The Elder Invasion: CHAPTER 5 - Dystopia

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Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

"Morning Commandant," Asmodeus spluttered from beneath the pile of Minigunners. The vodka was turning to ash in his angelic throat and being exhaled in a powdery mist. "I bring... intelligence... on the enemy's movements."

Another Minigunner had the cow in a headlock. With the help of another two pushing on its butt, the animal was escorted out of the Chinook.

"Big army..." Asmodeus shouted as Domochevsky re-applied the choke hold. "Scorpion... doomsday thingy... very bad!" One of the Minigunners hit the ceiling of the helicopter as he was kicked upwards. Another two Russians dived in to restrain the limb.

"Mooooo!!"


 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Asmodeus

It took a moment to recognize the angel. Times had changed since the fell prince had waged war over the Iwaku that Was. Disinclined to help the entaglement of angelflesh and human limbs, Drake remained on sand. The cow was a surprise as the wererat had never needed bovine aided velocity, but there was a first time for everything one supposed.

The machines rolling over the dune were but another way the ISAF maintained excessive violence for minimal threat.

It was any wonder the nation hadn't become enemies with the rest of Iwaku by now.

"An honor to meet you Acting Commandant," Drake intoned politely, taking the man's rough grasp with his own "Do you always roll out such a threatening carpet for diplomats...or" he jerked his head toward the struggling Asmodeus "Is this all for his benefit?"

Mcarthy chuckled, the only real answer Drake needed and with a shrug he turned to watch the show. The former leader was finding his wings were more detrimental then useful in close confines, enough men atop them equated minimal movement. Force feeding vodka and morphine...at least Asmodeus was an angel...he was made of stronger stuff then mere chemicals would subdue.

A bit unfortunate a man of such checkered past would need copious amounts of alcohol to feel a buzz, but Drake believed all problems should be handled without the use of inebriation. Sound advice and followed by none.

"Asmodeus is correct," Drake said to Mcarthy, taking a swig from his water skin, "Our sensors indicate multiple tears in the dimensional fabric of Iwaku...the armies aren't stopping with a single incursion, they used the first as a means to weaken the rest of the realms natural defenses against invasion. There's no telling how many there are."

Walking up toward the disarray of Asmodeus and Russians, Drake turned back to Mcarthy.

"We can speak in more offical capacity somewhere a bit more conventional...for now, how about a friendly wager?" Drake smiled, it wasn't everyday one saw an angel and a mob of russians indeed. "How much to bet Asmodeus is letting himself be restrained?"
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Julez wandered farther out while Vincent trailed behind her, only giving her just enough space, knowing full well that he was towing the line a bit much at the moment. The blonde kitsune finally stopped while Julez looked around and then sniffed the air, Vincent already knowing what she was going to state next.

"I don't know... which way to go..."

Vincent scoffed. Then laughed. Julez watched, stupified as her mentor and uncle started laughing hysterically, seemingly without any end in sight. She looked around the dusty, bare land before sitting down to wait for Vincent to stop his chortling. She thought she smelled a bovine in the distance, but waved it off as a mirage of this inhibitable land.

"When do you EVER know where you're going?! I figured you might take more care, since you let that filthy blood sucker fill your womb with his-

Julez counted to ten. Weighed the pros and cons. Took a few deep breaths. Then launched herself at her uncle, snarling loudly. Well, she HAD at least given herself time to think this time if she really wanted to take her anger out on her uncle again. She was growing sick of his refrences to her choices, and her circumstances.

And of his insults to the father of the baby growing inside of her belly. He had overstepped his boundries and she was more than happy to show her displeasure at this.

"WAIT! Hold the fuck on! Do you smell cow?" Vincent yelped quickly after dodging a right hook. Julez tackled him to the ground and was about to use his face as a punching bag when he deftly pushed her aside and got up, running after a ghost of a scent. They were both hungry, but Vincent could always follow his stomach to another meal. Julez followed him, merely to take another swing at him when he wrinkled his nose.

"Projectile weapons...." He muttered quietly, trying to figure out what was going on, pausing for a moment while Julez sniffed the air herself. The scents were too far off, and she was growing too exhausted. She started going back the way she came, Vincent watched her go for a moment, looking back the way he had smelled the cow, and could have sworn that he smelled something else, but said nary a word.

"I'll..... I'll go sleep.... and... I guess.... I'll... search more for him later..." Julez murmured quietly as she walked. Vincent followed silently, glancing behind him every now and then.

(Julez and Vincent keep wandering, actually coming close enough to smell a hint of cow in the air when Julez grows weary and has to return to camp. Vincent thinks he smells something of a bloodsucker, but keeps the information to himself as they turn back.)
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Carl looked at Asmodeus as the Minigunners traded out who was cranking on what part of Asmodeus.

"I wouldn't be surprised but you have to take into consideration that Dystopia is a confluence hotspot and the fact that not only is Asmodeus in a confined space but also the CQC training of the Cossacks on the whole." the tanker replied. Every member of the 446TH Airborne Division was well versed in Combat Sambo, a brutal form of martial arts pioneered by the former Soviet Union and established as the national sport. The style emphasizes brutal submission holds and an offense based style designed to remove a combatant of their will to fight by relieving them of their ability to do so.

Either by hyperextending joints or breaking them completely.

"Sir, what about the cow?" Deimon asked. Carl looked at the cow then at the Irving sentry drones and the Carswell attack drones. There were lights next to their cameras that were flashing red.

"We're borderline maxed out on the weight restrictions of the Starlifters. Domochevsky?" the Uzbek left the Chinook, a Minigunner taking his place cranking on Asmo's wings.

"No go. We brought ropes for rapid descent, not for transport." the Minigunner replied.

"Isn't that wasteful? Leaving a perfectly good cow?" Drake asked.

"Either we leave behind a mutliton weapons platform that has more tactical importance behind because we didn't want to leave a cow, of which there are more than enough at Underbase 34's factory farm. Now someone get Asmoman into the Starlifter. I'll bring him up to speed with our present geopolitical situation." The crew chiefs of the three Starlifters conferred on how to move Asmodeus out of the Chinook and into one of the big VTOLs. They finally managed to move the entire gaggle to one of the VTOLs after loading the tanks on board. Carl sat across from Asmo, the Cossacks still cranking on him.

"Alright, you probably already know about the formation of Dystopia eighteen years ago. I know we seem like an isolationist nation but we've managed to flourish through arms and technology sales to client states abroad from Iwaku."

"Our Expeditionary Forces were deployed with the intent of drumming up support abroad and increasing our overall fighting forces through the importation of foreign fighters, bringing more experience to our training doctrines. While the Iwakuans have seen fit to grow complacent in their reliance on magics we have become a military superpower under the guise of an isolationist nation. The Independent Dollar is worth more than the Engel in the exchange markets."

"We can fight these invaders on our terms. Whatever information you may provide may just cut our projected casualties in half." Drake spoke out, trying to fight the din of the transport's engines.

"But you said yourself that your own capitol is beseiged." the wererate said, Carl taking his PDA out. He opened up files and showed video to Drake and Asmodeus.

"Precautionary measure. Our major cities went into lockdown and we deployed special nerve agents." On the video one of the spiders summoned a horde of fresh noobs. They were quickly set upon by what appeared to be their own compatriots. Noobs were being eaten alive by their own. "All I know is that as long as the spiders continue to summon more noobs the zombies already there will continue to grow in number, feeding off of the noob reinforcements."

"And the spiders themselves?" Asmodeus managed.

"Two words: Bunker busters."

---------------------------------------------

(OOC)
-Banter and movement. Carl brings Asmodeus up to speed en route to '57. The Cossacks continue to crank on Asmoman.
(/OOC)
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

"Well... GNNNGHHRRR!!! seems like... RAAAAGH!!! you've got it all.... NNNNNGHHRRR!!!... worked out!" Asmodeus yelled, each word a victory against the volleys of pain being delivered upon him. "And I must say, RRRRRUUUGHHH!!!... I like a Comm... NGHRRRR!!! Commandant who can speak... PRRRRR! PRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!... properly and... doesn't have.. RAAAGH!... a face like a... GNNNHRRRR!!! badger's arse!"

Outside, in the desert, the cow looked on sadly as the ramp of the Starlifter retracted. The VTOL started to lift from the ground.

"You seem GRRRRUUUGH!! to know a lot... aAAAAARGH! AAAGH!!! about Confluence! RRRRRUUUURRRR!!! Did you also know, GNRRRGHH!!! that it causes certain things RAAAAAAGH!! to... group together!"

"Oh yeah," said one of the Minigunners cranking the angel's arm. "Like what?"

"Like... GNNNGHRRRR!... my sword!"

Another Minigunner holding Asmodeus's ankles frowned. "Yeah, ain't this bitch supposed to have a sword?"

Asmodeus flexed his hand and more chaos erupted as the Sword of Metatron came tearing through the roof of the Starlifter, along with pieces of wing shrapnel and wiring. Two of the Minigunners lost their grip and the angel surged upwards at the same time that the VTOL lurched off kilter. There was a horrible screeching as the other wing snapped off on the ground and the Starlifter slumped onto its side.

The Minigunners landed in a heap of dazed bodies and Russian curses.

"Now," Asmodeus said as he and the Commandmant both staggered to their feet on the side-wall of the crew compartment, "How much more posturing do we have to do before you listen like a good monkey?"

He nudged Drake with his sword, making sure he was still alive. And outside, amongst the pieces of the snapped wing, the cow mooed again.



[SUMMARY: Asmodeus refuses to go quietly. More irate Russians.]
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Acting quickly, Drake went low the moment the sound of tearing metal filled the cockpit. Years of experience had hardened reflexes into his body, reflexes he used to avoid the shrapnel and sudden unbalance of the vehicle. Normally not given to violence, Asmodeus was a creature far removed from the human norm. Force achieved little more then irritation, more violence, and destruction. What could have been an easy cruise to a more accommodating environment had become a liability.

Time for action.

The moment the sword touched Drake, the wererat's tail swung up with enough force to knock the sword off kilter from his body. Following the movement, one arm snaked around Asmodeus's torso and caught the displaced wrist and blade. With a vicious jerk, the wererat angled the blade up against Asmodeus's own throat. Normally a feat reserved for other angels, the curse and blessing of his lycanthrope filled Drake's arms with a supernatural strength. The other free hand sported curved claws from each finger which settled directly against the angel's exposed side.

"The war is over Asmodeus, we're statesmen and diplomats now. I don't want to tear out an organ, but if that's what it takes to cease this pointless violence then so be it."

The ISAF Russians were coming back to bear, firearms trained on the angel as the sudden flurry of unexpected action gave them a chance to get their bearing.

"Commandant," Drake called, his muscles straining against Asmodeus's own might. "Perhaps the angel would rather talk here...and I have words to say to both of you. Can we at least agree to know more wanton destruction, sit, and speak like gentlemen, or have we all become scoundrels in the New Iwaku?"



Summary: Asmodeus will go quietly or live without a liver...Drake offers a compromise.
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

"Oh Woodrat..." Asmodeus murmured as he leant back in Drake's hold, "You've always been so good to me. But alas, my furry friend, your optimism is misplaced..." He reeled forward again, till the lycanthrope's claws almost pierced his skin. And his eyes were set on Rosoft.

"He cannot change. Like the Commandant before him, he will seek a fresh way to intimidate us, to create an illusion of control with his little toys. It is all the ISAF monkeys know: to retaliate, to roar, to make a metal front of themselves. Expect no grace nor reason, for he has none. He is a barbarian, like the Noobs who hunt us."

Morning light poured through the windows of the downed plane, glinting from the blade against Asmodeus's throat. His face was aglow, drunk upon the moment.

"The day is coming, Rosoft. You know it as well as I do. There will be war between us: the ISAF and the Iwakuans. And you'll lose." his smile glistened, "You'll lose because... to them... you are worse than a genocidal angel. They stand against me for reasons, for causes and crusades. But they stand against the ISAF on principle. They long to oppose you, to cut a swathe through your mindless discipline and thuggery. They will kill your men and burn your hardware, because to do so is to embrace a world without the ISAF - a world where war is not planned for, where the young are not indoctrinated, where authority is not enforced and vengeance is not taken. Paradise, Rosoft... Utopia - anyone who still has breath will hold that dream, and despise you for blocking it."

He leaned back again, relaxing against the body of Drake. "Even now, Rosoft, my words are too much for you. You are seeking a way to hurt me, to rebuke me. Some way to defend your heartless world. So go ahead: bring out the bigger gun, the better pain technique, the stronger tank, the faster plane. Bring out the lazers and the missiles, the chemical and the nuclear. Bring it all and show Iwaku what a plague you are. But however you hurt me, know this... Iwaku is everything that you are not. Iwaku is the panoramic heart, the magic beyond the metal, the alliance chosen and not enforced. Iwaku is the one against the many, and the bloody path preceding peace. Iwaku is the dream beyond the ISAF. So if you want War, Commandant, prepare for Peace, for it will come upon you with the force of generations."

He locked eyes with Commandant. "I came here to use you, Commandant, like the blunt and expendable tool that you are, in the hopes of buying time for my friends. So either play along, or carry on trying to hurt me. Let's not keep this Lycanthrope waiting."





[Asmodeus tells the ISAF to stop being douches and help out.]
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Carl simply yawned, the crew chiefs unlashing the tanks and opening the rear door of the wrecked VTOL. Outside several Strike Comanche gunships had established a cover pattern.

"Seven hours wasted." he started. "You've wasted seven hours out of the remaining twenty until the counteroffensive." The tanker walked past Drake and Asmodeus as the Wraiths and Gladiator were rolled out of the aircraft, one of the crew chiefs popping green smoke. They had put the call out as soon as they were 'shot down' for another Starlifter II to pick them up.

"It takes an hour for an engineering crew to assess whether or not a wrecked bird is salvageable. If not, they simply detonate thermite charges in the cockpit and leave the rest to oxidize and rust in the desert sands. If it's still salvageable then they wait an hour and a half for three S-64 Tarhe sky cranes to arrive to lift the wreckage. It then takes another hour and a half to rig slings to the bird and lift it up off the desert floor. Sure you could just spend the ninety-six man hours to make a new one but repairing this one only takes thirty-six hours. See every asset is important right now." One of the tankers ran over from Carl's track with a thermos. He poured the tanker a cup of coffee and handed it to the Field Commander. "Thank you... It took us forty minutes to get from Second Los Alamos to here, but the salvage crew will take a little over two hours as they'll be flying at minimum speed." The tanker took a sip of coffee. "With the present chaos at the tarmac it'll take at least an hour for them to get landing clearance and another hour to set the wreckage down." Carl finished the coffee then handed the thermos cap back to his crewmate.

"Why couldn't you have taken the more peaceful route like the wererat did? Instead of coming in as you did. You could have save us precious time and resources." One of the other tankers approached.

"Sir, the new bird's thirty minutes out." the tanker said to Carl with a salute.

"Keep me posted, Abdi. Oh, before you go..." Carl turned back to Asmodeus then pointed at the star furthest from his throat on his lapel. "Abdi is one of several who helped get me that last star. I at least remember who helped me get where I am." Another green smoke grenade was popped, Carl taking a seat on one of the Starlifter's bulkheads.

"As for the whole of Iwaku, last I checked we have no plans to expand the counteroffensive beyond our borders. Right now reclamation of Scrap Iron City is paramount." he explained as the VTOL's crew chiefs began their crash assessment for the salvage crew. "One more thing..."

"Stop calling me Rosoft."
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Julez and Vincent finally staggered back to the evacuee camp, both unsure of what to do. Vincent went back to the tent to think out a plan, while Julez stumbled around for a while before finally remembering how there hadn't just been civilians in the landing site. Maybe she could go there and....

And...


And what was she going to do after she found someone? Yell "Take me to you leader?" Load of help that would do...

Julez exhaled loudly and finally tried to think logically. She WAS trained. She COULD manipulate metal. She HAD A HUGE ASS SWORD. She had been training with Vincent.... She wasn't useless, and she wasn't exactly just another civilian....

She bit her lip and then felt her stomach. Nausea rolled through her like a wave, and she got caught in the undertow.

It just reminded her that she was also a possible liability.

But her lover.... her.... mate... was somewhere out there.... and she at least needed to figure out a way to get the information to him at least....

She then paused, perplexed. That's big news, though, and wouldn't that be distracting to him? Maybe she wouldn't tell him at least after all of this was over....

But if she got involved, how would she hide her pregnancy?.... She shook her head of the thought and then backtracked her way to where that plane had landed, intending to find a way... They probably wouldn't mind a new recruit.... right?... She cleared her head of the thoughts again and made her way back to Underbase 57's airfeild.... or... at least... she thought it was.... it looked like it.... but she couldn't remember if it was 57 or 75.....

She then went about trying to find someone to ask about recruiting.

(Julez finally gets somewhere and stops with the Chaos bullshit and tries to engage someone, anyone, at the airfeild, trying to figure out how she can go about joining the ranks, figuring that after that, maybe she'd at least figure out where Deimon IS)
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Asmodeus's eyes narrowed. "Which one are you again?"

The Commandant stared back at him.

"Oh right, McCarthy. Same accents, different face. As for wasting your time, I think Woody here can vouch for the efficiency of your welcome wagons. You people don't exactly have a doorbell."

"I'm not Woodrat," muttered Drake as he held his claws and the angelic blade against Asmodeus.

"Yes, you're both right: it's the details that matter, isn't it? Well, Mr Drake and Mr McCarthy - know this: there is something coming your way that seeks to erase every last detail you hold to your name. A War Machine, bigger than the ones you've seen so far. It wiped Shifter Town off the map, and it took a direct hit from a Astartes Bombardment Cannon like it was a wet fart. A machine of pure and undeniable concept, and all the bunker-busters, super-cals and scrarglefloops in the world couldn't make a dent. There's only one way to destroy it..."

He fixed on the Commandant again. "...and it involves greasing me up slipping me roughly into that butthole you call a chain of command. So come on, McCarthy... slap on ISAF sticker on me and we'll take the fight to the enemy."
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Drake was quick to interject, noting the conversation was moving along faster then he'd anticipated.

"Shapeshifter Town was destroyed? I had no idea the situation was so dire."

"Your bomb didn't help," Asmodeus responded, nodding toward Mcarthy "You'll have to take it up with Myrn but word is he's none too happy with your unannounced ordinance."

"We did what had to be done," Mcarthy stated brusquely, "We won't apologize for a tactical strike against a common enemy."

"Or common allies," Asmodeus quipped, leaning back against Drake "You can let me go Woodie, I have no more cows to hurl."

"Moo!" The distant moan was almost in answer.

Letting the angel free, Drake was till hesitant to return his sword. Circling around the angel he regarded both leaders with a critical eye. "Errors have been made on both sides but we hardly have time for your speeches Asmodeus." Sticking the sword of Metatron into the dirt, the wererats tail flicked irritably. "As supportive as I am of an alliance, need I remind that Asmodeus has been running armies into slaughter for years now."

The angel grimaced. Drake pressed on regardless as he was uncomfortable with Asmodeus leading the charge. Although a charismatic commander, Asmodeus had no mind for odds. He attacked when he should retreat and defended when he should have evacuated. The glorious days of the n00b and Admin wars had filled his head with the grandeur of headlong combat and with the decimation of the Shapeshifter Kingdom, there could be no more galvanizing charges. There simply weren't enough soldiers to go around. "I believe if Asmodeus wants to help with the war effort he should be considered for strategy and council, but keep him off the front lines...he only inspires stupidity."

Mcarthy nodded thoughtfully and Drake hid a smile. The ISAF and Asmodeus had never truly gotten along. After all, it was Jack Shade who helped broker the deal for their land and not the mad Prince. Afterward Asmodeus had used the help he'd purchased...to surrender. A controversial move and one that kept the ISAF from a favorable spot in the limelight. Known as brutal mercenaries, their contributions to the war were pushed beneath Asmodeus's 'noble' sacrifice and Rory's victories. By switching sides at the last moment, the ISAF had been fooled into taking a suspicious eye from the public.

"Asmodeus, were there any survivors from Shapeshifter Town?"

"You were never so pointed before Woodie," Asmodeus sighed, recalling the blade to his hand. "I wish you'd return to the convoluted sage guarding a lake."

"I'm not-" Drake started, but Asmodeus held up a hand.

"We all play our roles by the Cycle Woodie," He explained, "And there were a handful of survivors last I checked. The RRD captained by a man named Tain crashed in Airune forest with what remains of the Shapeshifters. What they're doing now I can't say, but I'd guess walking. The forest is hardly a place to sit on your hands and stare at a wreckage."

Drake winced at the word 'handful' but Mcarthy didn't bat an eye. Losses were understood by the Commandant and although tragic, no time could be wasted mourning the dead. When the war was over, that was what holidays were for.

"So we can only lend relief to the survivors and prepare for our attacks," Drake said quietly, his ears drooping. "I will return with the Commandant to discuss possible extraction teams and how to best lend my army's support. Asmodeus, perhaps you should be guarding the people you nearly annihilated."

Reaching out a hand to shake with the Commandant, Drake covertly held a message written neatly on paper which he transferred to the Commandant's hand. Originally he'd written it because he didn't trust all of the ISAF. If a message needed to be delivered, Drake preferred to give it to the man himself.

It simply read.


"Tunnel beneath your desert, following my progress. I can have most of my army positioned in six hours, four if we hurry. We need to speak in private, I have a plan to stop Outsider reinforcements."




Summary: Talking and reflecting on old times...Drake doesn't trust Asmo in any command. He also reveals to the commandant that his army is tunneling through the Dystopia desert and can offer relief to the ISAF forces within four hours. He also seems to have a plan that requires a private Audience from Mcarthy.
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Carl whistled to one of his tankers. The soldier ran over as Carl dug into a mag pouch for his pack of cigarettes. During the action he placed the note into the mag pouch as the tanker arrived with a lighter.

"I'm going to have to agree with Drake, Asmodeus." the tanker said as he light up a cigarette, handing the lighter back. "I've studied your tactics and the After Action Reviews from the war. This isn't the Hundred Years War. This is the twenty-first century."

"We ran the numbers. Even if we recalled ISAF-EF units abroad we wouldn't even have the reserves to do things your way." another drag of the cancer stick. "That is if they get here on time."

"As Drake here said your best place in the Chain of Command is not in command but as an advisor." Carl put his cigarette out on his boot sole then flicked the butt away. "Now if you'll excuse me I've got a call to make." Carl walked to his track and climbed up into the machine. He settled into the turret and donned the radio headset.

"Central Command, this is Field Commander McCarthy. Got some intel." he started as he took the note out of his mag pouch.

"We saw the crash on satellite, sir. What's that angel fuck want?"

"To be put in the chain of command but we know what'll happen if that occurs. He's an advisor and not to be left alone. I want 9TH SOCOM to detail a unit to him."

"Captain Pliskin's goin to love that... Anything else, sir?" Carl read the note.

"Yeah. Drake's got an army burrowing after him. They can be ready in six hours." the tanker said as someone started shouting topside. The replacement Starlifter II was approaching. "I'm going to be speaking to him in private so come up with some bullshit excuse to keep the angel fuck busy."

"Affirmative. Out..." Carl pulled the headset off then climbed out of his track. Some of the Cossacks had started burning an LZ into the sand. Carl dropped down from his track and walked back to Drake and Asmodeus.

"Alright, get ready to roll out." he shouted over the beat of the VTOL's four rotor blades. "And Asmodeus, State Security wants to talk to you once we reach '57. After you talk to them then and only then are you getting a look at the battle plans."

-----------------------------------------------

(OOC)
-Plot advancing paragraphs.
(/OOC)
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

"State Security?" Asmodeus echoed as he stepped after Drake and McCarthy into the second Starlifter. "My dear Commandant, if you're worried about me having access to senstive information, then let me put your mind at ease. I fully intend to use everything I learn here to plan your future extermination. I'll also steal whatever weapons I can find, tamper with your mainframe and piss in your water fountains."

He sheathed his sword and took a seat as the VTOL lifted from the LZ. "But such is the nature of the intelligence war, correct? Tomorrow's enemy is today's friend, so as long as the Noobs are still out there you don't need to waste my time with subplots."

The angel leaned back, his wings coming around him like a cocoon as he closed his eyes and settled in for the journey. "And don't bother showing me your battleplans. There's only one place, one time and one way to stop what's coming for you. And it's got nothing to do with numbers."


 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

"Asmodeus, numbers always plug into plans." Carl replied to the angel as the VTOLs made their way back to '57. "And I'm not worried about you seeing our gear. You're an enemy of the state, pure and simple." The acting commandant pulled his canteen from his web belt and took a swig. He let Asmodeus prattle on about this and that. He had to admit that the angel had the gift of the silver tongue. The sign of a good commanding officer.

And of a liar.

"We just got permission to land. This is going to be a bit bumpy." the pilot announced over the Starlifter IIs intercom. The ground crew guided the VTOL in, signalling the pilots with batons. Once the bird was down the cargo ramp was lowered and the crew chiefs began unlashing the Wraiths and the Gladiator SPAAG. Carl started down the ramp.

"Field Commander McCarthy, welcome back." a black clad State Security Agent said to the acting commandant. "I see the angel is with you as well."

"Unfortunately..." Carl replied, Asmodeus about to go into another long winded rant. Carl stepped in between the agent and Asmodeus.

"First and foremost, if you want to be in the chain of command so badly I have an idea." Carl said, walking over to one of his men. He swiped the rank pin off the man's lapel then tossed it to Asmodeus' feet. "Of course you'll be in the rear with the gear, Private."

"Is this a joke?" the angel demanded.

"It's either that or you remain out of the chain of command as an advisor. Or you could go with them." Carl motioned toward the agent and her black clad Minigunners. "The choice is yours."
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Asmodeus crouched by the ramp of the VTOL as the vehicles were rolled out. He picked up the rank pin, twirling it through his fingers as an afternoon breeze stirred his feathers and blew golden hair across his eyes.

"The choice was always mine, Commandant," he answered, almost too soft for any to hear. His tried to meet McCarthy's eyes... tried to make him understand. "The choice to give you... a little more time... before the end."

He straightened up, still holding the pin. "You people never could change, could you?" He looked at the desert-worn buildings around him - the glorious structures of the I.S.A.F. triumphant. "All you had to do was talk to us... tell us how scared you were... in this world... in these times. We could have laughed and loved together, Iwakuan and Dystopian as brothers. But you chose to stand and die alone."

He was met by only the blank stares of the minigunners, the disinterest of the vehicle crew, the veiled-impatience of the Commandant. The angel smiled, sadly, looking down again.

"And the most tragic thing is... that even as I speak your epitaph.. you grow tired of it. Even though I am the only one left in this city who will re-tell what you have done. You have no poets, no storytellers, no lovers nor sages to carry your memory. Only warriors. And so you'll die as you lived - in a slick of oil, a belch of smoke, a muzzle flash. Is it any wonder that the Cycle has grown tired of you?"

The ground started shaking, one of the Wraiths losing its tracking and crashing off the ramp. A piece of guttering broke lose from a guardpost in the distance.

"Stand to!" ordered McCarthy as his men flinched, gripping their weapons and helmets. But even as he spoke, Asmodeus was looking directly at him.

"The flight here took too much time. We had a chance in the desert. You should have listened."

His words were lost beneath the rumbling, which grew louder and louder as the ground shook harder. And then, all at once, the asphalt erupted. Asmodeus launched himself on the momentum, sailing upwards as a giant plume of smoke and fire sent the Dystopians reeling. And then, as the debris fell back, the ground dropped away like paper. It was as if all the earth and sand beneath them had suddenly vanished.

Lava_Men_by_legoparanoia-1.jpg

As if the mouth of hell was gaping, the ground within a half mile radius dropped, the roar of magma equalled only the screams of the plummeting. Underbase 57 was consigned to fire, its multiple levels collapsing and imploding. McCarthy felt something slam into him, a moment before the ground vanished, and he lurched violently, almost losing the contents of his stomach. He was swung up, past the collapsing shapes of the VTOLs, which were keeling over into the abyss. Smoke and ash blanketed his face, then the cool caress of the desert air. He was flung for a moment then came to an abrupt stop, slamming into a parapet of stone and rolling, over and over, his body bruised and battered. Asmodeus landed just ahead of him, hitting the rooftop in a flurry of feathers and dropping a figure from his other hand, the equally blackened and disorientated Drake.

The three of them tumbled with the momentum of the landing, ending painfully on their backs. Smoke was all around them, as were the yells of those on the edge of the abyss. They had landed on the rooftop of a guardpost at the edge of the crater.

Underbase 57 was gone, replaced with an abyss. And in its place, unfolding from the fire, it came...


Scorpion_by_deaddamien.jpg

It started as a single claw, rising out and gaining purchase on the edge of the crater. And then it hauled itself upwards, the titanic abomination of stone lifting into the desert sun and followed by a swarm of smaller Elder Spiders. It was as if a nest had opened up, the insects hungry to devour.

Before the three of them could even recover, the TL;DR ray was fired and the world turned to red, like blood flooding the world. The tail of the Scorpion lashed into perfect aim and directed the beam at the main expanse of Scrap Iron City. It struck Little Moscow first, erasing the streets in a split second, vapourising dozens, hundreds of lives. They were stripped down to their outlines, then to dust, then to oblivion.

McCarthy found himself seized, pulled up by the angelic strength of Asmodeus, dangled from the ground. And the blackened face of the angel was twisted with rage as he yelled above the churning sound of the TL;DR ray.

"I WOULD TELL YOU TO RUN, BUT I KNOW YOU WON'T!" He shook the Commandant with every word. "BUT PROMISE ME, MCCARTHY - IF THERE IS ONE PERSON IN THAT CITY - ONE WOMAN OR CHILD WHO HASN'T BEEN BRAINWASHED BY YOUR WARRIOR BULLSHIT - TELL THEM TO GET OUT! TELL THEM TO SCATTER, TO BREAK THEMSELVES ACROSS THE LAND - TO HIDE FROM THIS ENEMY!"

He dropped McCarthy, staggering away as a wave of grief came over him. The angel clutched his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched Moscow Town being obliterated. "WE COULD'VE STOPPED THIS!" He dropped to his knees, shredding his voice as he tried to scream above the sound of the lazer.

Drake was on his feet in seconds, gripping Asmodeus by the shoulder. "We have to go!"

For a moment Asmodeus went to lunge at McCarthy, but Drake held him back. The two stumbled across the rooftop through the rain of debris, and by silent agreement they left McCarthy behind, at the edge of the crater, witnessing the relentless advance of the Scorpion. The Commandant did not turn to watch them go. Asmodeus lifted into the crimson sky, Drake latched around his back, the two of them fleeing the apocalypse that had come to end the days of Dystopia.

And as they departed, the private's rank pin dropped from the sky and landed next to the Commandant.





[SUMMARY: The TL;DR Scorpion burrows up through Underbase 57 and begins the systematic destruction of Scrap Iron City. Asmodeus abandons Commandant McCarthy to his fate, only hoping that the ISAF's extermination will buy the other Iwakuans time. He flees with Drake, the only other survivor of the attack.]
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Judgement rained upon the arid earth...

and thunder followed in its wake.

From above the scorpion, a rain of multi-hued crimson energy crashed into its armored hide. While doing little in the way of damage, the fire drew its alien attention from the destruction beneath it. Tail swept upwards and twisting around it came the Harbinger. Set against the enemy like a fly, the Rift powered ship soared down low over the Underbase. Keeping above the ground, three simple blasts of brilliantly hued energy pulsed into the ruined compound beneath it. Mccarthy had been contracted months before to build a set of parts for what could only be considered a bomb. Hesitant at first, he'd accepted for the money offered and had left the pieces in the Underbase prior to rendezvous with the buyer. At least it was now apparent who their employer was.

Narrowly avoiding a segmented leg with the girth of an office building, the Harbinger slid away from the massive Elder Scorpion and flew toward Insanity. Ponderously moving from its position, the monster of metal and wires followed the black smudge in the sky, pincers snapping uselessly with the sound of freight cars colliding.

Beneath the feet of the ravaged citizens, earth collapsed as helpful hands reached out.

Jack's army had arrived and had quickly switched their priorities to evacuation.

They could retaliate later.


Summary: The Harbinger takes pieces of a bomb and the citizens are being evacuated. The scorpion rides for Insanity.
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

Quiinn?
The voice echoed through his mind as the kitsune helped him to his feet.
Quiinn? Quiinn!
His eyes unfocused and his consciousness seemed to fall backwards, out of his body. He could her again, his goddess, the one he had shared his body with for so long clawing at him softly. He could feel her breath again, a rasping voice that smelled of death, fire, and destruction. He felt the hands brush against his body, plague ridden hands, covered in boils, skin peeling off them. He shuddered; the presence was different, dying, so much different that what he remembered.
"My Goddess? My Goddess? What… What has happened to you?"
The voice came back again, painful claws scrapping across his brain, pulling at his wings.
I'm not your Goddess Angelus'Nex, I am but a remnant of your Goddess, who cannot reach you now, and I am dying.
Quiinn stumbled around, barely in control of his body as the Kitsunes led him onto the plane. He once again reached out towards his body, and was greeted with another jolt of pain. Great streaks of acid ran down his arms, his legs, his body, his skin bubbling and bursting, nausea and pain lapsing through his body. He felt bones pop, tendons rip, and a sickening crunch as his chest started to give in. As soon as it calmed, he truly noticed how the time had passed. He could faintly see the two Kitsunes arguing with each other. Slowly, he delved back inside himself, looking for her…
You are not meant to role over and die Quiinn. You have a duty, you have a way of stopping this madness, not alone, but you can help them in this endeavor, I beg of you.
As he walked by one of the Kitsunes, she asked him where he was going, he quickly mumbled that he was going outside and hurried onward.
My Goddess, you know my heart and soul better than I, I will do what is needed of me.
Good Quiinn, now, get out of the city, these Dystopians can hold their own, there are other places that need protection.
Several minutes later he was well away from the underbase, stalking forward, lightning spear in hand. After a few more minutes of checking his surroundings, he moved on, nearing the boundary of Dystopia. He could hear the screams of civilians who had not been rescued in time, becoming playthings for the noobs. But all this was drowned out by a screech of steel, as the scorpion burst forth from Underbase 57. Quiinn looked back, not wanting to leave those people he had served with for so long.
Run, they are lost, RUN!

(OOC: Quiinn falls into a mental conversation with a fragment of his goddess. He then proceeds to leave Dystopia, making it out just before the scorpion starts to destroy Dystopia. He is now headed for Iwaku City.)
 
Re: Dystopia - CHAPTER 5

The world was a blur for the acting Commandant. He remembered sighting noobs with his M-1911A1 then excrutiating pain followed by darkness.

"Vitals still good..."

"As long as he's breathing... Sergeant, I need that gauze here, now!"

Voices. Unfamiliar, but friendly nonetheless.

"I need to cut the rest of the orb out. Goleb, hand me the scalpel..."

"Colonel, can't you save it?"

"Once I have a proper scientific facility I can grow him a new one. For now we just need to concentrate on preventing infection."

"Hey, is his other eye supposed to be doing that?"

Carl opened his left eye, three faces looking down at him. One he recognized as Colonel Archetype. The other two were unknowns.

"Oh good, you're awake." Archeteype said with a smile as s/he cut the destroyed right eye out. Carl tried to bring his hand up to cover the maw where the eye used to be and found he could not.

Harbinger crew bay...

"Fuckin' shit, he's puttin' up some fight!" Piledriver snarled as he and another Mechalith held Carl down. The tanker screamed out, kicking against the deck. Goleb and the other Combat Medic held his feet down, blood on their hands staining his trousers.

"GOD DAMMIT!!!" Carl snarled, fighting the two Mechalith and the combat medics as Archetype began disinfecting his wound. "Why didn't you use ANASTHESIA!?"

"We ran out of morphine but Captain Vasilev brought his flask with him." Archetype replied as she began dressing the maw. "But I couldn't risk having you choke on it while you were out. Now, if you'll quit squirming I may just give you a lolipop when I'm done."

-------------------------------------------

Evacuation tunnel...

They were one mass of refugees, soldiers and civilians alike. Interspersed within them were subter and a few other creatures that, according to science, should not exist.

Then again Lieutenant Kisaragi shouldn't exist either.

"Hey, where's the extraction point?" the vampire asked a nearby subter.

"It's not for a while. We just have to keep moving." the creature replied. Deimon sighed then looked over his shoulder at his men. He had known them all of a few hours but they were already pulling together under his command. Deimon could hear the steady rumble of a Stryker ESV (Engineer Support Vehicle) somewhere behind him. They had managed to get a few vehicles into the tunnels. Shade's forces were excellent tunnelers, that was for sure. How long they had been tunnel was beyond the former SPECWAR operator.

"Any idea who these guys are?" Sajid asked Deimon as he muscled past a subter.

"All I can say for sure is that they helped us out and-" Deimon was cut off as a portal opened before them. Several Minigunners and SAW Operators brought their weapons to bear, training them on the portal. A minute passed before a severed head flew out, landing at their feet.

It used to belong to a Pimprat.

"Friendlies?" Deimon called out.

"Yew better believe we are." Ryker called out from the portal, stepping out. His forearms and gloves were stained with blood, as was his flak jacket and mouth. "Go' kinda 'ungry up there. Yew lads okay?" The soldiers immediately lowered their weapons.

"We're as good as we can be, Lieutenant." Deimon replied to Ryker as some of the one time Commandant's men and Moriarty, the skull faced revenenant, stepped out. Moriarty sealed the portal behind him. "You mind telling me why you couldn't find a less elaborate way to find us?"

"Nae real other way." Ryker said as the column started moving again. "'Adda let Moriarty lead the way."

"You've got other motives..." Deimon finally said, the one time Commandant grinning.

"Ah need volunteers. There's an ol' weapons cache inna Desert o' Steel. Some gear whit might come in 'andy." Ryker replied. "Yew in or no'?"

"I'm out. I have to escort the others to... wherever the hell we're going..." Deimon said, set in his path.

"Yew do whit yew want then. Ah'll find some volunteers." Ryker left Deimon's side, the lycanthrope and his men mingling with the refugees. Deimon did not look back to see Moriarty open a fresh portal, Ryker and several soldiers leaving through it.

------------------------------------

(OOC)
-Triage on the Harbinger
-Ryker is still alive.
(/OOC)
 
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