Add Reply
PhiXZT0078 Ch.1; This is for REALZ
Topic Started: Oct 16 2009, 08:13 AM (144 Views)
Kuler_Icehart
Member Avatar
Corporal
[ *  * ]
“A war has ravaged the galaxy for 89 years, destroying most major trade routes and technological advances. The human race, which once sailed the heavens in elegant, beautiful skiffs and yachts, now plods through only the least dangerous routes in bulky, slow military cruisers. The lesser, unworthy alien races, who had lived subdued under the human race for generations, are staging uprisings on many worlds, reclaiming what once was theirs and should, by rights, belong to mankind alone. Once, men lived for centuries in peace and prosperity. Now, we struggle to survive seventy, eighty years of turmoil. Power sources had progressed to the point where one cubic centimeter of battery could fuel a city of ten million for a year. Artificial intelligence had advanced to superintelligence, surpassing even humankind in brilliance. Our security forces, who once wielded laser, plasma, and energy weapons no matter their rank, now are lucky to equip their lieutenants with .45s and SMGs. And all for what? All this, this new “Dark Age”, has come to pass because of the senseless squabbling between two factions: The Federation and the Coalition. Their forces are the only soldiers armed with anything close to modern weapons, yet still depressingly short of what was mundane a few decades ago. The Federation, who favor a strong centralist government, has been making advances in recovering cybernetic and AI technology: their followers can be implanted with an impressive array of mechanical devices. The Coalition, a collection of smaller factions, embrace the philosophy that the technology of the past caused this galactic apocalypse, and we should move towards new areas of development: they have begun outfitting their citizens and troops with extensive genetic modifications, allowing them to perform feats once thought impossible without mechanical assistance and acquire an impressive array of biological weapons. “
~an excerpt from the introduction to “Galactic Civilization: The Dark Age”, by Beltara Ingetial, galactic historian

Enter me, Designation Phi-XZT_4870. I know I used to be called something else (“frank” comes to mind) but it has all been wiped away by time. I once was a devoted soldier of the Telerial Empire, serving 25 years on the frontlines driving away insurgent uprisings. It was an insurgent mortar that halted my active service in the Imperial Marines, removing me from both of my arms and half of my face. I now have them all in cybernetic replacements, my eye, my arms, and since I was getting all this paid by “Pay article 3.40.22” I had a gas mask grafted onto me for testing. By the time I was ready for testing I was no longer looked after by the military but by the Insurgents who had won. For around 50 years after the Uprising, I was working as security for the rich and famous. Now I work with the Merc Guild and I have been for the past 150 years. Whatever has come from the chaos, They are all the same to me. I work for only my bank account. Some mercenaries have betrayed our time-honored philosophy and tied themselves to one side or the other. Stupidly they still call themselves Mercenaries; swiftly we, the “True Mercenaries Guild,” will hunt them down and destroy them after this war is over. Contrary to popular belief, we do nothing but simply to take orders with cash. And my orders are coming to me via ship-to-ship communication.


>>>Communications from base
>>>>>Priority Delta
>
>begin message
>>message loading…
>
>>message:
>
>
>Name: (n/a)
>Race: unknown
>alignment: no allies
>location: Kross System
>(enter details here)
>/>>OK, so, basically, this guy is wanted by I don’t know who for claiming himself to be a Maers’le* Destroyer. Expect trouble.
>Price: 30,000 Units
>> End Transmission
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>Save file/>>MEM.”assignments//Received//Enacted”./MEM<</
>> file saved to memory


*Maers’le. An ancient race of super assassins who were known for their legendary fighting abilities and, even more so, their secrets. The only things that galactic history knows about them are that they were silent, deadly, and that they came in two types: the Destroyers and the protectors. The Protectors were huge muscular men that specialized in interrogation, weapons, and anything that might require large muscle. The Destroyers were the others. They were usually the more lithe ones (Skinnier denotes weakness) who were the typical assassins and ordinance personnel. They were capable of killing someone and blaming it on someone else before anyone knew about it, including the assassinated. The last thing known about them was that both the Destroyers and Protectors waged civil war on each other and, since they were equal in strength and agility, they wiped out nearly their entire race. The rest disappeared. The only ones that did pop up were clearly impersonators.

After I finished refueling and updating my gear, I placed the coordinates into my ship’s memory and set myself on the fast track to Kross. As I waited, I Settled myself for my cyclic dose of nightmares from the Imperial frontlines.

I jerked awake, screaming. The nightmare was my platoon-mates coming from the dead, telling me how I have failed them all and how I deserve the artificial arms and eye. Haven’t had that one in a while. I had arrived at Kross. A planetary pit of the most disgusting people about the galaxy. There were only a few places worse than this, but this was one of the few that you usually didn’t go to in chains. He followed the exact coordinates enclosed in the packet of info sent by HQ to an even lower pit of what was once called a city. What now remains is a bar, a general supply and a large expanse of housing for those who worked at the local junkyard. I landed my craft, successfully hiding it from any prying eyes, placed on my heaviest armor, fueled my grafted jetpack and loaded myself with my best gear, not overlooking my explosive charges and lethal gas canisters. After locking down the ship, I headed to the bar, where most would be in this town, and found my quarry.
He didn’t seem to care about remaining low key. He was right in the middle of the bar. In matte black armor and big. Regardless of his obvious physical deviance from maers’le Destroyer, I could tell this was going to be hard. I slipped in and maintained my distance from him, looking at the man and assessing how I got him out of the bar and killed before he turns me into a tuna can. As I started to think, he turned and came right for my table. Stopping to stand in front of me. “Listen, don’t even try to kill me. I suggest you leave and say you never found me.” He said.
“Well, what makes you think I’m here to kill you?” I calmly responded, trying to belie my affiliations. I always wasn’t a very good actor.
“I know a Merc when I see one.”
I knew right away that he was not Maers’le. I he were Maers’len, he would have knocked me out and dragged me to somewhere private to talk without even raising anyone’s eyebrows. He also jumped too fast into assumptions; not befitting of a true Maers’len.
“Well then, let’s say we take a walk. We don’t want blood all over this nice bar now don’t we?” I said.
“Fine.”
We walked into a grungy alleyway, pausing only to pay the bartender. Before we even took a second step into the alleyway, he slammed his arm onto my shoulder, throwing my stunned body against the wall. Upon instantly recovering, I showed him what 25 years working in Spec Ops does to a man and I slammed my weight into my legs, vaulting forward into him while unsheathing my cybernetic needle ,installed into my index finger, attempting to jam the toxic cartridge’s contents into the man’s throat. Unfortunately, his armor was somehow fabricated to be impervious to the advanced metal’s near perfect nanosharpness, almost breaking my finger and costing me hundreds of units. With almost instantaneous reflexes, the man pulled out a pistol and fired, sending me flying into the other wall I knew there was internal damage that, without the armor,. If I didn’t have my armor on, I would have been in serious trouble. I fired one of my explosive darts straight for the center of mass; at this point, it was lethal for anyone, regardless of armor. They hit, sending the man to the wall opposite of me. The man dropped to the ground, instantly picked himself up, and looked at me with an expression that “anger” just pales in comparison to. I knew if the explosive charges hadn’t significantly harmed him, I had to act fast. The man had run up against me brandishing two swords, which were different from any I’ve ever seen, and was just about to attack when I triggered my jetpack, simultaneously tossing down one of my lethal gas canisters. Semi-opaque red gas filled the alley as I observed the man fall to the ground, clutching his throat. Even though the gas had not fully dissipated, I knew he was dead. I checked him to see what he had on him. All of them appeared to be standard issue M’Aer’Slaan Defender loadout: two defender swords, (capable of cutting through almost anything) two Defender pistols, (which sent a sonic blast which can be focused to act as a resistance field or as a regular gun) the Defender armor, (capable of resisting almost any weapon thrown at it except a nuclear bomb) loaded with an invisibility generator that makes spies drool all over them selves and an adjustable field of silence. To say the least, I stripped the man of what he had and placed ten units on his eyes for when he needs to be buried. Emotion was lost to me after the jerk shot before both were ready, that’s just rude. I left the planet after making sure that those who investigated only came up with mixed messages. Setting myself on another dose of serotonin-induced nightmares while I rode back to HQ. Once I got there, the regular communications came in.




>>>>>Incoming transmission
>> Transmission from <designation>>HQ
>
>
>open file
>>file loading
>
>
>>Target status :<<> destroyed
>>successful mission acknowledged. Wiring 30,000 units to account #1894*****
>> end transmission
>
>>>>>Incoming transmission
>>>Communications from base
>>>>>Priority Delta
>
>begin message
>>message loading…
>
>>message:
>
>
>Name: (n/a)
>Race: human
>alignment: former commando
>location: l’upth’ar System
>(enter details here)
>/>>the Feds say that this man is a danger to them and that the man should die. They’ve hired us so that their hands don’t get bloody. Right now, I don’t care what happens; I just want him to disappear. Since his comrades are probably close by, you will not be able to take him on alone. Your partner on this mission is codenamed “thejuggernaught”
>Price: 40,000 Units
>> End Transmission
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>Save file/>>MEM.”assignments//Received//Enacted”./MEM<</
>> file saved to memory


“The Juggernaught” eh? I’ve heard of him. A literal behemoth bearing pre-commando armor and enough weapons to supply a division of troops and still have some left for others. He also had problems understanding phrases like “inconspicuous” “lets move silently and blend in with the crowd.” Regardless of anything about this man, I could tell that this was going to be an interesting mission…
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
« Previous Topic · Characters · Next Topic »
Add Reply


Theme by Sith of Outline