There comes a time in every mechanic's tenure when they learn a ship's limits. The hard way. And all one can wish for is that such tragically taught lessons don't happen an an inopportune moment. Like, say, while engaged in acts of high piracy.

But as the saying goes, you can wish in one hand and lā shǐ in the other and see which gets filled first.

CLUNK!

Ick froze. The sound wasn't enough to immediately diagnose what the hell just went wrong with Revenge, but he was well acquainted with the sounds a ship SHOULD be making and "CLUNK!" wasn't on the list. No, that was the unmistakable sound of things going to a special hell reserved for mechanics who, as a teen, may have creeped a little too hard on their brother Avram's girlfriend down at the old swimming hole.

"Oooooh, don't go all fakakta on me now, friend," said Ick to both Revenge and the situation at-large. His eye flew across his instruments. Engines fine. Whew. Attitudinal framework and gyros all fine. Double whew. Life support...not so fine. The most that could be said for life support was that it was still there. No air was being lost to the black and temperatures were maintaining. Oh, wait. Not ALL temperatures were maintaining. They weren't dropping fast at all, but Ick saw the trickle.

He checked climate control. No air was moving at all. None. Which meant no CO2 was getting scrubbed from it. That wasn't an immediate death sentence for the crew. People breathing and walking around, along with temperature fluctuations throughout the ship would keep air moving enough throughout the cabins to keep the crew from suffocating in a cloud of their own CO2. The real problem was that virtually ANY of Revenge's systems had at least one vital component that relied on air-cooling. Which meant that while nearly every system was currently working absolutely ace, soon they would all overheat and die one-by-one. And THAT, of course, WAS an immediate death sentence for the crew.

Ick mashed the squawkbox.

"FISHER-PRICE, CAP'N! FISHER-GORRAM-PRICE!"

He braced his forehead against the bulkhead, wrenching his braingears for an idea. Sometimes airflow systems get a surge of energy and blow so hard that they blow themselves out. There were safeguards to prevent such a thing but Ick may have intentionally blown right through them earlier in his quest to deliver his afore-promised boost.

Yup. This was his fault.

It wouldn't be an insurmountable thing to get the airflow going again. But Ick couldn't be in all the necessary places at once.

He hit the squawkbox again.

"I need more hands, Cap'n!" he said. "More hands and bodies to help me out here. I'll take anybody you can give me in the engine room now, please and thank you!"

You're getting another season of Firefly(RPG posts)!

Good news: The studio called, and they love your work. We've created our own little non-cinematic universe (with someone else's). It's got compelling characters, action, intrigue, comedy, romance. No notes there. But with roughly half a dozen different spin-offs going at once, the writer's room is spinning a lot of narrative plates.

The bad news: The slate has been cut back to just two (not)shows. Nobody's fired, we just need to concentrate on keeping these two (not)shows on the (not)air.

---

Jokes and showbiz talk aside, things were looking quiet for a while, but the community isn't ready to call it quits, and neither are we. You wanted a plan to move forward, we collected your thoughts and are ready to share the conclusions we've drawn from your input:
 
 - A small time jump and a "soft reboot" is the most popular idea for advancing the narrative and spurring more activity. A clean slate where we can start building on what was already working. Weeks to months will have passed IC. Updates to character sheets are encouraged before we kick off the next season, and we'll collaborate over Discord about what happened canonically and exactly how much time has gone by between seasons. If you want to play a new character, tweak, or modify an existing one, go for it!
 
 - Revenge and Darling will get new "seasons" where we will pick up after that time jump. The other ships and Iscariot Space Station will be archived. However, absolutely nothing is stopping you from picking up narrative threads you want to continue in the Prologues.

 - The staff will start shopping for a hosting service, as the current board infrastructure is a rat's nest of confusing panels and criss-crossed sparking wires. Many have volunteered to help in all manner of ways with this process and the staff will provide updates once we've made a selection for a new host.

 - And last but not least the staff has expanded! Kitty and Scout will be joining our discord moderation team. They'll be helping out with community tasks like activity checks and generally making themselves helpful to the community and any possible newcomers.

I know I can speak for everyone on the FS staff when I say that we love these stories, these characters, and the writers we get to share them with. Arguably, this is one of the oldest Firefly play-by-post RPGs on the internet. It is a weird nerdy little hill we stand atop, but it is ours. Things will change as time goes by but for one constant: This ship, the community we built, it keeps flying.

Then:
Izak gave Jo a thumbs up when he mentioned advertisements. "I yield to the maestro."

However, the situation when completely to hell after that. In a hand-basket that was dropped from low orbit.

Well, not completely, maybe he was just bitter that he did not get to do what he wanted on this one. Melody told him to hold off, which was not knew by any means. He did have a habit of screwing things up a bit. But he was keen to see what she had planned next. If the other ship has something else that they could use or...strategically transfer to an alternate location before profiting from it, he was game. They were kinda broke at the moment.

"Alright Cap, you got it," Izak then waited for his next order.

Now:
Then things really, actually, truly, started going sideways. But Mel kept her cool and kept things moving. It was delightful to watch. Perhaps the old fighter jockey did have some solid leadership skills after all. Izak did not trust her completely yet, but he figured he should give her time. She pulled this job back in order fast and could adapt on the fly.

Jo had definitely come out of his shell a bit more too. The man was a technological savant the likes of which would have impressed many of the intel officers he had crossed paths with over the years

However, his initial plan was no longer needed it would seem, as Melody ordered him below to where the ships had docked to support their good doctor. He stood from his seat swiftly.

"On it Mel. Jo, good luck." He disappeared below with w quick nod stopping to grab a weapon on his way to the airlock.

Governor Yelena Sakhno stepped out onto the front steps of a glistening new hospital building. The surrounding buildings looked significantly less ostentatious. Rather than sparkling glass and steel, they were concrete, exposed rusting rebar, and whatever the locals could cobble together.

Stepping up to a podium, she smiled with a look of accomplishment on her face.

"Osirens, it is such a privilege to stand before you today in what will be formerly known as this fine city's worst slum. Not only does this hospital represent the healthcare that will be made available, but opportunity..."


Lyle Crowder, a member of the Browncoat organization known as the Blue Dragons, was lying prone across a small platform at the very top of the tower. Founded by survivors of the regiment known by the same moniker, the Dragons distinguished themselves for their vigor in assassinating Alliance officials they deemed war criminals. During the war, the Governor was a Colonel in Alliance Military Intelligence. The Blue Dragons had reason to believe she ordered the execution of dozens of prisoners of war in the late stages of the conflict.

A voice came in over Lyle's radio.

"Got her?"

The young sniper smirked.

"Affirmative, boss. These optics you got us are crazy. It's making the adjustments for wind, air temp, Coriolis effect... Its good kit, sir."

"I ain't your boss, kid. I'm just the middleman. Passing things on. Tech. Info. Confessing sins. Theirs and mine."

"Sir... We all know what you did but... you're back on the right side. That counts for somethin'."

"We only move in one direction. Forward. We're puttin' that behind us now."


Colenol Sahkno paced in front of her desk. Sitting at the desk, in her very chair, was a Browncoat officer: Major Charles Child. But his friends called him Charlie.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?!"

Charles grabbed a mint from a bowl on her desk and popped it into his mouth.

"Give me a job. Then you're going to kill the prisoners. Vent them out of the airlock, blame it on maintenance."

She turned around sharply. Shocked at the assertion.

"Because they know I brought them here. I needed them compliant when I took over the bridge of that Cruiser. Knocking everyone out with gas through the vents was the easiest solution. If I could have killed everyone myself I would have done it. The intel I have is too important, and we both know that."

"Why Yǐ yēsū de míngyì would I let you give me orders? You are my bloody prisoner!"

Her repressed New Melbourne accent reared its head. The browncoat traitor had ruffled her feathers.

"Those people stand between us and stopping this war. That's not possible unless somebody wins.  We have to accelerate it. We move forward."


Charlie Child was now Marshal Charlie Child. His betrayal did eventually become infamous. The details of his defection were unknown, but a former hero of the cause becoming the first to become an Alliance fed sent waves. Now one of the highest-ranking members of the Marshals, he'd seemingly found himself turning coat again. Leader of the Blue Dragons.

"Thirty seconds!"

The pilot shouted to a packed shuttle full of tactical gear-clad and heavily armed Browncoat soldiers. Charlie sat at the center of them, an almost serene calm on his face. 

"Fire... Fire... Fire..."

With the customary instruction from a spotter to his shooter, on the third "fire" Lyle squeezed the trigger of the advanced sniper rifle Marshal Child had provided.

"Together, we can make Osiris the example of our united worlds. Our Alliance!"

The round hit her skull like it punctuated her sentence. The echo of the shot rang out after what felt like an eternity. Slumped to the ground her security rushed to her in futility. Watching through his scope, Seargant Crowder smiled big.

"Mission accomplished, sir. Exfil ready?"

"Well done. You're going home."

Charlie congratulated him over the radio. The serene calm transitioned to a hardened look of determination. Like a bullet himself, the man of mixed allegiances exploded into action, thrusting a knife into the throat of the man across from him.

"What the -

The pistol silenced that browncoat but things had gotten loud. With a flurry of violence from Child's knife and his gun, the small cadre of revolutionaries were dispatched with bloody and brutal efficiency. Lyle noticed the sound of gunshots coming towards him on the ship.

"Sir! What's happening?!

The Blue Dragon shuttle came to a slow stop and a side door to the personnel area opened up. Standing up, staring at his dead comrades in a daze, the last thing he saw was Charlie Child. The coward. The traitor. He was still moving forward. Still accelerating.

Sid"Yeah give it a shot... not like you'll- ... ... "Don't touch the door!"

Beth put her hand on the door control, and was within half a second of opening it when Sid yelled at her not to touch it, and then pushed her out of the way.

"No need to shout," she grumbled.

Sid"This is a wacky rotating communist space puzzle. Doors aren't doors! ... We gotta think like a guy who's trying to impress us with how smart he is."

"He is certainly impressing me with how sick in the head he is," Beth muttered, having not really taken in that they were being closely monitored until it was too late, despite the voice that had said he had heard what Sydney had said. The way she was feeling, she really didn't care if he had heard her.

Sid"The maintenance hatches might still be accessible. I don't like tight spaces so I'm sticking with the erotic author's treasure hunt."

Maintenance hatches she could do. Cramped dark places were just the sort of thing she favoured. "If it comes up, I don't mind crawling through," she offered, sounding slightly more enthusiastic.

Paisley"I'm enjoying this but just to add some incentive, I'm going to shuffle the other guys closer to you the longer you take to find your way in..."

Beth rolled her eyes as the voice proved her point. Again.

"Did you check for booby traps?" Beth said, when Pool lifted the painting off the bulkhead to see if there was something behind it. "Of course not," she added sardonically. "Next time let me check it first," she continued, her opinion being that if it exploded with her right there, there would be no loss to the ship, and she wouldn't have to put up with the Pools or the madman they were trying to find. Then Rose spoke, and she was reminded that there was one person that she cared about, and that perhaps she should take some care for Rose's sake.

Rose"How are you holdin' up?"

Beth shrugged. "I have had better days," she acknowledged. She had taken her meds earlier but she had forgotten to bring any with her, and she could feel her mood spiralling down, and her anxiety levels increasing.

Rose"Let's just... think of it as a game, alright? Like a scavenger hunt. You, uh, you ever do one of those?"

Beth shook her head. "No." Beth hadn't had friends. She hadn't just been the last person when sides were being picked but she was usually ignored by the other kids, and only put on a team because the teacher had said she had to be on one. Beth would have been quite happy being excluded altogether but apparently, according to the teacher, that wasn't an option. During the lunch break she had usually found somewhere to hide so that she wouldn't be bullied unmercifully. She wasn't always successful. No one had ever invited her to a party, birthday or otherwise, and no one had accepted her invitation, so party games had never happened.

"Why can't he challenge us to something simple like Bridge?" she complained rhetorically but then sighed deeply, and for Rose's sake, asked, "So how does it work?" she asked as she followed Rose to the aquarium.

Home Team

Rory was sure Nelly had told him she'd tie the horse up.

He was pretty sure.

He wasn't sure at all.

Maybe she'd actually told him to do it and he'd misheard her. He really needed to pay more attention to his orders. Had Nelly even given him any? They'd been chatting so casually that he'd forgotten there was supposed to be a chain of command between them. That's why this has happened. He had messed up. Order needed to be restored.

"Right, you watch the ship and I'll go look for him." Nelly was the higher-ranking officer, she should be the one to kick back while the lowly intern did the legwork-- or would that be reducing her to a ship-sitter while he was out on the field, actively taking charge of the situation? That didn't seem right. Maybe it should be the other way around. He should be the one to stay behind while she handled things like the expert she was.

"No, uh, I'll watch the ship while you go look for him." Now he was just ordering her around. Who was he to send her on a wild horse chase while he slacked off? This was terrible.

"I mean... you should... I should.... uh... what should we do?"

Rose accepted the gun, but she was not happy about it. More specifically, she was not happy about how indiscriminately Reinhardt was handing out firearms without checking if anyone could actually use them. Beth shrunk away from the weapon, a predictable and understandable reaction. Even without her anxious condition, what reason did a mechanic have to tote a pistol?

Rose herself wasn't any good with a gun, but at least she came from a community where they were commonplace. She knew the basic safety protocols and, having treated more than one gunshot wound at Dr. Coen's clinic, what happened if you did not follow them.

The same could not be said for Sidney. Beth's deep aversion was just one of the possible reactions a person not used to guns might have to them; Sidney was showcasing the other extreme. Rose instinctively put herself between Beth and the buffoon, watching him like a hawk as he waved his loaded weapon around absentmindedly. She was about to put on her best kindergarten teacher voice and gently ask him to put the gun away until he actually needed it when he thankfully did it all by himself.

"How are you holdin' up?" She turned to Beth, expecting her to be more or less miserable. "Let's just... think of it as a game, alright? Like a scavenger hunt. You, uh, you ever do one of those?"

Rose had. On her sixteenth birthday Joshua, her now late husband, then best friend on the cusp of becoming her sweetheart, had organized a treasure hunt for her. He had constructed a series of clues based on her favorite books which eventually led her to her present, a thick tome of pirate tales she'd read out loud to him later that night.

This current situation was obviously nothing like that. This wasn't some cute adolescent pretend-adventure, this was very real.  They were in dire danger. And yet... Rose had to admit she was a little excited.

She wandered around the room, stopping in front of the aquarium and the little treasure chest within. It seemed so obvious. Too obvious? Then again, when were pirate tales ever subtle? She scanned the tank for signs of some nefarious hand-trapping contraption before reaching in to grab the chest.

"Where's the horse?" Nelly asked lightly, taking a step or two towards the open cargo bay ramp. She was sure that once she got to the bottom of the ramp the horse would be right there, grazing on a tuft of grass poking out of the arid rock. Shadow was traded for sunlight and Nelly shielded her eyes against the glare with a hand at her brow. No horse. She looked left. Then right. "Um... Rory. Where did you put the horse?" She turned to look back at the intern, barely visible from her current point of view. Maybe the horse was deeper in the cargo bay and she'd merely missed it? Unlikely but better than the alternative.

She raced back up the ramp, finding now her eyes had to adjust to the darkness inside. "Where is it?" Panic was not allowed to set in. Nelly kept her breath even and tried to slow her heart rate. "You tied it up, right? Or did I tie it up?" She wasn't sure. "Bollocks. Shit. Shit. Shit. Bollocks." The horse was very clearly not in the cargo bay. It wasn't that big in there and the horse was, well, not small. "We have to find it. It can't have gotten far." They were on strict orders to not leave the ship. But they were also supposed to watch over the horse, so....

Location: Revenge, Bridge

"Jo, go ahead and establish communication with that ship, see if you can't convince them to surrender?"

Jo's hands were already moving over the controls, hard at work following the first half of his orders, when the second half gave him pause.

"See if I can't convince them to surrender? Mel--" Jo felt a sudden lurch in his stomach; whether it was brought on by the prospect of having to do the talking or the sudden increase in speed was a mystery. Probably bit of both. With some effort he managed to maintain the precarious position in which he'd propped his ankle.

"I'm not sure I'm the right person--" His protests got lost in the scuffle of Mel barking orders and mashing at the ship controls. She was doing a remarkable job keeping all the plates spinning in such a frantic situation, but Jo worried she was close to snapping -- he could particularly see the beads of sweat glistening on her brow. This wasn't a good time to argue.

Then again he really didn't want to be the one to do the talking.

"I'm better at the behind the scenes stuff," he said finally, waiting for Mel to double down or, hopefully, delegate the task to someone with better public speaking skills.