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Vergo Flux (SC RP); It's a working title
Topic Started: Jul 1 2011, 02:28 PM (8,271 Views)
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Native Son

"Have a seat," Grace said, still siting on the floor, patting the space next to her. "Sorry for throwing my drink in your face. But you really pissed me off."

She was still speaking very softly, as she had with Constantine. The rough edge to her voice, already husky to begin with, had gone. What had replaced it was an almost mournful tone.

"And I'm sorry about your sister, and Jessie Falcon, and Stewarts. I know what it's like to be left all alone."

"Constantine, pull up a picture of Big Time Brannigan, will you?" An image appeared on the screen of an insectiod face, taken from his Bounty Hunter's Guild ID card.

"You remember this guy? Before your time, but kind of a legend. The alien with the Irish name. He was known for carrying one of those big shoulder-fire laser cannons as his weapon of choice - actually, I think I saw one of those in the back there. Anyway, used to be tight with the Big Blonde Amazon, though I hear they eventually turned on each other. You might know the details better than I do."

She lit a cigarette without asking permission if she could smoke aboard the ship. Probably wouldn't help things, but she was a bit beyond that at this point.

"So, I told you my mom had a bounty on her head, right? Well, one day, Big Time Brannigan came to collect. We were still living in El Paso at the time, where I was born. I think I was about five or six years old. I was asleep in bed, and then this noise woke me up, like a burst of air or a hydraulic press combined with a crashing sound. And I smelled something burning. And just as I was about to sit up, this bigass laser beam punched through my bedroom wall and into the next room. Like, right in front of my face. I could feel the heat, and it was so bright it blinded me for like thirty seconds. If I'd sat up, or if he'd fired a second later, I wouldn't be here today.

"Next thing I know, my mom is bursting into my room. She grabbed me out of bed - literally scooped me right up - and smashed my window and climbed out with me. I had no idea what was going on, I was just crying and crying and asking her what happened. All she would say was there was a bad man coming and we needed to get away. And I just remember looking at our house and seeing it start to catch fire. She ran through peoples' yards, carrying me the whole time, and she stole the first car she saw and hightailed it outta there.

"We were in Arizona by the time I woke up. She'd parked at some truck stop, and she was just getting back into the car as I opened my eyes, a big wad of cash in her hand. Some guy walked past, nodding at her with a weird grin on her face, and she nodded back, though she wasn't smiling. I asked her who that was, and she said he'd just given her some money. It wasn't until looking back years later that I realized he'd just paid her for sex. But that money bought us a hot meal and a room for the night.

"We'd gotten out of El Paso so fast we didn't even bring anything with us. No bags, no money, just the clothes we'd been sleeping in and my mom's gun, tucked into her shorts. We had to get by somehow. So after we checked out of the motel, first thing she did was pull into a liquor store and rob it clean, then we got the hell outta Dodge again. So, in just over twenty four hours, my mom stole a car, sold her body, and committed armed robbery. Clearly the mark of someone with low moral character."

Grace wasn't quite laying the sarcasm on very thick, but her intention was clear.: she was using his own ideals against him, daring him to condemn her mother for doing whatever was necessary to protect her.

"Any one of those crimes would've landed her in jail for a good stretch. But you know what would've happened to Brannigan if I'd died that day? He was a licensed Bounty Hunter, a member of the Guild in good standing. A genuine hero. You know as well as I do he'd have gotten little more than a slap on the wrist for causing collateral damage. That's what they would've considered me, Travis. Collateral damage. An unfortunate casualty in the necessary apprehension of a fugitive. Maybe they would've revoked his license, but more than likely they'd have just suspended him for a while before eventually reinstating him. He sure as shit wouldn't have done any time. And no matter what happened, if he'd managed to bag my mom they'd have still paid him his bounty regardless.

"Everything he did back there was perfectly legal. But just because something's legal doesn't mean it's right. And sometimes, in order to protect the people you love, you have to break the law."

She'd been staring straight ahead this whole time, or down at the floor. But now, she finally made eye contact with him, a kind of sad look on her face.

"That's how I grew up, Travis. I got a ton of stories like that. I learned from a young age that justice would be denied to me simply because of who my mother was, who I was. Everything you believe in, all the ideals, all the institutions, they all failed us. In some cases, they actively betrayed us. That's why I am the way I am, why I do the things I do. Because I'm trying to survive in a world that rejected me. I couldn't go straight even if I tried. My mom tried. Lots of times. Eventually she was always found out and run outta town.

"I know you've got strong principles, and that's all well and good. But real life is far to complicated to just stand on principle all the time. Every now and then, doing the right thing means violating your principles."

She looked back at the screen, the end of the film still playing. "I'm not Eliza fucking Doolittle, Travis. You can't fix me. You can't mold me into the person you think I should be. I drink, I smoke, I curse, I do drugs, I break the law with impunity. I have lots of sex with a man I'm not married to, and on top of that I cheat on him pretty much whenever the hell I want. Doesn't mean I'm a bad person. Doesn't mean I'm irredeemable, that I'm incapable of doing the right thing.

"You want me to fight for you Travis, I'll fight for you. I'll go all in, and give it everything I've got. All you gotta do is ask. But don't expect me to be an angel."
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
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Travis Clark, you are an idiot.

At first, Travis was silent as his eyes met Grace as he sat and met her gaze from next to her, his back to the cabin wall.. For a moment, it seemed like he was just going to stare endlessly into her eyes. But when he spoke, the hardness and authority that Grace was so used to hearing in his voice had melted away.

In its place was a softened tone that instead spoke of great loss, loneliness and deep pain.

"I can't exactly pull it up on this system right now since we can't connect to the Galactanet, but let me be the first to inform you of something I think you should know. The BHG of the past, the one under Blake that he let rot within? It's gone. When we oustered his corrupt, milquetoast backside and replaced him with Willard "Gerbil" Shelton, there was a lot of changes made to the BHG to disinfect it from the rot that had wormed its way in. The first and foremost, aside from the law, were ethical and moral statues and rules put in place by Shelton with the help of Douglas Falcon, the 'Big Blonde Amazon', and myself. Most of all, it was to deal with loose cannons such as Brannigan who abused their power and authority... and who regularly did things like take favors and money under the table.

"In fact," Travis continued. "Brannigan was one of the first of the thugs hiding behind our badge to violently protest it. He took a shot at Shelton with that cannon of his... so I broke one of his mandibles and dislocated his arm by twisting it around, and then arrested him. So.. he's sitting on Roknar right now, rotting away for attempted murder and he'll never be able to hurt another living soul as long as he lives. It won't give back whatever peace and security he took from you and your mother that night... but as somebody in the guild, I'm very sorry that he did this to you. We've made sure that doesn't happen again... at least, not without dire consequences to the guilty party."

"And... I know you aren't Eliza Doolittle, Grace. You're Grace Callahan." Travis nodded. "You've been through a lot pain, and hurt, and suffering... and your mother, regardless of the moral implications of her actions... was a woman desperately trying to provide for her daughter. Believe it or not... I'm not going to condemn your mom for being your mom, even though I don't agree with how she did it or think it was right.

"You're right; just because something is legal doesn't truly make it right." Travis nodded in agreement. "I value the rule of law, but I'm not oblivious to that at all. In fact... the principles I spoke of sometimes put me in conflict with those in power. Such as Section Six. By chance, how are the shambles of Delacroix's broken pride, or would that be something you didn't know about...?

"I know that I can't fix you Grace... I personally believe only one who can 'fix' you, but that would be your choice and not mine," Travis smiled sadly. "And were it not for Him working in my life, I suspect our stories wouldn't be so different. So... how about this? I know I can't make you into someone you aren't... and I'm not perfect myself... So maybe I can show you a different way if you want? I know I can't force you to act a certain way or do something.

"I also want to say... did you a lot of wrong by holding my anger against you, and that is my failing both as a man and as a Christian. Would you be willing to forgive me?" Travis stared at the floor. "My anger was misplaced, but it was still hurtful to you. I let the loss of Smitts and Stewarts cloud my judgement. That, and... figuring out that somebody in your uniform left you in the wilderness of a jungle planet to die... at the time, it felt like a knife to the back. But I don't hold it against you, and you've already answered for what you've done... and you... and you..." Grace could see that it was difficult and painful even now for Travis to revisit the memory. "You didn't kill them. Again... would be willing to forgive me?"

"Beyond that... thank you." Travis turned away and began to stare at the cabin ceiling, and then the floor. "It's been a rough couple of years. I buried my mother after finally making up with her. My best friend basically decided it best to cut contact with me after having his first child, and I... I understand where he's coming from in doing that, but it stung. I'm a man who's made a lot of enemies because I try to do the right thing... and some dangerous people don't like that.

"And... Jessie Falcon." Travis narrowed his eyes as he stared at the opposing Starboard bulkhead. "I haven't seen her since the trials after the Second Corruption Incident. It's like she's fallen off the face of the earth. I can't find her either... and it stings, because I miss her, and I'm worried about her health, and... I nearly... I nearly had to kill her, Grace." Travis sighed heavily, the tension clear in his body language and tone. "One of my best friends... and I found myself nearly having to pull the trigger on her. It's one of the most hellish choices and circumstances you can imagine. I wouldn't force it on my worst enemy."

"But... it was Trisha's loss that hurt the most." Travis clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists as he stared at the floor; his voice was starting to cut and waver, a highly unusual behavior from a man known to have a steely resolve. "I- Grace, I only knew her for a very short time. So short of a time, and to know I had even a half-sibling was an incredible joy. I wasn't alone. And then... And then..."

"I received the worse news of my life: about what happened to her... about how she was so fragmented, so dispersed that she... that she'll never come back."

Travis was slightly shaking from the sheer emotion bubbling to the surface; the impossible had happened and the walls of Jericho had fallen. Observing both Travis' rising heart rate and Grace's reaction, Travis lifted his head to show tears welling up in his eyes. It was obvious that, deep inside, the death of Trishadarian Winters was a source of great pain to him.

"I mean... at least I was there for my mom when she passed, but Trisha and I weren't always able to keep in contact due to her circumstances. And when I found out that news, I... I went berserk. I was sad, I was frustrated, I was angry... more than anything, I feel... I felt like I wasn't there for my little sister when she needed me the most. I know there was no way I could have known what was happening or the trouble she was in, but after you and the Falcons and Samus and she literally risked your lives to pull me out of that prison complex... I... damn it, I should have been there for her. I could have... maybe she'd still be here if I had known. I feel that despite my ignorance, I failed her in the worst way possible. What kind of brother am I, even if we're half-siblings?"

Travis wiped a tear from his face with a clean rag he pulled from his pocket and shuddered softly; if there was one of the few things that would make him completely lose his composure, it would be recalling the raw pain of losing Trisha. He didn't care that it was embarrassing to be breaking down like this, especially in front of Grace. But thinking of the circumstances surrounding Trisha's death hurt immensely. The mess surrounding the Claymore and the Hyperion and cross-universal dimensional gobbledygook just seemed to vanish from his list of priorities; he just didn't care right now.
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Native Son

She'd known Big Time was at Roknar. He'd been there longer than she had, and quite frankly, it had surprised her. Even with the reforms Travis had spoken of, it was rare for Bounty Hunters to be punished. His was a particularly egregious case, but still... she just wasn't used to justice being served like that.

Unfortunately, he was in the SHU, the Secure Housing Unit. Getting to him would be extraordinarily difficult. She'd begun to formulate a plan, but then the order came down that she would be among those transferred.

As for Travis, he was almost there. He still wasn't quite understanding... but he was getting there.

Travis had a particular worldview: an ironclad set of morals and ideals that guided his every action. From his character in battle to his peaceful interactions with others, to his daily life all alone. It was admirable, but also, she felt, very limited. Clearly it had worked for him all these years, made him into the warrior he was, but it just didn't square with the world she had grown up in. It was only now that he was beginning to realize that, even if he was still a bit uncomfortable with the way she had lived her life.

Still, he'd just shown her the one thing he never had... compassion.

She gently lifted his chin up and turned his head to face her. Wiping a tear away from his face with her thumb, she gave him the warmest smile he'd ever seen from her.

Before Travis knew realized what was happening, she kissed him.
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Thea regarded Derad’s question for a moment as she began receiving the updated medical files.

“Given the number of protocols, and layers of protection I surmise that Olympus technologies fears a loss of control over their creations.” She said quietly “any sort of unscripted development of a platform like that would not be tolerated. It was only as a last resort that the programing would allow these new nanites to be produced, and protocol is to have them flushed from the system and replaced with approved configurations regardless of any improvement.”

Thea sighed “this is in part to prevent a catastrophic error, something like a grey goo scenario but I suspect also to maintain control.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Alissa smirked a bit and nodded “giving the other similarities it stands to reason that our two realities are not too far separated, there are some big differences in more recent history it seems but for the most part the roots seem to be the same” she said with a quiet shrug as she withdrew her hand “We certainly don’t have a lot to compare at this point.”

She could tell that there was something about her that made this Lenna uncomfortable; it was in the woman’s body language. And more to the point it was not the same way that seemingly everything made this woman unfordable. She had seen Lenna a few other times and the woman always seemed to be on edge, her guard was constantly up. There was part of Alissa that made her wonder If this woman felt surrounded by enemies. But that she would keep to herself for a time longer, she was still curious about this woman.

“You came on board with us…but you didn’t come through that rift, you and your friend are…locals. But not with the crew on this ship?”
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For a moment, Derad stood stock still, and in a robotic voice, said, "Hold, uploading files regarding 'Grey Goo scenario' from PAST MEMORY FILES."

Then his face became more human again, "Blah, blasted protocols and distorted memories, and, eerrrg. Anyway, yes, grey goo scenario, very nasty if it did occur. Can't blame them on that part. But to be fair, we're talking about machines that have gone on an unstoppable replication spree. Obviously, that only happens with very bad programming."

"Still," he went on, "its a shame they can't bother implementing such a concept, even on a small scale. I only mention it because data regarding the alien Zerg is intriguing. Biological creatures that literally can match that of modern day weapons. Incredible. Their adaptability really reminds me of [FILE CLASSIFIED]."

Derad hummed for a moment in more thought, "Can you ever decided to make modified nano machines, or even adjustments to your own ship. Apologies, but for all the superiority fuss, I do find the concept of a mechanical organism fascinating."

================

Lenna mulled over Alissa's response, and not really because it held any strategic value. Part of it actually her was intrigued by this divergent history she was hearing about, and subsequently, it played upon more 'ghost' memories. Phantom sensations that history, or at least her government's history, held a very important part to her.

"History can have an existential influence over our psychology."

The quote had simply just bubbled up to her head, from out of no where, and had decided to calmly jump out of her mouth. She hadn't thought about why she had said it, only that she just did say it.

Her eyes lowered in thought for a moment before saying, "Sorry, just got...lost in thought there. But you were asking me about how I ended up on your previous ship. The irony...is that whatever brought you here did so right near my ships locations. The shock wave knocked my ship out, and me...and my co-pilot unconscious. Next thing we know, we wake up surrounded with blood thirsty Protoss. The only place of safety was your ship. And now...this”

She spoke with a wave of her hand. And then the ship shook.

Twice.

Klaxxons began to blare. The Hyperion was under attack.
=======

This time, however, the enemy wasn't blood thirsty Zerg or zealous Protoss. In fact, these were other humans with similar technology.

Two Dominion Battle cruisers had warped right out of nowhere, and without saying a worth, began to attack, and launch both fighters and penetrator pods. And while the Hyperion was capable of warping out quickly if necessary, there was a problem. A small away team was currently on a planet, and there was no way the Raiders were going to abandon their crew.

Nonetheless, the Hyperion was a stalwart match even for the two Minotaur-class Battlecruisers. It simply needed to by time. Not that it was going to get out unscathed. Not only were smaller ships attacking, but some cruisers had sent penetration pods – drop pods modified to ram through part of the neo steel hull and allow infantry to board the ship.

Red marines would soon be marching in the hallways, trying to make target practice out of people.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Travis didn't react in anger at Grace's actions so much as shock. While Grace's kindness toward him was welcome, he certainly hadn't been expecting that sort of kindness. Indeed, he was so stunned that initially he didn't react at all as his eyes closed and he sort of... sat there.

And then, a flash of memory, wreathed in darkness, crimson and cruel cyan. A face etched painfully, hard into his memory. And an ache in Travis' chest that he simply couldn't explain as he recalled a set of glowing, weakened eyes, and a terrible whisper that clawed at Travis' memory:

“Don’t make a girl a promise you can’t keep… Please… End it here…”

As gently as he could, Travis gently pulled back from Grace's advances; not from revulsion, but with a profound sadness to his demeanor. Just to show that he bore Grace no malice, he gently hugged her as their eyes met.

"Grace... thank you." He spoke with genuine gratitude, being as careful as he could not to speak with hardness to his voice, groping for the words a bit as he spoke. "I... there's... there's a woman whom I care about. Deeply. I'm sorry for being so unforgiving towards you for so long, but I don't think that I could necessarily return your affections, at least to that l-"

And then, the Hyperion was rocked with a forceful, concussive blast, causing the Arctic Storm to slightly wobble due to the antigrav field beneath the ship being disturbed. Travis held onto Grace reflexively to keep her from flying towards the opposing bulkhead, on-board warning klaxons of both the Hyperion and the Arctic Storm sounding off. Shaking the disorientation from himself, Travis stood as he heard the stabilizer field generators kick on, Constantine reappearing from the holoprojector with a grim, soured expression; whatever news he had was not good.

"What the heck was that, Constantine? Did we get hit by an asteroid or something or did Horner just send somebody fresh from the cantina up to the bridge...?" Travis had gently helped Grace to her feet, his mind seeming to immediately snap from his woes and into the current situation; a trained, reflexive response evident of Travis' multiple experiences with such as he immediately activated the console and depolarized the cockpit to examine his surroundings; the hangar doors had jarred themselves such and Travis could see sparks coming from the nearby control console, which had apparently been damaged in the blast.

Guess there won't be any taking off from here, which means I'm cut off from the Thunderwolf. Shoot.

"I only wish that it were the case," Constantine rippled his brow as he spoke, steepling his hands. "We are under attack by two hostile capital ships and their accompanying fleets, it would seem; according to the database that Captain Horner so graciously allowed me to access, these are the vessels that we are faced with. Be advised, I've detected boarding craft throughout several areas across the Hyperion's hull; we're not alone. They've attempted to board the Thunderwolf as well, but thus far they have failed; I've detached her from the Hyperion's hull and I have moved to engage the enemy where I can."

Travis gritted his teeth as he read the tactical readouts for the situation: according to the readouts, the enemy forces were considerable enough that they were certainly in trouble. Two Minotaur-class Dominion battlecruisers (whoever the Dominion were, and Travis had only heard whispers, they were not very friendly with the Raiders), each 560 meters in length, were holding position just within range of both the smaller Thunderwolf and the much-larger Hyperion. Both vessels were also accompanied by a smattering of other aircraft classifications including crafts labeled as the A2 Viking, the DF/A-19 Wraith Mk 2, the DF/AS B-12 Screamer Tac Fighter and the UED-AS12 Valkyrie.

Travis examined the specifications of every vessel and narrowed his eyes; whoever or whatever this Dominion was, they were armed to the teeth and clearly weren't in the mood for peaceful negotiations.

Well, if it was a fight they wanted, they were about to get one.

"Grace... cover your eyes, please; this is going to be bright." Travis could only hope that Grace was listening as he slid back the left sleeve of his shirt and pressed a button upon a device taking up the majority of the surface of his forearm. The cockpit was engulfed by an almost blinding, cyan-white light for a mere moment, and as a current of energy began to coalesce around Travis’ body, a noise like the crackling of electricity rang out through the cockpit cabin.

When the light faded, Travis stood in his trademark power armor, the visor polarizing as if to prepare for combat. Travis shuffled over to the starboard bulkhead and began using an interface holopanel. There was a hissing of air, and part of the bulkhead slid back into the wall, revealing a small part of Travis Clark’s formidable arsenal. Travis reached inside and handed grace two weapons, both of which she would recognize intimately; one was a Federation Standard pistol with two clips of ammunition, the other was an FSA-PCPAR3B “Grinch” Assault Rifle with a bandolier of four clips, the usual mainline firearm of the Galactic Federation Commandos Corps.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have any spare body armor that would fit, but this will have to do; I assume you still know how to handle these things?” Travis spoke as he reached to retrieve his Fenris from the armory, as well as two small compact silver tubes and a few small, grape shaped objects. As he did this, Constantine was bringing up a hologram of the nearby halls aboard the Hyperion; the boarders were clad in what appeared to be a crimson-hued version of the CMC-400 combat suits he had helped Swann to retrofit and repair earlier; and there was that strange symbol he had seen earlier, a star raised over a shape that seemed to resemble a clenched fist, set on a sea of red. “It’s up to you if you want to sit tight, Grace, but if you want to go you should know what we’re dealing with.”

The Arctic Storm's cockpit began to darken as the gunship was being set for combat mode. Tension began to fill the air heavily; something was about to go down.

=================

["Captain Horner,"] Constantine broke over the comms. ["I can coordinate intelligence and aerospace maneuvers with you; the full arsenal of the Thunderwolf is at your disposal, sir. Tell me where you want her, and you’ll have her there.”]

As the chaos broke out over all over the Hyperion, Constantine had been busily working to coordinate with both the ship’s native Adjutant AIs and with the human crew at an almost breakneck pace; normally he was used to concentrating himself in four or five different places at the same time… but now his attentions were further split into 40 or 50 different places; this on top of trying to maneuver the Thunderwolf without any boarded crew.

It was a grim situation, no matter how one looked at it; two VERY large enemy vessels, each with its own full complementary fleet were baring down on them, in addition to boarders.

Another message broke over the comms, this time both to Horner on the bridge and to Commander Raynor, wherever he happened to be; the temporary transponder code was soon identified to match to that of the comms of Travis Clark.

[“Captain Horner, Commander Raynor, it’s my understanding that you gentlemen have a bit of a rat infestation going on; I couldn’t take off to engage the enemy outside, so I’m ship bound. Your orders, gentlemen…?”]
Edited by Deadly Aim, Jun 25 2016, 04:30 PM.
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~Alissa~
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Thea watched as Derad’s artifact of programing took hold for a moment before he returned to what she considered to be much more normal for the AI. She considered his question about changing the designs of nanites and whether or not she could change their programing or design, though she knew intuitively that one would follow the other.

“My core programming contains some procedures for such activity already” she said quietly her eyes seeming to unfocus, a small ring of a lighter blue beginning to circle which was becoming a sign that she was “thinking” or digging through code “now I am not restricted, it is conceivable that I could make any time of device I wished…” her eyes focused again a hint of some emotion crossing her features before her brows knit together again “though first I will have to synthesize how from the information I do have.”

Thea looked thoughtful for a moment before the virtual environment they were in tool on a sort of red hue, as if unseen alert lights began to flash. Several displays appeared in front of the AI which she began to work with.

“The hyperion is under attack, local chatter indicates Dominion forces have attacked, there are several capital ships and accompanying fleets. Boarding craft and enemy forces on board”

Her voice was calm, cool even, there was no fear in the AI though she was capable of it.

“Accessing local computer systems, hangar doors are wedged closed, unable to lend support, Operative?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The ship rocked and alarms began to blare in that moment, the crew present in the mess hall began to move with purpose. Alissa stood from where she was sitting pulling the single pistol she’d carried with her checking it quietly.

“Thea…”
***several Dominion ships have begun to attack this vessel, boarding parties have been detected***

“Begin tactical analysis of the enemy” Alissa commanded “and inquire as to where I might be the most use”

***confirmed…boarding party appears heavily armed and armored. Presence of heavy armor suggests absence of energy barrier…accessing local battlenet***

Alissa pushed the glasses she wore up her nose a bit as the HUD began to display the tactical data. She looked toward Lenna a moment then at the most likely direction. Her equipment for the most part was on the blackbird, she had a single energy pistol and a tech-blade, no armor, no shield, no cloak.

“You coming?” she asked before turning toward the hall she knew would lead her to the hangar

“Thea…hades protocol”

***command confirmed***

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

On the bridge Thea took over a small display that would be seen but was not currently displaying any vital tactical information. She simply appeared, as she does in virtual space, as a girl staring calmly at the person closest to the screen. Alissa had not given her a specific way to offer assistance, and this seemed the best way for her to do that.

“Hello, I am Thea, the tactical artificial intelligence housed on the blackbird. I have been instructed to lend my assistance as well as coordinate my operative’s efforts in confronting this incursion.”


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Native Son

Her name was Penelope.

That was what Jimmy called his Grinch. It was one of his very favorite guns. Like every weapon that he owned, he gave it a woman's name. It was more than a quirk of his... it was more like an obsession. It more or less proved just how much of a one-track mind he had. Grace had always thought there was something quasi-sexual about it. Nick could be the same way, weirdly erotic about firearms.

And then one day she actually met Penelope. And she felt like she needed to remove the word "quasi" from the equation.

Penelope was a waitress at 21 in Manhattan. She and Jimmy often went there, but she knew he also liked to take clients and colleagues there as well, to impress them and show off what an important guy he was. But whenever they would go there together, she would see this one redheaded waitress glancing over at their table and smile at him when she thought Grace wasn't looking. One day, she and Henry had gone out to dinner there, and they'd gotten her as their server. Which was when she learned that her name was Penelope. Grace didn't leave her a tip.

"You know, technically I'm spoken for too," she said. "I don't think I need to tell you how that goes."

As for the gun itself, Grace had handled the Grinch plenty of times before. It was a good weapon, but truth be told it wasn't really her style. Her game was much more about speed and precision. Stopping power and rate of fire didn't really get her as excited. She would prefer a good bolt action rifle in most cases. One shot, one kill. Then again, that wasn't necessarily the best way to go in the cramped corridors of a battle cruiser.

She took the weapon and flipped it from full auto to burst fire, and stuck the pistol in her waistband. Slinging the Grinch on her back, she also grabbed some smoke grenades and flashbangs, two apiece. Distraction and subterfuge, those were her bread and butter. Travis would ably supply the brute force, and she would deliver the finesse.

"Don't worry about me not having armor," she said. "They can't hit what they can't see." She flashed him a cocky grin. "Let's go."

.....................

"He can't hear you, you know."

Travis gave her a quizzical look.

"You were praying. I could tell. Even with your helmet on. You get this meditative look about you." They stalked through the halls of the ship, the sounds of battle practically just around the corner.

"But he can't hear you. Not out here." The look on her face wasn't mocking or disdainful, but strangely philosophical. "It's like being at sea. God only protects you so long as there's ground beneath your feet and blue sky up above. But out here..." she gave him a rueful grin. "Out here, you're in the Devil's territory. You should act accordingly."
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Well... have to disagree with you there, Grace." Travis had indeed been praying. "Even here, in this alternate universe, even with the Zerg creeping around, even on the Hyperion and somewhere that our understanding of that world is mostly turned upside down, I can feel Christ's presence and the peace He gives. So I still have to honor Him."

Now, it was Grace's turn to throw Travis a quizzical look. His only response was to shrug.

"I wouldn't be able to fully explain it even as a Christian; it's something that surpasses mortal understanding, save this: God is faithful, and He is, and He keeps His promises. Consequently, all the victories I’ve won, all the battles I’ve fought… I’ve only won them because God has allowed me to. My armor and my strength are formidable among men, and I may make plans, but God guides my steps."

The two had been stalking through a darkened hall; Constantine had been aiding them sporadically whenever he could spare his attention from the battle raging outside, aiding in detection of hostile forces and guiding them around sealed security bulkheads… or helping them avoid walking into a trap. Periodically, the two would have to stop and steady themselves as the Hyperion shook under the force of the assault by the Dominon’s vessels.

By about the fourth shockwave, the two had wormed their way through enough of the battlecruiser’s halls and into wider main shaft that Travis was starting to wonder if he was aimlessly guiding the pair of them through the ship. Thus far, his goal had simply consisted of getting past the enemy forces flooding in and working their way toward the core of the Hyperion where it would be safer to defend against the boarders, but now Travis was beginning to second-guess himself.

And then, even caught in his plans, Travis thought (even if for a moment) that he had heard a third set of footfalls coming from behind he and Grace. Immediately he went still and signaled for Grace to halt using hand-sign, his eyes zooming to the upper-right corner of his HUD to check the radar. Thus far, it wasn’t detecting any foreign hostile elements, but that could only be due to the enemy not having been detected by Constantine or himself beforehand. Travis stilled his breathing and his ears perked up within his helmet, listening carefully, sweeping his gaze through the room with his Fenris in a firing position, looking all around.

Again, there was a sudden if subtle clapping of sole to steel, and Travis listened carefully, sweeping the room. Now thoroughly suspicious, he switch the visor type to detect disturbances in sound using noise-reductive materials, overlaying it with thermal imaging.

And that’s when he noticed the faint-but-visible outline of a man creeping along slowly behind Grace in a crab-walking posture, drawing a knife with the intention to fillet her; he was likely using some type of cloaking device not detectable by basic sensors, as Travis would have never known he was there short of his intuition.

He thinks I am aware of him but can’t see him… so I need to give him a false sense of security. Travis narrowed his eyes under the polarized visor. So I need to get him to drop his guard. And there’s only one way to do that.

At first, Travis pretended not to notice, careful not to halt his sweeping too sharply before waving Grace on. But, when the saboteur attempted to creep closer to Grace, he spasmed in fear as Travis leapt upon him with the ferocity of a pouncing wildcat, grabbing the cloaked saboteur by the knife-arm and twisting with a loud crunch sound before throwing the screaming man further down the wide hall chamber with herculean strength into the far wall with a forceful impact.

Through his visor settings, the man’s heat signature went from faint to plainly visible; whatever dampening and cloaking device he had been using had been deactivated upon careening into the wall with a loud, meaty thud. Travis turned off the visor enhancements as he sprinted up and leapt, covering feet in a single bound before landing just before the man as he groaned in pain and disorientation, keeping the wrist cannon of his suit pointed at the man’s head.

“Don’t move.” Travis instructed, grabbing at the man’s firearm and using his free hand to activate the safety before tossing it to Grace; it was some type of semi-automatic, high-powered rifle, and judging from the man’s gear, he belonged to a type of special operations unit. “Keep real quiet and I’ll let you breathe. You have friends…?”

“Heh… you’ll find out.” The man’s voice was best described as gritty and flat, carefully even despite the considerable pain the man had to be in at Travis’ hands-

His hands. By the time Travis had noticed the man raising his unbroken arm to form a clenched fist pulling down at the air, he barely had enough time to look up at Grace in alarm, though his visor hid the expression in his eyes.

“TAKE COVER!” The command had been loud and forceful, without subtlety; there was little point to that now, Travis reasoned, as he knew they were being watched. When? For how long? Likely the only one who knew that was this man, this fellow spook. There would be no point in pondering that now.

And indeed, there was no time to ponder how long the pair had been followed, for as soon as Travis shouted the command, the right-side bulkhead of the hallway exploded in a cloud of debris, metal fragments, smoke and fire, and Travis could hear the sound of heavy, metal-plated footfalls storming into the room, opening fire on him. In the confusion he wasn’t sure if Grace had managed to take cover on time, but right now he didn’t have the luxury of worrying about where she was and how she was doing; he needed to assess the situation. In the confusion the operative attempted to slip away and took aim into the smoke with a pistol, but not before Travis quickly took aim with the Fenris and dropped him with two quick three-round bursts of fire.

Cover... he needed cover, or he'd be boxed into a corner. He didn't want to needlessly deplete the armor's shields.

“Constantine, we’re in hall…” A number, an indicator… Travis looked around, having ducked behind a pillar to avoid the hail of metal bullets sailing past him and into the heavy security bulkhead before finding it. “We’re in hall Twelve-B on Deck 4! Anything you can do to help us out, old man…?”

“I’ll… do my best, Travis! It’s… ngh… difficult to monitor you, The Arctic Storm, the Hyperion, the Thunderwolf and an entire spatial battle and attempting to hack the Dominion’s communications network all at the same time…!” Though this wasn’t the absolute limits of his capabilities, Travis could tell that the stressors of monitoring so many systems at once were starting to prove difficult for the aged GI. Seconds seemed to pass like minutes as Travis exchanged fire with his crimson-armed assaulters with periodic exchanges of fire before an answer finally came; they seemed to all be wearing heavy, red armor suits, and they all sported the Dominion emblem upon their plating in some fashion. “I have something for you, but it’s not much! Deploying the security barricades in Twelve-B and nearby halls! It’s not much, but these will give you some cove- NGH! I’m sorry, Travis, I need to go! There’s a fire in the reactor room of the Hyperion and I need to put it out!”

(OOC: Figured it was time to bring this back to life. Let me know if it’s an issue, Jefe.)
Edited by Deadly Aim, Oct 30 2016, 12:43 AM.
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Lenna immediately sat up, tense, when she felt Hyperion rock, her mind already to analyze the situation. And it didn't take her long make out a single key word in all the hubbub of thoughts flying about in the air: Dominion.

Immediately, her heart rate sky rocketed, and her hands became tense, clenched fists. The Dominion. Here!?, came a surprised, panicked thought. She had not expected them at all. Not now – except, she realized, she probably should have. It was high past her rendezvous hour, and she had failed to provide any communique as to her current were about. In such an event where she was still alive, still transmitting a homing signal from her neural inhibitor, there would no doubt be some kind of investigation. Ghosts did not suddenly go about doing their own thing. Either they died on a mission, got delayed and transmitted, or returned to base.

And of course her signal was coming from aboard the rebel flagship Hyperion of all places. That was certain to raise eyebrows. Her mind was already making the obvious conclusion given how the attack was so sudden and without warning; they were here for her, that she was sure of it. They could very easily sneak a Ghost aboard with all this chaos; granted, the Ghost could have come on board at any other opportune time, but since they obviously knew where the most wanted rebel ship was, why not kill two birds with one stone and cause some damage in the process.

All of this reasoning flashed through her mind in the time it took for Alissa to inquire on her actions; at which point, Lenna briefly hesitated. She did not want to confront even the simplest Dominion Marine, partially because they would not initially recognize her as a their fellow Ghost, but rather a part of the Hyperion's crew – and thus shoot. Even then, there was a chance they have been given orders to stand down if she had given the proper sign code, which was a big IF. And that was assuming they weren't twitchy.

Still, being shot wasn't the biggest issue. It was the idea of coming into conflict with the very government she was meant to serve that turned her stomach. After all, her loyalty as a Ghost still persisted, and she knew that if she confronted either the Marines or agent – well, her actions would appear errogonous. Almost treasonous. They would want an explanation for all her strange behavior. And...and then-

Lenna didn't want to think about it. Although she had a duty, there was a distinct, growing dread at even the simple idea of being brainwashed. She could not describe why, only that it was just...there.

She was torn in indecision, and it was only the sharp prod at her side that snapped her out of it. Her faced swirved to look at Ghelm's concerned face, trying to throw a scowl at him; instead, her demeanor became that of modest comfort. She was reminded how his quirky personality had gotten her out of odd spots, and had, in a way, provided her with an actual sense of direction rather than internal. Perhaps, at the very least, at the right time, he might provide her an answer to her delimma.

For now, though, she knew the only option was to keep moving.

“Lead the way,” she said to Alissa.

===================

Matt Horner was the top man in the bridge of the Hyperion.

Although he was technically Raynor's second-in-command, he was generally considered captain of the old Battlecruiser; Raynor himself was just the guy who led, and inspired, the Raider's as is. Matt, owned and commanded the ship in and out of Raynor's watch, as he was the ideal choice for the role. Aside from his idealis, he had all the bright hallmarks of a captain.

Which was why he was just a bit unnerved when one of his cadets nervously said, “Uhh, sir?” and pointed towards an unoccupied screens. With the image of a teenage girl on, actively talking.

Thea. Yes, he had become aware that their new guest had a artificiel intellgience, much like them, but he never expected them, or rather, her, to be so...life like. It was just a bit unnerving given how he was so used to the robotic tone of Agitents, who were more or less just drones. This one, however, had popped onto one of the Hyperion's screens without notification or pre-planned authorization.

All on her own.

Still, he was not about to turn away due assistance.

“Although my cadet doesn't appreciate hijacking an empty terminal, I'm all ears. In fact, if you can, could you transfer yourself to the holo grid over seeing the battle flight? It would make it easier to relay tactical information. Now then, what can you give me that I don't already know.”

==============
The Hyperion might have been an older model battle cruiser, but unlike some of the fresher made, Dominion ones, the Hyperion was highly customized and upgraded over the years. There was a reason it had been the Sons of Korhal flagship for so long, and it wasn't about to stop being one, even in the hands of the Raider's. Especially in the hands of the Raiders.

It might have been outnumber, but it was not entirely outgunned. And in many ways, could pull some VERY heavy punches. More so than the Minatour class ones before it. It could holds it own well enough against another Dominion cruiser, but against to, it might as well have been a fair fight. It was already putting a number on one of them, but there was still the away team below, on the surface, it needed to wait for.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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