Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Nef's feet flew as she raced towards her mech. Once the soldier Kiki had risen, she'd wasted no time, and as she dumped herself into the well of the lift that would carry her into the cockpit, already she could hear Tank's voice in her mind.
"Flight systems already online, girl. Weapons coming online, in ten more seconds."
"What've we got, big guy?" She asked, as she ducked her head down to see the skies overhead. Like ants from a crushed hill, black specks flooded the blue skies, Reapers pouring through the atmosphere by the droves. These were simple gunners, and while the numbers were unnerving, it wasn't anything Neo Earth forces hadn't faced in prior raid attempts. On the ground, a similar swarming mass of movement could be seen, smaller, slower, but no less threatening - group troops, no doubt. It was an assault they had by no means anticipated, but with their mechs rounding down the numbers wouldn't be impossible. What was disconcerting, however, was what she could see to the west.
"Oh son of a--"
"...Big Whale." Tank hummed, and Nef had to bite her lip to keep from uttering a 'you think?'.
"Comms are live, Big Guy?" She asked, instead.
"They are, now."
"This is Nefertiti Jones, calling all pilots. We've got ground and sky movement - but I dunno if you folks can see this. There's a Grave Razer comin' in hot to the west. Once that puppy breaks atmo we're lookin' at roughly a sixty minute window before she turns Neo into a new Klangbar. Anyone wants to join me, I'm gonna go piss 'em off… see if I can't make 'em run back home."
"Eyy Girl… Weapons are holding hot. You ready?"
"Yeah, Big Guy. I'm ready…"
Propelling skyward, Nef's stomach gave a lurch as she collapsed back into the bucket chair. Tank's strength wasn't in his speed, but as the rocketed from the dais she had a difficult time drumming up anything akin to a complaint.
"Connecting HUD" She heard the mech say, before, jarringly, her vision was thrust from the bay window, upward, opening as if she were seeing from the mech's eyes.
"Oh… this is weird…"
"You get used to it, Girl."
A small metal hatch slid open before her, and light flooded the cockpit as the control panel warmed to life. Intiutively, Nef reached out and her hands settled on a joystick-like knob at the center, the other finding a comfortable rest on a round rolling ball beside this. Sliding her fingers along the shaft of the stick, she found the trigger button, and a grin spread across her lips.
"...Big red button?" She asked, without needing to.
"Bingo."
"...Oh, Big Guy… You and me, we're gonna have a damn good time." The black mass of metal towered before her eyes now, as the full breadth of the Grave Razer came into view. With a loud buzzing sound, she could see the metal poles sliding from its belly, three prong-like tubes with sharp metal coils leading to heavy spears on each end. With a sharp crackle, the coils sparked with magenta energy…
"The Razer is hot… Time to knock and say hello…" And without hesitation, Nef's finger jammed down on the trigger, great bursts of gas-light blue plasma popping from the end of Tank's arm-cannon. Nearing the hull, the plasma balls slammed into an invisible force outside of the ship and swearing, Nef's finger dropped from the trigger, momentarily.
"Nef again…" She spoke into the comms, "Looks like this bitch has her undies in a bunch. Shield's hot and we're gonna need to break it down before we can take out that artillery!"
OBJECTIVES
In this particular scene, your choice of combative movement is up to you - bear in mind, these are not scrub soldiers, but Invariance elite - so picking off 100 enemy combatants in a twelve second span of time is going to result in me rolling my eyes at you (and probably IC consequences you won't like). Your mechs are equipped with weaponry and an innovative piloting system - it's up to you whether your mech is gonna be grounded or flight based (they all have those capabilities) -- just note, heavier tanks (which you can see in their images) are going to be heavier and slower (with more powerful weaponry).
That being said, have fun with it - be creative… Impress me with your innovation and if you have questions, feel free to ask.
The following list is where the combatants are located, their estimated amount and their challenge level.
The Courtyard || SKY ASSAULT - Hundreds of Invariance fighter ships (or Reapers) have poured into the atmosphere - these ships are small and lithe, swift, with photon weaponry in quick bursts. They're easy to destroy, but more difficult to hit. These particular ships seem to be targeting the military compound located just outside the courtyard, where the brunt of the council's protective forces are currently docked. Ground troops have already begun firing back on the ships with handheld particle cannons. A larger cannon is in the process of being charged.
The City Proper || GROUND TROOPS - These are foot soldiers - most appear to be Kalazar-born in nature, though there are some that appear to hail from other planetary homes who have joined the cause. They are armored, wearing black masks that cover their features. There appears to be three squadrons - one moving through the center of the city and two flanking the central senate hub.
The Western Skies || A BIG-ARSE WHALE - Breaching the atmosphere in the westernmost skies appears to be a massive Invariance warship (Grave Razer) - these are known (by those with military knowledge) to possess massive planet destroying cores, which once charged (a process that takes roughly an hour), are capable of rendering a planet to dust.
Pyche | Interactions: Everyone via Comms | Status: Blasting Reapers
The moment Kalazar forces raced through the clouds and courtyard was the same moment Pyche's patience died, no matter how little it was to begin with. She couldn't afford to dawdle and wait for orders. Waiting would lead to death. Waiting would lead to a fate of ashes. And as far as Pyche was concerned, she had enough of being called "Ashen" during her years on Ranex.
"Your preaching is obsolete," she muttered, voice tight. Her fist banged the barrier between her and the control panel once more. "If we fail to act now, we'll both die. Surely you have an inkling of self preservation."
"That I do," Bellwether hummed. Pyche sensed a "but" coming along, but the Mech didn't say anymore. Even among the pink light dousing her, her ire continued to bubble like volcanic miasma.
"Then. What. Are. We. Waiting. For."
Ignoring the venom of her tone, Bellwether expelled what could've been a harrumph through her nose if she was in possession of one, before a sharp series of clangs and whirs filled the air. The straps around Pyche tightened, plastering her to the seat with no means of backing out, before a pair rectangular lens protruded from either side of her and snapped together before her eyes, forming a visor that pulsed and shimmered. They fastened themselves securely to her face.
"Initializing HUD."
She could feel rather than see Comms expanding from the visors and curling into her ears. There was a brief crackle of static, then a voice carried through. Female. Someone going by the name of Nefertiti Jones. Was this one of the Pilots? Pyche had failed to match names with faces before all of this began, which was impractical and a fallacy on her part.
"Comms connected. Pyche," Some life seeped back into Bellwether's tone, "Your violence towards my panel is unnecessary."Before Pyche could toss out a rebuttal, the seat underneath her shifted, separating into sections adhering to her limbs and lifting her to her feet. They were connected by a fibrous carbon material like flexible joints. The armrests themselves molded against Pyche the most, curling around her hands like thick gloves. Thin lines of purple energy raced down her arms and into the Mech's system, a confirmation locking into place.
"Those are merely flight controls. I imagine you're in need of the combative ones."
All at once, the world opened up to Pyche's eyes and her vision was suddenly in sync with the Mech's own. Her equilibrium heaved from the change, her stance staggering before she forcefully righted herself. She could've sworn the exoskeleton stuck to her had helped in that department, but she didn't care enough to dwell on it. As Nefer's observations continued to roll through the Comms, Pyche and Bellwether looked as one towards the whale of death.
Taking care of that was top priority.
Without feeling the need to announce herself like Nefer did, Pyche's voice tuned in to every Pilot. "I'm aware of the shield. The Grave Razer must be taken out immediately. Weaken the coils first with a precise shot down the barrel and rush the hull of it; you should locate the shield system quickly enough. Triple patented satellite." As she spoke, twin handles manifested from her palms via hologram projection and she grasped them; there essentially wasn't anything to grab, but they conformed visibly to her touch. "Bellwether. How do I commence flight--!"
Like the launching of a rocket, twin jets under the Mech's feet propelled them skywards straight into the fleet of Reapers, four wings sprouting from its back. Pyche almost suffered whiplash. Almost. She glared at the hailstorm of plasma before subconsciously tilting her body to dodge a large cluster of blasts. With a smooth jerk, Bellwether did the same. Surprisingly fast. Satisfactory.
Perhaps she wasn't as broken as Pyche first theorized.
"I advise we find a way to avoid those attacks." Several scorch marks ripped across the shoulders and back of Bellwether's metallic body. "Correction. Any further attacks. My defenses are not as sufficient as the others."
"Thinking." Eyes shifting back and forth in her skull, Pyche's hand lashed out like the strike of a viper, snagging a Reaper by its wing. The velocity made her Mech's arm jerk back, before expelling another blast from its feet to slow the jet's momentum. Teeth gnashing, Pyche swung the jet around like a hound on its leash and chucked it forward like a javelin just as another conglomerate of blasts raced her way. The Reaper exploded in a show of fiery shrapnel and photon energy, and Pyche took advantage of the brief distraction to start looping around into a more dispersed grouping of Reapers. More room to breathe. More room to think.
"I do not suppose you have a device to assist us further."
"I supposedly do. Reach behind us." Doing as the Mech said, Pyche struggled to reach behind her while continuously dodging assailants. She didn't get through it unscathed. More and more blasts skimmed Bellwether's hide, but managed to do what was needed and jolted when another confirming pulse of energy rippled through the exoskeleton. "Ejecting Photon Splicer."
...Photon what?
When Pyche brought her hand forward again, the holograms switched over to a gun-like device filling her hands. Through Bellwether's eyes, Pyche took note of how the barrel was long and slim. Simple and crisp design. Made for precision.
Very satisfactory.
However, just as Pyche raised the Photon Splicer to aim at a Reaper speeding past her, another wayward shot nailed her from behind. Followed by many more. The Mech was forced to plummet several miles towards land before righting itself mid-air and granted Pyche view of the overwhelming numbers. Fuck. Taking them on her own would prove to be a death wish.
She had no intentions of dying. Unacceptable.
She tuned back into the Comms. "I require," Bile coated the back of her throat. "Assistance with the Reaper fleet. Agile Mechs needed--aim for the hull and stern. Weak points." Another pause, a clipped breath escaping her out of a mixture of reluctance and bland annoyance. "And refrain from dying, Ailoca." Refusing to say anything more, Pyche raised the Photon Splicer once more and curled her trigger finger. A crackling beam of violet energy ripped through the hull of another Reaper. Another down. Far too many to go.
Tinka heaved a huge sigh of relief when backup came in (oh wow... she was hot too) and gave the poor woman the pep talk she needed. Hell, it was kinda crazy how quickly she pulled herself together. No, not crazy. Just freakin' awesome! Hell yeah! Girl power! Because let's be real: Tinka knew he was a full fledged man overflowing with charm and testosterone--but women sorta kinda ran his world.
No complaints from him.
Oh--wait. Catastrophe. Scared as holy hell. Right, right.
"As I was saying--AHHHHHHH WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO?!" Tinka's frantic screams weren't exactly answered by anyone; at least, not in a similar fashion. Rather than yelling back and basking in the same fear, each Pilot sprinted for their Mechs, preparing to head straight into the maws of danger. Christ--these guys were insanely courageous! What did they put in their cereal? Tinka wanted some--badly. He felt pathetic, knew he damn well looked the part too. He lived for the adrenaline and highs and risks, lived for skimming past close calls just by the skin of his teeth. He. Loved. It.
So why in the Hell was he on the verge of peeing his pants? Why were his legs filled with jelly? Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. This was not how a Space Daddy should act! C'monnnn Tinka! Get it together, bro! You are an INTERGALACTIC WARRIOR!Slapping his cheeks (and wincing from the sting), he gulped back as many nerves as he could and wobbled outside towards Bastille.
Though he definitely paused to gape at the chaos. "H... H-holy shit..." he breathed, horror bubbling and buzzing under his skin--
"We need to act, Tinka."
Bastille's heavy yet smooth voice washed over Tinka, luckily prominent enough to rip his attention away from the attack and keep moving. The Mech itself was a short run away, but with every second he was away from it, the closer Invariance soldiers got. Please God--he wasn't ready to kick the bucket. He had so much awesome stuff left to do with Maz and Connor! So many more places for her to see--
"Look out!"
"Wha--" Whatever Tinka intended to say was steamrolled by a yelp as a stray plasma blast ripped into the ground before him, leaving behind a large smoldering crater. He scrambled and dashed around it, long lanky limbs awkward yet agile in his gate. He was already in the process of ripping off his Token, desperate to gain cover inside the giant sentient robot. "Open the gate open the gate open the gate open thE GATE BEFORE THEY LIGHT ME UP PLEASE!"
He didn't need to tell Bastille twice. The Mech took a looming, ground shaking step, effectively cleaving half of the distance between them in one go and presented the docking bay, ready to lift Tinka. An anxiety-riddled laugh of relief bellowed from his lungs--
Oh. Look at that. Another blast. And far too close for him to stop and change trajectory.
Time slowed. Mid-stride, Tinka could only allow his good eye to widen in fear, images of his life flashing before it.
A few feet away from meeting a cauterized end.
"Happy Birthday, Tinka! What're you gonna wish for?"
A snort. "You're not supposed to tell, sis. Duh!"
Bastille's massive hand stretched forth in an attempt to block the attack. But chances were slim. The Mech was slow. The plasma proved to be much faster.
"So stingy... C'mon. Promise I won't tell anyone. Aren't I your favorite person?"
"I meannnn--"
"Well fuck you too."
Tinka's snort to could rival an army of piglets.
One foot away.
"Fine, fine, ya big baby." He leaned in to whisper giddily, "One day? We're gonna get outta here. See the whole galaxy--you and me!"
Tinka snapped his eyes shut, accepting the inevitable.
×Neo Earth / Council Senate / the Aerial Battlefield×
•Chaos•
"What are you doing?!" Rii'Chii's eyes were the size of moons. Centrifugal force pressed his frame tightly against the seat; the straps that had wrapped about his legs and torso were completely unnecessary at this point, for no amount of strength would have moved the man from that spot. He felt like a bassbell in the pisher's hand from Earth That Was. His body went even more rigid than the G-forces had made him, and the image of the bassbell being hurled away toward the mighty column of wood swinging right at him in order to redirect him into the utmost reaches of black space above them flooded his mind. "I said, what the hell are you doing!?" Engaging. "You're flying me to an early death, is what!" Reapers whizzed about the Lightbearer's head, their buzzing proximity nearly fatal to both ship and mech. Plasma filled the air hammering against steel and reinforced glass as enemies engaged and were engaged upon. Brawler had both pistol cannons presented, and both barrels flashed in blinding white as bolt after bolt after bolt screamed from them into the hulls of Reaper ships. The rate of fire was deceptively highly; with little pause, bolt after bolt left the barrels, giving the impression of almost a steady stream of energy. But the power behind each shot seemed minimal; it took far too many impacts to bring down any given fighter. Nor was Brawler itself avoiding the return fire. Dull thuds echoed into the cockpit from without, the successful Reapers managing solid hits, with even the less precise glancing blows still worrisome. Rii'Chii felt paralyzed. It was like he was a child again, a child along for the ride on his father's shoulders as he ran down some steep embankment. There was no sense of surety, no sense of security. Everything spun around him and inside him, and all he felt he could do was to hold on for dear life. His fingers gripped the dome-like input, seeking some purchase. Piercing electricity raced up his arms, snapping his arms tight, before sprinting up his shoulders and his neck and into his head. His eyes squeezed shut against the shock. Light seemed to explode into his brain, as painfully as flipping flood lights in pitch blackness. Back arching, arms entering rigor, he opened his mouth to scream. His eyes opened, shining as brilliant white as the plasma that screamed from Brawler's guns, and his body relaxed. Rii'Chii could see the battlefield about him, as if they were game pawns on a three dimensional board. The range wasn't great for the circumstances, no more than 300 yards out, not without focusing on a precise location, but within that space, he felt like he knew everything. Suddenly, he knew why his partner was named "Brawler"; in this close range, he was King. Which meant the Reapers were his focus, that others might focus on the larger targets. Others, like Bastille and Tinka. "Tinka." The Och'Nari merely spoke, the panic for now lost within the novel wonder of the experience, and his voice carried across the general Comms. "Your gun is suited for larger targets. Can you engage the Razer? We'll stay near you, to keep the flies away." In the back of his mind, Rii'Chii felt a contented rumble of agreement from Brawler. His attention shifted down, seeking the pilot in question. He saw first the Reapers, or maybe it was the ground assault, engaging Bastille's position. And, he assumed, Tinka's. Bastille was trying to shield the boy from harm, but it was large and slow, meant for power and not speed. "Down!" he screamed, forcing his will into Brawler's propulsion. Brawler immediately shifted direction, rocketing toward the ground and leaving its backside entirely unprotected. Reaper fire impacted their aft as they took advantage. What are you doing!? It was the Lightbearer's turn to question the impulsive action. It yanked some control back, turning one arm to the rear to return fire on the following enemy. Rii'Chii felt the heat of anger in his head. This is not okay, Och'Nari. Release me. Rii'Chii ignored him. The one arm that remained in his control, he brought to bear on the soldiers approaching Tinka. He squeezed the trigger, and plasma showered down on them like a monsoon. It caused them to pause, at the least, and Rii'Chii attempted to redirect his flight path. But it wouldn't budge. "Brawler!" His breathing quickened. I can't reassert in time. We're going to impact. Tuck and roll, Och'Nari. The cockpit went deathly quiet, and then they impacted the ground. Brawler's arms tucked in, and roll they did, skittering across the ground through the ranks of the Cult's ground troops before coming to a rest some fifty yards from Bastille. Rii'Chii blinked, feeling gravity pulling him up. He shook his head. "You ok?" he asked vaguely toward Tinka.
TAGS || @Mobley Eats \\ code stolen wholesale from Elle Joyner
Battle jitters. They raced across her skin like spikes, adrenaline flooding her body and prepping her for eventual contact. Despite the fact she was 'paired' to Vindicator, she could still feel her own physical body in unison. She moved her arm, and so did it. She shifted her stance, and the rest of the mechanical body followed with a ghostly phantom feedback of nerves to let her know the action completed. Practicing, she rocked her fist into a palm, hearing the screech of metal on metal.
Then, came intel. She turned to look to the west, to the Razer coming in hot towards the atmosphere. Yeah... not good. Another voice, experienced, stated that they'd take the Big Nasty and needed some air support. They also had ground troops as well, storming in... There was the screech of plasma to the side, and she jumped -- and so did Vindicator, a good hundred feet, to the side. She winced as part of a building collapsed, gritting her teeth. Gakan! I'm just as much a liability as the Goaties up there.
Another mech suddenly crashed to the ground, labeled BRAWLER|RII'CHII, having taken a hit knowingly. Immediately, her eyes flew to the intended target of a plasma blast, seeing the tall boy who was attempting to make it to his mech.
"Comms on?"
Comms on.
"Nice save, Brawler and Rii'Chii."
Praise was important. And these were not troops that were trained, so even moreso. What she was most worried about at the moment was the disorganization. She didn't know enough about her own mech, much less the mechs of others, though she could guess by looks alone.
"Hey, I need some specs on this thing, man. What am I working with? Speed, stealth, big guns, small arms, blades--?"
Mostly a lightweight artillery force with a plasma mass discharge cannon, with scattershot mode. Hit hard and fast, but defense's less my forte...
They were losing time. She needed to make up her mind, get a plan going.
"Flight capability?"
Maxes out at Mach 10. You have fluorogel for lung shielding.
Good thing I only have one working lung, then.
Oh. Oh this would be good. Sure, it meant she was a glass cannon, but so long as she didn't take too many hits too fast, plus got out of the way, she was going to pack one helluva punch. The Razer was their biggest concern, with those plates on the bottom generating the shield. Two-prong approach. That other pilot - Pyche and Bellwether, or so her HUD told her - was going to take out the coils, weaken the energy dispersion on the shields. In the meantime, she needed help getting there in the first place.
"Pyche, on your 6 o clock," she stated, keying her in. "I'll keep the flies off of you."
Now... time to get up in the air.
She rocked against the dais as she was suddenly launched into the air, the fleets around her growing closer and closer. A rush filled her. That thrill. That desire. She was going to make 'em bleed. It was like flying in a dream, the numbers in her HUD flashing, dimly aware of a mask covering her face to flood her lungs with much needed fluorogel to cushion her lungs, provide inertia as the G's pressed her in. A gun seemed to arrive in her hands, heavy as her last rifle, heavier, while the air sprouted Reapers like flies on a corpse.
Scattershot engaged!
Let's blow 'em away.
Just as she shot past Pyche, the gun was leveled upwards, a wide-barreled thing with a glowing end. The entirety of space opened up in a black maw. The Whale was dropping closer and closer like a hellish bomb. Her finger itched the trigger. Squeezed.
BOOM.
In every direction sprayed plasma in bright white arcs that tore through the Reaper ships, a shotgun blast that made her arm ache. The entirety of the plasma mass, separated into tens of hundreds of directions. She tore through the wreckage, more Reapers filling the space.
What's the recharge time? Evade or not?
No recharge the first three times!
BUFF, you're growing on me, buddy.
Trying to, yeah.
Again, another path cut forward. Again. No hits taken so far, too fast, twisting past them, attempting to give Pyche a clear shot. Now it was time to wait on recharge -- the danger period.
As the enemy forces came down from the heavens like some twisted angels, Connor could feel something plug into the back of his helmet and for a split second, painfully connect with his skull. The pain akin to a needle being inserted, if said needle was moving like a snake, and wrapped around your skull as opposed to piercing it.
"What the foo..." Connor was about to curse, but he realized that his vision was no longer inside Preacher's head thing, but rather he was looking through Preacher's eyes? Cameras, whatever the hell he used for vision. Speaking of the mech.
"Amazed at the reaction, typically pilots undergoing this connection are a bit more alright with this 'change in perspective.'" Preacher called out, his voice no longer booming or coming through the interior's speakers, but as if he were standing right next to Connor.
"Why am I looking through whatever you have for eyes?" Connor asked, confused deeply about this, confusion that died out as the sounds of war filled his ears once more.
"This is to synchronize pilot and their mech's actions. Enhancing reaction times and the like to beyond mere fleshling capabilities. Unless you're indecisive, in which case we're gonna have some minor issues. Like dying!" Preacher said almost too cheerfully, as if he were saying something funny.
"Alright then.....What's the plan of attack here, Preachy Preach?"
"Ooooooo, I like that name. Can I call you Conny Con? Jokes aside, instinct tells me that we should be assisting in the takedown of the really big ship. If it doesn't go down, this planet will die. And thus our mission will fail. And I will nag you relentlessly in the afterlife. By literally playing ball with your body with the other ghost mech. So please don't mess this up." Nice words of encouragement, but Connor nodded, feeling odd that he nodded as Preacher before using the boosters to keep up with the so called 'Reapers' as Preacher called them inside of Connor's skull, stabbing into them with speed that amazed Connor, before moving on as it exploded. The duo would do their hardest to keep Pyche and her mech covered for their sniping. They did stutter as Connor wanted to just blitz the shit outta the enemy, and Preacher holding said action back with firmness only heard way back when they were leaving the rust planet behind, that Pyche's sniping was needed for the plan, as she would be needed to help take down the planet killer slowly coming down like a vengeful god.
With the sounds of innocent citizens running for shelter and explosions echoing all around, Deadeye continued rushing away from any buildings that might get damaged due to enemies opening fire on anything they found as a target. All the while, Vrax's grip continued to shake for several minutes at the idea of fighting once again.
It wasn't until the comm. link was connected to all pilots and the voices of his fellow pilots spoke to one another did Vrax finally tighten his grip around the joysticks of the controls before him. Immediately, Vrax took hold of the controls to have the large mech begin targeting the ground troops by either kicking or tearing his opponents to shreds with the use of the blade upon his wrist.
"Your fighting is too rigid...Would you like me to adjust your positioning?"
"What? What do you mean 'adjust my positioning'?"
As Vrax questioned the mech, the entire cockpit went completely dark for a moment as Vrax felt the seat from underneath him was suddenly removed leaving him standing on his own two feet. Soon bright white lights filled what was once the cockpit only to reveal what appeared to had been a large circular room with no ability to see the outside world from within the mechanical suit.
"What is this..?"
Questioning Deadeye who gave no response at first; without so much as a warning, a black suit began to materialize all around Vrax's body that appeared to had been made of some type of unknown fiber that looked like scales of sorts.
'Initializing HUD; Connected. Weapons; Online. Shields; Online. Life Support; Online. All Systems Green.'
"You have full control now Vrax. Surely, you should be able to fight much more comfortably now, yes?"
With the controls at his fingertips now, Vrax was now able to see through the very eyes of his mech as he clenched his fists which caused the suit itself to make fists as well. Nodding in response to Deadeye's question, the male indeed felt much more comfortable with his ability to actually stand and take full control of his actions through his own body rather than the use of a pair of joysticks.
"Let's go Deadeye."
In mere seconds, rockets began to ignite from each of Deadeye's shoulders as well as a large pair of mechanical wing-like mechanisms revealed themselves from the back of the suit. Instantly, Deadeye launched itself straight into the sky just to use it's fist to destroy any incoming Reaper fighters that came too close as they whizzed by him. Before long, Vrax began to bring his attention fully upon the Grave Razer that was stated to become a problem if it reached into the atmosphere from the west.
Linking into the comm. link to speak with the other pilots that might've heard him, he flew straight in the direction of the Razer while making sure to avoid too much damage from the incoming fighters as best as he could. Listening to the instructions about where to target the Razer from one of the fellow pilots[Pysche], soon enough Vrax halted himself just to continue avoiding getting hit as best as he could even if he couldn't fully avoid being damaged here and there.
"Shields at ninety five percent. Recommended action; attack from a distance."
"Well...What exactly do we have at our disposal?"
"You have a Pulse Cannon and an Photon Rifle as your arsneal along with several homing rockets. While I do not recommend it, you also have a Energized blade at your disposal."
With said information at hand, Vrax wasted no time to take out the Photon Rifle just to take aim and begin returning fire at the Reaper fleets with rapid and precise shots one after another. Doing so also lowered the amount of times he took damage onto his shields while he drew closer and closer towards where the Razer was arriving from to see if he could land any shots on the monstrous ship with his Pulse Cannon.
Baby, why are you so tense? It's only an invasion from an army of technologically advanced war machines. I need you to take deep breaths, baby. Remember this isn't the first time someone thought you were better off dead, but it's also not the first time someone wanted to keep you alive. I'm here every step of the way, Loc. I need you to focus on the problem at hand. It's a chaotic scene for certain, but you need to focus on one target. You were the one who taught me that, in a flurry of problems, dumbasses and uncertainty, the best way to begin the cleanup is to focus on one point. Tell me, baby, where would you focus first? There are ground troops below but there are mechs who are handling that. The civilians are rushing for their lives, and you can imagine that another tank on the ground is gonna cause disruption. Probably become a bit of a fire hazard. Remember, never flood the exits in case of emergency. The squadrons in the air are being taken care of by our favorite Psycho, I know you hate me for that nickname, as well as other mechs. You jump in the way without the biggest knowledge of our darling Fulcrum and you risk the opportunity of crowding the air and, unfortunately, a bigger chance of getting shot at. I love your beautiful face, and I'd rather we don't have that happen. Third option, see that big bad boy? What did Nefer...God she's got big I-...What did Nef say about that bad boy? The Razer? Seems like that has minimal focus and seems to be the biggest problem. Pansys want to fucking stay close to the ground. But baby, think of it this way, you see how big that fucker is? I don't think it can avoid any weaponry you've got. Hell, if you can get close enough...Hmm, see what Fulcrum can do, baby, and I'll be here every second of the way. This hunk of junk better protect you, or my spirit is coming to haunt its circuit board.
" T-thank you, E-elie." Ailoca took a deep, concentrated breath. She could feel his hands cupping her shoulders, thumbs gently massaging between the blades, uncoiling her muscles and setting her mind at ease. She didn't dare to look back, knowing he would not be there, knowing that whatever words slipped into the corners of her mind were manufactured. They held a sliver of truth, however, a sliver of wisdom, one that Ailoca prayed would be able to keep her alive. She did not wish to dismiss Psyche's request altogether. She would remain alive, even if it meant paying mind to the words of a dead man. She drummed her fingers anxiously against the control panel, thumb gripping the shift. Hell..how did Fulcrum move? He seemed to function well on his own, but she had no idea what any of his protocols even were...
"Little one, are you well?"
"Hmm? I am the good! Go for the big guy, yes? I have the idea, what are your controls?" Ailoca inquired to her mech, hesitantly hovering her hand near the closest lever on the control panel.
Don't touch that, baby.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Little one? Are you okay? I can move towards the Razor, are you certain? I do not wish you hurt, but I can activate shields on either end. I can also try and send out shields towards the second fighter, Nefertiti, yes? Next off, controls to the right initiate something a little more fun. Have you ever shot a weapon before, little one?"
Ailoca swallowed, barely peeking to the outside forces that surrounded her on all ends. Fulcrum took up the position and shot towards the Razor, leaving Ailoca with a minimal amount of time to understand just how the control panel worked. She fumbled briefly in the cockpit, tightening the belt that looped around her waist. Reaching out to the major control on the right, pulling at the metallic lever...pulling a control mechanism from a pocket in Fulcrum's side. The wheel consisted of two grips, a series of two buttons lying in wait at the center. It was crudely curved, slim enough for Ailoca's fingers to keep a proper grasp. It appeared to be made of rubber, comfortable against Ailoca's skin as she pulled the mechanism from its panel. She swiftly pulled the control from its containment, raising it up over her head and swiveled it to reach the center of the control panel. She blinked. She was surprised at the mobility of the control, but with each jerk and shift of her new found weapon, she noticed a shift in Fulcrum. She peered from the cockpit, noticing the canon that raised over head, firmly planted along the equivalent of Fulcrum's collar.
"Oh, the god!" She exclaimed, if somewhat cheerily, cautious not to press any buttons at all until she waited Fulcrum's further instruction.
"Get closer to Nef and her Mech. Once we are there, I am going to ask of you to press the third button on the left of the panel. It is bright green. After you activate the shields, you've got the main controls, aim the canon in the direction of the Razer and slam both buttons on the center of the system. Do not be concerned if nothing happens for a while, but after that, I highly recommend you instruct Nefertiti to remain behind the shield. The Razer appears to be shielded, but I think I can locate where the origin is pinpointed. You are just going to need a steady hand. That's all I ask of you."
Don't get shaky on me, Loca.
Ailoca bobbed her head, sucking in a tight breath between her teeth as she directed Fulcrum towards Nef and her mech. She just needed to remember to breathe, she knew that this was a difficult situation that she had never encountered before, and she was before the enemy now...God, how did Elie do it? How did Elie put on his brave face and look into the face of the enemy? Was he afraid before he passed? No, no, there was no proof that he was dead, there was no proof that he felt fear, wherever he was.
Hey...hey it's okay. Just breathe. You know how I stay strong. It's you. Always been you, baby. I just need you to be brave for me, now. In and out. In and out. That's it. You remember the breathing method. You've already been through so much and I'm so proud of you. I just need you to remember to stay brave so you can go back home to our babies. I have so much faith in you. Back straight. It'll help your diaphragm. Relax your hands on the grip. Make sure you breathe. Calculate what you can. Remember, you are in more control than you think you are.
Following the illusions instructions, she relaxed her grip on the handle and straightened her spine, finding Fulcrum landing mere centimeters from Nef and her mech. "Hello!" She spoke through her coms, praying that it was working as it should. "Nef yes? Stay where you the are." Jamming her thumb into the green button as instructed, Ailoca felt a light rumble of the cockpit. Fulcrum raised a massive hand, the palm opening a circular compartment where a swarm of small metallic parts awaited. The hive buzzed past Fulcrum, racing to the end of Tank, rearranging themselves into a diagonal formation. Several rows lined from Nef's mech to the end of Fulcrum, creating a wall between them and the open space ahead. A light, electrical burst shot across each of the bots, forming a field of protection for the two mechs.
"Alright, little one, steady the canon above the field, then shoot. There shouldn't be a kick back but...I'd recommend you keep yourself buckled in."
Whenever they say there isn't gonna be a kickback, there's gonna be a fucking kick back.
Ailoca briefly ignored the voice that echoed in her head, forcing the controls above her head, where the canon soon slid against Fulcrum's body and adjusted as Ailoca commanded. Her eyes focused towards the target that Fulcrum had recommended to her, the satellite dish that he claimed to be the origin...In. Out. In...
She slammed the trigger, although noticed no immediate reaction.
"Did it the work?"
"Wait one moment little one."
Ailoca noted the explosion mere seconds later, never once having seen the mine that slammed through the emptiness of space and collided with its target.
"Who the hell thought it was the good idea to the trust me with this?!" She suddenly exclaimed, praying that no one in her comms could hear her sudden exclamation. She paused. "Let us do it the again."
Mazheira sat slouched in the seat of her cockpit, the perfect picture of comfort. She stared into the blackness of space, trillions of pricks of light as far as her sensitive eyes could see. She turned the palm sized disk over in her hands, fingertips running over the surface, tracing grooves she had long since memorized.
Her ship hovered in the vacuum of space, only the most basic of functions running to keep the inside habitable. The thrusters were down, dim with only the warmth of the idling engine.
Maz scanned the abyss, as if searching for something. Waiting for something.
Help is coming.
She'd dismissed the soft whisper the day before and all morning. Asked if anyone had heard it. Some heard it, but never so clearly. Just sound for them, not words.
Still, it was probably nothing. She hadn't been sleeping much anyway. It was that time again. Another anniversary was approaching. Just how long had it been since she and her sister had been loaded onto those ships and sent to Neo Earth?
So long. Too long.
Nehamka had to be out there still. Surely. She had promised Maz she would always find her, always be there for her. Maz had every intention to hold her to it. It was why she so often found herself floating in space, watching the stars. Watching for a shift in light. Watching for that telltale movement of a ship headed straight for the planet she'd called home for a good many years now. It wasn't home home, but it was a place she'd carved out a space for herself, her belonging.
Help is coming.
Maz furrowed her brow, her visor still up in the safety of her cockpit, before shutting her eyes.
She'd originally ignored the whisper, it was true. She couldn't shake it, though. It only grew louder, and the pull towards the black abyss was undeniable. Her reasons for floating with asteroids had been reaffirmed but by what….that she didn't know.
Maz shifted in her seat, popping another mint in her mouth before running her thumbs over the carvings of the disk.
Maybe it was her. Please let it be her. Please let it be something only Nehamka could have thought up.
Her prayer was silent, unspoken, and her form broke as the voice grew louder.
Help is coming,
She sat up, staring into the stars, only to find that movement she'd so desperately been looking for.
It was happening. She was back. She should have known. Nehamka was far too crafty to die.
But the feeling of wrongness settled in her gut. Her gaze narrowed as she observed. That was not a normal ship. It was...the wrong shape. What the hell?
Doubt crept in, and then fear.
It could be the Cult. They could've broken through.
Help is coming.
"Doubtful," she snorted, turning the key and firing up her engines as the craft shot forward. Towards her. Dead center. Fuck fuck fuck, fuckity fuck.
Her hands flew, flipping switches, checking lights, listening to that ever so familiar roar of the engines, before she gripped the steering.
Before she could even begin to fly away, though, the Mech flew before her. The entirety of its form dwarfed her ship entirely, casting shadow across her craft.
She looked up with wide glowing eyes, nowhere to run and nowhere to fly.
Help is here.
~~~
"Okay, but you absolutely admit it was freaky as hell, right? Like swoosh, through all of space we go, let's go dwarf this girl and scare her witless. Good plan. Very good plan. I feel like I should make a nuisance of myself. File a complaint with whoever made that plan. I make better plans than that, and we already know how you feel about that, Big Boy."
They'd been flying for days, far beyond the reaches of Neo Earth. The brief landing on the Fall had….answered no questions and Maz was itching to stretch her legs. Fly something, blow something up, build something, anything. Several days of the nothingness of space was hardly reassuring and definitely not stimulating and she was itching to do anything.
"Your planning leaves a great deal to be desired. Time was of the essence." Maz shook her head, rolling her eyes at the even keel of Chevalier's tone.
"Oh come on, admit it. Admit what you are thinking."
"....You are indeed terrible at making plans."
"Oh! Low hit! Cheap shot! Gonna insult me and not even address the rest of that. Okay. I see how it is. Not gonna comment on me having a good chat with lady in the fox mech."
"Such a conversation would be inadvisable. Respect is imperative, and the said 'lady', the pilot with her, and the mech are all deserving of a great deal of it. There were unforeseen circumstances; we adapted as best we could."
"Boo, party pooper, preaching about respect and honor. I'd fight you myself if you weren't so big."
"That is the only reason?"
"Oho! Now we're talking smack. Alright, you know what. I can take Tinkles, I can take you too."
There was something softly amused in the lack of response after that from the mech and Maz wiggled about in her seat. She reached for a button.
"I will shut things off if you insist, once again, on 'sparky sparky boom boom' in the depths of space."
"Look, we've been flying for so long. I'm antsy. I want to walk. I wanna kick something. Mostly Tinka, because I have not been getting my allotted harassment. I also wanna throw something. It could also be Tinka if I am sneaky enough." The wicked grin painted upon her face said it all.
"Easy. We are landing now."
The restraints released her, allowing her free range of buttons and levers and so much more, but she was distracted by the view of landing on Neo Earth, surrounded by the other pilots.
Her visor down and her pilot gear still on to protect her from the near blinding light of the star of Neo Earth, she was lowered to the ground below.
And there was Tinka. And hell, Connor too. What kind of luck?
But what the shit was he carrying?
Her feet were on solid ground as she approached, eyebrows raised even though they could not be seen.
Oh no. Oh no, he didn't. The sentimental bastard.
"You didn't," she answered with a grin, handling the jacket with delicate care. 'Tiny Titan', stitched carefully into the back.
Sentimental fucking jackass, she was going to fight him. Instead of that, though, she had wordlessly- a real rarity for her- slid the jacket on. Perfect.
Now she really had to fight him. When did he get an accurate enough measurement of her?
Her attention was pulled from them as the woman in white spoke, leading them further into the building. With a ceiling over her head, she popped her helmet, and removed it to reveal her face.
A face that had been enraptured by the woman's tale, listening so intently to the woman's words only to hear Tinka nearby. Space Daddy. As. Fucking. If. She'd whirled, hand half raised to whack him in the arm, when the thunderous crack resounded throughout the building.
Oh fuck.
"Get to your mechs!"
Didn't have to tell her twice. She started to run, shoving her helmet back onto her head.
~~~ Now...
She was dead sprinting through the corridor, racing towards where the mechs rested as hell rained from above. Don't think about where you saw it last, Maz. Just live it.
Her blood was singing in her ears, heart pounding in her chest, and she could honestly say she felt more alive than ever. Maybe that should have been her cue she needed help. This was a bit much for the average adrenaline junkie, surely.
"Chev! We got talking?"
"There's chatter over the comms."
"Can you connect me through my helmet until I'm in? I don't wanna miss anything."
"Working on it."
There was a pop and crackle through her helmet, utilizing the old comms she'd probably made herself once. Yeah, she should've invested there.
The static cleared and voices came through.
Nefertiti Jones on the big one. Shield is up. Icy lady on the small ships. Big one needs a steady shot. Coils to shut it down. Better pilot than a shot, Maz. Play distraction first. Hull and stern on the little ones, hull and stern. Got it.
Her thoughts were racing, cataloguing, analyzing as the information came through. Her booted feet pounded against the floor, and then the ground of the courtyard. Closer, closer, closer.
But then she saw it. The beam.
Tinka.
No. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
She'd already lost them. Lost her parents, lost her sister. She'd made it, she'd survived, she'd made something new.
She was not about to lose it all. She was not about to lose this dipshit too.
"Tink!" She swivelled on her heel, switching directions as the first beam crashed into the ground below. Something like fear skittered across her skin as she saw the second beam.
His mech was too slow.
She was too slow.
She wasn't going to make it. No, no, no, no no.
A planet-shattering crash connected with the ground, the sound of the impact rattling through her. She'd been forced to give pause, her eyes clenched shut at the booming crash.
She opened her eyes. Another mech had taken the hit.
Her gaze flicked to Tinka. She started running again.
Time to move the target.
She nearly whipped by him, slowing only to grip him by the elbow and tug him along.
"Move!" she demanded, pulling him towards his mech. Get him moving. Get him moving. Don't let him stall again. Get him in the big robot with a shit ton of armor.
"Chev, can I connect to the mech that just went down?"
'Connection made.'
Another pop before she spoke.
"Hey, guy that just went down. Thanks for that. You good in there?"
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Barrel rolling to a sudden stop, Tank paused alongside the massive planet-killer, as Nef scratched the back of her head in frustration. Three plates, long and slightly curved hugged the hull of the ship, a soft glow emanating from their central spike. She had studied the plans, and they were easy enough to target, but all three had to be destroyed before the shields would fall, and then there was the driving force of the Razer. Targeting the coil required absolute precision. She was a good shot, but on her own, she couldn't do it all - and with the mechs split off in every direction, help wasn't coming as swiftly as she would've hoped.
Multiple voices filtered through the comms channel, but Nef's attention was laser focused, as she propelled Tank forward, towards the bottom of the Razer. Suddenly, a second Mech appeared, trailing behind a short-range prox mine. Giving a shout, Nef propelled a fist in the air, "Get it, girl!"
An explosion followed the mine as it dinged across the surface of one of the plates, "Hell yeah! Think you can handle the other shield plates? I'll line up a shot for those coi--Damn it! Eyes on your six! We've got company!"
Tank straightened out and his gun came forward, a blast echoing from the chamber, crashing into the husk of one of the half dozen Reapers, gunning towards the Razer.
Fire rained down on the promenade as Reapers met their concussive end, Mechs whipping in and out among their numbers, sending flaming fragments and debris to the ground like chunks of hail. Lucina McNabb gripped the steering wheel of the armored ATV, whipping around chunks of molten steel wreckage, towards the open gates of the bunker.
"Mechs are live, Lion Tamer. Skies are on fire and we got ants in the anthill!"
"Ace...What… what the hell are you even saying?" The voice on the other end of the comms chirped back, "Just speak English, you--"
"What the hell is the point of having code phrases if no one reads the book?" Whistling through her teeth, Lucina smacked a hand onto the dash, "Concentrate fire on those Reapers and get troops on the ground, now! If we're gonna keep these so-called Guardians alive, we need to scramble the Yellow Jackets, now."
"Kash is on it. Already got them warming up." The voice answered again, "You're in Dock C."
"Kash gonna be alright with his girl up there?" Lucina asked, biting back a grimace.
"Nef hears you calling her my girl and she's gonna be shootin' you out of the sky next, Ace. I'm good…" This voice belonged to Kashel, himself, the amusement not lost, even over the comm link, "Looks like most of the Mechs are concentrated on the Reapers, but they'll be screwed if the ground troops make it to the disruptor cannons. We need to get out there and break up those lines."
"Almost to the docks." Lucina returned, "Who's out there with us?"
"Chicken Little." Kash responded, and the groan escaped before Lucina could mask it, "All able bodies, Ace."
"Yeah, yeah. Just keep the Space Cadet out of my firing line. He starts talkin' all that genius mumbo-jumbo and I might accidentally slip on the trigger."
"Accidentally? Ace, please. No one would believe that…"
"Meanwhile…" The first voice interrupted, "I'll put out the call… Let those Mechs know what to expect."
"Peaches LT. Catch you on the flip, Kash."
"See you out there, Ace."
Curling the ATV into the docking unit, Lucina unbuckled her belt and hopped out, her eyes shifting up to the bright yellow Walker, purring to life in front of her. The Yellow Jackets were as close to the mechs as their forces had - smaller, slower and without all the pomp and circumstance - but they did their job and they did it well. Scrambling up the ladder and slipping behind the cockpit, she flicked the switch to transfer comms, as Lion Tamer's voice spilled out over the speakers.
"Attention Mech Pilots. This is Lieutenant Jefferson Torino - We've got your backs, down here. Ground troops are moving for the Disrupters. We're on it, but if you wanna spare a mech or two, we ain't gonna forget to thank you for it."
Grinning, and flipping the switch overhead, Lucina propelled the Walker forward, heading for the garage exit. Another explosion rocketed overhead and cocking her head behind her, she looked up to a massive chunk of plaster crashing through the glass roof of the council building. Swearing under her breath, Lucina's head swirled back to the road ahead of her and pressing forward on the accelerator, the Walker rocketed into the oncoming crowd of Cultists.
OBJECTIVES
The fight continues -- Keep kicking Cultist butt.
The Courtyard || SKY ASSAULT - The last of the Reapers have poured in from the atmosphere and hundreds now litter the sky - The Mechs have begun taking their toll, but there's a long road ahead before they've cleared the field.
The City Proper || GROUND TROOPS - Meanwhile, the troops have entirely split into two flanks around the council walls, their goal apparent. They're heading for the Disrupter Cannons, stationed on either side.
The Western Skies || A BIG-ARSE WHALE - Ailoca has successfully taken down one of the shield plates, but two still remain - meanwhile, Nef is standing by to take aim on that central coil, but their mission hasn't gone unnoticed, and Reapers are coming in hot.
As the combined effort of Preacher and Connor slowly lowered the number of Reapers in the skies, hundreds more flooded the sky. It seemed like the bastards didn't stop coming, Connor felt like bashing his head in frustration.
"The fookin' tossers keep comin'." He said aloud, his only audience being Preacher.
"This is often standard issue for invading armies, especially considering the targets before them. They stop us here, the sooner they can continue being crazy cultists elsewhere."
"So what do you propose?" There was a couple of seconds of silence as he, or rather he aimed Preacher's big fuckoff knife through a couple of Reapers, the dull sound of explosions filled the air as Connor was still inside Preacher's head.
"We deal with the planet-killer. We undermine their ace in the hole, and they'll either be forced to retreat, or continue fighting an uphill battle." The tone that Preacher had dropped, the odd cold voice coming back. The plan was decent enough sounding to Connor, they take that big abhorrence to the eyes down, they just have to deal with the Reapers, which considering just how hard they were beating their arses, would be very easier without worry of a big ship blowing them up.
"Oh it does worse than just 'blowing ya' up. I suggest we follow our friend's action by targeting one of the shielding plates. It'll make the job easier for the others." And like that, Connor steered Preacher towards the Whale, using the two knives to slash down another Reaper as they made their way to one of the shielding plates. Preacher would be positioned atop the plate with both knives raised before plunging one into it, using one knife to carve into the plating, opening a gash for the second knife to dive in at the fragile machinery that was being protected by said plating.
Smoke and a dulled explosion would replace the space that the shielding plate took up, but similar to Nef. The two would have to pull off to avoid being lit up by the increasing presence around the Whale.
Preacher would speak amidst the chaos. "One more plate and we can bring it down, but we gotta do it soon or the backup will be too much for one mech to handle. My pilot and I will do our best to keep them off you, but I am less than armored than you and I only got knives. Any damage I take will be broadcasted loudly, and I'll guilt trip ya into letting me call you by whatever name I can come up with."
It was curiously quiet inside of Vindicator's cockpit, despite the immense size and weight of the actions outside it. She could hear her breathing. Loud, full, in her ears. Steady, a rhythm of in, out. In, out. In, out. All her focus was on her breathing, on evading, her body the controls, Vindicator seemingly supernaturally attuned to every twitch she made.
In, out. Squeeze the trigger.
Outside, a million starbursts exploded at once in a cacophony. The swarm dispersed only for that time, flaming wreckage falling. Gracefully, a bullet with a life of its own, Vindicator spun around it, as if a dunshark in a school of fish on Leela as it tracked prey. In unison, she cocked back the next plasma round, ready to split it into a million tiny missiles to take out as much of the surrounding enemies as possible in one, fatal shower. Don't think about anything else. If she did, she was going to fall back into it, the anxiety, the terror that was threatening to rear up in the back of her brain like mold eating the foundations of a house.
Kiki, we have a problem.
Recharge time?
No - we have a bogey.
Again in unison, turning her head through the angry hive, past the bees to something else -- something a lot bigger. She growled a curse under her breath.
Screaming past her, strafing brightlighter tracer rounds, was a WASP class Cult vessel. A sleek, mid-sized fighter shaped like a long stingray and pure black as night, it was meant to pack heavier munitions than the smaller Reapers, while still maintaining speed. In other words, a heavy hit-and-run vessel not unlike Vindicator. It was only Vindicator's reflexes that kept it out of the tracer round's fire, the blinding ribbons of light following it disorienting Kiki.
Hang on - polarizing filter!
In moments, the charges dimmed despite the bright spots in Kiki's vision as she stumbled, trying to regain her bearings. It was hard to pin the thing down, given its dark coloring, but it seemed Vindicator had no issue highlighting it with a HUD tag. However, it was going far too fast for Kiki to keep up with.
Six o' Clock!
Kiki spun away as another one screeched past them, this one clipping Vindicator's leg. She didn't feel it - a bizarre thing to think - but there was a pinging there, a vibration that buzzed urgently. She huffed to herself. This might be above her paygrade. Though, admittedly... She saw the tag zip toward Nef and someone named Connor. They didn't want them to get through the plates. It was only a matter of time before they'd send out heavier reinforcements.
"How many are there?"
I'm counting six.
"Other flyers near the Whale - keep your guard up, we have some faster bogeys on your tail, advise to find a rally point, get back to back! Keep your eyes peeled, they're quick, and those tracers will blind you if you look at em without a filter!" Kiki warned. "Vindicator counts six of them. There might be more. Anybody got a shield?"
You got another setting on this thing besides scattergun and BFG?
She hefted the gun, checking the load out. 600 rounds, approximately 30 mass bursts total. The mech dodged the smaller, flightier ships, trying to keep them distracted off of Pyche.
Lowburst, splits the power cell into auto rounds, but it's got a cooldown to let the barrel cool.
I can make that work. Zero in on one of these suckers. I'll thin the herd.
Into the Fray We Go... Collab with: Tinka and Bastille @Mobley Eats , Rii'Chii and Brawler @Red Thunder , and Maz (sort of Chevalier?) Interactions: Lieutenant Torino @Elle Joyner
Whewwww. Okay. Alright.
So Tinka wasn't gonna die a virgin after all. Thank the gods. The moment a giant Mech crashed before him and took the brunt of impact, air evacuated Tinka's lungs and he nearly buckled from the surprise arrival. Shit, shit, shit--big. Really big. But why did that shock him?? He was used to Bastille by now and that large hunk of metal was nothing short of gargantuan.
It was the lingering terror, he concluded. Yep. Had to be it. That and the astonishment at the fact that he hadn't wet himself yet. Wait…
A quick pat down of the pants.
Yep. Still dry.
Any further inspection slammed into a wall when Maz showed up like a bat out of Hell. "Oh, Maz! Thank Go--Ah!" He got dragged around like a hog tied to the back of a race car, but he sure as heck wasn't gonna fight it either. Christ she was so strong (which was damn hot, but that wasn't important right now).
"Uh! Um! Bastille! Bastille, buddy! Comms please!" Tinka decided to follow Maz's league and a rumbling sound of confirmation emitted from Bastille. Tinka was momentarily surprised by the lack of words on his Mech's part. He'd ask about it later. When he wasn't staring Death in the face. A sharp crackle and whir bit at his ears. He drew in a deep breath-- "HEY HELLO THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH FOR SAVING ME ARE YOU OKAY JESUS CHRIST THIS IS TERRIBLE GUYS I DON'T WANNA DIE YET!"
Protect your pilot, Bastard.
The harsh condemnation sliced through the Och'Nari's mind, directed as it was at Bastille. Quietly, Rii requested that the mech kept its harsh comments to itself.
"It's fine. We're-" Notifications of alarms screamed through Rii'Chii's brain, sorted and catalogued by Brawler's processing systems but still far more information than he was used to processing. But, to Tinka's question, everything seemed to be- "-fine. Get to your Lightbearers, you both. We will draw their attention."
They will have no attention left to give in death.
Slowly for a biological, but rapidly for the Lightbearers, Brawler shifted himself about. The ground troops, having scattered to avoid the fate of their less observant companions, were forming back up, weapons at the ready.
Be my eyes, Och'Nari; I shall be our hands.
Rii'Chii's fingers tightened on the controls once more as his body tensed against the flood of external information. And Brawler's hand cannons spoke rebuke against the Invariance.
Maz drug him along, her gait made slower by Tinka stumbling after her before regaining his footing. Yeah, she might've caught him off guard. Whoops. No time to slow down though.
"Working on it!" she answered in response to Rii'Chii telling them to get into their mechs. Yeah, she was working on it. She had to get Tink in first, and then she could think about crossing that bridge. Or courtyard, really.
She slowed as she at last reached Bastille, suddenly very, very aware of just how much bigger this mech was in comparison to her own.
She placed a hand on Tinka's shoulder, looking up at him behind the visor of her helmet.
"You good from here? Because I think Chev's getting antsy."
Bastille didn't respond to the reprimination, still focused on his floundering Pilot and her friend near him. Regardless, the hulking Mech would set aside time after the chaos to personally thank Brawler and Rii'Chii. A massive hand smashed into gravel with a rumbling thud, awaiting Tinka.
I apologize for my incompetence…
Meanwhile, Tink momentarily jolted from the touch to his shoulder, before gulping and nodding rapidly. "Y-yeah. Yeah! Pssht! No problem! Just, uh," he scrambled to right himself, his thoughts, before forcing enough clarity to pin Maz with a pleading look, "Be more vigilant than me, yeah?"
A beat longer of hesitation, then he sprinted into Bastille's awaiting palm. He was led to the docking bay, where he jammed the Token into its slot and scaled up to the cockpit. He all but leaped over the seat from behind and landed tush first, trembles wracking his form. His shaky leaf for a voice filled the Comms, carrying over Maz and Rii'Chii. "Um, heh. A-alrighty, guys! Haha! Whewww, SHIT what're we doing--ground troops? Yeah? Or not, that's cool too I'M JUST CASUALLY TRYING NOT TO PISS ME PANTS!"
Rii'Chii, similarly, was spending a great deal of his attention on keeping the panic in his stomach from rising to more concerning heights; Brawler would likely not appreciate Rii's partially digested lunch as new interior decor. It was a shock, real war. All his senses felt overwhelmed, most notably by the noise; none of the holos he'd ever seen or heard had prepared him for how utterly loud a battle was, even through the natural dampening of the mech's body and the automatic adjustment Brawler's sensors did. It made it hard to think, the noise, as if it battered down the brainwaves trying to make sense of everything.
Brawler rattled again.
Come to, Och'Nari. Tell me what the Invariance is doing before I get blasted to pieces by their pea shooters.
Rii'Chii blinked. Brawler was giving heavy fire, but taking worse; he still stood between the enemy and the others as they made for their Lightbearers. Shaking his head to clear the fear, he closed his eyes, shifting to Brawler's superior visual perspective. Ah, there. The larger force was certainly engaging them, but a smaller company near the back had split off. Rii'Chii keyed up the Comms.
"You guys about done?" His voice was high pitched and strained. "Some of them have found other interests, and I'm thinking about joining them."
His gaze followed their path, and pulling up an overlay of the local map, their destination became obvious.
"The Disruptors!" Without being asked, Brawler immediately moved to intercept, albeit somewhat slowly for the accumulated damage he'd received a short while ago. "Sorry, you two! You're on your own."
As are we.Rii'Chii thought he could feel smug satisfaction in the Lightbearer's tone. Just as I like it.
Maz cracked a grin at Tinka from behind her visor, the wicked curl at the corner of her lips and the white of her teeth only just visible behind the dark smoke tint that protected her eyes from daylight.
"Yeah, I'll be vigilant," she remarked, her flippant tone in stark contrast to the adrenaline still pumping through her veins, to the fear that had struck her moments before. She gave Tinka a mock salute, taking one step back, then another. "Just try not to upchuck whatever you had for breakfast in the new ride, yeah? Seems like a pain to dry clean."
As soon as Bastille's hand came thundering down, she whirled to face her own mech.
"Chev!"
Anything to cut the distance, the time it would take to cross the gap. The third mech had already taken the hit of the ground, and was left trying to defend two more pilots as they scrambled to catch up. Time was already wasting, no need to do so further.
She'd broken into a sprint, boots pounding against stone, as she watched Chevalier take heed of her largely unvoiced request. One leg surged forward in a massive step that would make Tinka even a little jealous, the damn giant. There was a rumble beneath the ground as the foot connected, followed by that all too familiar mechanical creak and groan. Chev dropped to one knee, hand extended to scoop her up as soon as she could scramble into the palm.
She had a sneaking suspicion her mech agreed that they had already wasted too much time.
After a brief delay of her attempting to hoist herself into Chev, tiny legs kicking in a shoe she was sure she would've been embarrassed about if there weren't so much death flying around in the skies, she was safely clutched in Chev's hand. Chev straightened, knee lifting from the ground as he stood tall. Carefully, but as quickly as he could manage, he lifted his hand towards the entry doc.
First Comm crackled on. Tinka.
"Hey, Tink, remember what I said about puking in the cockpit? Add peeing to it, and don't you dare make me come over there to clean it when this is done."
Second Comm. It was….different. Not the mech pilots? She skittered into the loading dock, all but flying to the cockpit as Torino's voice filtered through her ears. Fuck, she'd forgotten about the Disruptors. Hadn't crossed her mind in quite a while.
"Yeah, sounds like we're on ground troops. Hey, Lieutenant Torino? We'll head your way-"
She cut off as Brawler and his pilot, Rii'Chii, surged into action. Alright, okay, fuck this was fine. Nevermind that ominous rocking feeling, it was fine. She swung into the seat, strapping in as she jammed the circular metal disk into its place. Displays sprung to life in Chevalier's signature pale blue. Data streamed before her eyes, readings and diagrams painting themselves into existence.
What a mess.
A familiar energy thrummed in her bones, anxious, agitated, and a tiny bit gleeful all at once. It was the sort of feeling that surged through her veins before flying, before testing out that perfect, lovely new bomb in the middle of nowhere.
So much room for error, too many chances to die, and God, the experience would surely be something she'd remember.
Her hands curled around the controls, unable to stop the grin on her lips.
Pyche | Interactions: Reaper Assault Team & Sky Whale Assault Team via Comms | Status: Commencing Energy Transfer
Shit.
These numbers were beyond inconvenient. And annoying. Even as Pyche saw several Mechs racing past and diving into the belly of danger, their efforts didn't eliminate the Reapers at a sufficient rate. For every handful that were destroyed, tsunamis of them spilled from the ship. Kalazar forces had always been efficient with the manufacturing of their speedy miniature jets. A swift and simple design roaring with an underestimated punch for power.
Years ago, a malicious pride would've crept through her veins like frigid slush.
Now, she couldn't help but gnash her teeth, her flat expression kindling with the threat of a snarl.
"Bellwether." Once again, she relied on the Mech's jets and snapped backwards as they tumbled back from the assault, flipping themselves back into an upright position. Blistering heat exploded from their heels and slowed their descent, smashing into the ground with a rumbling screech.
Yes, Pyche?
The Photon Splicer reared up once more and Pyche squinted one eye shut, the other tracking high-velocity movement like a seasoned professional. These damnable things were quick, but--
Another blast ripped through the hull of two overlapping Reapers. A second pull of the trigger severed the wing of another Reaper, tail-spinning towards the surface and erupting into a small burst of fiery shrapnel.
Not enough. It wasn't enough. Pyche's mind raced. "We require more power for our attacks. I assume the Photon Splicer utilizes photon energy."
You assume correctly. And?
A wayward hailstorm of energy rained down nearby as another wave of Reapers swept through the skies. Chunks of gravel and mayhem slammed into the Mech's metallic hide. They shielded themselves with a raise of the arm, but it did little to help. The ex-cultist's teeth clenched so hard that a throb raced up to her temples. "Connect the Comms to everyone. I have..." Was it a plan? No. Far from it. Plans carried some merit or form of assurance in its outcome, a breed of structure, of reasonable cause and effect. Rather, the desperate mess brewing in Pyche's head could be better dubbed as-- "An idea."
Pyche could feel it. The curiosity and need to question her motives practically radiated off the walls around her, but she was surprised by the lack of lip from Bellwether. If the current situation wasn't flooded with chaos, she would've basked in the blissful silence. Instead, a confirmation beep clicked in her eyes, linking her Comms to the other Pilots once more. Once again, she didn't specify who she was. "Everyone manning photon firearms and first-hand assault of the Reapers, utilize your Comms," Her eyes hardened into steel. "And channel their electromagnetic feed into your blasters. Immediate extermination of the Reapers are imperative and this is our best shot."
Pyche didn't know the possible backlash of this. The Comm system could undergo shock from the sudden siphoning of energy or someone's blaster could implode, scorched and overcharged. But it didn't matter. Desperate times called for desperate measures. And she was about tired of dealing with this.
"Immediately after the attack, all those designated to dismantling the whale's defenses will have clear visual. Are we all on the same page." Even then, Pyche didn't wait for the round of agreements. She was already switching her attention back to Bellwhether. "Start transferring the energy. Now."
Fire may make a stubborn metal more malleable in the moment, Pyche, but you cannot strike with it until it's cooled. Just as Pyche parted her lips to spit back venom, the Mech's voice gained a sudden tremor about it. An excitement intermingling with bubbling ferocity. ...But those tiny pests have damaged my armor more than I can allow.
"Oh. Look. You're being tolerable," Pyche muttered, the tiniest hint of amusement tickling her tone. It died quicker than it came, but Bellwether definitely noticed. Pink light inundated the pilot's quarters once more, a silent expression of the sentient robot's pleased mood. Suddenly, a low whir and rumble shook the cockpit, setting the nerves in her arms alight with vibrations.
Commencing electromagnetic energy transfer...
Mauve energy pulsed down the barrel of Bellwether's Photon Splicer, growing brighter and brighter by the second. What started out as a low hum steadily climbed in volume, the noise reminiscent of an atomic beehive shaking viciously within the contraption. The more it charged, the choppier and fainter everyone's voices on the Comms became.
The White Woman Wakes: A Collab with Elle Joyner
Interactions: Ollendria and Nefertiti Jones @Elle Joyner , Ailoca @KatSea , and Connor @The Wanderer ((Soul was put on "Watch the White Woman" duty while horribly sleep deprived, and believes he is hallucinating as she rises from her icebox and he leads her around the facility. He is then made to reluctantly get into Harbringer, who he calls a "hunk of metal and hazard to his health."))
It began with a crack. Gossamer thin at first, winding along the frozen shell like a single thread in the grand design of an elaborate tapestry. Then... Steadily, growing deeper, wider... Until the mask of ice revealed its secret. Its treasure. Her name, as they called her in their tongue, was the White Woman, for so pristine was her appearance... And for a very long time, it was assumed she would remain forever trapped... An image behind frigid glass.
...But it was not so.
"Three days… we've been shepherding these refugees off this rock, and what do we have to show for it? More tracks than we can bury. Might as well light a signal fire and lead the Cult right to our doorstep… invite the bastards in for coffee. Not that we've got any to offer…" Firelight danced with radiant fury across the mirror-like mask, a pot of boiling water stirred vigorously by a wooden spoon. For a man named Bliss, he was hardly feeling the pseudonym appropriate, and little wonder.
Twice that morning they'd come very close to discovery from a drone sweep, and those were becoming increasingly more frequent. It was only a matter of time, it seemed, before their hideaway was discovered…
His brother, called Yearn would say he was being paranoid and pessimistic, but war wasn't won on optimism and people had died for far less. Hell… Yearn had died stepping on a mine stuffed beneath an oak supply crate. Nothing too optimistic in that…
"Damn…" Setting the spoon down, Bliss turned, his masked face shifting in the direction of the other person in the room, sporting a similar mask, distinguishable only for the curling embellishment on their sleeve, "If I'm meant to ice out the tracks, I'm gonna need you to see to the White Woman."
"...Wait… what?" The other man rose, hands clasped anxiously in front of him, "N...no, Bliss. C'mon. You know… you know I'm not… That place… it gives me the creeps."
"I can't be in two places at once, Merit… it's my shift… Just keep an eye on her till I can get there."
"...Ugh. Fine. Fine! I'll go… But I swear to the stars… if anything weird happens." His muttering followed Merit out of the room and into the cavern tunnels, his fingers still twisting into knots.
Soul swiped snow and ash from the shoulders of his jacket, revealing the delicate curling embroidery he had once so carefully stitched into the upper arms. The weight of his eyes grew with each step, his feet aching and having become leaden some time before. Resisting an urge to lift his mask and rub his eyes, he continued on.
At least he was done for now. Three days helping to distract the Cult from the refugees shuffled out under their noses had taken their toll. He'd reported back for the night, and all he could think about was finally getting the chance to lay down. Even sitting would be a more than welcome option.
The Injiam clan would be close, having planned a route to skirt the edges of the Cult's base and travel back around while some of their members slipped away to... assist the Resistance in need.
He approached another masked figure and raised his hand in greeting. His gaze flicked briefly to the patterns stitched into the other man's sleeve.
"Hello, Merit. Are… are you alright?"
"Ugh… Can't talk…" Merit groaned at the interruption, but pausing, eyes flickering to Soul's arm, he hesitated, "Oh! What luck. I was just… coming to find you. Bliss needs you to take his shift with the White Woman. He's gotta ice some tracks, needs my help or I'd do it, right? Anyway… better hurry down there. Switch is in a few minutes!"
Before anything could be said, Merit had already started back the way he'd come, "Good luck, Soul!"
Soul was still blinking, registering the information thrust upon him, by the time Merit had finished talking and had instead begun to walk away. It was several seconds more before he had even the capacity to respond, but of course, Merit had already walked away.
Of course he had.
Soul stood still for several more moments, feeling the numb disbelief crease his face and sink into his stomach. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, and sighing.
"Try to do something nice. Try to just say hello. Try and just check in, because he was wringing his hands, and this is the thanks I get," he grumbled sourly, having turned on his heel. He knew it was entirely possible he'd been duped. It wasn't like he had been around the hideaway often enough to know who precisely was working where and why. It was for this very same reason he couldn't prove anything.
He was still grumbling as he walked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. His posture grew more dour and hunched over, as if he were still seeking shelter from the cold. Instead, he was seeking shelter from this. So long warm bedroll….
He approached the crypt of the White Woman, expecting to find the few that had stood guard over her as they readied to leave. Hopefully Bliss got through with those tracks soon…
Soul had his doubts though. This would be a long night.
Inside the room where the White Woman was kept, there was silence. From his perch on a stool by the door, the latest guard - Still, by name - had already risen at the sound of Soul's footfall coming in. He gave a nod of his masked head, before gesturing to the tomb-like structure in front of him.
"You takin' over?...Nothing to report. Not that there ever is…" With a chuckle and a shrug, he started for the door, "Enjoy the peace and quiet, Brother."
"Looks like it," Soul answered simply with a mild shrug. "Of course. Get some rest." He sent him off with a small wave, only to find himself otherwise alone in an empty room with the White Woman.
He slumped into the seat with a sigh, his hanging low. At least he could sit. The deep ache of his feet and legs agreed, having flared in relief as weight was finally taken off of them.
He glanced at the structure, considering as a thought hit him. He could still try to sleep. Maybe not well, but at least a little rest so he wasn't dead on his feet. It was likely to be a long while before someone came to relieve him, and well, it was usually quiet. Not like he could make idle conversation anyway, with the figure in the tomb.
He knew he shouldn't, but hell, what were the chances that something would happen now of all times? There was never any change and nothing to report. He might as well try to make something of it.
He shifted in his chair, leaning back. He shifted, getting as comfortable as possible as he trained his gaze on a blank wall. Give it time, and sleep would come.
Crack
The sound resonated like thunder in the cavern, as a significant chunk of ice crashed from the stasis pod, colliding with the rocky ground it rested upon.
Soul's eyes had started to close, only to snap wide open as the thunder rocked through the room. His eyes remained trained on the wall from behind the mask.
Oh what the shit.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked down with ever increasing horror at the chunk of ice now laying on the floor. A second passed. Then another. Soul blinked, and then he swore.
He launched up from his chair, looking at the chunk of ice as if it were a parasitic creature from another planet far beyond this galaxy or even the next. He half expected legs and a head to come emerging from the ice, but it merely lay there, the steam of cold meeting slightly warmer air rising above it.
"Uh?" he called, glancing to the door. Maybe he could catch someone? Surely they weren't gone yet, he'd just gotten here, someone else needed to be here..
Before he considered calling out for someone else, however, he couldn't help that horrible nagging curiosity that lurked in the very back of his mind. Just a quick glance, then he was out. A super duper quick look and he was gone. For help, of course. For someone that would actually know what they were supposed to do when chunks of ice were flung off the pod.
Thunder struck again as another chunk toppled free. Then a third. Bits hailed down in between, then a fourth sluiced free, slammed into the cave floor. From behind the shattered mound, the White Woman, eyes still shut fast began to drift slowly forward as gravity did its intended job.
"Uhh?" Soul repeated, a little louder this time around, head turning frantically towards the door then back to falling ice. Why now, why him, why when there was no one around?
He'd frozen in the middle of the room, torn between that nagging curiosity and the desire to get someone else, anyone else, in here to explain what the hell he was supposed to do. Then he saw the figure slumping forward inside the tomb-like structure, the woman falling forward.
Spurned into a decision, he slipped in front of the pod, hopping over the ice, to catch the woman with outstretched arms before she faceplanted into the floor.
Skin like ice, the woman appeared to possess no semblance of life, limp and unmoving in Soul's grasp, already a ghost in the thin sheet of white silk. Then, not softly or gradually, but with a forceful gasp, her eyes shot open, one hand clawing at the foreign arms holding her in place.
Panic stirred in her unfocused gaze, and scrambling, she pushed free, only to find her legs incapable. Buckling back, her hands shot up to shield herself.
Soul startled as she first slammed into him, and then gasped to life, unsure what to do as he felt his arm trapped in a death grip. Unable to say anything before she shoved herself away, he was merely left to stumble after her as her knees buckled under their use.
"Easy, easy. I'm not going to hurt you," he assured, arms still outstretched towards her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, his otherwise low voice given a note of tin from speaking through the mask. Hopefully she understood him. Hopefully he didn't just make himself all the more horrifying, scrambling after her to keep her from collapsing entirely.
Eyes widening, the woman's hand slowly drooped, uneasiness rippling through her gaze, "...Y...your face…" She whispered, anxiety climbing into her ill-used vocal chords, "Wh… where am I?"
"It's a mask. Got a face under it, I promise," Soul answered, relaxing slowly as she did, mind buzzing with the reality that the White Woman had woken up.
"You're on Binx," he answered after a beat, head tilted. "You, ah, your…. that got sent here for safekeeping." He gestured vaguely to the pod in question with his hand, head visibly tilting up as he looked at it. "You… holy- You actually woke up. I have… no idea what I'm supposed to do. Probably tell someone? Yeah, that…. I have something to report, I need to tell someone." He spoke more to himself, though the words were still audible.
"No!" Moving a little too swiftly for a woman just woken from the ice, the White Woman reached out a frigid hand to clutch his arm, "No! No, no... Please. You… You mustn't tell anyone. Not a soul. I… if I've woken… then it must mean. They've risen. This galaxy! What is the state of it? Tell me everything…"
Soul felt himself jerked back before he'd even made a full movement. The startled rise of his shoulders betrayed the blank face of his mask.
"I…?" he started to speak, attempting to make sense of his confusion. "Risen? The Cult's been 'risen' for a while now." His posture straightened, the frown nearly audible in his voice. "Uh… how do I put this… The Cult of Invariance from Kalazar took over, they started conquering other planets. Anybody that didn't surrender has either been locked in war for… well, decades, or they've… been wiped off the map. Last time that happened was long before I was born though."
Soul had tilted his head, as if examining the woman in front of him, easily putting his point blank words aside for a moment. "I...It's a little hard to cover 'everything', miss. Only so much news when you're on a frozen wasteland of a planet and actively avoiding the Cult."
"The… the Cult? Wiped off the map… Stars above… it's worse than I thought." As he spoke, she'd raised her hands to stifle the expression of pure shock, now her hands were left hovering just below her chin, "My name is Ollendria… and we have much to discuss. But not here. It isn't safe. If this planet was in danger before…"
Shaking legs planted, as she pushed herself onto unsteady feet, arms wrapped around herself, frigid palms aimlessly rubbing bare skin, "We need a ship. Do you have access to one?"
"If not here then…" Where? Where would she possibly want to discuss something like this? There wasn't a truly safe place for lightyears. Neo Earth was the closest thing, but there was only so much faith in that kind of stronghold. Other supposed strongholds had fallen to the Cult as well.
Soul faltered before speaking, "I...technically, yes, there's access to a ship. However having me access one is a terrible idea. I...I am not a pilot. I'm a lot of things, but definitely not a pilot."
He flexed his gloved hand, thinking. His gaze had shifted to where her palms fruitlessly rubbed at bare skin. A death sentence on Binx for too long, and it was likely no more pleasant after having been shoved into a chunk of ice for stars only knew how long.
"....Can you stand on your own? You're going to need to stay behind me until we get there, to keep your face hidden." A bare face would stick out like a sore thumb even here. There would be no luck finding a mask laying around for her, either. The anonymity of a mask was highly prized here, and would have served the White Woman -Ollendria, he mentally corrected- well. If luck was on their side, though, he just needed to keep her from raising suspicion long enough to get her out of view.
"Probably not going to be too many people coming from the hangar, but that's the likely direction someone would be coming from," Soul continued, talking himself through what he knew. He hesitated before unwinding the pale pink scarf that was wrapped around his head, and handing it to her. "Try to cover your head. You're less likely to get picked out of a crowd from behind, at least. We'll use that until we get you something better for warmth."
He turned, flipping his hood over the simple black sleeve that covered his head and neck, only revealing a humanoid curve of the back of his head. He slipped towards the door, poking his head out and checking in both directions. If she was going to insist on no one knowing….
Not like he had much room to argue, did he?
"I can stand…" Taking a wary step forward, she faltered a little, before taking a breath, steadying herself, "Mostly…"
As he handed over the scarf and Ollendria carefully looped it around her neck before creating a pocket to pull over her hair, a frown touched her lips, "You needn't fly it… I can manage once we're inside. I think." The lack of confidence brought a quiver to her voice, and knotting her hands, she followed after him, sticking as close as she dared… Which, as it turned out, was quite close.
Soul turned, face unreadable behind the blank mirror of his mask. His gaze remained trained on Ollendria as she attempted to walk, her steps faltering. Yeah, that wasn't going to work.
"Okay, new plan. You keep very close to me instead of behind, and let me know when you feel like you're going to fall," he said, offering a steadying arm to her once she had wrapped the scarf around her head. "And that sounds like a great plan. Two people that can't pilot on a ship. That will go well." His grumbling was low, under his breath, and yet still just audible enough to be heard.
He glanced back at her, arm still outstretched. "Hold tight, alright?" he said, before slipping out into the hallways. Moving with a purpose, Soul. Move with a purpose. A little faster than normal because you happen to be holding up a very lively, very much standing White Woman, Soul.
Nothing to be concerned about. Juuuust fine. He just had to keep an eye out for other Resistance on the way to the hangar. And she needed something more than whatever thin fabric she'd been shrouded in. Bare skin was a death sentence.
Nothing to worry about though. Juuuuust fine.
While she would have made a show of noble fortitude in walking on her own, the expression of relief that crossed her features was unmistakable. Her hands curved gingerly around his arm and breath leaving in vapor, she nodded as he began his way out the door of the shrine -like chamber.
"I understand this is probably quite alarming for you… and I promise, I will explain everything. But you must understand… it has been quite some time… Tell me, please. The Cult… are they in leagues with Thral-Dax's Armada? Has he regained control?"
Soul kept an even pace, counting doors and keeping tabs on where precisely he was at any given time. They were getting closer, closer to the hanger. He slipped towards the wall, pressing against it with his arm still outstretched to steady Ollendria, as voices passed by, but the passing Nowhere Men hardly paid them any attention.
He started walking again, glancing back at Ollendria as she talked. He started to turn, only to do a double take as her words sank in, and he nearly missed the door he was searching for altogether. He gave her the sort of look that could be felt more than it was seen, as was especially the case with the mask on his face.
"Thral-Dax….?" He repeated slowly. "I….Thral-Dax? The armada guy?" he continued, very unspecific in his clarifications. In his defense, it wasn't like he paid super close to that particular part of history. When fighting an invasion, you tend to focus on the invaders, after all. "No. Thral-Dax was something people worried about centuries ago. Heck, eons ago. Why would you….?"
He paused entirely, his speech and steps both coming to a halt.
"Miss Ollendria, how long exactly were you supposed to be in that cryopod?"
Freezing in place, Ollendria's cheeks paled, as the words sank in, "Eons… The… You can't mean…"
But he did. She didn't need to see the man's face to hear the weight behind his concerned question. And if, indeed, she had been frozen for so long, and had risen so suddenly, it could mean only one thing. Something had come that threatened the very survival of the universe itself…
And she had no blessed idea what this particular universe even held.
Shutting her eyes for a moment, she placed a steadying hand against her chest, before meeting the man's masked gaze, "Too long. We should hurry. It will be here, soon."
"It? What is 'it'? Why is it coming? Why soon?" Soul asked, a panicked edge shifting in his voice. "I've got more questions than answers at this point and that…. That is not reassuring."
He flexed his free hand, shaking his head. Stars, he had a bad feeling about all of this. It was far too late now, though.
He poked his head into the nearest doorway, shifting his gaze from side to side. No sign of anyone at the lockers. He thanked the stars for the odd hour, or else this might not have worked.
"In here," he said before slipping into the room. He checked lockers, rattling locked doors until he found one that opened. He glanced back at Ollendria. Roughly the same size, and it would at least keep her warm.
He made a mental note to apologize to Amity for stealing her belongings. If all went well, she'd get them back soon enough.
"Here, you're going to need this," he instructed, holding it out and the front of it open so she could slip her arms in and shrug it on. He glanced at her again, running mental checklists of anything she might need if everything went sideways and they were in the cold longer than necessary.
He glanced down.
She was barefoot. Of course she was. Who planned this? Who sent her to Binx with no damn clothes? Who was the guy with the bright idea of sticking her in an icebox on an even bigger icebox with no shoes?
He made a plan to grab Amity's extra boots and socks after this, as his planned apology to her doubled in length.
As the warmth of the jacket ensconced her form, Ollendria considered his words before a ghost of a smile touched her lips, "You needn't be afraid. Not of this. I have one purpose… the reason I was placed into that chamber. And we are about to experience something… magnificent. Something that, if what you say is true, has not happened for several lifetimes."
Her eyes drifted to follow his, her bare toes curling in momentarily, "Though I'm hardly dressed for the occasion. It was all rather quick. The council… they pulled me from bed in the middle of the night… Things haven't gone entirely as they imagined."
"Oh, easy for you to say. You know what's going on," Soul snorted as the coat settled onto her shoulders. He pulled the change of socks and extra boots from the locker next and closed the door of it. Big note was going to be sent to Amity for sure. Speaking of...
He unravelled the socks from their tightly formed ball before handing them off to Ollendria, the boots then set at her feet.
He then checked for any sign of what he was looking for. There. The holopad they kept in the lockers. Perfect. He had a string of apologies to make.
He glanced back up at her, arms still momentarily outstretched to steady her.
"You weren't really dressed for the occasion of being made an ice cube on this galaxy's biggest ice box either, so maybe you'll be forgiven," he joked lightly, though sympathy crept into his voice. "I'm sorry, for… whatever happened to you."
Help is coming.
It was only just more than a whisper, but was enough to give Soul pause.
"Oh, stars did someone follow me in?" He swore, turning to check that there was no one else in the locker room but them. Then how…?
Sitting down on a bench, Ollendria began to work into the socks, glancing up at his words as she offered a gentle smile, "You needn't apologize. It was my duty, and I would gladly do it again, should it mean protecting the galaxy. My father gave his life for Casin'dol. As was his du--"
A brow rose at the man's sudden outburst, and for a moment, she fell quiet in expectation, before a thought struck.
"You've heard it, haven't you? The call…"
Soul had paused, staring at her for a long moment before finally moving to pick up the holopad. He wrote out an apology to Amity, pausing for several moments before sending it. It would likely be some time before Amity realized precisely what the message was for. With any luck, that would be all the time they needed.
He'd typed another message, to one of the men he often reported to whilst working as Runner. This he did not send. Not yet. He'd save that for when it was too late for him to intervene.
He looked up at Ollendria, having pocketed the holopad as he returned to the lockers, considering anything he might need. Surely he wouldn't be gone long enough to really need supplies, right….?
"The call?" he echoed. "The call to what?"
Help is coming.
"Help with what?" Soul protested, hands flung into the air. He then froze entirely. "I'm talking to myself. I'm hallucinating sounds. Fantastic. You know, I'm probably dreaming all of this. That makes more sense than anything else. I've probably smashed my face into the floor by now. Hopefully, next shift won't think I'm dead…"
"You aren't dreaming. I'm…" Shaking her head, Ollendria's eyes drifted away, upward, "I'm sorry if you'd prefer it that way, but you are very much awake. And it would seem you've been chosen."
"That sounds like something a figment of my dream would say," Soul countered, posture tense as he faced her. His tone was some place between joking and deeply, deeply unsettled. "...Chosen for what, exactly? For this being my dream, this makes less sense than usual."
"You aren't dreaming… and you're about to become someone very important. Dare I say it… one of the most important people in the universe…"
Shifting, she shook her head, "We need to hurry…" Continuing, her eyes shifted upwards, "He'll be here, soon… and he doesn't blend in so well."
"Help is coming."
It was far, far louder now, but that was currently not the top concern on his mind.
Even with his face hidden, every line of Soul's posture was the picture of confusion. His arms were raised to either side, palms up, as if wondering precisely what it was that laid before him.
Yeah he might be regretting letting someone convince him to take this shift when he should've been sleeping.
"That….answers absolutely nothing? I didn't know this was possible, but I have even more questions." He waved his arms vaguely, searching for the right words, or how to even respond. He ended up holding the side of his head in his palm, having resisted an urge to swipe a hand over his currently masked face.
He grumbled something indistinct under his breath, shaking his head, before extending his hand to Ollendria to steady her as she stood up. He moved to open the door into the hangar, only catching her words as a distant rumble met his ears.
"I'm sorry, who exactly is coming?"
Turning suddenly, Ollendria reached out and her hands clutched his, her expression worn, but determined, "I know you have questions, and I promise you… I will answer them, the best that I can, as soon as we are somewhere safe. But you need to understand.. What's coming? He is not the only thing that will be looking for me. This planet… it isn't safe. Not while I am here. Not now. Please... I know I have no right to ask you, but I need you to trust me. Now… where do you keep your ships?"
Soul fell silent, a mirrored stare reflecting back at Ollendria. The locker rooms were silent for a few moments more before Soul grumbled something else under his breath. He sighed.
"Through here…" And with that, he led the way, opening the door that led into the hangar.
As they stepped into the hanger, a burst of cool air swirled around them, flakes of snow dancing in whirlwinds. Her eyes drifting upwards, Ollendria gestured to the gaping hole in the ceiling, "Do you feel it? He's coming…"
Help is here…
Warmth suddenly flooded the space and overhead, jet fuel leaving torrents of heat in waves overhead. Flames spewed downward, as a massive shadow filled the hanger. Slowly, the figure drifted down… down… down… Before landing in the center of the hanger, still and quiet.
"...Magnificent." Ollendria whispered.
The wind whipped around the both of them, snatching at every loose end of fabric and stray hair. As for what he felt… it was almost like a humming. A thrumming in his chest.
But perhaps that was the rumble of engines as the massive figure descended, slowly, bit by bit, with torrents of heat billowing around them.
Before him now stood a figure taller than any person or creature that had graced his eyes. Perhaps taller than even the creatures of legend on Binx. It was massive, made entirely of metal, and yet still, eerily silent in the hanger.
Flickers of emotion shot through Soul. They were only just barely decipherable in the swirling maelstrom in his gut that twisted his stomach into knots.
Was there awe? Yes. But there was a great deal more terror than that.
A realization hit him. What….was this thing? Was this supposed to be their ride out? Was he supposed to step foot in this thing?
"No. Oh no. No, no, no, I am not getting in the giant hunk of metal, that hazard to my health-".
As it happened, he did, in fact, get in that giant hunk of metal and hazard to his health.
It had, however, taken a bit of coaxing and the ultimate kickstart that was the thunderous boom that signalled the approach of the Cult's members, searching for what they could not yet find. Searching for an awakened princess, he would later learn, for her role in controlling the hunk of metal he was sitting in, and many others like it.
Not only did he get in it, he screeched a little more loudly and a bit higher than he would have deemed appropriate as it weaved through the fire of Cult ships and weapons. He was a bit thankful, in those moments, the ship could pilot itself. He had doubts either of them would have made it out alive otherwise.
He'd ridden for hours, unable to sleep regardless of how much he wanted to, due to the adrenaline still thrumming in his veins and the questions swirling in his head that would not let him rest.
So he talked, asking each and every question Ollendria would allow him to, while she did much the same.
The confirmation that she was, indeed, from centuries before the Cult of Invariance may have even been conceived unsettled something in his gut he couldn't quite place. More than even the thought that someone had put her in an icebox, sent her to the even bigger icebox that was Binx, and didn't even give her shoes.
He was sure it was all very chaotic and he understood that. Maybe he was just being nitpicky about things he could not possibly hope to change because they'd happened centuries before he'd ever existed, but really.
No shoes. On Binx.
He stopped from ever voicing that particular thought, though. He wasn't sure what precisely would have left his mouth while he was sleep-deprived, a little delirious, and drained even further as they were tasked with surviving the escape in that hunk of metal.
Harbringer, it would correct quietly, as if it too were unsure. Uncertain. As if it were assessing him.
Let it assess him. Soul hadn't signed up for this. He hadn't asked for this. All he was asking for at this point was one singular, solid, uninterrupted nap.
When at last Soul couldn't function or stay awake any longer for the fog in his brain and the lead pulling his eyelids down, he had excused himself to Ollendria, and indeed gotten that.
Only to awake many, many hours later with the desire to just go home.
Still, he'd ridden, first for hours and then for days, to reach the dead planet far beyond any planet he'd ever heard the name of. A planet he was told had once been Ollendria's home. A planet blown apart….
Maybe he couldn't totally fault them for the no shoes….
It seemed, however, that their arrival on the cracked remains of Casin'Dol had only begun their trek. So still he rode, until at last they touched down on the surface of NeoEarth.
Some had mentioned that it was magnificent, that it was awe-inspiring, and unlike anything on Binx.
Soul was at least inclined to believe them in that last regard.
He also noted that Neo-Earth was very, very warm. He'd been struck with the desire to shed at least two layers of clothing, but he did no such thing. Removing his coat, removing the emblem that signified who he was....
He wasn't inclined to do such a thing, sweat or no sweat. Not yet at least.
Still, they must have been quite a picture to see. A masked man wholly overdressed for the weather, and a princess in white silk that was….still wearing the boots from the locker room.
Nothing strange about that. Nothing strange about how close he stayed to her strides either, just in case her balance faltered. Nothing strange about how she had awoken from several centuries tucked away in a cryochamber and was now needing to make sure she relearned to walk.
It was all perfectly fine.
Soul refrained from speaking on just how very fine it all was. He was a silent figure beside Ollendria, both when she first addressed her audience, as well as when she slipped further into the building to speak on a more private level with her pilots.
He knew quite well what his mech's expectations were. To be a leader, to unite this group, to make their strengths work together and negate the weaknesses. Still, though he had left it unvoiced, he felt Ollendria herself would have been a far better choice for that than him.
She was clear, she was concise, she was understanding. She could speak and people would listen. Already, Soul was quite aware of just how far out of his depth he was. He had the blessing of a mask to hide his face, however, and so long as he kept his mouth shut, no one had to know the sort of doubt swimming in his head.
He was rocked from his thoughts as the resounding crack split the atmosphere, his head tilting up to look above. Hell…
"Get to your mechs! We're under attack!"
He would've. He would've been long gone, even before she'd spoken. He was used to being in action long before the drums of war were ever sounded.
The problem was that it wasn't just him to consider.
If they got ahold of her, if they killed her….
Then the Lightbearers were dead in the water.
So as the other pilots exploded into action, whether it be that calm militaristic duty, or panic, or fear, or even excitement, Soul stayed.
He faltered, almost perfectly still minus his head as he turned to face the princess in white. Where would she be safest?
The mech could fail. It could be captured. It could be destroyed. It would be throwing her into the heat of action. It would put her at risk to the void of space, or to her being taken by the Cult if she survived.
But could he leave her on the ground?
Could he put her on the path he already knew the Cult was travelling?
He hesitated, his mask perfectly blank. He had to make a decision. He had to make a choice.
Your hesitance creates its own impact.
Soul resisted mentally flinging the words 'shove it' at the mech. Don't take it out on the mech. Make a decision.
Silence.
Then he spoke.
"Let's hope the armor is as strong as you claim, princess," he said, offering a hand to her as he braced himself to run.
"...It's not the armor we need to worry about…" Ollendria answered, and while her voice was calm the hand she grasped his own with was shaking slightly, and her grip was entirely too tense, "Armor will do us no good if they've brought a…" But whatever the thrumming sound was that followed the intense explosion and the sound of thousands of ships suddenly swarming the atmosphere overhead was apparently an answer to her fears.
"...So they have… We need to move, fast." Looking to Soul, her lip twitched in a dry, somewhat absent smile - the features of a woman well acquainted with involuntary and doubtlessly unhelpful reassurance, "Heart of steel, Soul. You can do this…"
"Oh, that's cheery and reassuring. Thank you for that," Soul snarked out of habit, shaking his head as he squeezed her hand once. "...Heart of steel? I am pretty sure that's not what your ears told you about me the first time we flew in Harbringer."
There was a soft snort that echoed from behind his mask as he shook his head again. He gave her hand one last squeeze in warning, before he broke into a sprint.
He dashed through the halls, past the jade and alabaster, past the domes of glass, and into the courtyard. He kept glancing back, careful to keep from all but dragging her along. Trying to make sure she could stay on her feet.
Most of the mechs had long since flown into action, a trio of them still in the courtyard despite being quite some distance from them, though one had headed off on its own as the other two fired to life.
One of few left dormant was Harbringer, and Soul could already tell he had some feelings about that, based on the buzzing in the very back of his skull. That would be a conversation for another time, however.
He shifted back and forth on his feet as the pair of them were lifted into the cockpit.
"Comms," he requested, casting another look back towards Ollendria before striding forward. He sent another request for the mech to accommodate her once more, a seat of her own assembled inside soon after.
The cockpit flared to life, lights and displays, followed by the voices crackling over the comms. Some of them overlapped, feeding him information. Fear, panic, cold analysis. Danger in the west, information regarding weak points, the Cult running interference. Requesting assistance on ground, requesting assistance with Reapers, requesting help with the whale.
It was a flood of information as Soul stood at the dashboard, unable to sit due to the anxious energy thrumming through his veins.
Breathe. Close eyes. Open. Big picture.
They were all streaming in from one direction, West. Reapers swarming in the skies, ground troops roiling in formation towards them, and that giant focal point that continued to draw his eyes no matter where they moved.
Breathe. Close eyes. Open. Details.
Ground troops headed for the disrupters. Something a bit more his speed, but there were three mechs and Neo-Earth forces already on it. He would be under foot and in the way.
Multiple mechs in the sky were handling the swarms of smaller ships. They were fending off the worst and most aggressive of them, keeping them from becoming an even bigger problem.
None of that would mean a thing if the third problem wasn't handled, though. World-eater. He'd heard stories of them, but never seen them himself. Heard that they could chew through planets leaving only entrails.
And it sounded like they might need another hand, at least for interference.
He opened his mouth to speak, but remembered the mask on his face. It would mess with the Comms. It never mattered how good or clear the Comms were, no matter how much they could remove the tin from a voice, there was nothing to be done if the tin was already part of the voice.
And if it was the filtering type?
It ended up even more distorted than before.
How many times had he heard commanders over Comms while he was finishing his mission, fussing at a pilot or rebel troops?
"Take that mask off your mouth, cadet!"
The phrase rings through his ears easily at the memory.
Regardless, he'd at least have to lift his mask past his mouth.
'You will want to remove your faceshield entirely for what I have in mind.'
His head flicked up at Harbringer's voice, a force of habit despite knowing there would be no figure there.
He gingerly hooked his fingers behind the mirrored plate, turning to glance at Ollendria.
"Please?" he requested, for her to look away for at least a moment, his voice soft enough that Harbringer muted it from the others.
For a moment, a flash of confusion dashed across the princess's face as the request settled in. A moment later, recognition followed and she gave a nod.
"Of course." The softness in her voice mirrored his. She understood all too well about the mask. It had been one of the first things that she had asked about. As an added sign of respect, her arm crossed over her eyes, so that instinctively she might not be tempted to look back for any reason, "Go on…"
Soul gave her a nod of gratitude as she closed her eyes and covered them as well. Then he slid the mirrored mask from his face, leaving it bare, as he gingerly set the mask on the controls. A few clicks later, and the piece was secured where it was, keeping it from being battered around the cockpit.
'Take a step back and sit.'
Soul did just that, following his mech's guidance, only to find himself pushed back into a standing position as the seat molded around his back and at his limbs. The HUD slipped over his face, and if the visor for that were larger and more opaque than usual to cover his face, neither Soul nor Harbringer would bring it up.
His eyes opened, though he blinked repeatedly as he adjusted to the entirely new point of view. Oooh, that was...different.
"Okay," he began, voice still soft, both for quiet confirmation to Ollendria that the coast was clear and to brace himself for what was about to begin, still in the process of regaining his bearings. Then he cleared his throat and tried again.
"Jones, this is Soul, on ground level. You still need a hand with the World-Eater? Because I'm headed your direction to run interference with the incoming crafts."
He'd heard that flicker of information over the Comms, in a woman's voice. He wish he'd learned names, that he had any way to to really identify them before this had all started.
It was a bit too late for that now, though.
He started for the controls, only for the mech to thrust itself backward. A cry of "Oh hell!" escaped him as Harbringer slammed back into the building.
His shoulders were high and tight, cringing quite visibly as he regathered his bearings.
"Harbringer?"
'That was muted.'
"...Thank you."
It was a slow relief that bled into him before he clicked his tongue, muttering a soft "Okay, not that." He took another breath, and then tried again.
The mech shot forward, flying into and through the air, firing forwards in the direction of the behemoth blotting out the sky. He could feel the subtle shifts of the exoskeleton against his limbs, a soft, quiet guidance on Harbringer's part. The mech was still largely quiet, still assessing Soul as his pilot. Even with his hesitance, even with his wary questioning of him, however, the mech gave his gentle assistance to the utter piloting novice that had the misfortune of being his pilot.
As they flew ever closer to the whale in the sky, the swarms of Reapers grew thicker, forcing them to bob and weave through ships and fire alike. The curl of the exoskeleton tightened on his limbs, the guidance steering far more towards Harbringer taking over the reins.
"Okay, simplest terms…..what are my options here? As far as weapons go?" Soul asked, retaking control as he pulled back, slowing them before they dived into the mess that the swarming ships of the Cult.
'For today's sake...you have an assortment of blades and a Photon Cannon, amongst other things.'
Soul's hands curled tighter before relaxing against the controls as he thought. Okay. That was manageable. Nothing….too out of left field.
"How...similar is the cannon to a hand blaster?"
Not….terribly.
Okay not that, then. Blades it would be. He pulled the sword from its hidden sheath along Harbringer's back, blade drawn.
Then he dove into the storm, weaving and slicing through ships that came far too close. Just get to the whale, just get to the whale.
'Two incoming fast on 3 o'clock, one on 8 o'clock.'
His visuals locked on, highlighting the approaching ships. Standard Reapers, at the least.
Checking his grasp on the sword, a strange feeling to know the small holographic cylinder that melded to his hand was in fact the sword he could see, he braced himself for the incoming ships.
Just a big knife, Soul. You've done this. You can do this.
With a sharp swipe of the blade, he cleaved through the first of the approaching ships, clipping the wing of the second. It was enough to send it spiraling, control utterly lost as it sent fire streaming across the sky. The explosion of the first rattled the mech's cockpit briefly, but was soon muffled.
'Eight-'
Soul whirled on his feet, the mech completely turning as the sword was sent in a wide arch. Smooth, fluid, and precise, like a paintbrush in an expert's hand, it sliced through the Reaper's hull before knocking the remains further away. Debris scattered as fire painted the sky, lighting the cockpit in orange before the flames, too, were snuffed out.
Definitely sticking with the sword, then.
He surged forward, nearly to the whale, so wholly focused he nearly missed the short 'Well done' that echoed in his head.
He was swiftly approaching as the Comms crackled to life again.
"Other flyers near the Whale - keep your guard up, we have some faster bogeys on your tail, advise to find a rally point, get back to back! Keep your eyes peeled, they're quick, and those tracers will blind you if you look at em without a filter! Vindicator counts six of them. There might be more. Anybody got a shield?"
Another voice, different from many before. Stars above, he was going to need to learn names.
Harbringer was ever so kind to provide small tags of identification in his display for the trio of mechs he was rapidly approaching. [TANK| NEFERTITI], towards the gun itself. That must be Jones. [FULCRUM | AILOCA] and [PREACHER | CONNOR], bright blue and orange respectively, alongside the hull, within range of the shield plates. One was left standing. They must have taken the other two at the direction of the icy-toned woman- stars, he needed to learn names.
"Have anything for the light show, Harbringer?"
'Initializing filters in preparation.'
"Got it. Let me know when we have incoming."
Six of them, whatever they were. Stars.
He shifted closer to the pair along the hull, attempting to head the advice, when one of the WASP vessels came screeching past.
He managed to jerk Harbringer back, much like he'd done at the start, shooting away from the tracers. Still bright with the filter, enough to leave him blinking, but he never tore his eyes away from them.
He'd seen these before. Plenty of them on Binx, a little more secured than the average Reaper. They were always a little more mad when those were tampered with, too.
Fast, precise, and a lot more damage than you could deal with a short period of time. If a Runner were a ship, this would be it.
A flicker of a grin came over his face. Damaging the wings would take care of them, but getting them at the base of the tail always sent them crashing before they'd fully gotten off the ground. It was what happened when you messed with a power source and a ship's hydraulics, afterall.
"Ailoca, Connor! Incoming WASP! Clip the wings, or if you need them to go down hard and fast, underbelly of the base of the tail. I recommend a little distance if you go that route, though."
A second WASP came flying in, and he sent Harbringer surging forward. He came to a screeching halt, still flying as the mech slowed, as he swung up with the sword.
Missed!
Shit he wasn't fast enough for that. Harbringer was fast, but not enough to go against a WASP. He'd have to try a different tactic then. If he didn't have speed, he'd need to be precise.
He stilled, waiting for the next of the fighters to come by. He waited, the cockpit in utter silence, for that first ping of warning from Harbringer, that flash on the display.
Ping!
A beat of hesitation and then he swung the blade. He felt the impact in his hand, the vibration rattling up the exoskeleton on his arm.
Wasn't a perfect hit, closer to the tail than he liked, but it was enough to send it spiraling tail over head through the abyss, catching alight as the power core suffered damage. Right as it went sailing past the remaining shield….
Could he…?
"Now there's an idea," he murmured, readjusting his grip. "Standby, I have an idea. Jones, get ready to take the coil. I'm going to knock out that last plate."
He shifted, turning, angling the mech. He gripped the hilt of the blade in both hands. He was utterly still. His breath was slow. Quiet. A pin drop could be heard.
Instead, there was a ping.
Using the beat of hesitation to instead dropped into a stance, knees bent, he waited for not even a full second. Popping his legs straight, he used the momentum to add to the mighty upwards swing, a grunt of effort escaping him despite not meaning for it to.
He knew it before it connected, the ship in his sights. Perfect.
The blade connected, just above the base of the tail. He followed through with the swing. He completed the full arc, flinging the WASP through the abyss, aimed for the shield plate.
A beat more of silence, the ship streaming fire.
Then it connected with the plate, exploding into a plume of orange against the dark abyss of space.
The smoke was clearing as the low hum filled the air, the shields being forced to power down. There was no plate left. The shield was down.
"It worked," he breathed.
There was no time to celebrate, unfortunately, as the icy-voiced woman was speaking through the Comms, the static growing more pronounced by the minute.
There was another ping on his display.
Harbringer's voice thrummed through his head.
'Behin-'.
Too late. They were about to get pinged from behind. He'd seen the ship, but there was no time.
A screech of metal.
Alarms blaring through the cockpit.
An agonizing buzz in the back of his head, his ears ringing.
As the plating for the shields were torn asunder, leaving only one. One could hear Connor insulting the enemy over the shared coms between mechs, however static riddled it might be. Either in Gaelic, or in Connor's accented voice. One such insult was "Ya lot couldn't fend off me nan when she's pissed!"
However, despite Preacher's attitude being chilled and laidback, even he would tell Connor to just ease back til they were done, and that insulting the enemy was useless as they couldn't hear anything he was saying.
"But tha' ain't gonna be stoppin' me now." Connor would respond to Preacher. Who didn't have time to respond as static addled words notified them of incoming WASPs. Connor had heard of them, seeing a decent bit of their remains in scrapyards, but never in person. Control was pulled from him as Preacher dodged a burst of fire from one of the WASPs they had been warned about, control being returned to Connor as Preacher called to him.
A reactionary slash clipped the one attacking him, but barely did much else as the damn thing buzzed off as it wanted to avoid being too close to one with knives as their main source of damage. The speed of the ships were beginning to get irritating as Preacher and Connor had to dodge oncoming fire from the Razer and the WASP and the smaller fighter-craft that were making it hell.
So to hopefully kill two birds with one stone, Preacher would call out to any mech that was nearby and capable enough. "Why waste precious ammo when we can perhaps use their own ships against them? We just need something to catch a ship with and one of the fabulous mech brethren of mine to do as the kids would say and 'yeet' the ship into their allies while someone focuses on taking the Razer down."
"Alright, so, uh...if you are going to jump up on the bed every time you hear a noise...uh, how are you gonna handle it when I'm gone baby?" Eleazar's warm gaze travelled up and down the bundled body of his wife. Fluffy blankets draped her shoulders, her bright green eyes barely peeking through the soft and more importantly safe material. Ailoca's kneels pressed firmly against her chest as she swaddled herself in a protective cocoon. "It was not the noise! It was a crawly and the creepy! It had the thousand of legs, I say!" Eleazar's snort was stifled at the last moment, his hand clamping over his lips as a light chuckle rumbled his shoulders. He sauntered to her side of the bed, placing herself next to him and lazily draping his arm around her bundled shoulders.
"You know how scared of you it had to have been? You are what, a hundred times bigger than the little creeper?" His brow furrowed. He pressed his head to hers, contemplating the next course of action. There was no way in hell he was going to scare her before he went away again, leaving her again while he risked his life for the rebel forces. It was bad enough that she had to fear for his own safety, he didn't want her to fear for her own. The idea of riddling his beloved with paranoia and fear wracked his stomach senseless.
"It is the quicker than me. It is the slimy, too. Gross. God was on the drug when creeper was made." Ailoca shuddered. Eleazar's thumb ran circles against her shoulder in response, the smile on his face revealing his adoration for the woman.
"Ailoca, can you be honest with me? I know its...hard. This is a new place for you and this is...going to be hard to be separate from you for this long. Are you going to be okay without me here?"
"You want leave." Ailoca replied, voice small as her head tumbled into the crook of his shoulder. "I should not the stop you. I will be the okay, beloved." His hand traced up to the back of her head, thoughtful and attentive.
"I should...teach you a few things before I leave, shouldn't I? Figure it would only be fair...Hmm, you ever use a slingshot before, Loci?"
---
And it had been true. She had never shot a slingshot, and the moment he plopped the contraption in her hands, she found herself fumbling in confusion. How was she supposed to aim when her fingers shook? Then again, she did figure it was just Eleazar's excuse to sneak in behind her and guide her step by step. In retrospect...she didn't think his intentions were always centered and focused.
Despite this, an idea flashed into life the moment a new player flashed into life. Along with him came new problems.
"Gifts of the house, yes?" She grumbled, watching the new fliers shoot past her and Fulcrum. There were small. Swift. Like disgusting insects. Except metallic and potentially dangerous to Fulcrum. They had to be handled before she could even consider turning her attention to the massive Razer ahead. Even if Fulcrum did manage to deal damage to even a part of the hull...the risk of the...WASPs, was it? Damn, she knew there was a reason they reminded her of something creepy and otherworldly. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that as a Vela, but there was truly something unsettling about a hunk of metal darting at lightning fast speeds. She wasn't the smartest Vela that had ever walked across her planet (and that was saying something, considering the morons that ran the cult, and by god, did she have the right to say as such) but she knew that a small object with higher velocities could still create an intense impact. She needed to dismantle them before reaffirming her attention at the Razer.
The likelihood of Fulcrim being able to catch them, however...he was a much heavier mechanism than what she was experienced to. Even Elie's massive hull when they had initially met didn't quite...contain the weight and strength that Fulcrum was accustomed to. However...Fulcrum did have one advantage that Ailoca caught onto. While he couldn't necessarily move at the necessarily quick speeds that other mechs may have been able to...he did have his nanobots. If they could make a shield, why not reconfigure to a net?
I the bet they make the good ammo...the question is if Fulcrum can the change the shields...
"Fulcrum, you see little bastard on side?" She gestured out of the window, the wasps darting quicker than she could blink.
"Little one I see the problem. What do you suggest we do?"
"Do you have the aim? You have the shield of string, can you the arrange it? I think net could be a good solution."
"I haven't considered such a tactic...I would be more than happy to attempt it, little one. If anything, we can have some fun with this..." Ailoca returned to the initial keyboard that had initiated the nanobots in the first place, deciding than rather going for the calculated and thoughtfully provocative response, she pressed both of her palms into the control board.
"It is a miracle I have some control over my functionality, little one." Ailoca cracked a grin at the response, watching the same squadron of nanobots from her previous shield, reform into a more malleable structure. Ailoca lifted herself from her seated position, resting herself over to peer out at the window. Fulcrum had outstretched his arms, thin spindles connecting each of the little bot until he could easily stretch them in different directions, and to Ailoca's relief, could shape the creation.
"Oh, that the worked."
"Now to see if we can trap them, little one. I have an idea for that. There is a control panel for the bots if you do not trust me to handle them, you can direct me as where to lead them. I can pinpoint an area in which they are more likely to intercept..."
"Ful, can you the turn off the spindles? They seem the small enough to be the hidden. Less likely to do the change-"
"I can manage their power. What do you intend to do with them after we capture them?"
"The shot of slings, yes? At the biggest of bad boy. It will not the destroy it, but it can cause the damage." A grim thought came to mind, remembering some of the lewder men from Elie's patrol. They would talk a big deal on the optimal kill(particularly when it came to a Vela) and one of the options included stabbing and slicing. It was...particularly uncomfortable when she thought about it in comparison to her horns. She gingerly brushed her fingers across them for comfort. "If we create the hole, do you have sharp object to puncture?"
"I've got a heavy blade on one side. I've got another that's a little smaller but quicker to work with. If you are thinking what Im thinking, after we get a hole in the hull-"
"We the slice dice!" Ailoca claimed cheerily, clamping her hands together in triumph. "That is if we catch buggers. Little itty bitty bastard insects-"
"Nets are in position, little one. Now we just wait and hope that this works." Ailoca slumped back into her seat, finally having a chance to swallow the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. She was surprised to feel any excitement develop from her situation. But she knew, in the depths of her heart, they were so close to being victorious. She could be on he ground soon, falling to her knees and kissing the earth below. She had grown accustomed to space travel, for certain, but there was a certain love she had for sweet, sweet gravity.
"Missed them, little one. Darted past before I could activate the spindles, going to reposition and try again. I'm moving to calculated positions to make sure we aren't intercepted..." She could have sworn she heard Fulcrum swear, the giant mech swiveling as belts slung over Ailoca without her say. They kept her strapped firmly into her seat as Fulcrum worked on dodging the WASPs outside. "Alright, careful not to bump your head, my little one. I do not need your english anymore jumbled..."
"Ill jumble your English..." Ailoca muttered her response, sweat gathering at her brow at the next quick jerk of her mech.
"Got it, little one-" Fulcrum proclaimed, a sigh of relief escaping her as the spindles spun from the bots, trapping one of the WASPs in the nanobot's clutches. Another jerk of the net and Ailoca realized a secondary WASP had raced in behind the first. Oh, this worked out even better than she had intended (and by better she meant she hadn't anticipated it working at all.) Fulcrum's massive hand clasped around the spindles, capturing the heavily damaged WASPs within the homemade net.
"Alright little one, I'm going to move myself closer, I need you to keep an eye out in case anything else comes racing towards us. If we get this right we can land a heavy blow on this bastard..."
"This, I do got!" Ailoca vowed, readjusting the belts around her shoulders. While she didn't think her English was jumbled in the slightest (everyone else's English was, you could fight her on that) she really didn't want whiplash from being swung around in the cockpit. It was like a rollercoaster from hell and Ailoca wasn't particularly fond of either concepts.
Preparing herself for Fulcrum's increased acceleration, she kept a lookout for any possible debris that could have hurled Fulcrum's way. She never felt this system of combat was going to be her cup of tea. This was Elie's expertise. Yet...there was a wave of calm that entered her. A wave of concentration and focus that curled in her stomach. She kept a hawk's watch at the space that surrounded her mech, glad to find nothing faced them other than the Razer. Fulcrum's body swiveled, Ailoca forced to clutch her seat as he calculated his momentum with his velocity, flinging the net at the Razer's massive hull.
The impact was...easily noticed. It wasn't a massive wound to the Razer, not enough to cause its overall destruction and downfall...but it was big enough for Fulcrum to slide his blade within the cracks. Fulcrum shot himself towards the damaged hull, slamming his larger blade into the hole and slicing forward...
"Perfect. Alright, hold on little one, I don't want to accidentally throttle you." Ailoca could have sworn she felt Fulcrum chuckle. His entire system rumbled before Fulcrum launched forward, swifter than he had been prior. He sliced through the hull circling to the other side of the craft, leaving a massive scar within the aircraft. He thrust his blade free, pushing back in order to get some distance from the Razer.
"Little one how are you holding up?"
"That was the awesome! I might the throw it all up!"
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
- NEO-EARTH 3280 - The Rich Man's Casualty - Nightclub
"And then, wouldn't you believe it… the damn thing starts fallin' right for the bunker! Could you imagine? A whole damn whale crashin' in like Noah's Ark…"
"Yes! Hell yes!" Energy like ripples in a pond burst in a deep hum from the massive ship as the last shield exploded outward. Without waiting, without hesitation, Nef jammed the trigger back and fired three successive bursts into the center of the coil. There was a crack, then a secondary shockwave, blowing Tank back several feet. Recovering from the uncomfortable disorientation, Nef looked up to see the coil slinking from the belly of the ship, dropping like a feather from a bird…
With a third concussive explosion, and a sudden creak, the Razer's plating cracked outward, a column of flames shooting from the top of the whale like a blowhole. The center of the ship where Ailoca and Fulcrum sliced split, and with a slow whine, the metal monster separated and began to plummet.
Swearing, Nef straightened, "Hey, guys! So uh… it worked. A little too well! Get outta there and get word to ground! This bitch is coming down!"
"We thought for sure 'dude, we're dead', right? Cause this thing… it's gonna take us all out and what it doesn't… that explosion, man."
"You're tellin' this like it's the end of the war, Cabrio…" Flopping down into the lap of the pilot sitting across from the narrator, Nef grinned, "I swear half the reason these jarheads keep you around is cause you make them sound so much cooler than they are."
Kashel's arms wound around Nef's waste, his chin resting on her shoulder, "I ain't one to exaggerate, Nef… But Cabrio ain't half wrong this time. We saw it from the sky…"
"Big guy! I need the controls… whatcha doin…?"
"Trust, Big Girl." Tank's voice resonated in her mind with a gentle authority, as the mech straightened out, hovering in place like a hummingbird. Beneath the thrumming sound of Tank's mechanics, another sound was resonating through the airspace… imperceptible to most. Like geese building a formation, the mechs… every mech, airbound or otherwise, suddenly began to maneuver towards the fallen wreck of the Razer. Making up the central most point, Harbinger straightened upright, a solitary beacon of convergence. The thrumming turned to a pulse, then to a roar and hanging on, Nef's eyes widened slightly.
"What's the plan, big guy?"
"...The alignment."
"...Right. Makes total se--" But before she could finish her sentence, the mech shot forward and smacking into the seat, Nef watched as he plowed forward, towards the Razer. On either side, the others followed suit until the had formed a straight line of metal men. Not an inch of variation separated them, their formation absolute perfection as they rocketed forward, body-checking into the first section of the whale, sending the massive machine off its course, towards the bay a few hundred yards from the council grounds. With nearly whip-like speed, Tank shifted, altered direction, and a second time, the line dropped altitude before sweeping below the second section of the ship. Along with the others, Tank's arms cranked upwards and splayed beneath the belly of the shattered wreckage. Jets of flame propelled from Tank's ankle joints, in unison with the other mechs and slower and slower, they descended, bringing the Razer's broken form into the open mouth of the courtyard.
"How'd you coordinate all that, anyway?" Kash asked, a little awestruck, "Ain't ever seen formations like that. Not even in Top Corp."
"Didn't…" Nef answered, giving a shrug, "The Mechs did it."
"Hell, man. I guess I see why the Cult wants 'em so bad." Cabrio muttered.
"And why we're lucky as hell they're on our side…" Kash added, grimly.
"Oh, hey! Here we go…" Sitting up straighter, Kash gestured to the makeshift podium had been set up in the rec hall, to the white haired woman that stepped before it.
"Ladies and gentlemen… I thank you for gathering here tonight. I realize you're all probably quite weary from the day's events and I promise I will not hold you much longer. Upon the arrival of the Cult forces today my heart was made heavy with fear and sorrow for the people of Neo Earth. I confess, I thought perhaps we were not fully prepared enough. But with your forces and the Guardians work, we accomplished the near impossible. You are heroes, and I am proud to stand alongside you all."
Something of a soft smile crossed her lips as she gestured out to the crowd, "Now please. Don't let me stop you. This was a victory, and you should be celebrating."
Stepping back from the podium, she clutched her hands together sheepishly, staring out into the crowd of strangers with an odd sense of longing. A moment later, the lights dimmed again, the din renewed as the room erupted into excited chatter.
@everyone
Approaching one of the round tables folded out for the evening's event, a sturdy man wearing a velvet trimmed hat whistled a familiar children's song. Beside him, a swarthy, stone-faced man dressed in black, his eyes shaded by a pair of dark glasses and a young woman who walked with the same sense of purpose, softened by supple curves and a feminine sway. Her bright ginger hair was pulled into a bun atop her head, green eyes sweeping along the crowd with a contrasting expression of boredom. The table housed three of the Mech pilots, currently folded over a deck of cards, their matching jackets slung over the backs of their chairs. Two spare chairs snagged in passing by the shaded man and added to the trio, and as the gentleman in the hat sank into one, the woman turned hers around and straddled it, eyes lingering less than briefly on the vivacious mechanic.
In a deep, rich voice, the man spoke, "Please excuse the interruption. I understand you three are to be thanked for your services today. Ah. Cards. But my, it's been sometime since I've played." As he spoke, his voice barely shifted intonation, flat and drawn, he exhibited almost no semblance of emotion, "Please, forgive me. My name is Prescott. Ansel Prescott. Mayor of this fine city. And this is my lovely assistant, Ruby."
The woman straightened, red painted lips puckering into a smile, fingers wiggling in a half-intentional wave. Her gaze did not leave Tinka and with a wink to the mechanic, her posture relaxed again.
"Would you mind terribly if I played as well?" The mayor asked, with a twitch of a smile. The man standing sentry beside the mayor casually cracked his neck.
@Mobley Eats, @The Wanderer, @WingWong
"Excuse me, Miss?" Almost as soon as Ailoca sat, the voice interjected, a young man approaching her table with an odd sense of uneasiness. He was thin, his features narrow and pinched, like someone whose physical appearance had been worn down, right eye a deep blue, wide and alert, the left white, scarred around the edges, "I'm so sorry to bother you. It's just… I saw you earlier… before the fighting started."
Scar pocked hands knotting before him, he stammered for a second, before clearing his throat, "I… I think I knew your husband. Or well… I'm sure it was him. Eleazar?"
"I know, Falin. I'm not stupid, geez. " The little boy, blonde hair in tight curls atop his head set his hands on his hips, fierce grey eyes narrowing at his sister. She, his opposite, was dark haired, freckled and bright eyed. Her own hands mirrored his as she pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Mom says stupid is a bad word, Kem."
"So tattle. But then you won't get to meet him!"
"...Fine."
The conversation might have fallen on deaf ears, mindless ramblings of two young children, but for the fact that, oblivious to any awkwardness, it occurred within mere feet of the Guardian Rii'chi's table.
"So... are you gonna ask him?" The girl asked.
"I'm going! Quit pushin' me…" Finally approaching, he 'hemmed' softly, "Hey mister! Are you an Oct'nari?"
"It's Och, Ke--"
"S'what I said Fal! Pipe down, wouldja? So Mister? Are ya?"
@Red Thunder
"Seventeen! It's a new damn record!" Slamming down his stein, the soldier glanced over to the woman a few stools down, eyes narrowing briefly before he returned his attention to his companion.
"Seventeen? Pretty sure you never learned to count that high, Bertrand."
"Sure I can. Seventeen. As in the amount of times I rocked your Momma's world…" A grin split across his face and he leaned back, his companion's punch a swing and miss.
"Gross perv…" The man groaned, but there was a laugh behind it.
"What can I say. I'm irresistible."
"Hey…" Nodding the other man looked beyond Bertrand's shoulder, "Check it out."
Glancing over his shoulder, Bertrand smirked, and his fingers curled through his hair as he took a languid look at the woman again, "You here that, Snow Angel? Took down Seventeen of those bastards, out there. It's okay to be impressed."
"Ass…" His friend remarked, with a grin. "I'm Stuart and this idiot's Bertrand… Say… You look kinda familiar? Do I know you?"
@Mobley Eats
"Over there, sir. Can't miss him… Guy never takes it off, I swear…"
"Thank you, Corporal. At ease." Crossing the floor, boots clacking with purposeful strides, Jefferson Torino approached the mask-clad figure huddled a short distance from the stage. Arriving, he clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, "Excuse me. Don't mean to bother you… Names Torino. Captain Torino. Just hoping to have a minute of your time. As I understand it and from what we all witnessed there at the end that Mech of yours is something of a leader to the rest, and the way I see it, that makes you the man I need to talk to."
Arms crossing his front of him, he studied the mask with curiosity, "Sorry. It's just weird as hell having a conversation with that thing. Anyway… As commander of the squad, here, it falls on me to first personally thank you for your quick and effective work today… as well officially offer our aid in whatever endeavors you intend to pursue from here on out. That said… uh…" Reaching up, he brushed a palm over the back of his neck, "Well, normally I'd do this in a more formal environment, professional courtesy and whatnot, but as it is, time is sort of not on our side. What exactly is the next plan? Kinda the first time something like this has gone down, and well.. We're all a little lost as to how it all works."
@WingWong
"Hey, I'll be right back, Kash…" Rising from his lap, Nef left the comfort of Kashel's arms with a mild sense of regret. For a while now, the conversation having recycled too many times for interest, she'd been studying the woman, and as Kashel's idiot friend launched once more into the harrowing tale of how he'd lost his baby toe, she excused herself. Moving across the room to where the familiar face sat at a table, she pulled out a chair and sinking into a seat across from the woman, folded her arms on the table, leaning forward just slightly.
She'd recognized the woman earlier in the council chambers, before hell broke loose, and now in the quiet aftermath, there was no question about it… This was her savior from all those years ago, reduced, it seemed, to something less than stalwart in her glory days...
"How you hangin' in there?" She asked, with a small sense of understanding, "It's Kiki, right? I dunno if you remember me or not. Just wanted to see if you're alright. I kinda caught the vibe earlier this ain't your idea of a good time. Got some familiarity with that. If you need an ear, I got two half decent ones. Or not. Either way, I'm pretty sure I owe you a drink for what you did for me, back then…"
No, more importantly, why did she feel it necessary to waste her time in this current setting. Pyche would much rather relocate herself into Bellwether's cockpit and suffer from the Mech's nonsensical philosophy rants. But, instead, the ex-cultist found herself ensnared by the maws of... social interaction. There were too many bodies to count, an endless sea of possible hostiles. Possibility after possibility after possibility.
She disliked it. Greatly. But, alas, her emotions didn't matter. The more practical approach to her punishment would be to remain distant, speak only when necessary, and be vigilant.
And, again, ignore these men.
Pyche was perfectly optimal and at her greatest use of sitting at her stool, but the voices nearby were grating. Incredibly so. And the agitation grew beyond what she deemed convenient when those same voices decided to shatter her peace.
"You hear that, Snow Angel--"
That is not my name. So, clearly, they weren't addressing her after all... and yet, she was further forced to catch whiff of their breaths.
"Took down Seventeen of those bastards, out there. It's okay to be impressed."
She wasn't. Rarely anything impressed her.
"I'm Stuart and this idiot's Bertrand." She didn't ask. "… Say… You look kinda familiar? Do I know you?"
At first, the Pilot didn't respond. She took her sweet time gathering her thoughts, sifting through the woefully undesirable existence of this interaction in her mind like a broken record. Analyzing. Analyzing. Rewinding and watching in her mind's eye over and over. Stuart and Idiot Bertrand. Right. Well, if they knew of her, it was highly unlikely for her to remember them in turn. Pyche made little to no effort when it come to recalling another's visage. Their faces held no significance to her.
Finally, she settled for bare bone honesty and never once spared the pair a glance. "I'm not impressed. My name is not Snow Angel. I don't know a Stuart nor an Idiot Bertrand. Waste your air elsewhere." She vaguely wondered if she could order a drink and study its contents. Did this establishment have anything of use in the matter of poisonous concoctions?
KIYOKO & NEF
"Between You, Me, and the Fencepost"
A lot of people here.
It was bizarre, coming down from something like that. As soon as she'd dispatched one, two, three of those WASPs, the Razer had finally come down, and… and then it was out of her hands. The fight wasn't completely over, no, but her part in it was through. And that was when the jitters set back in again. She'd held it together long enough to buy them time.
Vindicator had done the rest.
She sat staring towards the window, out across Neo-Earth's consular city. Weird -- that technically, all humans had family here. A drink sat in front of her, untouched. The neon shimmered in the clear alcohol, twisting with the low lighting in the room. A finger, flesh, went around in a circle about its edge.
And then, she had a visitor. Nefertiti Jones, freedom fighter, once-hostage. She didn't forget a face, not easily, even with that knock to the head.
"Hey-hey, yeah… I remember you, quite alright, lemme say. Uh… nah, if I'm honest. Used to be, this is the exact kinda dive I'd want to be in post-op, but right now, um… Ah, well, I'm a bit homesick," she admitted.
"Homesick. If I don't know how that feels. And I came from Tarnigarth of all places. Ain't exactly the homiest of places. What about you? Where's you settle after draggin' pitiful soldiers outta nightmare holes?"
The ex-soldier fell quiet for a bit, wondering how much she should say. It was evident what had happened to her, there was no hiding the missing limbs. Half her chest was metal. Most of her organs were synthetic. And both her limbs were top of the line protheses.
That didn't happen by something going right.
"Leela. I did physical therapy there— water, sun, you know. Vacation planet. Doctor said I, uh, needed to 'calm down'. Originally I'm from SS Philadelphia, but… I guess I adopted the place. Or it did me, I dunno," Kiki revealed, shrugging. Her eyes remained on her drink. "It's just— It's been a while. Post-op didn't feel like this back when I was… you know."
She gestured to the entire length of her.
"I feel like I should be… I don't know. Stoked? Yeah. I should feel more stoked."
"I used to convince myself the pounding in my chest was adrenaline. That the ringing in my ears was just me, gettin' pumped. That my hands would shake from excitment. Took me a hell of a long time to understand what it really was." Looking across the table, Nef shrugged, "Gets worse when you ain't in control. You get locked in a cage and tortured for information you don't have or won't give, you learn a thing or two about fear and what it does to the body… The brain. Lasting stuff, too. Hangs on to you like a clingy boyfriend. Sometimes, even now, I wake up in a cold sweat… reachin' for my sidearm. Had to stop sleepin' with it under my pillow when I just about shot my landlady's cat one night. Anyway… point is, I'm not sure anyone's ever really stoked. Gettin' picked for a job like this? Ain't the lottery. But people like you and me? Soldiers? We got a sense of it, doesn't go away even when we wish to God it would. Duty. And that's why I just wanted to let you know… I got your back. You know? Not just out there. I got your back when you just wanna walk away, but your conscience won't let you. Cause I gotta figure someone like you… someone who's been through it… who stays? They're someone with a six worth watching."
It did mean a lot to hear it. She was someone with a lot of pride and a lot of gumption, and it hit her confidence hard when she started to go to pieces even hearing a backfiring car. Her brain was still wired for the worst to come, and it hadn't quite shut off. Something about losing Jonesy really broke her.
The Eurasian soldier looked to Nef with a wearied smile, tapping the glass tabletop with her fingers.
"Thanks. Nice to know there's also someone up here who's also got at least a teaspoon of combat experience," she half-grumbled, taking a drink. "We have an odd lot. Full rainbow crew. Someone's going to have to train them. And we need a hierarchy. Chain of command's loose, everyone giving orders — next time this happens, it'll be ugly. We got lucky."
"No kidding. Like watching cats with laser guns. If the mechs weren't living, I dunno how that would've gone down, and chances are it ain't gonna improve on its own. Momma Kalazar and the car salesman there have some nice reflexes, but I don't see a whole lotta leadership skills… the Three Musketeers… surprised they can find a way into their own pants in the morning… and the Ice Queen there looks about as likely to shoot me as she does a cultist. And those are the ones who stood out. Tank tells me the Nowhere Man's riding their top dog but he seems about as ready to lead as a man with two left feet dancin' the Tango. Got good instincts, far as I could tell, but if he's meant to lead, we got a long road ahead. So maybe you and me handle the training… We got the experience, and there's gotta be some reason these buckets of trouble picked us to pilot…"
The veteran sat and listened intently to her rundown of their entire crew. Yeah… That assessment was fair. What they really needed was to be able to get to know each other, one on one, both in training and out of sims, the way she trained with BODYSNATCHER. They needed to know each other, inside and out, predict their move before they make it, communicate at the barest minimum necessary with words and the maximum in action.
"I can cotton on to that," Kiyoko said with a slow nod. "I had a good teacher. Dunno if I'd be… pfft, good at it, but I could give it the old college try. Way I see it, we need to split them all into squads, most experienced in one squad per, and they train together as a group. We can mix and match once the greenhorns get a feel for working in tandem and listening to chain of command. It'll help keep 'em organized, if something like that--"
And she pointed to the sky, looking up at the threat literally looming over their heads.
"-- happens again. We won't be running everywhere with our heads so far up our colon, we can see what we had for lunch yesterday. The mechs are the only reason we're alive right now."
"Amen to that… Never thought I'd be grateful to a ten ton sentient robot." Shaking her head, Nef sat back, "We'll run it by the Luchador… seeing he's got the top dog mech and then we'll start ASAP. You wanna handle ground and I can run them through flight?"
It felt good to have an actual plan. Yeah-- She felt like she could do that. It might even help her with these battle jitters. The veteran cracked a smile, eyes crinkling.
"You got it, girl. Things go well, I'll have 'em kicking goat ass in no time," she chuckled, taking a drink.
