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About CatastrophicFailure

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  1. Nowhere near their best of, what was it? Like 11 days from the same pad? Great video too, you can really see the angle of attack it comes in at. I wonder what sort of glide ratio it has?
  2. Nah, this one's in Cali. They don't seem to be trying for their incredible July cadence right now.
  3. I'm out of likes for the day but this really demands a gif... or a full video.
  4. ! @Hotaru:
  5. Year 6, Day 337... CETI-OTHO 2 NO ONE - NO ONE - NO ONE The investigation into Pete's abrupt disappearance... and arrival, for that matter... is on going. Which basically means I sent a couple of guys blundering through the facility at night with cheap flashlights. They're probably in the cafe pilfering snacks right now. What's more, that stupid "RESCUE" alarm started going off again. Even though the box was unplugged. And sealed in concrete. And dropped in the sea a year ago. Maybe. Time is strange, here. And apparently these new distressed damsels are on Ceti. Which we've only been to once. And I'm mostly sure we didn't leave anyone behind. Mostly. But, it's provided a convenient way to test our newest launcher evolution without having to thump and gag any volunteers down here. So I bring you, the new Otho-class heavy-lift launcher! It's really hard to grasp the scale of this thing. Just shy of 1200 tonnes on the pad, 88.5 meters tall, and we haven't even come close to squeezing all the performance possible out of the design, yet! Since everyone's afraid to go near it. Building on the lessons from the last installment, the booster stage has been upgraded from three to five RD-180's, as well as stretched a few more meters. Successful booster separation! See that ginormous parachute in the middle? This thing's recoverable! Once you scrape the seaweed and crabs out of it. They've taken up residence in the corners of the VAB. We still haven't gotten use to the singing. Second stage sep. This thing is far too big to try to recover without a huge payload penalty. The mission package continues into orbit with a blip of the engines. Shalalalalala gender roles, and really big plot holes you gotta-- *crunch!* No, it's not going to Grannus. Not yet. Though we've started running the numbers. Big things are in the works. If we can build an even bigger rocket, we might be able to get there before we all turn to dust. But I digress... A safe arrival over Ceti, and the payload is deployed. With no crew aboard, there's no need to dock... ...with our new, improved, much bigger lander! This new design runs on light, efficient hyrdolox engines, giving it both the thrust for a pinpoint landing and enough descent endurance to loiter. Though with our new, improved transfer stage carried over from the previous launch, we'll even save most of the descent fuel. There's enough delta-V left in the transfer stage to nearly land the whole mess on Ceti outright, as long as it doesn't... ...smack right into the surface during a moment's inattention. I guess that's the downside to not having a crew screaming over the radio "Oh Kerm Oh Kerm we're all gonna die!" to keep one's focus. But, the engineering team built this one to last! Just need to pop off what's left of the payload adapter... ...power up the on-board nuclear reactor, and it's ready to go! Don't laugh, it's cold in space. Really cold. With the lander up and running, it's time to go rescue some Kerbals! And try not to squish them.
  6. I was scratching my head, "wait, where'd I write the chicken & goat into this one...?" tho that does give me an idea...
  7. They better look bad-S. They're contractually obligated to look bad-S. I wanna see bad-S.
  8. Yup, as I suspected, got doodly squat done yesterday, at least textually. Conceptually tho, there's a brand new nationality for me to blatantly insult poke fun at.
  9. Don'tcha just love the vagarities of the English language? I've got one more long intermoonar mission to post, then a couple short ones before I'm caught up and can actually start launching stuff again.
  10. In my test game, landed on Rald at 6.4 scale. This thing did NOT want to fly S-first. Had to pop chutes to really slow down and get it stable for touchdown. (.5 ATM @ sea level in my setup) Dat view doe. (Credit to @KerikBalm for Rald) Now to find out if it can take off again...
  11. That looks baaaaaaaaaaad S.
  12. Dig it. Two Revelations chapters in the same week, and two ALIEN SKIES write ups done! I am on a roll this week! (Yes, I have no life.) But then... why do I have a bad feeling about tomorrow?
  13. Still year 6, Day 260... Moving on... It's finally time for Negy and Hadald Pete to begin their decent to the surface. Which they seemed to be looking forward to, until Lodvin looked at them with that... look... he gives people, and ominously chided, "There's something down there." Before slamming the hatch shut. But, we've come this far, be a shame to waste the fuel. But oddly enough, it seems Pete's gone missing, now. Come to think of it, I'm not sure where he came from in the first place. I thought he was one of the random orbital pickups, but going back through the paperwork (we actually have someone here who does paperwork?), there's no record of him anywhere. That's... odd...
  14. Dead inside No other satisfies My blood runs dry, take my life Save me from this death inside Chapter 8: Dead Inside Edgas sat huddled by the window, a once-fresh mug of damp coffee grounds growing cold on the tiny table. He turned from watching the snow swirl in the inky twilight outside, instead looking for the steady, slow rise-and-fall from the blanket on the bed. The machines were all off, now, that was good. She seemed to be healing at a remarkable rate. At least, her body did. That, alone, was troubling. He turned back toward the window, absently rubbing at the little crescent scar in his right palm. For a moment... just a moment... the snow seemed to whirl into something recognizable, but just as fast it was gone again. Jumping at shadows, he thought, like always. Once more he looked to the bed, then down at his own hands. He paused, staring at them, turning them this way and that. Faint lines had already begun to set in on his left, marking the spots that would one day bear wrinkles. They criss-crossed up over his knuckles, slowly wearing into the skin from a thousand subtle daily motions. Some days, cold ones like this, he could just feel a dim, distant aching deep in the joints. His eyes moved to his right hand. Here, the skin was soft, smooth, flawless save for the scar. As fresh and ageless as it had been years ago, when— Say dummy again. Unbidden, his hand curled into a fist. Edgas could feel it even now, the strength and power of youth that the young are ignorant to. He balled his left hand. It was not weak, not yet. A regular routine in the station gym saw to that. But in a few years, another decade, maybe two... and yet his right arm would always lag behind. His eyes returned to the slumbering form on the bed. Mystery Goo had... restorative properties that, oddly enough despite its use as a standard experiment medium, had never been explored. And Edgas had never mentioned. Things had been... difficult enough, after... ...But even then, he had learned to trust his gut. With that thought, he produced his evanescent tablet, and tapped at it. Jagged lines filled the screen. Her latest brain scan, taken while she slept. Still with the same chaotic patterns. The ones he recognized, from a mental hospital a lifetime ago. Again he tapped, and new lines appeared. Muted, serene, logical. His own scan, from just this morning. Being in here all the time at least made that easy. Every week, the same routine, creeping into the AutoDoc while the station slept. Always vigilant, always searching his own mind for any hint of... Tap. And there it was, but in the un-dead Ussari Kerbonaut's mind. How? Could she have been to the Mün? The Ussaris were known— notorious, even— for doing such things and covering them up when they went bad. But why a KSA command pod? And how? Not that much of a stretch, the Practical Kerbal in him chided, after all, decades ago, a wayward Omorkian bomber landed in their territory by mistake. They managed to not only copy but mass produce from that one example within months, and by every measure the copies were superior to the original. Edgas nodded at himself. But still, where—? The Company has been supplying the Ussaris with technology since their space program began, the Scientist in him added, for all anyone knows they simply handed them the plans. Edgas nodded again. But still, why? He didn't have an answer for that. But these were all ancillary concerns, anyway. If she had been to the Mün, stood before the Anomaly like Edmund and— His lips drew into a thin line. If she was... tainted... even after everything he had done on Bop, and on the Mün itself, after Burdous's own odyssey... Coincidences. All coincidences. He never would have thought any of it possible, until... His fingernails dug into his palms as his hands balled into fists once more. Where did that kerb on the talk show get the broken seal of the Kraken?!? They were on Bop! They'd been left on Bop! Burdous had left them on—! A thought tried to pry its way into his head, but Edgas rejected it like a parasite. Yes, they are, the Scientist said, the kerb on the screen was obviously clever, but not quite stable, either. You know his type. You've seen them before. Used them before. If he's done the reading, it's a simple enough thing to fabricate evidence to draw attention, and attention is what he's really after. Yes. Attention. Like all the others. The figure on the bed groaned, and rolled over just slightly. A light, breathy snore added some sound to the small room. Edgas looked at her. He'd already made up his mind long ago. Tainted or not, whatever the cost, he already knew he'd do whatever it took to protect her. No sooner had the thought formed in his head than the shadows in the dim room began to shift and writhe. They twisted into horrifying, eye-watering forms, wriggling like worms in carrion. The light fled as if forsaking the world. Yet in the darkness, Edgas saw the figure on the bed rise. It turned its not-face to him, stared into him with two abyss-like pools of nothing. Pressure.... pressure in his mind, and then— YOU DARE ASCRIBE TO SUCH LOFTY NOTIONS? YOU, WHO DOES NOT KNOW SACRIFICE, WHO HAS NEVER TASTED REGRET? Edgas felt his eyes grow wide, his lips pull back from his teeth in a rictus of horror. PERHAPS... IT IS TIME THAT YOU LEARNED! The shadows washed over him, tearing at him, pulling the air from his lungs. The taste of alkali stung through his throat. He raised his hands against the tempest, and saw only the bleached off-white of dry, weathered bones. Edgas jolted upright, screaming, flailing against... There was nothing there. The room was as it always had been, quiet and dim, a slumbering form on the bed. He stared at his trembling, but quite normal hands, before wiping a crust of drool and sweat and coffee grounds from his chin. Just a nightmare... hallucinating... You know better than most what sleep deprivation does to a person... Yes, Edgas did indeed. And he also knew that such things were not to be ignored. ———————————————————— A jaunty tune came whistling down a darkened, empty hallway, followed closely by the custodian pushing a mop and bucket. It was late, of course, it was always late, but a custodian's work was never done. That seemed to be especially true, these days, he mused as he whistled along. There was never a shortage of... unusual cleanups in a busy hospital like this, even one far away from the bustle of the big cities. And lately they had been well, a bit more unusual. And a bit more frequent. But the pay was good, and he didn't have a boss breathing down his neck all day. Er, night. And sometimes he nicked snacks from the cafeteria. Those were very good. As long as they came from the bin marked "staff." Anything in a bin marked "patients" was, well, not good. He'd just come from there now, with a belly full of staff snacks and a bucket full of, presumably, patient snacks. Slightly used. Management wanted the space spotless for tomorrow, some sort of big news conference. People coming in from all over. He took no interest in such things. As long as the checks cleared he'd scrub what they wanted scrubbed and see it done well, to boot. But the snacks were a nice bonus. In fact, he even— The jaunty whistle ended on a sour note. Hmm. That was... odd. The custodian raised a hand to his chin, tapping a finger against it thoughtfully. He walked up to the large double doors at the end of the hall. Now... who would go and do a thing like that? Raising an eye... bulge, he bent and picked up a name badge lying on the floor. He wiped away a smear of black with a thick thumb. Ah, an orderly. That figures. He rubbed at the much bigger black smudges on the doors. Dried. That's going to be a royal pain to clean. His hand returned to his chin as he read aloud the words scrawled on the doors, "don't... dead... open... inside..." Now what on Kerbin did that mean? Whoever put it on there appeared to have shackled the doors together with a heavy chain and a stout lock, too. That was... very odd. But it simply would not do. So, he produced his trusty set of bolt cutters that no custodian should ever be without. But... clamping the jaws around the lock hasp, he heard... ...or did he? With a frown, he pressed his ear to the door. No... Yes... Wait... no... ...Yes? He almost... could hear something, like... mumbling... and shuffling... just on the other side of the door. Or was it just those rickety old air handlers again? Well either way, a locked door in his hospital just would not do! He was the custodian after all, and he locked all the doors around here! Except for management, and, well... anyways... He set the cutters on the lock once more and gave them a mighty squeeze! The lock snapped with a loud ping, and he quickly tore off the chains and threw the doors open wide. And screamed. Inside... inside, he saw... ...two people dancing around dancing around in a field of flour to some truly horrendous music. Face white as a sheet, the custodian slammed the doors shut again and braced his back to them, chest heaving. Now, he was as open-minded as you please but that was simply not the way to go about making bread! The custodian quickly pulled the chains back on, pausing to frown at the ruined padlock. With only a moment's further consideration, he simply tied a good, strong knot in the chain, then stood back to admire his handiwork with a little smile on his face. It faded. There was still the matter of the black paint sprawled on the doors. That absolutely would not do, horrible music or no. But, a custodian's work was never done, so he turned to the broom closet across the hall and unlocked the door. Now, to find the turpentine and— "Whaguggle?" "Gaaaaaah!!!"