This isn't really meant to be played - it's sorta just a work of art. Oh, sure, I added RVSF and CLA spawns, so it can be played. But it was really just trying to see if a 'future' map might work, as several people on the AC forum when discussing the 2nd Mapping Competition thought that making a futuristic map would be impossible. And it fits nicely with the 2nd Comp itself, although I cannot enter it because I am a judge, which was determined to be a ship-based thing. I also made quite a little short story to go a long with it.

May The Frag Be With You. [ well, a gib is preferred ]

BACKSTORY: [ warning: this is a bit long ] [ you might notice a few references in it to the AC community and various other things :P ]
Lieutenant Gerald Gimmick looked at the terminal. A message had just arrived from some RVSF base on an asteroid. He pressed a few keys and it opened:

Commanders Log: Entry 4442
Well, after a long and very, very, VERY boring 12 years of nothing much worth mentioning, something has finally happened. A ship that looks like a piece of crap just crashlanded on our asteroid near the base, in a small crater.

Sending a team of RVSF specialists to investigate.

Commanders Log: Entry 4443
We lost communication with the RVSF operatives when they entered the ship, after blowing open the doorways with charges. I sent another team and the same happened. I am sure as hell not going down there myself . . there's something fishy. I'm ordering all doors to be locked securely.

Commanders Log: Entry 4444
There was a hammering on the door last night shortly after I transmitted my last log. We opened it to find one of the RVSF. He had scratches and bites all over him. We asked him what had happened and then interrogated him but he said nothing, just stared at a wall.

Commanders Log: Entry 4445
A lot of the doors mysteriously opened last night. Now they can't close. We put the survivor in a cell, but I'm getting my men to get ready for an attack. I will be transmitting all logs since the ship crashed to Command.

Commanders Log: Entry 4446
Oh God. We got attacked yesterday evening by a bunch of . . I don't know what to call them. Zombies. They were all pale and bloody, and they were wearing torn up RVSF uniforms. I'm beginning to think some sort of virus was in that ship. We killed most of them, and then they ran away.

Commanders Log: Entry 4447
Everyone who was wounded in yesterdays skirmish started turning all gray today, and becoming violent. One attacked a man. Oh, there's one at the door now. He's holding his arms out in front of him and walking towards meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecdxfsxdersxxxxxz sorry about that. I can't delete the stuff; my elbow fell on the keyboard. I shot the man, but he bit me. I fear I might, too, join the undead, for there are no other words for them . . .

[ There are no more Logs ]

Gimmick looked up for a moment before pressing a few more keys on the terminal's keyboard. A face appeared on the monitor, of Lieutenant General Makke. "Yes?" the face asked him, the gruff voice of Makke sounding slightly annoyed. This was compounded by the downward slant of the Lieutenant Generals bushy eyebrows.
"Sir, there's a transmission from Base 0666. Ah . . you might want to see it."
"Put it in."
Lieutenant Gimmick pressed a few *more* keys. The stern visage of Makke looked down at something below the screen for a while. Then he looked up and said, "Send several teams of RVSF immediately."
- - -

Sergeant "Dancin' Dog" Cole of M Platoon looked around, his MTP-57 slung across his back. This place was a mess. Blood all over the walls and floor. Shotgun shells lying around. A crate of ammunition had been torn open, the contents spilling across the floor around it. Some doors were forced open and barrels were piled in makeshift barricades. "Lieutenant Harps - you seeing this crap?"
"Ya," replied Harps. "let's take a look at the ship. There are four entrances. Cole, prepare to enter the SW entrance. Master Sergeant Floppy, take the north-western. Gunnery Sergeant Rowan, get the NE. Sergeant Diana, I'm pretty sure you can figure out which one you get."
"Sir, yes, sir," answered the various sergeants. The reply wasn't too enthusiastic.
"Corporal Shadow, I want you covering the entrances to the ship." Shadow was a dead shot with the sniper rifle. "The rest of you, you know your sergeants, get with them."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Uh, sir?" this was Private Casey, or "KC". "there's this thing, like, a gray human guy. He has blood all over him, and he just bit Deadeye. And he looks like he's going to bite me, too - " a gunshot echoed "Uh, mind if I, sorta, killed him, a bit? And Deadeye is looking a bit, odd. There's like, white stuff. Coming out of his lips. And he's mumbling, 'brainsbrainsbrainsbrainsbrains'. Real fast-like. What should I do?"
"Er . . . "
Harps was interrupted by PFC "Emo" Poser. "Er, sir? There's another one. Just like Kay Cee - " it was pronounced as two separate words. " - said. And, er, it's like, all over Floppy. And Intel," Corporal Intel was a notoriously annoying person who spammed up the communications device. He was also somewhat vain; he had taken to calling himself 'majestic' recently. "And Private Tipper. What should I do?"
"Well, shoot it, of course," replied Harps.
"Oh wait, nevermind. Some random idiot just came and whacked it with a plank, and it sorta fell off of them."
"Hey, there's another one of them. Actually, there's about . . . two dozen . . . "
"EVERYONE RETREAT! GET BACK TO DA CHOPPAH!" yelled Harps. "I mean hangah," he amended himself, and started to run. Once they got to the passageway leading to the hanger, where they had landed with a transport, they saw that the door was held open with a barrel; while usually this would work to their advantage, but M Platoon was not to good at figuring out things like that and thus it was assumed that the barrel meant that the door was being held closed. "Well, men," said Harps, "and women - " he noticed a sharp look from Sergeant Diana - "We shall just ha - " he was interrupted by a heated stare from a small blue fuzzy ball. Corporal ElCol was not considered human by most of his companions and Harps was beginning to realize that perhaps they were correct. " - ah, men and women and small blue fuzzy things, we shall have to make a stand here and hope help arrives."

And thus the epic battle for survival, epic-ness, and pie began . . . it is said that the first shot was from a local SHOOP which had been hovering above the asteroid in space.