Soldiers Of Misfortune: Into The Labyrinth Of Oppression

  • Thread starter Dawn Bringer Invictus
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The Centipede (Part 2)

Then we are fools together, my fellow fool. For only a fool would snatch a wandering stranger from the void, and demand answers for fault of their own curiosity.
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Krozill called out, still un-moving, his voice sliding out from behind his mouthparts like an almost ghostly sound.

"There's something called inter-spacial territory laws. Look it up; there are reasons why we question unauthorized entries into our mobile territory. Curiosity isn't one of them."

His head turned slightly to read the second message.

'I am unlike anything you have ever, or shall ever see. You can slow me, but you cannot stop me. The Æsir guard me with their song, and direct me with their calls.'
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Krozill leaned back on his chair.
'There will be war... Ragnarok draws closer. You will need me for this war. Return Mjöllnir to my hands, and show me your enemies. The All Father has decreed my weapons to swing under your banner.'
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"I remember the techno-barbarians and zealots who'd say similar things many years ago. A shame their faith in dead and disproven belief systems was stronger than that of whatever reason they had; it was rather painful watching their little dream societies which had become reality collapsing under the inefficiency of their beliefs. We tend to be suspicious of people we've only known for a few minutes asking to fight and die alongside us; your request is denied, for security reasons. You'll be provided a vessel, a simple one, and from that point onward, you're on your own. You've given a sufficient explanation and that's what we all care about right now."

The myriapod rose from his seat, head nearly touching the ceiling. He slouched somewhat, and pulled something from his pocket. It was a small rectangular shape, a sort of data drive. As he held it, it began to glow a light green, reaching a certain brightness, before fading somewhat and settling into a dull variation. He slid it across the table to the machine man and spoke.

"Information regarding your new ship, its controls, and the supplies on board, along with the location of various backwater and more quiet worlds to escape to. It's nothing fancy; simply a personal transport vehicle based of modified civilian technolgy, changed to be more robust than the norm. Supplies are there to simply keep a man alive for about a month. Don't take too long; I expect you to be out of our sight in the next 24 hours."

As he did so, the door behind them, circular in shape, rotated slowly until the three glowing lines across it seemingly retracted and it opened. A soldier, a human of all things yet dressed in Funebraran armour, came out with a few of the native species. They motioned for the machine man to follow them out.

Korzill remained sitting down, returning to his still state.

++++++++++

Back in the cafeteria, Arkoss spotted Claire wandering around and waved to her, half-standing and leaning to the right. The large crab-like warrior was partially obscuring his view of her. The rest of the cafeteria-goers had since calmed down after hearing about Korzill's involvement. In spite of that, the nature of the machine-man found and what was to be done with him was now the topic of choice. Arkoss had received a short message from the other commanders that the android was being given a ship to leave to wherever he was off to, in spite of the fact that he wanted to fight alongside them.


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Irwin was at the counter when Arkoss hailed Claire, he'd already picked out his own lunch, but was carefully eyeballing the counter to feed his armor's carnivorous appetite when he spotted a creature skittering past behind the cook. In a flash he had speared it with his tail stinger, the animal was a common parasite, living off the ships food stores and resisting even the most virulent pest control methods, The only reason he really liked the things was that two of them would feed his armor for the day, and their breeding habits kept them in enough of a supply for long journeys.

the Insectile centaur strode over next to Arkoss and plopped down on his haunches before devouring his prey, using his tail stinger and powerful jaws to crack it's exoskeleton before devouring the meat inside. after he was finished he then turned to the Funebaran next to him "So, any plans for today, or just the same old same old?"
 
::They're giving you resources to strike out on your own? Interesting, very interesting! I won't make assumptions as to your next move, despite the fact that I have already compiled a list of scenarios you're likely to make, given the new set of circumstances, to within a 7% probability.::

A nanosecond of pause.

::I've ultimately decided to respect the sovereignty of your Aesir-wrought shell, as intriguing as it may be. May your... makers smile on whatever series of decisions you take.::

At the very moment Durandal had sent the latter communique to X13, he sent simultaneous broadcasts to the personal communication devices of all Commanding personnel aboard.

"While I highly recommend rearming and employing 'Einherjar', I recommend even more-so to not hinder the man-machine in whatever it decides to do from this point forward. I mean, you can if you decide to, but doing so would be like pressing the big red button underneath the tactical command console's tertiary panel. Oh, not all of you were supposed to know where that was! Ah, well."
 
The cafeteria. This was only the third time Taxus had visited it since he had been on the ship. He didn't feel comfortable here simply because he was surrounded by people devouring random other life forms and he himself did not indulge in the practice. The multiple types of liquor and other substance hadn't had the same effect as they did on the other species. Rather than give him an alternative state of mind liquor simply made him sick. His body rejecting the poison in a violent act of regurgitation that had greatly amused onlookers.


Taxus had left the hanger after asking the A.I. to keep him up to date on the activities of the entity found floating in space. He was still very curious about the situation but did not feel the need to wait idly in the hanger for a hopeful glimpse of the machine man. In one ear he had a com link so he kept be informed of any new information. Listening to the audio playback of the machine man was very intriguing. He believed he was protected by musical vocalization and this protection deemed him unstoppable. Also the machine man believed he was guiding by a being known as the 'All Father' and something called 'Ragnorak' was near. Later he would have to delve through the history files to learn more about this beings ancient religious beliefs.


But for now he found himself standing just inside the entry way of the cafeteria. As he looked around for the commander he watched in half disgust as life fed upon life in an orgy of consumption. The measure of repulsion ran a slight shiver through his body. He made his way through the cafeteria and to the commander's table, sitting down and listening to the chatter around him. Curiosity of the space drifting cyborg was not limited to just himself. He listened to the other conversations to pick up on any details he may of missed.​
 
[bg=#657383][Dash=#FFF9FA][dash=#FFF9FA]'Questoins are deeply rooted in curiosity. Perhaps it is you who is trespassing in this expanse. In 22,000 years I have never had you walk into my home.' The Android answered giving hit to it's possible age. An amazing twenty two thousand years... possibly longer.

"Information regarding your new ship, its controls, and the supplies on board, along with the location of various backwater and more quiet worlds to escape to. It's nothing fancy; simply a personal transport vehicle based of modified civilian technology, changed to be more robust than the norm. Supplies are there to simply keep a man alive for about a month. Don't take too long; I expect you to be out of our sight in the next 24 hours."


'I care not for your peasant chariot. The All Father has deemed my actions, and so I will fight along side you. With Mjöllnir in hand your enemies shall run in fear, or be scorched where they stand.'

It was painfully obvious that they weren't going to be getting rid of the Android anytime soon. It's intense desire to fight with them was rather inspiring minus the fact that the machine could easily have killed half the ship's occupants by now if it had Mjöllnir, or a fourth without it.

'To battle, and our victory my fellow Einherjar.' X13 Clapped its closed fist across its chest, and then walked out of the room without following the human soldier, and began down on of the hallways at random. It would have to learn the interior of the ship as soon as possible.

As the Android walked, it sent a burst out to Durandal 'I pray that I can think of you as a voice of reason. Speak with your leaders, and persuade them of the offer I have given. I would very much not like to disobey my quest.'

Ultimately, the Android was going to have it's way.


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Violence And Survival

The first part of this post basically gives some info on how the funebrarans are going to deploy into the battle; basically via drop-pods. Most of it though, is basically Arkoss's rather gloomy and harsh views on warfare, shaped through the savage experiences of his youth. He and the rest of the funebrarans, not just the 13th War Swarm, are very determined to find a home for their people


"So, any plans for today, or just the same old same old?"
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Arkoss looked off at him, noticing that he was practically kneeling at the table. His height with his legs folded in was practically the same as most of them sitting down. Moving his arm towards the vermin, Arkoss tore off a small piece, consuming it quickly. His mouth seemed to break into a plethora of insectoid mandibles and pincers, ripping the meat chunk apart and mashing it into a pulpy mass, before it dissappeared behind the hellish mouthparts. He turned and spoke to the human, one of the few he knew to be a bio-armour expert.

"Does D.P.D.S. inspection count for the former or the latter?"

He noticed a pointy fork prodding the dead insect. Claire, who seemed rather unsure if trying a sample of the creature would be healthy, seemed to be inspecting its mutilated form with her fork.

The 13th war swarm would be deploying around the mining facility via bio-synthetic containers, simply called "drop pods". Similar technology was available to practically any force that had spacecraft. The pods were always aerodynamically shaped to descend fast and hit hard. The delivery system, which practically shot the pods down as if they were large artillery rounds, had to be inspected and maintained daily. Mis-fired pods often sent their cargo to rather gruesome fates. While the cruiser Dissenter was an old yet reliable ship and had been progressively upgraded with new weapons and capabilities as time passed, it was not a ship used for many space-to-surface operations. While its D.P.D.S. had been upgraded a week before, it had only been used for a single test run on the nearby planet. Columbia 4 would be its first real test.

"It's a hard drop; soon as we get there. I'm guessing by their logic, that they don't want to worsen relations with the Pleurodelinains by sending in their own, but apparently, we'll do fine."

The junior officer looked up at him, suddnely asking a few questions in a sort of lulling hiss-speak. As he did so, the rest soon paid attention, throwing in their own questions. In spite of the importance of the information which they had memorized previously anyways, they asked for specifics. Weapon loadouts, fire and air support, enemy strength, and the shelled warrior at the table, roughly fifteen years older than Arkoss, compared the operation to a few he had undertaken in the past. He'd started talking with the junior commander, criticizing his theoretical combat tactics, yet there was no real hostility involved as much as there were two differing views about the nature of war and how various combat situations were to be dealt with. All around him, the nature of the discussion seemed to shift towards combat, most likely spurred by the discourse at the table.

Arkoss only half listened; he knew as much as was necessary to get in and get out alive. That's all he really cared about. Yet he knew that whenever warfare and campaigns were discussed, there was something else that was at first implied or only spoken of in an offhand comment. Perhaps it was mentioned as part of the thoughts of a once-youthful warrior before exiting a trench just before it was ripped apart by othyrworldly energies from a rift-bomb. Other times, it was a lieutenant or perhaps an ex-voivod ("commander"), remembering the remains of a world, burning and broken and its people scattered, and in that one moment, as much as whatever moral conscience he had denied it, he or she saw what could have been theirs, what could have been rebuilt, and what may once have ended this nomadic lifestyle.

In a way, he felt somewhat of an outsider, despite being held up as an exemplification of excellence among his people. These episodes he heard, he'd experienced so many of them before, yet not in service of Funebrarum. Rather, it was the highest bidder. Sometimes it was the rogue general, who had fallen from the good graces of his people, expulsed by rivals, and now leading a warband to exact revenge, who needed extra firepower, so they came to the mercenary group he and had sister had joined. Other times they were contacts who'd speak the words of T.S.C. and non-T.S.C. agents, using neutrality laws and puppet operators to get the mercenaries to fight their proxy wars, destroying their competitors and opposition from the shadows. Many times, the mercenary organization simply needed to crush the competition and secure its holdings, operating by itself rather than fighting at the whims of otherse.

Looking back, he remembered the sentiments and the exuberation, the loss, the madness, the anger, and the rest of the spectrum of thoughts and the emotions tied to them. Once he'd feel pride and a sense of power, but he remembered that growing amalgamation of thoughts and feelings, slowly growing and festering as the conflicts became progressively more violent and it was harder to only think about the people they were killing and the surface level of a conflict. Inevitably, the consequences of his actions, and whether or not they were simply "wars" or the progressive descent into less and less sensical reasons for fighting inevitably gnawed away at the shield of wanton ignorance he had created. That shield didn't last terribly long. All of these actions created gains at the cost of losses for the rest or simply nothing at all. He remembered the old saying that war created wealth, but in these conflicts he'd only seen it destroyed; resources, people, territory, morale and power. Some may have emerged mightier than they were before, but they were now the rulers of kingdoms now of dust and ashes, with a few screams of bitterness and hordes of broken disillusioned masses to go with it, seeing as they had nowhere else to go.


Would Helios be the same?


Already the board game had been set; every single reason to fight for was present. For land, for the pride of races and their nations, for the resources available, for hatred and "justice", and for all he knew, the sometimes seemingly inherited desire for victory.


There was no victory without loss, but who really was at loss here? Maybe they walked over the graves of the battle slain after the weapons fire and commands had settled, yet all that was left was now bitterness that would be inherited for generations. Already the seeds of retaliatory and follow-up conflicts had been lain; the beast has grown weary after having slain its prey and while they give no sign of it, old friends smell the blood that has flown from the wounds taken while achieving the ultimately pyrrhic victory. The beast is a fool to think that his relationships were truly forged in the fires of war as honor and trust. Any relationship built upon the collective desire of seeing the weeping widows of the conquered and the burning government offices only lasted as long as their united objective lasted. Once that was gone, the savage and animalistic lust, for base desires, dressed up as business moves and simply taking what was theirs came over. The victors became the prey, and now facing what were once friends alongside the children of those they had slaughtered, the cycle would continue.

Were his people truly responsible for so much of these cycles of recurrent violence? When they left for the evac ships, and looked back, seeing those cold eyes of the remnants of their wrath staring back at them, what really was going on behind them? The horror, the hatred, and secret oaths of revenge; directed at the T.S.C. or their nomad nation? Did they know that this was the only way Funebrarum could exist peacefully, fighting another power's wars, for promises that grew increasingly transparent and false with each hellish victory? Were the funebrarans simply another army of dog soldiers fighting for short-lived promises to them?

He knew the answers; they were as varied as the people they had all killed and the methods and munitions used to exterminate them.

Yet Arkoss never lost hope.

He knew that this couldn't go on forever. The T.S.C. couldn't keep lying to them with each and every mission. Eventually, all would know of the truth behind their "hard fought" victories. Eventually, the pressure and the contempt would build and break the self-restraint. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to another damned war, but he'd fight till the death with every ounce of his will, to see a homeworld that he, his family, his friends, and his people could live on. Maybe it wouldn't be a paradise, maybe there wouldn't be much, but they were known for their adaptability. What was little could be grown into much.

He looked around him at faces new and old, at funebraran and non-funebraran. He saw women and men, knowing that the dream they all had ever since their youth was far away, but that as far as it was, one day, they'd reach out and grab that shining star, and drag it down from behind the veil of dreams and into the harshness of the real. There was anger, fear, resentment, and contempt, but always alongside it was courage, determination, combat-readiness, and the a desire for victory, not because of the promise of the sight of slain, but the knowledge of the necessity of it; this is how they must survive, and through this, one day, they'd find that paradise. Maybe it would be a conquered world, an empty one, or wherever they had originated from.

All Arkoss knew is that he'd be damned if he didn't try until his dying breath to bring his people as close as they could get.

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Chapter 1:


Once More, Into The Fire

END


Outro: Fighting by Pharaoh from The Longest Night (1988)



​


The hollow harvest
A generation's plow
Will never be missed
They reap their fruits in hell

Or on a slave ship
It would be just as well
Our shaking death grip
It tightens still

As we break and burn, we'll never learn
We've wasted all these years
We fight and die to drown the lies
That echo in our ears

In tears or chains
You never dreamed of this
An insane mind game
Although it must be true

For all that you've done
And all that's done to you
You never did run
And when you do

For a sin, for a shame, we recite the names
Awakened from our trance
For down below, you'll never know
If you had stood a chance

We're fighting by the dawn
We're fighting after sunrise
We fighting for a chance to see our life to be
And you won't take us alive

We're fighting in the dark
We're fighting after midnight
We're fighting for a fantasy reality
In case our dreams are right

On we fight!

Forever fighting by the dawn
We're fighting after sunrise
We fighting for a chance to see our life to be
And you won't take us alive

We're fighting in the dark
We're fighting after midnight
We're fighting for a fantasy reality
In case our dreams are right

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Wrath

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Chapter 2:

Dispensable Bloodshed



Overture: On They Slay by Atheist from Piece Of Time (1989)




On they slay through clouds of death
No mercy or no fear
The sound of twisting flesh
Is the last thing you will hear
Take your final breath
You dying time is near

Fear clutching on the threshold of death
Spilling your remains' arrogance
Thinking of a way you will die
Rip through your flesh and through your bones, obey
See you lying limbless, you'll decay
Fall amongst the dead, on they slay

Eagerness to kill, the meager presence of their sight
You know your blood will spill, your end's tonight
Praying to be saved, now where's your god?

Infest your putrid mind
Death calls start to unwind
Beware, for some day soon
They'll come to seal your doom

Fear clutching on the threshold of death
Spilling your remains' arrogance
Thinking of a way you will die
Rip through your flesh and through your bones, obey
See you lying limbless, you'll decay
Fall amongst the dead, on they slay!
​

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There were no survivors; they were simply too efficient. No one was "wounded seriously", they were simply slaughtered on the spot.

 - Anonymous T.S.C. spherid channeler-adept on the aftermath of a Funebraran military operation.


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Columbia 4. Sector Cehlbrek, outskirts of derelict mining facility. 4:48 PM. 15 minutes after drop pod landings.

Hyperlinked Tactical Overview
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Make sure you read that hyperlinked overview; it basically has the battle plan for the combat in this chapter. In this post, Arkoss and a small team destroy an enemy force assisted by a heavy tank that was blocking the way to the rear of the mining facility they are to capture and the general inside of it. After Arkoss destroys the enemy force, with one of his own seriously wounded, he calls in on the others to get a sit-rep on how they are doing so far with their own objectives in this mission.

His height was daunting, like a cockroach that was overzealous with it's growth. A perversion of anthropomorphism, standing on two legs, extra arms tucked into rib cage, its form glisteinng like some great nocturnal insect exposed to artificial light. Wide shouldered clad in bio-synthetic armour that seemed to violate both the laws of the synthetic and the organic. It is hard to tell where the armour ends and he begins, with space between arm and body somewhat sticking out strangely. A face that causes you to imagine an insectoid clicking sound, even when there is none.

He wore bandoliers over himself and was protected by a suit of evokable angular, black-red-gold bio-synthetic armor that covered his whole form, with his head being protected by a thick helmet with an eerie six eyed mask-like component covering its left half.

He and Swarm Commander Arkoss broke from cover and ran as fast as they could to the back of the large rock, seeking to flank the pleurods from the side.

Damn those power-armored amphibians, they had the higher ground, the bigger guns, and more people. The rest of the team were fortunate enough to not have been seriously injured, but there was little they could do aside from fire a few scant-bursts of retaliatory fire before ducking into cover or moving to a new position. The pleurods simply had too much firepower and the better position.

This strange forest, filled with sharply spaced out trees that seemed to be some strange mix between bamboo and birch trees, had all these sudden large clumps of rock for who-knew-why. They seemed to have blue veins running through them and there was a slight glow to a lot of them. Why did they want it so badly? It was quite far away from the majority of the action on Columbia 4. There was a mining facility here, but it had been out of use for years. The resource output here was rather poor compared to other locations on this planet. At most, this place was a bit of a tourist attraction, but that was it.

Yet that crazy Pleurodinain general, in the confusion caused by the sudden flaring up of tensions between their territories and those owned by the Trans Space Coalition, had quickly broke off from the watchful eye of his higher-ups. He really wanted this useless backwater forest. Nobody knows why, but the Joint Operations Command were flipping the hell out over it, including some of the more respected and elite members. He really wondered why.

He decided that the wondering could wait for later as he sprinted to cover. He and the commander were able to quickly go around to the side un-noticed as the rest of the squad quickly managed to maintain a prolonged burst of covering fire. The enemy didn't seem to know they were about to get flanked. It wouldn't be much longer till they hit that cover spot.

He didn't make it.

The pleurodinain troopers by themselves were quite weak but they fought from within the safety of usually bipedal suits. Their wide stance, hunchbacked stomach-free bodies, and high-tech yet robust looking forms fired fast-moving green spheres of energy based death from one clawed hand and sliced enemies apart with blades that used a few metallic components to sustain a line of powerful energy in the other. They were a well equipped, trained, organized, and disciplined force, one that had a bit of a rocky relationship with the T.S.C. in the past, but after a while, both sides got used to each other's presence on the planet. Sure they kept seperate, but as time passed, the populations started to inter-mingle. Then there was that sudden eruption of tension, civil violence, and unrest.

And of course, at the moment, what was more important the imminent impact of a burst of energy based spheres, the standard discharged round of pleudord infantry men.

The spheres weren't green this time though, for some reason. They were blue and seemed to have lightning dancing all over them. A flurry of them, fired by one of the pleurods who had positioned himself further away from his team behind a cluster of trees, flung right toward him.

They made contact with his armor. His whole front was completely burnt open with the raw spheres of energy disintegrating armour and ripping it off his form. They burnt into his flesh then exploded, sending bits and pieces flying off, disintegrating mass and spilling blood messily. He fell on his back and didn't make a sound.

The pleurod switched targets to a soldier taking pot-shots with a claymore rifle. The long, rectangular prism-shaped weapon often fired semi-auto or in three round bursts, sending heavy armor-piercing shells that did horrific damage to most infantry. He'd have to go down fast. He raised himself over the large, rotting log and aimed for a headshot, computer-targeting greatly assisting.

He didn't get to seal the Funebraran's fate.

The nearly human-sized amphibian, inside his suit of armour, felt fear. The fear stemmed from the distinctive, increasingly loud, harsh, and electronic buzzing of a plasma projector rifle charging up for a fullly-powered blast. This weapon was often used to take care of harder targets like large mecha or light vehicles.

The soldier, who the Pleurod had mistakenly assumed for dead despite the fact that his chest was completely ripped open and only a thin layer of flesh and bone separated his organs from the external world, while still laid out on his back, had raised up his upper body and taken aim. He was in immense pain, but the expression of raw determination on his face showed that he didn't really care.

The weapon discharged with a strange mechanical howl. A massive purple-white mass of energy went straight to his intended target. The effect was horrifying. The massive bolt completely melted every single layer of armour, voraciously eating through the hardy metal. Then it reached the organic component, wiping skin, blood, flesh, and bone from existence. The bolt finally went off in a bright flash, leaving a charred steel corpse. The suit stood for a bit, then fell back.


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Covered from head to toe in evokable bio-synthetic armor, Arkoss looks like some half cybernetic, half insectoid nightmare. Smooth, night black armor with red and gold here and there, and his face looks like little more than four burning yellow eyes, two in the normal position and two smaller ones above it. The armour is partially computerized; he sees the world through an advanced heads-up display that allows for multiple vision modes, multiple target acquisition, enhanced optics and various other accessories. The actual armor, while not very thick, is noticeably tough and even regenerates. It synchronizes with his own organic weaponry for enhanced destructive effect, networking with them to provide increased profiency.

He reached out and grabbed the plasma gunner's hand, dragging him to safety. He inspected his wounds. Nearing on life-threatening and harsh enough that he'd be out of the fight for now. He cursed, there was a heavy weapons platform, the six-legged multi-manned sort, keeping them from advancing. It spat out hundreds of energy-jacketed armour-piercing rounds, HE grenades, and bursts of flame-like substance. They couldn't effectively return fire. Arkoss and the plasma-gunner decided to try flanking it, but that damned pleurod, who was hiding in that seemingly empty spot, had effectively disabled the gunner.

His task would still be accomplished though.

Arkoss took the plasma gun. It was a powerful semi-automatic weapon with a smooth design with little edges, partially bisected by a row of lightly-glowing coils, electricity dancing over them. The rounds flew slower than bullets and while it couldn't compare to specialized anti-vehicular heavy weaponry, it was still quite effective against heavily armored infantry and lighter vehicles. Harder targets were best shot from on their weaker platings, such as the rear. Holding out his hand, strange, symmetrical green lines formed and raw particles, blips of material, started suddenly forming. An elaborate, highly modified, elite-grade, computerized assault rifle seemed to be building itself out of raw nothingness materialized. In reality, it was simply the advanced technology available to the higher ranks. A deconstruction device, a seemingly inconspicuous device that looked like a strange, small, flat circular clump of metal on his belt, could be used to store a fair share of items through mechanics he never understood. He handed his wounded comrade his assault rifle, at which the wounded soldier smiled.

"Heh, thanks, thought I'd never lay my hands on that." he croaked out.

"Just don't leave any stains on it when I come back." his commander replied.

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The enemy was perched upon a high ridge, with sloped natural pathways on the right. They weren't paying attention to the lone commander approaching them, being too focused on suppressing the group of soldiers attempting to retaliate with the few opportunities they'd get. The massive six-legged weapons platform was a large streamlined turret, with a sloped front, four gatling-gun like weapons in a cluster on the right, two larger muzzled cannons on the left, and a pair of inconspicuous, smaller, swivelling, tube-like barrels on the front. This was all held up by six large, powerful legs that ended in somewhat mammalian steel feet.

He charged forward, plasma rifle in arms, and dove into cover behind another one of those trees. Peering out, he took aim at the platform's vulnerable rear, letting loose a burst of plasma discharge. The elongated oval-shaped masses burned into its armour, incinerating vital components and sending sparks and metallic fragments flying. The metallic beast seemed to unbalance, tilting around awkwardly on its shuffling legs. The pinned squad used this to their advantage and sent for a hail of weapons fire right into it, forcing it backwards and unbalancing it.

The soldiers surrounding it immediately turned their attention to the lone commander, but in the blink of an eye, he dashed forward at lightning speed and impaled one on his massive, two-handed sword in a dashing thrust only using a single arm. The raw speed and force seemed to momentarily stun the soldiers in awe, but the second they tried to fire, the one closet to him had a giant horizontal depression in its upper body as a reverse slash tore through it. The second pleurod charged forward to face Arkoss up front, gun-arm turned into a cruel, robotic claw and an energy blade in its right and another tried to take him from the left. The former attempted a vertical strike with its sword-arm Arkoss whacked it away with a monster 180 degree rising swing, knocking him off balance. Just as an energy blade was about to stab him in the back, he spun to his left and brought the full weight of the sword down on his unfortunate victim, slicing the suit and its inhabitant in half, and sending a mess of organic and artificial fluids to the floor below. The other one quickly regained balance and lunged, sword arm aimed at his head. Arkoss went low and shifted to the left, lunging in response and impaling the trooper on his sword. He wasn't dead, until the sword was ripped out diagonally, spilling blood, sparks, and metallic fragments on the earth. The remaining four soldiers took aim. One was armed with a fast firing arm-mounted machine gun firing rounds similar to that of the heavy weapons platform.

Arkoss quickly raised his free arm and generates a shimmering, lightly red, transparent energy field, creating this ethereal shield just in time to protect himself from a deadly storm of firepower. Spheres and solid energy-jacketed rounds collide against it, creating vibratory waves but the field holds up, not yet nearing the end of its endurance. It begins glowing and small "lumps" of red, which seem alive as the energies inside of them convulse and churn, form on the back. The sword was thrown into the air, and with his now free right hand, he smashed his fist into his shield. The lumps exploded forward into a storm of hellish red energy bolts, like a gigantic shotgun blast, the crimson barrage ripping through armour and knocking their shattered mech-suits to the ground, except for the biggest one and obviously this squad's leader, who was shielded behind a grey rectangular shape, kneeling down to fully protect himself. When it stood back up, the tall robotic suit lacked the less graceful, hunchbacked, stocky appearence of those under its command. It was elegant, yet eerie with its piercing, robotic face; a clump of green circular glowing shapes on one side that seemed that seemed to be part of a mask and harsh expressionless robotic face underneath it. It was a drab blue, with a few lines of dark brown over itself. Its weapons consisted of a large glowing cannon held on one hand, a small shoulder mounted rocket launcher, and a long fearsome energy blade in the other.

The sword fell. Arkoss's outstretched hand quickly snapped onto the handle. He reduced it into the small micro particles that appeared whenever an item was "deconstructed" and then stored within the specialized storage devices allowing for such feats.

His left arm became a fearsome autocannon. Fingers seemed to split apart and retract back into his arm as bones, exoskeletons, and mass fused, detached, retracted to here and there. Strange metal seemed to suddenly appear, slowly accumulating from small sub-particles rapidly gathering and appearing at key sections of his quickly-shifting arm. Fusing together the mechanical with the biological, Arkoss was soon prepared to confront his fearsome opponent. Rectangular prism like in its base shape, its smooth, angular shape combined with eerie sections where flesh intersected with metal gave it an eerie, unsettling appearence. Like the roach-soldier, it is hard to tell where bio-matter ends and the artificial begins. A long, thick, sub-nosed barrel, numerous attachments which stick out like strange rocks or parasites stuck onto a strange landscape, and sight of a small magazine just sticking out slightly from its bottom center are what reminds others that this is more of a firearm than a bodypart.

They started firing at one another, strafing and jumping in and out of whatever cover there was. Arkoss had dropped the plasma gun in the middle of his fight with the fearsome robotic suits' minions, but his left arm would provide a high degree of firepower. He dodged the commander's large blasts of glowing blue-white energy and returned with hails of heavy armour-piercing HE rounds. His foe's energy shield, which manifested as an enveloping spherical transparent field, shimmered with white shockwaves across itself whenever the rounds connected, becoming brighter and more intense as the shield weakened. In a daring move, the deadly newt-in-a-suit managed to position itself at Arkoss' blind right side after a sudden anti-gravity assisted boost, courtesy of a few key devices on the back and under the feet of the suit. It prepared to fire a blast of energy but before the finger could even pull the trigger, its Funebraran opponent did a side somersault, twisting his body as Arkoss was launched high in the air. In a split second, Arkoss aimed the arm cannon at its head. The storm of rounds blew the shields in a bright flash and while the commander leapt back, a few rounds collided with its chest, scarring and denting it. Regaining balance, it quickly pulled out from a component on its waist a large glowing energy blade, the device activating, buzzing to life as a beam of energy sustained sharp metallic components, some of which actually attached to the sword and others extending from its guard. It swung it horizontally at the descending insectoid, hoping to bisect him in mid-air. The insectoid's form twisted harshly to the right, sending him over the sword narrowly. He flipped and landed on his feet, narrowly avoiding a fatal wound. Arkoss prepared to stand, but ducked a diagonal downwards slash. He countered this with a spinning reverse leg sweep, knocking the larger opponent onto his back. It raised its upper body and pulled out a powerful magnum, but Arkoss grabbed his arm and pointed the gun away. He brought his left foot down onto its stomach with a harsh metallic crunch, and his gun-arm, now switched to its shot gun mode with a gnarly serrated bayonet underneath, was sent into its chest, digging in deep. A burst of point blank steel fragmentation rounds ripped through the armour, layers of harsh metals being eaten through by raw wrath before reducing the flesh hiding inside to an unrecognizable mess of blood and de-internalized organs. The commander suit's limbs went limp and whatever lights were on it powered down.

He wasn't done yet. He dive-rolled, avoiding a fiery death from a gout of blue fire from the weapons platform that had avoided firing the whole time, distracted by the rest of the squad who were firing at it. It couldn't have fired at the commander without a heavy risk of friendly fire, but now that all its comrades were dead, that changed. It fired off a flurry of grenades and bullets at him, but he leaped high up into the air, avoiding being completely obliterated by the barrage. It raised its cannons to try to track his ascent, but he suddenly dashed downwards in mid-air, sword poised to impale and descending faster than its weapons could accurately track him. He touched down with a hard thump and the sound of metal piercing metal, noisily scraping as the blade dug deep into the armour of the multi-legged tank. Then the blade started glowing red. A glow could be seen emanating from Arkoss and transferring to his sword as he charged the tank full of energy. The doomed vehicle glowed angrily and fiercely, until light seemed to bleed out of it profusely. Suddenly, the commander kicked himself off the machine, high into the air, and a massive red and gold explosion tore through its frame, completely annihilating the last enemy.

Somersaulting and then landing gracefully, Arkoss regrouped with his squad who tended to the wounded plasma-gunner, radioing in for med-evacs. He quickly tapped into his com-bead placed on his ear.

"Progress reports on breaching of mining compound's perimeter defences! Now!"
 
"I think you may want to hold off on any further action." I say into the radio. I sit in the bridge of my cargo runner, the Ruination. It's an older Oliver Perry Hazard class frigate that was donated by a supplier. It's fast, well armored, and armed well enough to dissuade interceptors.

"See from where I'm at I just watched your boys get their asses whupped!" Mondegreen, what passes as my XO, pours me a fresh cup of coffee. I take a sip as I'm chastised for demeaning the Funebrarans on the ground.

"Listen, buddy, if you don't want a repeat of what just happened listen to what I have to offer. I am but a humble arms dealer looking to extend some super heavy ordnance I have that may just make the difference for you."

Desperation makes strange bedfellows, especially in war.

Particularly in war.

"If you wanna talk just say the word and I'll give you a free sample of what I have to offer."
 
Taxus observed the damage as he stepped next to Arkoss. He was ordered to stay back from the initial breach than join and assist from there. The initial breach had gone well except for one soldier who lay on the ground wounded. He wasn't able to heal the soldier using energy manipulation, it just wasn't a trick he had figured out yet. From this point on it was going to get tricky. They weren't allowed to use full blown open warfare, they had to keep collateral damage to a minimum. This limited the squad, as well as Taxus, on what they could or could not do. However the enemy probably would not have the same point of view.


He gripped his pistol tightly in his left hand and in his right he held his energy whip. He preferred close combat with his whip due to the fact he wasn't a very good shot. The pistol he used did a lot of the aiming itself but it would take several shots to puncture the heavy armor infantry they were up against. The energy whip would slice through the armor like butter but getting close enough to use it could present a problem. The light armor he wore enhanced his speed but would offer little protection against the weapons they faced. His mind would act as his and the squads shield.


"Where do we go from here?" He asks Arkoss. Mentally he formed a small round shield that caused the air to shimmer next to him. The shield was easy to maneuver and could quickly be expanded and thickened to cover a large area. It was the first trick he'd activate in this conflict. He felt the energies of the squad and probed for the energies of the other squads. This would act as a quick monitoring system of the condition of the other squads. So long as he could keep his concentration he could relay the emotions and condition of the other squads.​
 
Three of Claire's alien friends accompanied her in pursuit of the enemy base, with Sorvaille right behind her. The small group ran swiftly passed security when they weren't looking in their direction, at times having to aim a weapon at any possible lookers while Claire planted explosives. She was feeling very pressed for time, but the rush and the risks were exciting her! Getting into quarrels was one of her favourite activities, even if they weren't meant to be playful.

She tensed a little when she heard a distant explosion that she assumed to be caused by one of Arkoss's teams. Battlefields like this one had its ups and downs for a sensitive eared creature, yet she still craved action no matter what it involved.

Claire had planted her final bomb and as she stood up, one of her comrades was firing at an enemy who spotted them. She withdrew her gun and ran towards the group, Sorvaille following with her weapon prepared as well. Claire reached up to grab on to the head of a Funebaran, allowing her to leap farther into the air. Like a typical show off, she even flipped twice during the gravity defiance before launching a quick kick to the jaw of her foe, a back flip being performed afterward as she landed on her feet. She felt a pain go through her foot and then her leg from the kick she landed, realizing these were basically metal men they were up against. She hissed at the Funebaran to keep their guards up because they looked so astonished… Even love stricken. Sorvaille didn't waste any time and decided she'd have a talk with these boys about staying focused on what's really important.

After one last round from her laser rifle, Claire hastily put it away and signaled her team to move along. Sorvaille waited for Claire and also made certain the enemies they just fought were dead, stopping her casting to follow Claire. Along the way, she began submitting her report to Arkoss after receiving his request,

"Mission's accomplished, my dear Arkoss. Explosives ready at your command! Everyone's fine, just got a little dirty from a fight is all. We're on the search for Markov."
 
::I hope you don't mind, but I've uploaded a small, well, hack to your optics receiver,:: started the data burst that Durandal sent to X13 with the assistance of the incredibly powerful communications systems of the Hive Ship he was currently attached to. For all intents and purposes, Durandal WAS the Hive Ship now. He had complete mechanical command, having bypassed the few limiters the Funebrarans had thought they used to limit his control. While he had no malicious intent, to anyone that actually knew what Durandal could do, it was a remarkably frightening situation to all but the A.I.

::It's completely benign, and is designed to give me real-time visual feedback of the ground situation on your end. Think of it as the Eye in your... Eye.::

Green, Red, Blue and Yellow blips came and went on the massive 3D tactical sphere in the middle of the CIC. Men and women, Funebraran and Human and other species alike, scuttled back and forth with new orders and information. While loud, it was far from hectic, and everything was running like clock work-- and it was all hardly required. While fully crewed, the need for the 'human' touch in the Combat command center wasn't needed with Durandal plugged in. It was nice to have back up though, the A.I. thought in a nanosecond.

"Enemy Armour, Division-sized, closing in on position one-one-three point five from North-Northwestern position, two-seven minutes until contact. Orbital imaging confirms Armour Destroyers and Light Personnel Carriers," relayed a Lieutenant to the appropriate Friendly force on the ground. Durandal had already sent that information in a communique 22 seconds ago.
 
Biggs hadn't really lost the ability to speak as his mouth had mutated, it had merely become more difficult to form words through a beak... and later around mandibles inside that beak, but he was a tad self conscious about it so mostly when he followed orders, he followed them without question. A questioning rumble sometimes, but Funebrarum tended to communicate in generalities anyway, so he got off on the technicality.

"Bombs planted; four minute window!". Sorevaille's voice crackled through the radio on an open frequency. Biggs looked sharply down at the communications officer, who nodded and clicked in affermation.

With a pleased rumble Biggs rolled in, having to wind up the wall of the corridor on a thousand microscopic legs to get around the rest of his team. He tucked his head into his neck, presenting the heavy bone crest of his skull as a shield as they broke the waiting barricade, allowing some protection to his family as they spread out.

A missile glanced off and exploded next to his ear and he flinched when a second stuck in his skull and went off, cracking the bone but not splitting it- he was already regenerating the tissue. But it hurt, and he was angry; when the first of Claire's bombs went off Biggs hurled a coil into the fight blindly, crushing an enemy Pleurid as it's fired rounds stuck (mostly) harmlessly in his carapace. He almost hit another Funebraran soldier, one of his feelers recognizing the familiar taste of her...his... (Biggs wasn't entirely sure, he wasn't great at that sort of thing- never had been) armor at the last moment and throwing his weight in the opposite direction. He slammed his head into a tank- the thought it was a tank. It sure as hell felt like a tank and roared, pleased it looked to have taken more damage than his head. He flared his spines and thrashed, impaling an enemy... something... he couldn't see it very well from this angle and he didn't recognize it by feel, but it was metal by the sound, flesh within by the scream.

The fourth and fifth bombs went off somewhere close enough to shake the floor, though Biggs hearing was shot for the night, so they might have closer. Between the expolsions, the carnage his family were wreaking and his own (careful!) flailing the wave began to calm, running out of combatants... mostly on the other side.

Biggs decided that pleased him.
 
Breach and Clear

"How'd you get into this line?"

Arkoss and his squad, minus the gunner, approached the rear of a large building, presumably some sort of office or administrative structure. Pressed up against the white wall, which they were going to breach through instead of the door. As they quietly approached, Arkoss spoke directly into his suit's communication systems, his voice unable to be heard from the rest of the world. His voice was authoritative yet questioning, as if he'd pick the one he was talking to apart with just his insectoid way of speaking.

"If you're as experienced as I can assume you are, having broken into our communications, you should know that not even the black markets run by the T.S.C.'s enemies can match our people's weaponry."

A *thwip* noise indicated that an explosive device, looking like a multi-ridged disk-like eye, from which small spike-like legs gripped into the wall, had been planted. It was their ticket in. The longer ranged weaponry, such as the battle rifles and grenade launchers, had been stowed or deconstructed, forms obscured as they were attached to the backs of the soldiers or becoming green isometric shapes which soon seemed to dissappear. In their place, far more barbaric and compact weaponry was taken out. Some of it was natural; crushing pincers, gnashing claws, scythe-like hands, sometimes enhanced by biological and artificial means. Yet amongst the claws in which impact stabilizers and metallic plating were integrated into, were equally deadly devices. Compact automatic weaponry, capable of filling corridors with armor piercing and flesh rending death, stuck out like miniaturized versions of less wieldy weaponry. Limbs began to break apart and change their very physical forms, becoming spine-spitting automatic spreader guns and short range energized streams of superheated gas.

In the distance, a roaring blast tore muffled the sound of evoking and loading weapons. The massive frontal pulse-caster turrets of the base had started firing, possibly at those who had breached them. Arkoss saw and felt the concern from his squad mates; the morbid masks they were he had learned to see through years ago. He knew that they were going in with no air support and had planned to take this foe out with raw surprise. If whatever was left of the Pleurodelinain government or their families reading news reports saw the 13th's cruiser firing down its mysterious weaponry on Markarov, there'd only be more of an uproar across the planet. Based on reports from the others, he knew they still had that element. The problem was that the enemy had an incredibly powerful weapon, one that spat long and twisting, serpentine rays that devastated whatever they collided with.

He spoke to the dealer again.

"You've heard it haven't you?"

He looked to one of the others, a powerful tri-segmented shape that stood upon bent yet muscular legs with jutting knees. Its torso seemed to be two components, hidden under jagged armour. Its powered chitinous exoskeleton seemed designed in a way that seemed to suggest maximum aerodynamicism in both directions, with the curving shapes of its armour ending in angular, sloped shapes. Its upper two limbs both were bio-cybernetic six fingered and tri-thumbed claws. In the two limbs below, a pair of ripper guns were mounted where the hands should have been. Like an extended mouth, looking like it was constantly preparing to consume another, the urban-camo patterned weapons were a smaller variant. They all spat living rounds that would generate a natural force field, digging into enemies once on impact and twice as their claws, made of a surprisingly strong metal, ripped into their victims before bursting into a mess of spines and shrapnel.

It made a quick noise, some sort of insectoid chittering, and the others quickly moved into position.

++++++++++

A powerful explosion, like massive spikes of green, tore through the wall and the room behind it. Through the dust and smoke, looming shapes suddenly came forth, as a variety of smaller almost lizard like amphibian shapes scurried to cover. The waiting room was soon deserted as the team broke through doors, gunning down the floating mini-space-fighter shapes of security drones. The floor was half cleared.

Then as they were moving to an exposed stairway in the lobby, a burst of spheres and bolt like energy rounds descended from a tall staircase. His men leapt of out of the way as a countering force made of the standard infantry suits and a tendril-swinging geist combat robot charged in, quickly acquiring space to manoevre and retaliate. The squad was pushed back, outnumbered by roughly 17 enemies.

From behind a pillar being picked apart by bolts of lightning and streams of bright needle rounds, Arkoss quickly flipped to the side taking less heat, a large and serrated knife, almost looking ceremonial in its design, in his right arm. His left arm had become an autocannon once more, and flashes of red flew across wrecked furniture and overturned tables with each loud thud of his auto-cannon. One pleurod, a higher ranked sergeant armed with built in weapons, standing with less of the hunchback of his grunts, was hit in the shoulder, the round twisting its flight path as it tore through his shoulder joint and turned him to the side. His needle-spitting suppressor weapon turned away, he was unable to protect himself as four more rounds collided into torso, ripping the steel open and throwing his lifeless body into a table.

With the one of the streams of rounds forcing them to cover now gone, two of the funebrarans rose quickly. One of them discharged his weapon, covered in parts that almost ressembled pipes and tubes that linked into it and its canister-like energy storage device. With a a crackling, searing sound, a long beam, orange yellow in its colour streaked like a burst of raw light. His two targets scattered, avoiding the fate of the counter behind them, now smouldering with a burning hole through it. One was not so lucky, having ran from his cover, a small stairway leading to an on-floor meeting room. Hoping to close in on a suppressed team ducking lightning blasts from the geist, the beam went right through his armour, and he stood, staggering.

That was until the tri segmented funebraran slashed him as he ran by, the tiny creature's eyes in raw disbelief as its life ended in a flash. The insectoid warrior lept over a thick and rectangular stone shape as energy blasts flew past his wild and erratic charge. The half steel, half laser-powered blades they drew were no use. The first of his three opponents, suffered a pair of slashes from one blade arm, slicing into the stomach and then the area between the thick suit's chest and neck, before a double-tap from his weapons sent the enemy to the ground, dead and motionless. Ducking and shifting forward, twisted around as he rose, digging a claw deep into the taller suit with the needle-suppressor. It attempted to send an elbow-blade into his skull, but he shoved it to the right, freeing it from his cruel blades before firing a quick four bursts into its back, downing the foe. The last one, now with a clear shot at this savage arthropod, half exposed itself from cover and aimed at him as he turned, but a sudden solid round ripped through its head, dropping it instantly.

Arkoss and a few others now advanced on the remaining enemies, a fair share of which had been slain when the two sergeants had been neutralized, now closing in on standard infantry and the deadly geist.

Leaping to the side, the commander kept his form low as a lightning blast passed him overhead. Looking back to the others, unable to advance on the enemy's defensive position, he spotted Taxus. Hailing him briefly, he pointed at the area right in front of the geist, which floated two feet above them all. He motioned at him, signifying him to hit them with a blast-like spell, to disorganize him for his charge, as Arkoss was positioned closest to the front.

Over the din of the furious close quarters battle, he heard another explosion from outside. The very force of the pulse-casters firing shook the ground.

Suddenly, his HUD flashed an important mesage from Durandal, showing an enemy armoured patrol moving in to assist the besieged pleurodelinain defenders. He sent a quick message back, a computerized message sent through non-flesh-penetrating advanced neural links.

"Deploy the Cancer Domus and its infantry support right behind the enemy armour group. Tell them to enclose the enemy and funnel them into the Domus' path."

With the message sent, he quickly contacted the others and shouted a quick command.

"We need to get rid of the pulse-caster turrets A.S.A.P.! We will not be able to hold out here without our heavy support!"

Taking aim, he began to fire again, the arm-gun set to a shotgun like weapon rather than the autocannon.
​
 
The explosion sent an exciting ripple of energy through him as the funebraran charged through into the battle. The battle prowess of his companions never ceased to amaze him. As they made such quick work of the initial forces it left Taxus in the background. On a fair playing field there was no way he could keep up with the speed and ferocity of the funebraran. Before he could fire a shot or lash out in anyway the initial battle was over. Only the geist and standard infantry remained in the conflict. Luckily Taxus had no understanding of a fair playing field.


With the simple order giving from Arkoss he moved forward directly into the firing line of the enemy. The force shield deflected the initial volley from the standard infantry but it was the geist's attention that he wanted. His pistol rose quickly firing a three round burst that slammed into the geist with no effect. It started to turn its heavier weapons directly for him just as he wanted. An example to the rest of the enemy. Knowing a powerful energy manipulator was pushing against them could do a lot to the enemies morale. Break an enemies will to fight and you it makes the battle that much easier to fight. The energy shield may have been able to deflect a blast from the geist but it wasn't giving the opportunity to fire.


It had gathered the energy to send an electrical blast directly at Taxus when the electrical currents discharged suddenly. Several bolts of electrical currents slammed into the infantry around it. The geist was blinded momentarily as the energy it was gathering was dispersed so violently but more so it was confused by the occurrence. The air visibly begun to shiver and quake as the rules of reality were bent drastically to allow a sphere of blue energy to solidify directly in front of the geist. As its senses cleared all hell broke loose. The sphere sucked into itself than detonated sending ribbons of energy in multiple directions. The ribbons ripped through the geist and the infantry alike. They spiraled through the air for a few seconds, sporadically changing directions and turning back in on themselves.


Taxus quickly moved back to cover. Though the incident only took a matter of seconds when the ribbons of energy dissipated the effect had been devastating. The geist was still hovering, its main sphere being split open in several areas but it was miraculously still active. It only had two tentacles remaining and appeared severely damaged. Behind it only a few standard infantry remained able to fight. Several lay with missing limbs and others were, well, we'll simply say dead.​
 
"We need to get rid of the pulse-caster turrets A.S.A.P.! We will not be able to hold out here without our heavy support!"

I clap my hands then key the radio.

"You sir have just acquired the services of the Iron Raptors. First sample is free!" I exclaim then turn to Mondegreen. "Take us down."

"You got it." he replies to me. The Ruination drops, touching down with the grace of a pelican.

Of course I wonder if anyone in this century even knows what a pelican is.

"Mondegreen, you're in charge while I'm on the ground." I shout as I leave the bridge.



It doesn't take me long to be on the ground with the rest of my team. I had the ship's 1MC (General Announcing System) keyed during the radio conversation. They've already got some of the merch on the ground by the time my boots land on the planet's crust. They've already got two Bloodhounds and a Wraith reconstructed.

I'm serious, Deconstruction Tech makes my job oh so much easier. We can carry four times as much as the Ruination can actually hold. I would go gay for whoever invented that technology. Serioulsy.

"Alright, listen up! We've been tasked with taking out some fixed arty. To that end We'll need arty of our own to keep them hunkered down." I look my men over to make sure they know the score.

"Shanda, Rios, Marlon, Brando, you guys are on arty. Hot load Cluster rounds." I turn to two other crewmen as the previous four salute then run off to reconstruct some howitzers.

"Del Toro, Uralia, get the Peregrinus up. You're our scalpel."

"HOORAH, boss!"

"We'll chop them down." Both go reconstruct the gunship. That leaves me with the ground team.

"Medvedev, get the Titan. Wylder, support Medvedev with the Acro." The Titan was designed to fight mecha three times it's size, up close and personal. The Acro, while formidable on it's own, was intended to support the Titan from a distance. Medvedev and Wylder have fought side by side for years. They're the best choice to take on anything bigger than a mecha, which no doubt they will have to.

"Alright, Vasquez I want you driving the Wraith. Moriarty, play gunner for her." The two rush off while I address the rest. "We are the cannon fodder. It is the infantryman's purpose to die on the ground, a rifle in hand. But we can't die until we inflict massive casualties on the enemy."

"Some of us will surely die out there. But hey, it happens. We live to fight and we fight to live. But if we are to die, then die we must!" They've heard the speech before. But they do know someone might die. In just the last op alone we lost Husky, Dutch, and Fat Mike. Fortunately we've got a New Fat Mike, a Hoop, and a Turkish.

I'm not sure about Hoop though. Something about him just seems off...

"I want a full load of rifle mags. Max out on grenades too. Wheel's up in twenty." It never takes the team twenty minutes to get ready. Always ten or less. We are just that good. The Ruination takes off while I'm in the midsts of pulling my gear on. If we need her guns or missiles I'll be the one to make the call. I don't think we will.

I hope we won't. After I pull my helmet on I key the radio.

"Hey, client, you there? I'm online and ready for target locations."
 
When the attack started, a soldier was given orders: "Make sure the prototype isn't captured."
Like hell. GI015 knew what that meant. As he was being escorted to the 'Secure quarters' where he was to be held 'until the attack was repelled,' he took preventative measures. A slice across the back of the neck sent the soldier to the floor in a heap. He dragged the unfortunate man to a supply closet and relieved him of his sidearm. It would do until he could recover his own gear. He slit the man's throat and moved on. Thankfully, this part of the base was mostly deserted - the scientists were in the labs, trying to salvage what they could and destroy what they couldn't bring with them, and the soldiers were flooding to the chokepoints and outer defenses.

A minute's walk brought him to his quarters, such as they were. He quickly retrieved his assault rifle and sidearm, along with a magazine for each. It wasn't much ammunition, but thankfully the ammunition was the standard for this unit - he'd be able to scavenge. That thought brought him up short. He was escaping. Hopefully, he'd be able to be a person for a change, not just a weapon. People had names, though. Not numbers. Growling, he looked down at his chestplate, where a nametape would go on a soldier's uniform. Angrily, he scratched a word from an obscure Terran dialect into his chitin with one claw. Sefu. Sword. A name and a descriptor in one. Chambering a round in his suppressed autopistol, Sefu began making his way to the emergency egress shaft on level 12 just as an explosion rocked the complex.

Sefu swore under his breath and quickened his pace. Hopefully he could make it to the escape shaft before anybody realised he hadn't been murdered yet. As luck would have it, he didn't encounter anyone until a small, feline woman crossed the hallway in front of him. He raised his pistol to fire, when the woman's companion came into view.

//Funebraran//Thirteenth War Swarm//Ally//Child-of-friend?//Looks like her//Looks like Okhropir, too.//Damn, but I miss him//

What the fuck?

Shit. He said that out loud.

"Don't move. Who are you?" He demanded in heavily accented Funebraran, trying to recover from his mistake. Funny. He didn't know he spoke Funebraran.
 
::Oooh, the Cancer Domus,:: Durandal thought with a strange (for an A.I.) sort of glee.

A data spurt was immediately shot down to the position in which the massive titan held fast, not far from the vanguard of the Funebraran assault. It held back in a supporting position, ready to deploy wherever there was most need, but it's artillery pieces were alive, barking loudly the sound of impending doom. Munitions whistled away and landed leagues away, raining death to the enemy.

Coming alive, the Cancer Domus began it's lumbering, graceful movement. While the bio-mech had not been heavily modified for the impending planetary assault, it didn't need to be. Having been earlier awakened from it's cryo-slumber, the rust-coloured crustacean was a fearsome sight, a seeming mythic beast from ancient folklore. It had beady red eyes that forced all who gazed into them a shiver of discomfort. The 'face' was protected by a durable mask, protecting sensitive bio-electronics, and the mech stood taller than the enemy's mobile titans. It was stronger, and faster, with enhanced combat capabilities. Burnished metallic plates layered across it's already durable hull, and powerful blasting weapons were attached at the underside of it's close-combat claws, and a pair of rocket pods were set upon it's back.

Durandal rode shotgun to the titan's crude combat A.I., watching rows of friendly infantry begin to take formation along the flanks of the titan. More mobile armour began to fan out in support of the 'mech, weapons coming alive.

The formation wheeled around and started to come in at an angle to the enemy light armour division. From his orbital position, Durandal began to intercept enemy communications that would give the 'mech's counter-assault away, obliterating the bits of data before they could be heard by any other ears. In return, Durandal coordinated with artillery teams to the far end of their lines and struck the hidden enemy that had served as scouts.

The enemy commander felt a surge of dread at the silencing of his flank scouts, and began to send orders to turn and engage.

But the orders were too late.

With the screeching of servos and hydraulics, a cacophony of noise that sounded more the roar of an enraged beast, the Cancer Domus sounded it's arrival.

--

"'Lo, behold there the enemy! And from mine hand I wield the instrument of their destruction!"

Ignoring his Funebraran allies, the battle-'droid X13 sped past the enemy defensive positions, carving through gunnery platforms with his Electro blade in one hand, it's massive rifle hefted easily in the other. The machine spun gracefully in the face of enemy fire, having calculated the trajectory of their aim in the nano-seconds they positioned their weapons, and was suddenly among them in a single dive.

The enemy swarmed X13 inside of the entrenchment, energy lances igniting on the ends of their weapons. The android pivoted in perfect form, the energy blade seeming to catch the bayonet of his first attacker, only to burn right through and take half of his face. The man's scream was joined by others as the blade began to swing an intricate form among the defenders, separating men from their arms, legs, and torsos. The trench was filled with the red mist of vapourized blood in a matter of seconds.

Leaping above the enemy entrenchment, X13 dropped and rolled into a firing position. The rifle barked and the battle-'droid was suddenly a man-sized artillery piece. The first of a long series of plasma-caster turrets buckled under the onslaught, visibly warping at every shot, but it refused to be silenced and in defiance to the android's attack, fired another burst of devastating artillery.

Enraged, X13 leaped into the air and carved his blade along the length of one of the barrels of the plasma-caster leaving a jagged, sparking scar. The gun continued moving as X13 ruthlessly shoved his rifle down the front of another of it's barrels. Roaring, he pulled the trigger repeatedly, firing shot after shot down the plasma-caster's throat. The belly of the mechanical gun-beast, the housing of it's munitions cache, ruptured and boiled and exploded, sending X13 flying.

Landing on one knee, his hair flapping in the dust, X13 surveyed the carnage with a satisfied expression.

The Funebrarans caught up with him suddenly and began to lay swift waste to the defenders among the entrenched positions. One of the Funebrarans fell in the assault, but the rest racked up a kill ratio of nearly 4-to-1. With quiet determination and grim professionalism, they filed down the trenches and began to move in on the other plasma-casters, determined to take them down through more conventional means.

"Hear me, Commander!" boomed the voice of X13, opening his communication relays. "The enemy is scattered like leaves upon the wind; their Gods forsake them. Fear no longer the guns at your flank."
 
The search for the General continued and to Claire's satisfaction, there weren't a lot of enemies in her current location. She had left her shoes behind after experiencing a lot of discomfort from running as well as the swelling her foot received from that not so smart kick she made on a metal man. Like other felines, she was stoic about her pain; however, it was building up a level of crabbiness within her.

Claire's ears perked to the sound of someone talking to himself, but she didn't have time to judge just yet. She stopped dead in her tracks when she was demanded to stop, her team of Fundebaran also coming to a halt. There was no time for an introduction, she was on a mission!

The cat woman took a moment to look him over... She hadn't seen anything like him before. On his 'name tag', there was a name carved in that she kept a note of for the future. Her thoughts were broken by Sorvaille,

"You go on, Claire!" She started shooing Claire off along with a few other Funebaran. She decided that she would be the one to answer to this creature, but she was hoping to get answers herself or to just be on her way. She took a step closer to Sefu,

"To answer your question, we're either your friends or your enemies. What business do you have here and how are you able to speak like us?"

Claire withdrew her weapon while she ran and kept her finger close to the trigger, eyes darting to the left where she took a turn to another hall. She began sending a message to Biggs, asking for a status report before going too much farther. She felt like she would need more than her now small team to pursue this individual...
 
Pulse-Stopper

A hellish screaching sound rang through the room, as Arkoss's arm and the knife he had plunged deep into the geist was pulled out through the sides. Green blood coated the blade and one could catch a glimpse of the pleurodelinains desecreated body beneath the morbid gash inflicted upon its vehicle. With one last convulsing of its tendrils, the machine fell to the ground with a harsh *clank*.

Looking around him, he saw his fellow squadmates standing over the bodies of the slain, weapons scanning the area intently. At the same time, there was a sense of anxiousness about them, just like with him.

The damned pulse-caster sounded off again and a massive of explosion of nebuluous blue energy went off somewhere in the distance. Its immense force shattered windows and shook buildings, causing a few parts of the ceiling to tumble down unto Arkoss and his team. He couldn't tell what it had hit, but regardless of that, they couldn't have such a fearsome weaponry firing upon them while being attacked by enemy heavy armour.

Quickly opening up his HUD, he switched to an isometric three-dimensional view of the battlefield, and zoned in on a few key squads. Selecting X13's and Claire's, he sent began to speak quickly, a sense of discovery present in his voice.

"Claire, X13, slight detour from what you were originally to do, but I need you to help a bit with getting rid of the frontal defences."

With both weapons raised, he and his team began to search the upper floors, occasionally finding unarmed non-combat personnel or the odd enemy straggler. Disposing of the meager defences, he continued.

"I've managed to acquire support from a bit of an odd source; air support specifically. I know during the briefings you were told it'd be non-existent, but we've got a way around that now."

There was a short pause as something within the building collapsed audibly and a loud crash was heard. A few voices, speaking in cautious yet twisting insectoid tongue, broke through the noise.

"I need you to designate the the pulse-caster turrets; precision cruiser support, heavy ordanance. Don't ask how I got it, but we need it now. Claire, if you don't have some way to designate them, borrow one off a squad-mate."

Suddenly, the wall to the left of them in this office room exploded as a long, thick, and sustained beam of fierce orange-white energy grazed the edge of one of his men's armour. The soldier was lit aflame and grunted, his mandibles gritted as he fought the pain. He fell to the ground as the others scattered, just in time to barely dodge another massive energy beam ripping through another wall and nearly taking two of them out.

The soldier, having rolled quickly to douse the flames, pointed at Arkoss to follow him to a more protected position; in this case, deeper into the office and into a hallway.

Backs pressed up against the wall and peering through gaping holes left by the massive mobile suppression platform outside, following them on its spindly legs. He spoke to Claire and X13 once more.

"Tell everyone to get away from the turrets when our air support gets his target lock. I'm not sure of the specifics of what they're using, but all I know is that when they go off, it's not going to be pretty. Arkoss out."

As soon as he had finished that, he and the other soldier quickly popped out of cover. Arkoss' gun arm was now longer and lengthier, and a lengthy bolt stood loaded inside. As one of the eyes of the humungous robot spotted him, he and his subordinate opened fire. A storm of shells and an almost harpoon-like round flew forward like blazes of silver and red.

The smaller auxilliary death-spitting eyes had no time to fire as they were ripped apart by the more compact rounds. The largest one on that side of the M.S.P., a glowing portal-shape the same colour as the energy it fired, had only begun to grow in colour and intensity as it charged its attack. Before it could, the hefty round from Arkoss smashed through its eye-like covering, digging deep inside over the screeching of metal and sparking of severed electronics. A second later, there was a resounding explosion, as the bolt detonated and ripped open a grotesque and deforming wound into pleurodinain vehicle.

It almost seemed to be confused, as it tried to look around with the little that was left of its eyes, before the rest of the squad burst from hidden hiding places and unleashed a storm of firepower. As its durable head became increasingly dented and fractured, the M.S.P. made a hasty retreat, falling back into the safety of those attacking Biggs and his team.

He hoped Claire and 13 marked their targets soon. Even though the pulse-casters missed with their legendary main weapons, the plethora of rocket launchers, energy gatling guns, fragmentation cannons and other weapons were going to start taking their toll. They had to hold out; they were effectively doing most of the most intense combat, with enemy armour within the base focusing on them the most.

As his men re-grouped, they began looking through windows and holes where walls once were. Cross-comparing what they saw with the maps on their HUD's, they decided that they'd pass through the back-alleys of the rear buildings, heading towards the tall command center. While it was not the tallest building in the area, it sure was the largest, seeming like a massive fat slab, with sloped corners and dark blue walls. White windows were dotted amongst its form and it seemed as if Markarov had installed a variety of gun turrets unto it, supporting the troops and vehicles behind the barriers of steel and concrete set up in front of it.

He opened his communications again, this time only to Claire.

"After the turrets are designated, head back to the command center; that's likely where the VIP is. Be careful, I don't know how strong the side defences are, but the front's holding out strong."
 
Sefu almost shot the feline out of sheer reflex, but restrained himself. That would be doing the bastards a favor, and he really didn't have a whole lot of love for them. Lowering his pistol, he turned to the Funebraran speaking to him. He paused for a moment, weighing his options, then spoke.

"I was made here. I call myself Sefu. How I speak your language, I do not know. Neither do I know how I know that you look like Okhropir, whoev-"

//Friend//Confidante//Lover//Definitely his daughter//He didn't have a daughter when I left//She must be my age// How can she be my age?//

Sefu blinked in confusion for a minute, parsing that flash of memory/insight/whatever into something he could actually make sense out of. After a moment, he spoke up again.

"I think that is conversation we need to have later. You look like my lover's daughter, which makes no sense to me either, but I will figure it out later. I must escape before I am recaptured or killed to keep me out of your hands. I will go with you."
 
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