begins to play the Cobra Anthem... whatever it is.

 Typhoid says, "Cold Slither"  Over Kill imagines it something like Rule Britannia or God Save the Queen only "God Save CC.."  Nightgaunt is thinking more of a brass band version of the opening song from the movie. ;)

Typhoid moves to the officers section of R&D, and flicks her wrist. A small collapsible cane snaps open, and she leans against it slightly as she watches the production.

Metal-Head hums and nanahs along with the Cobra theme, luckily under his breath so only Over Kill has to suffer...err...listen.

Over Kill turns his audials off while metal-head hums. It helps.

Typhoid glances around. Many of her own troops may not recognize her. She hasn't been on an official Cobra base in months.

Once the anthem comes to a close, the individual platoon commanders order their platoons to stand at ease while the Podium Viper goes through the standard formalities: duty officers, all present, etc. Once these have been taken care of, the formations come back to attention.

Then comes the words that those between the bleachers are likely dreading, "Personel to be award, cen-TEEEERRRRR...MARCH!" Thanks to BATnet, this will likely be one of the tightest formation marches that Cobra has ever seen.

Typhoid watches all of this dispassionately.

Metal-Head isn't on BATnet. But it's hard to get out of step when doing so means the guys behind you will stomp you like a grape into the carpet. He follows along, marching alongside Over Kill, looking out over the crowd and waving one of those quick, 'I'm either saying hi or having a localized seizure!' waves at Typhoid.

Over Kill on the other hand is. HE takes the call on BATnet as a reason to turn the audials back on, and lines up with the BATs, keeping in tight formation with his troops. He seems to react as if he's part of the robotic armies rather then a recipient.

Typhoid manages to keep her composure and doesn't react to the spastic wave.

Metal-Head gets no reaction from Typhoid but if there's anything years of self-delusion have taught him its no reaction is a good reaction!

Yeah... sad, sad lonely git... Grinning to himself, he turns his attention back to following along with Over Kill.

Edgar Nodens remains at attention at the end of the column as the recipients march between the formations, signalling for Over Kill to halt the formation five (human) paces in front of him. The band plays their own Cobra version of a fanfare as this occurs.

Over Kill puts his hand up for a moment, the Bats pausing five paces before him. The BATs move in mechanical syncronization.

Metal-Head doesn't. He pauses half a pace ahead of Over Kill and the BATs, then steps back into place. "Right sorry," he mutters as he stands up straight.

Over Kill ponders in a whisper as he has no internal dialogue. "Add cybernetic attachments when he's asleep."

Typhoid makes a mental note to do that. B^)

Once the formation halts, Viper 246 takes only a moment to reshuffle his papers. He then speaks up, the microphone implanted in his mask making it easier for everyone to hear. "On this day, 07 of July 2005, Co-Commanders Edgar "Nightgaunt" Nodens and Clayton "Brainstorm" Woods have called formation to present Metal-Head, Over Kill, and Kinetic with the MARS Star. This award has been appointed by Destro McCullen, on behalf of the MARS Organization, for members of both MARS and Cobra who represent a substantial investment of both training and equipment.

Those who bear this award are to be considered nigh irreplacable to Cobra, and should be treated accordingly."

Metal-Head MEEPS! Or would, if he'd heard the mutter but...he didn't.

He's not wearing his hearing aides.

Typhoid manages not to react to the spectre of Metal-Head winning an award...

Edgar Nodens steps forward as the Viper finishes his speech. MicroChip hands the first of the three cases to him and he opens it, pulling out a star made from what looks like scrap metal. As Nightgaunt reaches forward to pin the medal on Metal-Head's tartan, the Viper continues,

"As each recipient of this ward is unique, so, too, is each medal. The MARS Star, itself, has been made from scrap-metal salvaged from the battlefield, specifically from kills made by the respective recipients."

Typhoid watches the ceremony in silence.

Metal-Head straightens up, puffing his chest out a bit as the medal is pinnned on. He attempts to look solemn and warrior-like but the big goofy "I did a good job!" grin just won't stay hidden for long.

Over Kill looks over at Mullet..erm Metal-Head as he gets his medal. He salutes, and the BATs salute in tandem.

Edgar Nodens extends his hand to shake Metal-Head's hand, "Congratulations." He then moves on to the next in line: Over Kill.

Fortunately, his is magnetic so it should attach...and the magnet's not very strong, so it won't interfere with any systems.

Typhoid shifts her position, moving her cane slightly.

Metal-Head shakes Edgar's hand. "Thanks," he says, still grinning broadly. He glances down at his medal, fingering it with his free hand.

"..s'cool.."

Over Kill stands still while the magnet is attached. He keeps his face emotionless. "My thanks, command. I will live up to the expectations that this 'reward' requires." he can't help it. He stares at his chest.

He'd show emotion but has no mouth.

Typhoid studies OK and his (lack of) reaction, from her perspective in the officer's ranks.

Over Kill offers a salute once hes done staring at the medal. He shifts his feet a bit nervously. He'd give a smile. The kind that the machines are getting respect. The humans trust us.. yes.. one more step towards Skyne..nothing!

Edgar Nodens nods once, "I trust you will." He returns the salute before moving on to Kinetic, the third, final, and unconnected recipient. Presenting her medal goes just as smoothly as the rest.

Metal-Head nudges Kinetic, giving her a not-so-discreet thumb's up.

"Good job, kid," he says, getting all elder brother on her.

With the three medals presented, Nightgaunt returns to his post five paces in front of the recipients and centered. As he offers up a salute, the formations return it with a thunderous, "COBRAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Typhoid joins in quietly.

Over Kill joins in, along with any BATS with speech synthesizers.

Metal-Head joins in and follows it with a rebel yell and air guitar.

Yeah, that's classic!

Over Kill and several BATs stare at Metal-Head. Then imitate. Oh great.

Groupies.

Normally recipients are expected to stand at perfect formation.

Fortunately, Metal-Head and Over Kill are technically officers. Rank has its privileges. Nightgaunt holds his salute until the crowd quiets down, then lowers his arm. The Viper speaks up again, "Platoon commanders, take charge of your platoons and carry out the plan of the day." The formation is summarily dismissed.

Metal-Head moves to where Typhoid is standing, moving without heed to gravity or his current outfit. "Typhoid!" he yells. 'Hey! Hey! Over here! How you doing?"

Over Kill takes his BAT formation and gathers them to return them to their posts. Business as normal. He holds his shoulders back, rather proud "The first of my species to recieve an award.."

Typhoid remains where she is, as most of the R&D personnel disperse. She watches Metal-Head approach, her body language displaying no emotion as she leans on her cane motionlessly.

Metal-Head pauses in front of Typhoid, not quite dancing from foot to foot. ""Uhm...hi!" he says, then realizes belatedly he's got nothing else to follow that with. Sweat starts to form on his forehead.

'I...uh...got an award," he says, indicating his Mars Star. "See? Shiny..."

Typhoid nods. "I'm impressed. Apparently, you've been doing well in my absence. I still owe you dinner." Her expression is hidden behind her gas mask, and her filtered voice is hard to read.

Metal-Head grins, bouncing on his feet. "Yeah, well..uhm...I'm free any time, y'know? I mean...any time you feel like fixin' something, you can give me a call...you want my cellphone number?"

Quagmire notices his division has already left and turns to follow. "Wait up. You guys no ditch Kag-Mah 'gain!"

Typhoid flips open her wrist comm. "Give it to me," she instructs Metal-Head.

A Heavy Water with a deep feminine Russian accent calls back. "Keep up, shorty," as she quickens her pace.

Typhoid glances up at Metal-Head's face, expectantly.

Metal-Head pats himself down, looking for his phone. "..crap,' he says. "Don't have it on me but... I think it's.. uhm... 555-6062, yeah.. that's it."

Typhoid taps into her wristcomm. "If it is incorrect, I'm sure I can reach you through official means." She flips her wristcomm closed, and says curtly, "As I have just gotten to this new base, I have nothing prepared, but if you could direct me to officer's mess, perhaps we could find something palatable in meantime?"

Metal-Head nodnods. 'Oh yeah, sure, you can email me or IM me or y'know, memo or something, I get those still..." He pauses. "...you wanna go eat...wtih me?" EEEEEE!!!

Typhoid says curtly, "Yes. As I have said, I have no time to prepare something myself, but if you are hungry, we could grab something, or just have tea...." She looks Metal-Head up and down. "The kilt suits you," she adds, the compliment sounding odd with her emotionless delivery.

Metal-Head has anothe rlocalized seizure. 'Sure, sure," he says, head bobbing. "Sounds great, perfect. Whatever you wanna do, no problem. C'mon, I'll show you where it is..."

Quagmire snickers as he overhears this. HE gives Metal-Head a 'go for it' thumbs up and wink from across the way.

Typhoid says curtly, "Excellent. My thanks." She flips her wrist, and her cane re-collapses. She stows her collapsed cane back in its wrist compartment.

Metal-Head pauses a moment, returning the thumbs up, then offers his arm to Typhoid in an attempt at chivalry.

Typhoid says curtly, "Oh. Thank you. When did you learn manners?"

Metal-Head rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. 'Uhm...y'know, Destro had some of us take these classes so...y'know...for meetings with investors an' stuff..." He giggles nervously. '..some of it stuck.."

Typhoid says curtly, "Well, I like the improved Metal-Head. I guess you're not monkey after all." She lets Metal-Head lead her whereever he's going.

Metal-Head grins and starts walking toward Building 437.

Typhoid says curtly, "So, what has Cobra been up to here in West? I read of an alliance with Autobots and G.I. Joe?" Even with the assistance, Typhoid tends to take short strides and walks slowly.

Metal-Head shrugs. 'Uhm...I uh..y'know, kinda been...uhm...working on other stuff..." he says, talking into his chest as he tries to pace himself so as not to end up dragging Typhoid along.

Typhoid says curtly, "Like what? For what did you win this award?" She gestures to the MARS Star on Metal-Head's chest.

Metal-Head uhms. "For, y'know...good service an' bein' expensive to replace," he says, grinning a bit sardonically. "...s'cheaper than a retirement plan, y'know?"

Typhoid says curtly, "Ah. Symbolic rather than financial reward."

Metal-Head nods. 'Yeah, exactly," he says, stepping into 437. He goes to Cobra Base - Recreational Services.

Typhoid is led into 437

Cobra Base - Recreational Services

This building has been set aside to give Cobra's troops a place to unwind. The ground floor houses the base's gym, with a running track, basketball court, indoor pool, and several weight machines. The second level serves as a small comissary and exchange for people to purchase the items they need to make military life just a little bit easier. It also houses the requisitions office. Finally, the thrid floor is the recreational area, with a pair of lounges. One has a reasonably stocked bar, pool tables, pinball machines, and other entertainment devices while the other lounge houses the base's cafeteria.

Contents:
 * Metal-Head

Typhoid is lead into Building 437 by Metal-Head. She remarks, "Of course. What else should I expect from Destro?"

Metal-Head grunts. '..yeah, well, y'know, he treats me pretty decent," he says. "I mean...y'know, for th' most part." He moves toward the cafeteria.

Typhoid is lead to the cafeteria

Metal-Head steps into line, grabbing a tray. "I can carry for both of us," he says. "I mean, if you don't mind? Uhm...you just want tea? Or something to eat? They make a pretty good burger here. Think it's actually meat, y'know?"

Typhoid joins Metal-Head in line, and looks over the available food skeptically. She says curtly, "Cobra troops have actually been surviving on this... 'food'?" She looks over the choices and points to some rice and vegetables. "I guess that might not make me too sick."

Metal-Head nodnods. "yeah," he says, selecting a double cheeseburger for himself. "They got good cooks here, they even toast the buns for the burgers an' stuff. Nice an' buttery an' crisp. An' if you ask nice, they'll double fry the fries. Double-double grease grease!"

Typhoid shakes her head. "Never mind. Maybe I'll just have tea. I need to get bath and to bed soon, anyway. I'm still jet-lagged from my flight in for your ceremony." She gets some hot tea for herself, and waits for Metal-Head to get his double cheeseburger.

Metal-Head puts his plate on the tray. "Yeah, s'why I hate planes," he says. "Boats're better, gives you time to get used to it. Never hear of boat lag!"

Typhoid says curtly, "I get sick on boats." She moves to a table, but doesn't sit down.

Metal-Head nods. 'Yeah..." he says, as he starts to sit down but stops himself in time. Quickly, he moves to pull out Typhoid's chair for her. "Here," he says. "First day of th' class even..."

Typhoid shakes her head. "No, actually, I think I will have to turn in early. I apologize. Can I give you another rain check? I know I owe you several, but really, I need my rest. I am very weak."

Metal-Head shrugs, then nods. "Sure," he says, looking at Typhoid with some concern. "You gonna ge able to get home okay? You want me to calla jeep're something?"

Typhoid shakes her head. "I have it." She sets her untouched tea on the table, and snaps out her cane. "It is nice to see you again, Metal-Head. We'll have lunch soon, and when I've settled in, I'll finally make that dinner for you I promised."

Metal-Head smiles, eternally hopeful. "Cool,' he says. "Y'know, just give me a call when you're ready okay?"

Typhoid nods. "I will do so. Good night, Metal-Head." Using her cane, Typhoid carefully makes her way out of the cafeteria, and disappears into the evening.