Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Raylah
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Raylah

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The wreckage of the Chimera was still floating freely through an unknown system, followed by the alien weapons.

“Hey, what about that?” Julianna sounded weaker and weaker, but something must have caught her attention. “You think we could maneuver there?”

Kelsie wasn’t in the room with them and couldn’t see what they were looking at. “What? Where?” Julianna and David had a short debate. Their radio stayed on, but they weren’t talking directly into it and Kelsie could barely understand them. “Hey! I need to know what is going on, guys.”

“Sorry,” Julianna picked up the radio. “There is something like a space station orbiting the planet. It looks in one piece and deserted, or at least there are no ships or anything like that around. Except for the balls, which have deactivated by the way. We have been debating trajectories and whether our thrusters could get us there.”

Kelsie tried to scratch her head, forgetting she was wearing a spacesuit. “So, you want to end our suffering by smashing the ship into an alien space station? Hmm, I like the sentiment, to go with a big bang, but…”

“No, you idiot,” Julianna interrupted her, groaning in pain. “We are going to land there, get it operational, and then find a way to get back home.”

A bold plan. A crazy one. “I love impossible plans.”

“You said yourself we don’t give up. So shut up and let David do the one thing he is actually good at and fly this piece of garbage into a docking bay, which happens to be opened and empty. Just get ready, it might get a bit bumpy.”

Kelsie made her way into the supply closet where she had found the spacesuits earlier. There were a couple of emergency seats designed to keep people alive in case of a rough landing, and she quickly made her way towards one and strapped herself in. Was not being able to see what was happening for the better or for worse? Her fingers hovered over the radio button, ready to demand a status update, but eventually she decided to just sit in silence. There was nothing she could do for them. David was a great pilot and she trusted him. If anyone could safely land a crippled ship in a dead alien station, it was him.

Still, it was nerve wracking to just stay still and do nothing, especially when the ship started shaking and loud metallic wailing and screeching resonated through the hull. Kelsie’s hands reflexively jumped up to her ears only to get stopped by the suit helmet. And even if she could cover them, it probably wouldn’t help, the sound didn’t seem to be coming just through her ear drums but rather reverberated through her entire body, making bones rattle and muscles cramp. Even after the noises finally died out and the ship became still Kelsie still felt deafened and disoriented.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.” David’s voice was shaky and he was panting heavily. “Our piece of garbage has successfully landed inside a dead alien junkyard.”

They’ve actually made it. Kelsie realized that she never really believed they would. Fuck. What now? “Great job. You two stay put, I’ll take a look around.”

“Negative, we are already suiting up. We’re coming along.”

Kelsie frowned. “Like hell you are. Stay in position, that’s an order.” There was no reason for all of them to risk getting murdered by creepy alien spiders or robots or whatever could be stalking this place.

“Kelsie, I understand you are in charge and I totally respect it, but…” David had to pause to catch his breath. “The air is already getting... pretty thin in here. If we... don’t suit up now, we’ll pass out… and die.”

Crap, that was faster than she expected. Even without functioning life support, shouldn’t a room full of air last longer with just two people breathing it? “Copy, go ahead. What about Julianna? She can’t walk.”

“I don’t have to, dummy.” Julianna chuckled and cried out in pain. “Shit! Sorry. David is just duct taping this bone so it won't make a hole in my suit. It’s zero gravity, I don’t have to walk, you can just push me around. Plus, you think I would… AAH FUCKING HELL! … I would pass on this opportunity to explore new… SHIT! … technology?”

Kelsie winced every time she heard her friend scream out, whatever misunderstandings or feuds they had were completely forgotten. She knew damn well Julianna’s injury was severe, but there was nothing they could do about it until they had a breathable atmosphere. And even then, neither Kelsie nor David were doctors, they had no idea how to treat a bone sticking out of someone’s thigh. Kelsie remembered that for such a case the field medicine guide clearly stated one thing. Get the patient to a real doctor or they die.

She took a deep breath, trying to sound calm and encouraging. “Of course not. Plus me and David wouldn’t recognize an alien reactor even if we were sitting on it.”

The hangar bay wasn’t large, but three humans in space suits still looked tiny in it. Aside from the Chimera, which looked more like a twisted piece of metal than like a spaceship now, it was completely empty. Kelsie eyed several sets of wide and deep scratches on the floor and the ceiling, leading from the entrance to the Chimera. “Nice landing. The locals will love you.”

“Next time you try it.” David rolled his eyes. “Besides, there don’t seem to be any locals around coming to give me a parking ticket.”

That was true, the place looked completely deserted. There was no power but Kelsie and David managed to pry open the door leading from the hangar bay to the station itself through what would normally function as an airlock. The hallways were dark and eerily still and silent but more importantly very large, as if built for creatures about twice the human size. The occasional closed doors they passed by matched the size of the corridors, dead screens hanging on the walls way above the trio’s heads.

As per Julianna’s request they were following a set of large tubes and thick wires on the ceiling, hoping it would lead them to the engineering section. The station was massive, Kelsie didn’t get a chance to see it from the outside, but even from within it looked huge, the dark corridors, illuminated only by the thin light of their flashlights, were seemingly endless. The magnetic boots made no sound in the cold vacuum.

Julianna’s guess proved right, the tubes and wires kept joining together and eventually led them to another large door leading to a separate station section. There was even a small floor plan on the wall, captioned with unknown symbols. David climbed up to grab the paper and bring it down but it withered away, falling apart in his fingers.

“Don’t touch anything, it’s ancient,” Julianna frowned upon seeing it destroyed.

David scoffed. “It was a fire escape plan, not a priceless artefact.”

“Anything is a priceless artifact when it’s hundreds of years old,” she sneered, beads of sweat popping up on her forehead. Her voice was weaker by the minute and she seemed to have a hard time keeping her eyes open. “Just get to… the biggest room.”

Kelsie and David exchanged worried looks but they grabbed the girl’s hands and slowly pushed her forward as they walked.

“I’m not an expert, but that does look like a reactor.” A huge circular object, not unlike the balls that followed them outside, was hanging in the center of a gigantic hall, much larger than their flashlights could ever illuminate. There were some wires and thick cables connecting it to the walls.

Julianna smiled faintly. “See… not even sitting on it. A console?”

“I think it’s up there,” David pointed to a workstation with a height of at least seven feet. “Seems like these guys were a bit taller than us.” He climbed up to look at it and threw his hands up in frustration. “There are some controls here alright. But I have no idea what they do. There are some squares and triangles and lots of other weird shapes marking it. It seems dead though.”

“All right, I’ll help Julianna up so she can take a look at it. You ready?” Kelsie turned to the girl only to realize her eyes were closed. “Julianna?”

“What happened?!” David yelled from above.

Kelsie didn’t respond right away, but checked Julianna’s vitals on the suit monitor first. “She passed out. Her pulse is too weak.” She was dying. Kelsie didn’t have to say that out loud, they both knew it damn well. “Just start the fucking reactor.”

“What do you mean, start the fucking reactor? There are dozens of buttons and switches and I don’t even know what the other things are. I can’t exactly try them all out randomly. Plus they don’t really seem to be doing anything, I pressed one by accident while climbing up and nothing happened.”

This was a nightmare. Her friend was dying in her arms and there was nothing Kelsie could do for her until they had at least some resemblance of a breathable atmosphere. Ironically, it was Julianna who could have told them how to start the damn reactor. But Kelsie refused to give up. “We only need emergency power. Which means we need some sort of emergency switch. No matter how weirdly alien these guys were, something like that must be big and easy to reach.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything like that up here. But… what about that?”

Kelsie looked up to see David pointing to a wall behind them. There was a lever there, a big one, covered in black and white stripes. “Worth a shot. Come help me.” Kelsie walked over and climbed up the wall, David pushed himself off the console and flew across the room. Using their magnetic boots to stand on the wall, they both grabbed the lever and tried to pull it. It didn’t move.

“This… would have gone a lot easier… in a damn combat suit,” David growled.

That was definitely not the first time today that thought had crossed Kelsie’s mind. “Just shut up… and pull! 3..2..1.. NOW!”

The lever finally gave up and they managed to pull it down. Nothing happened.

“Fucking hell. Maybe this place is just dead for good.” David kicked the lever angrily.

And so were they. But… There was something different. “Wait. Do you feel it?” It was a slight vibration, a silent hum that they couldn’t hear, but some primitive part of their bodies could feel it. A couple of lights came on and Kelsie quickly disconnected her boots off the wall and pushed herself down to the ground. Just in time. The gravity was way smaller than their normal 1G, but it still made her landing pretty hard. David hit the floor right next to her with a loud bang.

“You alive?” Kelsie pushed against his shoulder.

There was a quiet painful moan. “I think so. You could have warned me.”

Bright white lights were coming up all around the room, finally illuminating the entire vast space. The big ball in the middle was surrounded by a faint blue glow now, not very safely-looking, but stable for now. The couple rushed over to Julianna, suddenly feeling strange after such a few hours without gravity.

“The pressure outside seems stable.” Kelsie checked a small screen on her suit. “Lower than our normal atmospheric pressure, but that shouldn’t be an issue. Quite low on oxygen though. It will be breathable, but just barely.”

David frowned on the readings. “You do realize this thing only scans for oxygen and no other elements? What if there is something in the air that those aliens needed to live but it will be poisonous to us?”

“What other choice do we have? It’s not like we know how to reconfigure it. I mean it’s a freakin’ miracle there is some oxygen at all.”

“Fine, but I’ll try it first.” David’s hands rose up to his helmet but Kelsie stopped him.

“No, you won’t. You are a pilot, Julianna is a scientist. I am the most useless person around here. I’ll try it.” David opened his mouth to protest but shut it again after seeing her expression. There was no debate on this matter.

Kelsie took a deep breath and unlocked the safety flips on her helmet. There was a quiet hiss as the high pressure in her suit pushed the air out. She exhaled slowly and then, after a moment of hesitation, inhaled the outside air, her face immediately twisting in disgust. “Oh my god,” she gurgled, trying to keep the contents of her stomach inside. “It smells horribly. And it feels like when you take your mask off at a high altitude. I feel a bit dizzy, but I think I’ll live.”

“Great.” David’s helmet went off as well and he coughed in surprise. “What the hell is that smell? Alien piss?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Come help me.” Kelsie was already bent over Julianna’s lifeless body, taking her space suit off. The girl’s pulse was barely even registering at all. “Shit. What do we do?”

“Well…,” David hesitated and reached into the backpack he had been carrying. “I brought this, just in case.”

The box had markings of the New Haven Directorate. Kelsie opened it to see several injections carefully tucked inside, each filled with a strange fluid. Nanoshots the New Havenists offered them on their first diplomatic meeting. A sample box to be brought to Ellara for careful study. “You do realize we have absolutely no idea what this thing will do to her?”

David raised his eyebrows. “She is dying, it can’t be worse than that. You said yourself that those guys were quirky but quite friendly. They wouldn’t give us something straight out harmful.”

“Right.” It made sense. “But I doubt it can fix that,” Kelsie pointed to the sharp white bone end sticking out of Julianna’s leg. “I think we need to… like… I don’t know, get it inside somehow?”

“Dammit. Fine. I’ll pull and you just… press on it, I guess?” David was just as nervous as Kelsie. This was way beyond their level of expertise. “Ready?” It was a very good thing the girl was unconscious, because what they did resembled butchery more than an actual medical procedure. After that, David grabbed one of the injections from the box and looked at Kelsie with a silent question. She was in charge, it was her call. But the decision was obvious here. She nodded and David shoved the needle into Julianna’s thigh near the wound and pushed a button on the top to release the nanites.

Kelsie exhaled slowly. “Now we wait.” There was nothing they could do until Julianna woke up. Kelsie tried not to think about the option the young scientist wouldn’t wake up at all.

“No, actually.” David reached into his backpack again and fished out some tubes and needles. “Now I will give her my blood.”

“Your blood? When did you come up with all this?”

David shrugged. “As much as I’d like to claim credit for this brilliant plan, it was actually her idea. We had some time to think what’s next while you were hooking up the reactor to the Chimera. Don’t worry, we’ve cross-checked the personnel files to make sure we are compatible. You aren’t, by the way, just in case you wanted to sacrifice yourself heroically again.”

Yes, that did sound like Julianna, having a plan for everything. Saving her own life despite being unconscious. Kelsie’s numb fingers needed two tries to get the needle into Julianna’s arm. And four tries to get it into David’s. “You sure about this?”

“Now you are asking after stabbing me a hundred times? Of course I am, just do it.”

She connected David’s and Julianna’s bodies with a thin flexible tube and opened a small valve. The tube turned red immediately. “I think you should be higher than her.”

David yawned. “Well, there isn’t exactly a bed I could lay on.” No, there wasn’t even a chair. There was something vaguely resembling it standing in the corner, but it was taller than a normal table.

“Just sit up here.” Kelsie helped him lean against the base of the workstation, sitting beside to support him. They were both tired from all the stress and the low oxygen levels, David even more so from the bloodloss. Kelsie reminded herself she needed to stay awake to stop the blood transfusion soon, unless she wanted David to bleed out. “We’re fucked up, aren’t we?” she sighed.

“Hmm.” David’s voice was quiet. “But it’s pretty.”

Kelsie looked up. The reactor was still surrounded by a faint blue glow that seemed to be moving, reminding her of Aurora Borealis. The shimmer was mesmerising, dangerous and alien, yes, but truly beautiful. Kelsie rested her head on David’s shoulder. “Yes. It’s pretty.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

Member Seen 2 mos ago

@Timemaster@Sigma
O P : B L I T Z
LOYALTY
New Beijing

To anyone versed in theology, they would presume that a crusader-like gathering of soldiers would have frequent prayers, incense and meditation. The Church of the Damned catered to the poor, downtrodden masses of the Frontier or the lower city states. These were former gangsters, murderers, beggars, cutthroats and day-to-day survivors of the Khanate. Enlightened (or attracted by shelter and food), they would "shed" their previous lives and either be inducted as pilgrims, protectors or clergy. Unlike the theocracy, the Damned flaunted their protection and guns, reveling more in the martial aspect of humanity's spirits. And so, the "Extra-Solar Monkey Group" as they were locally called, looked more like a regular military camp than expected. If one ignored the many shirtless simians covered in body paint and listening to hardcore "go-drilla", new drill music originating from Reformed America.

That is to say, not all of the E.S.M.G were Damned, there were apes from across the Khanate present. Thus the tension was thick in the air, especially with recent events. Knives were sharpened in base, cliques formed and everyone was ready to point "who's who" for defection. The assigned officers were scrambling to keep order, barely holding on to the city as they were. It was these officers, handpicked by the Khanate ambassadors for their military/Legion service, Damned or not, that kept this ball rolling. Not that they lacked their own arguments and gripes.

"Fuckin' Freemen pricks, as if we didn't have enough on our plate in this spirit forsaken city." A bulging gorilla covered in white body paint and feathers, a typical Damned protector. A primitive look which was completed by the axe strapped to his waist but was interrupted by the twin-barrel chain gun on his back when in combat.

"Can't say I blame the wig-wearers, these people need freedom! My brother best be leading those pansies while he's over there, Washingtons know best!" Major Washington, not to be confused with Major General Washington, leader of the remaining Reformed Americans which remained. They were called the "breadwinners" of the traitors, for staying on their contracts instead of jumping ship. No one trusted them so they were sent to man the dangerous checkpoints outside the Iron.

Jeers and insults were thrown around the room, the tension boiling over into harsh banter.

A sharp clack reverberated through the tent. Major General Batzorig I, infamous younger brother to the Khan, grumbled from his seat and stood, cane in hand. Blind in one eye, experimented on with then-illegal procedures and the most experienced mercenary of the lot. Respected enough to be chosen as head of the E.S.M.C. Human fingers pointed at several officers.

"You, you, you and you." The four stood at attention as they knew how, each varying slightly from each other. The old wizened hand then guided itself along the map on the table, tracing a red-marked section. Several in the tent winced. Red meant dead in this city, the most concentrated White Flower presence was there. Along with their strange allies. Outside the Iron meant being surrounded and outnumbered with second-rate equipment.

"We make inroads into White Flower-territory in three days time. In light of the news of the desertions and the Columbian betrayal, we must show a stronger face in this city. The plan is to clear the way for F.O.B Steel, near the perimeter of the red zone. We must reduced WF numbers near this red line." The red outlined the most dense part of the city, which limited sensor accuracy and greater mobility for the apes. A perfect spot for ambushes. "Standard procedures apply. Do not fire unless fired upon, keep an eye out for scouts, IEDs and ambushes. You will each lead a convoy of five Warhead-class APCs, two overwatch teams and a flight of drones. A three prong offensive backed by a QRF reserve."

A grim task, sure to be the deadliest operation in the war so far. Though the majority of the 401st had been captured into POW camps near operational HQ, elements were still at large actively opposing the occupation of the city. An armed, deadly and trained force of regulars supported by those strange human clones and regular WF. A force to be reckoned with though simian supremacy still shone in the minds of many, dulled only by the brutal city-fighting of the time past.

"The rest of us will strike at known WF hotspots outside the red zone, coordinated between myself and Major Washington. Give you some time and breathing space to hit these softskins hard in the mouth. There will be limited ECU support, they are tied up with other elements elsewhere so I'm told." Several apes snorted at the comment. The focus was on Neo London in this revolution. Leave it to the apes to be operating the unappreciated sideshow, not that any of them thought this war would continue on for much longer.

"Ready your apes and say your prayers. Operation: Blitz is in effect and I want everyone prepared for this push. Lets show these softskins what a simian blitzkrieg looks like."

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The brass had decided to operate during the night while in lockdown hours, to increase the chance of hostile activity. If they could flush out the WF now while minimising civilian casualties, their slipping hold on the city could strengthen. Their advanced sensors, drones and overwatch teams should provide enough coverage to negate the effect of the dark.

This did nothing to make the streets of Neo Beijing any less creepy to one Sergeant Kingston, who had to spend his time twirling an overly large knife to calm his nerves. Joining the E.S.M.G to make a fresh start in a wider galaxy, he could not have made a worse decision in his opinion. An ape with common sense could see they were on the wrong side of history here but at least the job paid well. Well enough to babysit upstart, jumpy baboons that is.

A pothole sent heads into the ceiling, reminding everyone why this particular class of APC was so cheap. The orangutan dialed the in-vehicle music louder to drown out the swear words from the back, eyes scanning his tac-screen.

"♪ That's why I fucked yo bitch you fat mothafucka. West Side! ♫"

The tactical UI HUD of the Khanate militaries were its pride and joy. The INFOWAR cloud connected every military asset through high-speed encrypted connections, with each soldier carrying a mini-computer to better facilitate information. Almost instantly, an entire company of soldiers could be made aware of hostiles marked red on their HUD with casualty reports, estimated enemy firepower and numbers. Upon the loss of an officer, the near-AI sorting INFOWAR is able to dictate field promotions based on active performance evaluations while following the order of command. Communication was instantaneous and soldiers can hook into their local flight of drones for the advanced sensors and a bird's eye view of the battlefield. Standard equipment came with extra information on health levels for individuals or squads, stim level info, ammunition count and the vulnerability of known materials in marked buildings. Legion and customised equipment could even improve upon these feats. Even now, Kingston could watch in real-time the other convoys racing through the streets of New Beijing while checking on the vital signs of the apes behind him.

- Health levels are all clear Lieutenant, the music helps. Kingston quipped into voice comms, his direct superior giving a small acknowledgement from the APC behind his lead one. The sergeant took the time to marvel at the human streets around him.

If he used two words to describe it, it would be empty and depressing. No wonder the humans needed those simulations to get through the day if their cities was as colourless as this. At least compared to his own Freemen city, it was not as vivacious as he was used to. This disappointed Kingston, who expected better from his predecessors but this was to be expected from an inferior species. They were bred to be better after all. He recalled the last few weeks of violence which surrounded the apes, harkening back to the ape's own Last War. Unlike themselves, it seemed as though the humans did not learn from their own mistakes. Two wars in what, mere months of galactic interaction?

But he had to admit, these humans were crafty. They were near equals to apes in martial prowess, if only in cunning. Kingston could recall the number of ambushes and IEDs which befell on poor convoys, the amount of blood spilt, flowing through the streets. If they wanted to fight brutal, the apes could too. Limbs were torn off and anguished screams would reverberate within walls to strike fear into the human resistance. They always matched the apes in fiery determination. Which was why the silence of the last ten minutes since entering the red zone was suspicious.

"Gunner Xi, do you see anything with the APC sensors?"

"That's a negative Sarge, no movement except for standard household human stuff. If we can sense these humans mating in their bedrooms, we'll be able to see them coming before they swing our way. It's empty of hostiles."

The orangutan NCO grinded his teeth, picking at fleas in an attempt to relieve his anxiety. Maybe the humans just retreated, knowing that they were coming? He glanced at their objective on the HUD. A bribed and blackmailed informant told the brass of heavy WF presence near an empty plaza. The Flowers must know that the E.S.M.G was on their case. Where the fuck were they?

"♪ Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac ♫ Call the cops, when you see Tupac-"

A sharp bang was heard, followed by a crack as the bulletproof windshield of the APC did its job. A bone-white object fell to the side of Kingston's peripheral vision. Of course, a bloody intersection before the plaza was where they chose to take their stand. The drivers slammed on the brakes as soon as the impact was heard. The Damned overwatch teams raced forward to provide support. INFOWAR chimed with information.

>Hostiles detected and marked: 2
>Projectile = Spear, possible clone WF presence
>Error, error
>Sensors confirm presence of previously unknown hostiles: 62
>IMMINENT DANGER: EXPLOSIVE DETECTED
>WARNING WARNING: ALL <Relevant> ASSETS UNDER ATTACK
>WARNING WARNING: SENSORS INHIBITED BY UKNOWN BLOCKER


Kingston's enhancements allowed time to "slow down" for him, adrenaline pumping through his enlarged veins. His eyes bulged in surprise. Memory racing, he tracked the primitive spear in his mind. To it was strapped a miniature explosive.

Courtesy of the One, monkeys.

"Ah fu-." A searing heat, deafening noise. Kingston saw black and knew no more.
@Irredeemable@Tortoise
O P : F R E E D O M R I S I N G
LIBERTY
Neo London

They felt calm even as another Jetrike sped past their position, spitting out the dwindling stim-cigars and stamping on it. The room was dark and dreary, part of a boarded up New Hollywood home turned hideaway. The entrance of the apes into the White Flowers was controversial, to say the least of it. It was clear the majority of their "allies" only trusted them as far as they can throw them, which was not very far given how heavy apes are. Thus the deserters were sent into the thick of it by their new leaders, graciously left to their own devices as long as they did not interfere heavily with human operations. This way they could be out of sight and out of mind for the xenophobic humans which populated the irradiated world. They liked it this way. No softskins to slow them down.

They were all equipped with heavy weapons by human standards, large caliber guns which just made the right sound that the apes could enjoy. Even distinguished Freemen enjoyed the firepower that simian guns provided. Human weapons lacked a certain dakka quality. One gorilla even had a large rotating cannon on her back. Along with their armament, each deserter was provided state-of-the-art technology, courtesy of the Republicans.

Overt visors with bulging communication and sensor suites covered everything from their nose upwards. Sleek armour painted gold, black and red, stamped "LIBERTY" in the ostentatious way the wig-wearers liked. Ribbons adorned the arms of each Freeman, regalia of past conflicts, quotes of freedom etched on to the metal. More than a few had the Statue of Liberty tattooed on their person or otherwise put on their armour. Each of them, much like their American brothers, were firm believers of liberty of all peoples and the right for self-governance. The desertion was as easy to them as it was to walk out of a room, their minds were made up as soon as the Revolution came to be known.

Back home, they would be regaled as martyrs of freedom. Though none of them will ever set foot on New Gift ever again, the wings of freedom must fly in every world. No matter how many men, women or children have to die for it.

They were, of course, zealots. The lot of them. Mentally insane Republican Army rejects who were shipped off to do the bidding of the government which turned its back on them. Not that they minded, it was this or be a gene-slave for another foreign power. Tiffany Holstead provided them a glorious death, pushing the boot of oppression into the dirt and spitting on it. The ecstasy each felt when they maimed and killed the oppressors was addictive. But still, they waited in silence, heat rushed to their furry cheeks as they waited for the chime.

>Hostiles detected and marked: 10
>Heavy <"Protector"> presence
>BE ADVISED: ENEMY FORCES INBOUND
>MARK
>GO


Glass and rubble rained on the Protectors down below as apes flooded out of the building. They screeched and hollered war cries, erupting into a once silent alleyway. The cannon spat its load, kicking up rubble in front of the Terror Machine to stop it in its tracks. Heavy, booming gunfire tore up the street and the humans below, some apes choosing to close in for their kills. An ungodly amount of noise and light belched out of the Terror Machine, making the apes falter in their attack, allowing the Protectors to almost reinvigorate themselves into a counter-attack. But the apes had reached close quarters that same second. Ears bleeding and hallucinating from the noise, the closest apes screeched even louder, baring fangs. The simians lunged just as emergency sensory shutdown activated, blocking out their sense of sight and hearing.

The smell of blood and fear was enough to guide them. Shrieks were heard under the cacophony of gunfire and terror-tactics as limbs were torn, heads were bitten off and torsos were pummeled. The tight quarters of the city street favoured the bloody apes which ripped and tore through their opposition, splattering blood against the walls and the Terror Machine. The panicked driver attempted reverse out of the ambush but one close quarters gorilla smashed through the door, sensing the fear and panic. Extending one meaty arm over the human's head, a good squeeze later and viscera covered the inside of the vehicle.

The bloody, noisy slaughter lasted only two minutes. Swift and brutal justice delivered unto these "Protectors".

But just as quickly as they struck, nearly all of them left.

Climbing rooftops or scampering into hallways, Matuvistan or ECU reinforcements found the same disgusting sight all around the city after the initial attack on New Westminister. Patrols would need to be reinforced and trackers sent out to find the beasts. The tactical effectiveness of such ambushes were marginal, only harming a few patrols before the Matuvistans cracked down on them, inflicting harsh casualties on the apes. But the psychological damage of it all was what the apes were searching for. The icing on the cake came from the two martyrs left behind, hijacking the Terror Machines.

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The inside of the once-ECU vehicle was a mess of wires and computers. One driver and one hacker was all that was needed. Though some pairs were cuaght before they could gallivant around the city, many were successful in their efforts. Merely rerouting all power to the speakers and changing the sound file they played, they would drive off in a high speed chase around the nearest concentrations of ECU citizens. They would hoot and holler, singing with both brevity and a touch of sadness.

"Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
Then join in the fight
That will give you the right to be free!"


The lunatic martyrs would be killed by whatever forces could catch them first, driving off in a wild goose chase. Though their human leaders may not understand, the apes knew the power of music to rouse a people.

Liberty reigns. Free the ECU.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Dog
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Dog

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PLUTO & KUIPER BELT

Smell that? Well, you can’t. Space has no smell! While space has no smell to speak of - there is something else more valuable than that: RESOURCES. Do you know what place has resources? The Sol System! That’s right! In our case, Pluto and the Kuiper Belt. So - what does Pluto have? Good question, it has frozen nitrogen, methane, water, and carbon monoxide ices. Now, carbon monoxide has no real value, but nitrogen, methane, and water are really-really valuable. Who would want all of this stuff in the first place? Another good question - it is the Ustonian Mega-Corporations. More specifically, Petrochemical Incorporated, Standard Agricultural, and Union Chemical Industries. Those Mega-Corporations, known as First-Rate Corporations, are the most powerful and largest corporations within Uston. It is also important to note that these corporations are Agricultural and Chemical corporations (I do not think I need to really explain what that is, hopefully).

Given the very nature of cutthroat competition between First-Rate Mega-Corporations, things are bound to get heated. Claims on Pluto made by Petrochem, StaAg, and U.C.I, have already resulted in major-shadowy actions undertaken by all of these corpo(s). Hell, even the geographical surveying teams were escorted by subsidiary security firms. Wild stuff. Peace was eventually made (after weeks of shady deeds done) between the corpo(s) to avoid another bloody corporate war. Petrochem would get the northern regions and parts of the methane deposits. StaAg got most of the nitrogen deposits and southern regions while Union Chemical Industries has both sizable methane and nitrogen regions elsewhere on the planet. Quite a nice conclusion to it, no?

Now that the issue of Plutonian claims is settled, Petrochem, StaAg, and U.C.I have started their first steps in strip-mining the whole planet for its resources. Greed is the name of the game here and you know that capitalism does not have much forgiveness for those who do not exploit the living hell out of everything. Geographical surveying teams are sent, mining rigs are set up, and cargo ships are sent in to get the good stuff outback to factories. Never-ending economic growth is the goal and everyone fully knows that nothing will stop these fucks from doing what they know best.

Elsewhere, the Kuiper Belt equally has its fun! Ustonian Electric, General Business Machines, Real Metal Industries, and Ustonian Defense Systems, are players of the game here. The demands of heavy industry are ever-growing and new defense contracts by the Federal government are pushing every-single major manufacturing First-Rate Megacorporations to literally rush in their mining fleets to get their hands on new sources of minerals. It’s like crack to them! They can’t get enough and will never get enough. KUIPER asteroids every which way, where, and how, are being scooped up by capital-sized industrial ships. So far, no one is stopping them! The only obstacle is the other damn mega-corporations. This surge of heavy mining within the Kuiper Belt is also very noticeable, but who the hell is gonna stop them?

Remember the cautious mindset done in the planning phase done by the megacorporations? Well, maybe not. To refresh your thinking, the plan was to simply not go in and literally start to exploit the outer-Solar System to its limits. Well...no plan survives first contact. Now, the only places being mined to shit are Pluto and the Kuiper Belt, but these greedy shits also plan to mine Neptune for its gases (especially by Petrochem and U.C.I). Geographical research is already being done to get the right gas layers, conditions, and composition info. And like before, Petrochem, U.C.I, and StaAg, are fighting over the claims of Neptune. Another round of underground shadow warfare and negotiation is underway as always. Likewise, plans for the inner-asteroid belt are being drawn up and being argued by the different ManuCorps. Lovely stuff.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Crusader Lord
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Crusader Lord A professional, anxiety-riddled, part-time worker

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The Xandalian Republic


Sol System, Near Pluto and Kupiter Belt


"The Home's Defilement"





The fateful message from the Meeting Place was all it had taken to get the gears moving, and the Xandalians had already been readying their military forces for deployment. Yet whilst the nation's main plans were already in motion, this matter was something else that required action of the most immediate sort in their eyes. A portion of the readied military forces would be needed to take care of the new issue in this case, however, as the news that had come in not too long ago was urgent.

'Unidentified ships have entered the neutral Sol space and moved away from Earth, seemed to be some kind of work-related fleet instead of a military one. No introductions made, no contact made.'

No one nation had claims to the system of Sol, no matter how human or not they were. The Senate and Republic had agreed to this along with at least a number of the other emergent colonies and nations present in the system. As such, they would adhere to this neutrality being maintained...and enforce it on those who would hold themselves higher than the rest of humanity's far-flung children. No hesitation, just action and force that anyone in the right mind could understand. A fleet of twenty five ships, ranging from mech-and-corvette-laden carriers to a pair of two battleships, all equipped for war and ultimately directed to track down the illegal operations being performed in the Sol System without the consent or approval of those assembled at the Meeting Place.

Back at the Meeting Place, an announcement would be made prior to the small detachment's arrival. Nothing that could be heard well beyond the station, but something made using the local announcement system installed into the Meeting Place itself. The same room Christensen had, frankly, nearly been shot in some time prior.

"Attention, respected ambassadors, envoys, and other representatives of the Meeting Place who have been here or have just arrived for the first time. I am Envoy Valeris, one of the diplomatic staff sent to represent the People and Senate of the Xandalian Republic. I would wish to send greetings to any new nations or former human colonies who have arrived, and invite their representatives to speak with us and the other nations upon this station.

However, this is far from all the news I wish to bring to the attention of all. From the Central Announcement Room I bring far more grave news.

As agreed upon by those assembled here, the Sol System has remained a neutral ground. Yet another new arrival has disregarded these protocols, sending in a potential mining or processing fleet according to the Republic's initial observations from this very station. These new contact have not even made contact with the Meeting Place or those assembled here, and have ignored the neutrality of this system that was once Humanity's cradle by gunning for areas farther out in the Sol System without a word.

Therefore, in the interest of being a responsible member of the international community here and to inform others here ahead of time, the Xandalian Republic is sending in a military detachment to deal with the illegal interlopers. Any who wish to assist are invited to come along, as it is the sovereign right of those nations assembled here at the Meeting Place to maintain the neutrality of this system.

If we have misunderstood the international agreement about these matters, either actively or silently as it has been agreed about the matter, then we invite others to come help explain the matter to us that we may all solidify something about the matter. Further, a live read on the incoming Xandalian Fleet's location in Sol System space will be provided to all nations with a current embassy built onto this station as a means to ensure our sincerity in these matters. Any captured interloper forces, should they choose to surrender, will be returned to this station for judgement by the international community.

After dealing with the interloper forces, and dropping off any international prisoners for temporary holding in the Xandalian Embassy area, the Xandalian fleet will be returning back to Xandalian Space promptly after. Access to any potential prisoners will be made free to the nations here, should any prisoners be acquired, though the Xandalian Republic shall provide security in such a case.

Any issues, questions, or problems that might be had I shall direct to the Xandalian Embassy itself, where discussion over the matter may be initiated and proper discourse can ensue.

Thank You."


Some time later, the twenty-five-strong space fleet would emerge. Gleaming hulls and deployed energy shields and so forth would be visible from the very station itself. And it was a 'small' detachment by Xandalian standards. Even a couple squads of mechs seemed to hover near a couple of the carriers sent over, sleek and shining and yet wielding various weapons made for war. The arrival was not itself an active or purposeful attempt to intimidate or impress others...but hell if it didn't have the potential to make an impression at least.

From here the fleet would rapidly zip away from the husk of Earth and the Meeting Place, leaving it behind as they moved deeper into the former home system of humanity. Past the other planets they would move, scanners looking about the dark expanse of space until by the time they reached the Kupiter Belt they found their prey. And like vultures or mighty birds of prey they would descend wiuthout hesitation and without mercy. None who would ignore everyone else, who would seek to strip and mine the Sol System itself for their own gain without a word, would be allowed to remain without punishment or consequence. An example would be made....and had to be made. If not by them, then by another nation.

The Carriers would deploy smaller ships and mechs, of which came down like innumerable locusts to begin the task of shooting down anything the interlopers had deployed there in the Kupiter Belt and Beyond. The Xandalian Fleet would be making a sweep from the Kupiter Belt all the way to and including Pluto, hunting down anything that they saw mining or processing the Sol System without a care. This, all whilst larger spaceship weapons would be aimed at any larger craft with the intent to cripple them for capture if or where possible along the way. A clean, detailed sweep. The first blitzkrieg the Sol System had seen in hundreds of years, potentially at least, to put those who ignored the rest of the world about them into their rightful place...underneath the international boot heel.

But why so vicious an action? Why do these things? It all would come down to the very mindset of the Xandalian Republic itself. A state that upheld the will of its people and safety and security at any cost, and a state that saw pride in their people and in their growth and in humanity's expansion across the stars. A state too that sought to cooperate with the international community and be a proper part of it, and would seek to be a good citizens in enough of a sense at least, but would exercise their own independent sovereignty and rights.

To all of these ends, for what sense it would all make, the Xandalians would not take the slight against the rights of all the former colonies of humanity's past to the Sol System by having some group decide they didn't want to talk. That they didn't want to listen. It was a breach of what the Republic understood as something the international community had agreed on, for what it had been built up as thus far at least. It was outrageous!

Those that didn't care to check the room, all before they threw themselves into doing things that some might take offense to at the very least, would be disciplined and held accountable for their actions.

@Dog@SgtEasy@Raylah@Irredeemable@Sigma@Tortoise@Jangel13

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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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coGM
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Sigma

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Americana
Columbia
In proximity of the Gateway
CSS Alamo

The blaring cries of red alerts sounded off throughout the Alamo, the crews completely caught offguard, almost been years since the last red alert. The recently promoted Admiral Jasi threw himself off his command chair. "What the hell's going on?!?" He asked, still shaken.

"Admiral, we've just received orders for emergency deployment!" The comms officer exclaimed. "Apparently the Sol System has just been invaded." The comms officer said as he pressed down a few buttons, the Xandalian Declaration being broadcasted in the bridge. The Embassy was quick to forward the message back home, which drove the Chancellor and Senate into a panic, although the exact details of the invading force remain blank. Jasi groaned from the sudden fall, rubbing his scalp. "Invaded? By who?"

"Unclear sir, they're new arrivals."

Jasi lifted himself up back on his chair. "Pretty bold of them, and not even a word of hello. Alert the fleet, tell them we're to begin deployment now." The ships of the 3rd Border Defense Fleet all begun to move away from Sentinel Base as they drew closer to the Gateway, around fifteen ships, eight frigates, four destroyers and two cruisers, the last and not least, the center piece of the fleet was of course the the Battle Carrier Alamo. All ships of the 3rd were converging and surrounding the Alamo as they entered through the gateway. "All ships! Jump on my mark!"

3...2....1...

"Mark!" Within an instant, the entire fleet vanished from the face of the galaxy, only to reappear once more, the Meeting Place within visual range. "Jump successful, Admiral."

Admiral Jasi let out a loud whistle as he saw the Meeting Place. "It's been months since I was last here, it was just empty space, and look at that. Brings a tear to my eye."

"Orders, Admiral?" XO May asked.

"Right. Set a course for Pluto, and contact the Xandies, let them know they have our support. Let's show the Galaxy the might of the Columbian Navy!"
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Liotrent
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Liotrent Tabby Space Cat

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ELYSIUM SYSTEM
NEW HAVEN
CAPITAL CITY ATHENIA



Nano constructors and satellite launches marked the first week of new contact. It's said that construction ships were off to make an embassy at SOL. However, it was busy here too, nano construction vehicles or NCV's have been setting up in locations to create new infrastructure for the Trans-gate communication network. It's said to be able to receive and retranslate different types of broadcasts to fit New Haven equipment. New towers were being set up, network stations being manned, and signals from the gate being streamed to millions of homes across New Haven from New Athenia to New Roma.

One of them was a regular man named James, who's now appraising the situation in the ECU in New London and New Beijing. There were a number of civilians and tourists alike stuck in the warzone, caught in between. There was news of clashes with several intervening countries. One video came with commentary.

The man was filming from a balcony he was filming the street with the noise of war surrounding him. "I- I think there's a firefight down the street, I thought I saw some Columbians earlier."

At that moment White Flower freedom fighters pass by on the street bellow him. "White Flower, what're they-"

Suddenly a wave of bullets come down the street, the Freedom Fighters of course return fire. The camera shakes as a rocket is fired at the revolutionists and an explosion rocks the brave guerrilla journalist's building. "FUCK!"

We come back to James, he clicks his tongue, other transmissions are from more official sources from other nations, but they aren't able to penetrate too deep into the situation. All of it seems so chaotic. There was even some video of the Khanate's ape men conducting operations in the cities.

"Didn't think that our new neighbors would be riddled with war like this." James took a sip of his coffee, unbeknownst to him, he would be joined by hundreds of thousands of people making their opinions on the White Flower situation. Many hoping that such a thing would never happen to New Haven. The Robotics Proxy War was quite enough.

As if that wasn't enough, mainstream directorate news brought up some unrest in the Sol System. The Xandalians and the Columbians are already on the move. Political director Dick Wazzinski made a statement that ECU to provide aid to all involved as a neutral party and that delegates at the meeting place were already putting the gears into motion to move this plan along. He then went on to explain the situation of Sol in detail.

"... At the moment, the Xandalian Republic and the United Republic of Columbia have already sent their fleets to intercept. There are talks amongst the other nations to get involved. The Matuvistans and Zetans seem to already be making preparations to join the others. Lead Director Hubert himself stated that we are to help our fellow nations in a non-combat capacity to defend our ancestral home. We of course will send our own ships for a defensive formation around the Meeting Place and our Nano Construction Vehicle that will be set up nearby to prepare to supply the interested parties. There are no further news at this time."

James sat down slumping onto his seat, it seems there were a lot more things happening. It had only been a few weeks but there was already a lot of drama happening. James took a sip of his coffee before looking out towards the New Athenian skyline and thinking about how wonderful it was that it was still fresh and pristine.


NEW ATHENIA
DIRECTORS OFFICE
TIMOTHY CANDY'S OFFICE



Another person was watching these things unfold. He was given an assignment to make sure that these new deployments of the defense fleet went off without incident. For once, Timothy was happy about this move, a chance to show the New Haven Directorate's potential - a show of force. What didn't sit right with Timothy was that the fleets were not to operate in a more active combat capacity.

"BALDERDASH!" Two carriers, four cruisers, a battleship, three destroyers, an NCV, and a medical ship. That was all they were sending to these two places. They didn't have a lot of ships to begin with. Out of fifty ships only this many were going to Sol.

This wouldn't have been the case if he was in charge. These people also show that they are capable of running the Directorate over if they so wanted to. The Directorate would be a footnote to these so called 'friendly neighbors'. The news streaming from the Earth Cultural Union has already displayed that these nations were not adverse to war either. Hubert was going to drive them into oblivion.

He would not let these nations screw over the directorate. He would have the Directorate display its strength. He walked over to his table and made several inputs on the touch display.

"Military Science Director Candy, your call is going through to the NHS Resilience."

The holographic display of admiral Durnham answered in full white dress. He was an older, more competent looking man.

"Sir." The admiral rendered a crisp salute to Timothy.

"Admiral, I'm assigning you a mission. With your ships, I order you to intervene when possible to display the strength of the New Haven Directorate. Show our new neighbors we are not to be trifled with. You have full authority to fire upon sighting the enemy! That is a top secret directive. Need to know only. Am I understood?"

Durnham was taken aback, but he dared not question his orders, "Yes sir. I will execute these orders to the best of my abilities."

"I knew I could count in you Durnham. May fortune favor you admiral!"

Little did he know what this little stunt would lead to.

@Sigma@Crusader Lord@Dog@Irredeemable@SgtEasy[@Tort]
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Raylah
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Raylah

Member Seen 2 yrs ago


the Meeting Place


Jim Harlowe was standing on the observation deck with a glass of Matuvistan rum in his hand. Ever since the Chimera exploded and then disappeared in the Gateway, never to be heard from again, he had been here quite often, watching the whirling wormhole, thinking about what happened to Kelsie and her people. Did they at least die quickly, disintegrated into atoms instantly? Or were they stuck somewhere out of our normal space-time continuum? Jim only had a faint idea of how the Gateways actually worked, but he remembered some fancy words.

It was such a shame, really. For the whole nation, Guardian Blackwood was a hero. The first through the Gateway, the first to negotiate with other surviving colonies, their first representative at the Meeting Place. The ceremonial funeral held back on Ellara was huge, broadcasted throughout all the channels on the planet and even to the Meeting Place. An entire nation held a moment of silence in remembrance of this great woman.

For Jim, the shame was even bigger. Just as Kelsie and her people truly accepted him into their team and he stopped being just an unwanted outsider, they disappeared, leaving him here all alone. And while Jim has always been ambitious, he had some pretty big shoes to fill.

Guardian Jim Harlowe. Everything he ever wanted to achieve in his life. And now he couldn’t even enjoy it. The circumstances have made his greatest life accomplishment taste so bitter he was almost ashamed he had accepted the promotion.

Well, there was no time for self-pity now. Things were happening that needed to be dealt with. Jim quickly sent word to the Grand General about the latest development and sipped from his glass while waiting for the response. It was quite swift and Jim’s eyes widened in surprise. Crap, now he had to make a public statement.

“Greetings to everyone at the Meeting Place and in the near proximity of the station. I am Guardian Jim Harlowe, the new representative of the Undefeated nation. Most of you have probably known my predecessor, Kelsie Blackwood, who has recently tragically passed. We can only assume the event was an accident and not an act of open hostility against our nation, for which there are certainly no reasons. I will do everything in my power to try and carry on her legacy.

Just like our Xandalian colleagues, we too have been observing the situation in the Sol system with great worries and disagreement. And I’m afraid we cannot sit idly by anymore and let our common ancestral home be exploited by a few greedy individuals and companies. Thus, we have decided to send a portion of our fleet through the Gateway to the Sol system to assist other nations in defending it. I can assure you this is by no means a hostile action towards any nation currently represented at the Meeting Place or any new arrivals that will be interested in friendly diplomatic relationships.

Our ships will remain in the close proximity of the Gateway, preventing any more ships of these exploiters from coming through until proper diplomatic channels are established and this whole matter is resolved. I can assure you any of your ships, be it diplomatic, trade, or even military vessels, will be allowed through without any interference whatsoever. I hope we can settle this matter without any more unnecessary casualties.”

Just a few minutes after the broadcast went out, ships started to appear in the Sol system. Three battleships, surrounded by a large number of smaller vessels positioned themselves evenly around the wormhole, ready to intercept any incoming vessel that didn’t belong to the known nations and didn’t respond to the hails. The primary objective was to disable, board, and take control, but if the enemy opened fire, lethal force was allowed as well.

Jim watched the fleet arrive both on his datapad and from the window, tiny spots around the seemingly huge wormhole. “Shit.” He wasn’t the main representative for even a week now and it already seemed his country was headed to another war. Now he knew how Kelsie felt after her first contact with the Zetans.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Timemaster
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Timemaster Ashevelendar

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AMBUSH:BLOODBURN

Collab between @Sigma, @Timemaster and @SgtEasy

The One was split between multiple theaters of war in New Beijing. While the city was initially fully under White Flower control, at least on the surface, new enemies appearing meant that the frontline would have to move back. In a place where the One prevailed more than anywhere else.

Urban combat was their bread and butter. Spending a few centuries in a city does that to people. The new enemies were weird but not unexpected by the One. They’ve seen the info-alerts sent by the White Flower sympathizers from the Meeting Place. Monkeys. Stronger than a man and smart as one. A tough enemy to fight in hand to hand combat which meant that the One had to resort to what they did best, guerrilla warfare.

Ambushes, artisanal explosives, traps and whatnot littered the streets of New Beijing. Only the most trusted of White Flower leaders were given maps to where the traps were laid or ambushes placed. Not that the One was too keen to rely on the White Flower revolutionaries to fight the war.

The streets were watched closely, a William stood on the roof top of a building and suddenly made a hand signal to the others in hiding. A convoy will pass through the intersection, most certainly trying to push the frontline a bit more towards HQ.

As the monkey APCs approached the weapons were prepared and the moment the first APC entered the intersection, the One made their move. Spears were thrown from the windows of buildings surrounding it, some with bombs attached others not, left as decoys. One hit the first APC and exploded, putting the others to a full stop.

James’ came out of the buildings, closing down the intersection with molotovs. The monkeys will surrender or burn.

“Sarge…am I fucking going crazy?” A private George Lang asked, still coping with the sheer insanity New Hollywood has developed into. “Clones? Talking monkeys? What the fuck’s been going on at Earth?!?”

“Stow it lang.” Sergeant Kaskin ordered. “All that matters now is who’s friendly and who’s in our way-“ He paused as the William gave the signal. “That’s our que boys!” Kaskin ordered as he and the rest of his squad moved into position in the top floor of a bombed out building, ready to provide suppressing fire once the apes begin storming out of their APCs. “When the monkeys come out, start firing.”

The One which was in contact with the Columbian force radioed into them as soon as the spears were thrown towards the APC.

COL1, come in. This is the One. Don’t shoot to kill. We want prisoners. Over. ” came in the voice of a Grant.

“Copy that.” Kaskin replied, turning to his men. “Non-lethal shots if you can, we’re taking prisoners.”

The two recent allies surrounded the convoy at the intersection, the first Warhead APC a seemingly burning shell on the outside. Unbeknownst to the ambushers, the occupants within were uncomfortably hot and possibly concussed, yes, but protected by the thick walls which the apes favoured. It took INFOWAR mere moments to reboot into a functioning system, completing a full scan of the situation. The apes, even with the addition of the recon drones and the coming overwatch teams, were outnumbered. While the One progressively surrounded the lead Warhead with fire, there was a lack of response from the convoy at first.

Two spears had gotten lucky, jamming themselves into the tires of the lead Warhead and the explosive had disabled the .50 calibre gun. It was too bad for the ambushers that the apes would not go down without a fight. No simian left behind.

Four .50 calibre guns barked out in retaliation, laying down heavy suppressing fire to prevent any more explosives from being dished out. The two side doors and the rear ramp on each of the working APCs opened with a thunderous clang, depositing the six to eight apes within. A few suppressing shots from the Columbians proved deadly, downing a couple of chimpanzees clambouring out of the third Warhead.

The rest stuck close to the walls or the APCs themselves, barking out with their rifles or coming into CQC with the One on the ground. James’ and apes tore at each other amidst the ongoing fire and in burnt out buildings, sensors going crazy as greater numbers of hostiles were detected. The heavy weapons advantage of the apes was mitigated by the ambusher’s high ground, the situation started becoming untenable.

As blind suppressing fire, along with the occasional accurate spear thrown by the One, continued to be traded, a pair of massive gorillas exited the second APC. White fur, pink skin, bulging with muscle and savage teeth. Genetically modified albino twins, each carrying a large, thick metal wall as a shield, so hefty that they required both of their massive arms to heave it. They roared, slamming their shields twice into the ground before raising them above their heads, shielding themselves as they charged towards the lead burning APC.

It was clear they were trying to take their comrades out as the fighting from the ape’s side just became fiercer.

As the .50cal rained hell, the One scattered in the buildings. Some were cut down by the bullets, others killed by falling debris. It wasn’t enough to stop the One. If they die, more are ready to take their place and keep the fight going.

As the two massive gorillas came out of the second APC, the One realized their gambit worked. The apes were still animals at heart even if their brains were more advanced and as any animal, they will try to protect the leader. If the big apes, which were terrifying to look at for the One, charged towards the first APC it meant one thing. The One managed to disable their leader for the moment and he/she was still alive.

COL1, we’ve got the apes surrounded. Focus fire on APCs that shoot at us and keep safe. We don’t die, you do. ” called out via radio the James in charge of communication to their Columbian allies.

Soon afterwards, a group of sacrificial Williams came out from the buildings rushing towards the lead-APC. They were all armed with explosives and their customary bone armor. In the middle of them, a Grant hunkered down moving at the same pace as the others.

We. Are. The. One. We. Are. Willing. To. Negotiate. Purchase. Services. Stop firing. Or. We. All. Die. Here. ” it came as a chant from all the One. All at once, word by word. Never stopping, even as they’d fall to the enemy.

“Copy that.” Kaskin said, now relaying his command to his men. “Remain in cover and focus fire on the APCs! Keep ‘em pinned boys!” The marines kept up their attack as they let out a resounding “Oorah!!”

At that, the One surged towards the beleaguered apes in burnt Warhead. Amidst the One’s declarations, there was no response. The apes could not fold now and were only spurred on by the increased suppressing fire on their positions.

With gritted teeth, the albino twins continued despite being surrounded and being fired at, their comrades keeping the One away from them as much as they could. At this moment, the overwatch teams and drones arrived at opposing rooftops to the Columbians. Through INFOWAR, they were updated on the situation and acted accordingly.

Distract the Columbians to extract the downed apes. No simian was going to these inferior humans.

They used their grappling hooks to charge into the fray among the Columbians, wielding wicked swords or metal clubs with pistols. Hollering and screeching, they paid for the distraction with their lives as they harassed the greater number of Columbian soldiers. Drones flew to and from, striking with electrical shocks or physically ramming into bodies.

The chaos above meant reprieve for below as the other apes came to support the albinos. The One fell in rapid numbers with the concentrated firepower but with each clone falling, two others took its place. One William threw an incendiary explosive into the now shattered glass of the lead APC driver’s seat. Fire roasted the front of the APC, bursting the two tires and slamming the front into the pavement.

The jolt awoke many of the concussed apes within, some stumbling into the safety of the albino twins, others swarmed by the One.

Kingston awoke to fire, screaming in agony as the fire scalded his skin and took away his fur. He burst out of APC door, genetically enhancements the only thing keeping him alive as he burned before the eyes of the One.The sergeant threw himself into the masses, ripping one James apart in half down the middle in a shower of gore. Blood extinguished fire wherever it touched, boiling on the pained sergeant’s skin.

The Kingston-turned-abomination turned on the other James’, jumping from each one so fast it was hard to track with the naked eye, ripping limbs and tearing off heads.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UPSHUTSHUUUUTUUUUP!” He roared, after slamming one blood boiling arm down the throat of a poor James, ripping his oesophagus out.

The disgusting devolution of their comrade to bloodlust inspired the other apes, making them scramble back to the APC. Fearing for their lives, they crammed into the other APCs as the other. The still-burning head, the boiling blood, the consumption of pure rage. It puts fear into their animal instincts greater than the worst battles. Burnt out vocal chords let out a stream of expletives and roars, sharpened talons covered in blood.

It was a beautiful concert of violence, artworks of crimson strewn around the streets. One James had an explosive shoved up the wrong hole, kicked into another just as the explosive was to go boom. Another clone had its head crushed into its spine, one more with its spine ripped from the top of the head! It was enough to make grown men vomit and Tarantino cry.

Eventually, one James survived long enough to trigger a close proximity explosion, sending Kingston careening into a wall to finally knock him out. Burning but inconsequently, still breathing, blood boiling into a red vapour around him.

The forces retreated, the overwatch teams battered and the OP: Blitz was sent back. A few apes were taken prisoner, along with the still-breathing walking corpse of Sergeant Kingston Marley, former Legionnaire.

The One moved in fast. Williams died, Jamess bled and Grant were falling by the dozen to Kingston but that didn’t stop the One. They continued, on and on and on. One would fall only for two to their place. Their sacrifice meant nothing to the larger picture.

One James stood on the rooftops, watching the battle unfold. Memorising attack patterns, moves and everything that was going on. Even as they watched themselves fall one by one, they kept watching, learning. Their eyes scanned the battlefield for anything that could be used in further battles and as soon as the battle finished, they ran. Fast as they could, back to HQ. Back to upload. The One needed to know.

Prisoners were taken and brought back to the HQ, the remaining APC was stripped to its core. Weapons, bodies and everything that could be carried was taken.

COL1, congrats on the win. We’re retreating back to base with the captured prisoners. Thank you for giving us a hand. How are the losses on your side? ” called one of the Grants on the radio.

“Happy to help.” Kaskin said as he and his men stood up with the rest of his squad, a few sadly laying limp on the floor. “Lost a few of my men…but we made sure to take out some of theirs before it ended.”

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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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@Tortoise

New Hollywood
New Beijing


sound effects
Sergeant Justin Hask starred out into the city from the window of the blasted out remains of an apartment complex, laying against a more sturdier part of the wall, the sound of gunfire and explosions filling the air. He turned to face the rest of his squad, all tired and worn from all day of fighting in the streets, the battle taking its toll on all of them. Despite his own exhaustion, the sergeant mustered the strength and forced himself up with a loud groan. "Break time's over boys and girls." He said followed more loud groans from the rest of the squad.

"Quit your bitchin'." Hask ordered. "FOB isn't too far, just ba-" Before Hask could finish his sentence. A loud bang was heard as he felt a warm, stinging, painful sensation somewhere in his chest area. Hask looked down as he saw blood stain pouring out of a fresh bullet wound. "Fuck.." He cursed as he fell over. "Sergeant's down!" One of the marines, a Urkani shouted out.

"Take cover! Weapons free!" Another marine shouted. The room erupted into a frenzy of screams and gunfire as several squads of Protectors advanced from the street below. The marines ducked in cover as a hail of bullets reign over them. The room was clouded as dirt rose up, and the walls being reduced to dust. Hask's second in command, a Marcus Zaamil, time seemed to slow down, marines barely returning fire, peaking out of cover even once guaranteed a stray bullet in the head, gut, what does it matter? Zaamil shook himself back to reality, staring out like a deer at headlights won't a damn difference, certainly won't help his CO.

"Get the sarge out of view!" Zaamil ordered the squad's medic. "Sir!" she complied as she drag him into out into the hallway, literally having to crawl both her and his way out of the killing zone. "What do we do now?!?" One of the marines shouted over the near-deafening gunfire.

"We get the hell out that's what!" Zaamil declared. "On my mark, we fall back!"

3...2...1...-

Without warning, the unsettling jingle of a tossed grenade, even in the whirlwind of gunfire, could be heard narrowly. One of the marines looking wide eyed at a tumbling orb. "Fuckfuckfuck! GREANADE!" He cried out before the grenade set off, taking out the poor man as well, leaving a huge gapping hole where he and the apartment floor used to be, causing a chain reaction that led to the rest of the floor giving way to the weight. "Oh Christ.." Zaamil muttered as floor collapsed. He had blacked out, featureless shapes and lights moving back and forth, hearing the muffled screams of his squadmates, and that of the enemy, slowly opening his eyes as he found himself at the end of a gun barrel. "Get up." The Protector commanded, his subordinates not even waiting as they forced him up, the captain inspecting him. "Pile him up with the others for execution."

Well...seemed like this is the end of the road, Zaamil never thought he'd die on some alien world far from home, he was tossed like a trash into a pile gravely wounded marines, his sergeant among them. "It's been an honor.." Zaamil said meekly to Hask.

"Same.." He replied. The surviving marines forced to look in horror as their brothers in arms were about to meet an unceremonious end. "Ready!" The Protector Captain sounded off. "Aim! Fi-" The captain was interrupted by the roaring sounds of rotor engines, a gust of wind engulfing the area as several Gliders zoomed past the site, the firing squad's attention diverted to the incoming craft. "Shit!" The captain cursed out. "Battle positions!" Before he could bark out any more orders a single bang was from a gunshot echoed through the streets. Hask having pulled out his pistol, making a well placed shot in the heart. "Shouldn't have looked away..." Hask said, blacking out once more. The captain falling to his kneels, struggling to blurt out his orders, but simply fell as the Gliders returned, circling around the street. "This is your last warning! Fall back now or we will fire!"

Without their captain, the Protectors quickly fell back to their trucks, driving off elsewhere in the city, following this, the Gliders made their landing as more marines hopped out. "Area secure!" One of them declared. Once the all clear was giving, Captain O'Brian stepped out one of the Gliders, inspecting the damage done, walking over to the pile of wounded. "Bastards..." He murmured, turning to the others. "Get these man back to base or they're as good as dead."

"Sir!" His soldiers rpelied in unison, rushing over as they carefully loaded the wounded.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Tortoise
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It's dark, and not only because of the late hour. It's because he turned the lights down. Certain things just need to be done in the dark.

The man takes a long drink of pitch-black tea, another mood-appropriate prop, before he places the cup down on someone else's desk. He's waited days for her to fall asleep. Abadi. A puppet, sacrificing her youth and her sanity for a system that will never love her back. But there's no point in trying to tell her. There are more important things to share this evening.

He turns on her terminal, listening to it groan and whine like a personal computer from the 20th century. Like the hardware itself is tired. Every one is waiting for this to be over. Days spent without sleep, trying to put out diplomatic fires, just for something else to burst into flame right as you extinguish the last. The terminal prompts him, and he keys in the password she once shared with him, before all this started.



He hits "Send," hoping and praying that his half-understood encryption measures will work. This man is no technical expert; far, far from it. But the terminal tells him the message went through anyway. Good. It's important that the nations realize that there are real people behind this. New Hollywood is not a battleground, it is not a political experiment. It is his home. He lives there, he dreams of there. He will risk capture and trial to send this message.



His hands shake. He feels exposed. To threaten a government isn't a small thing; suddenly, his body is frail and unprotected. He looks to the glass door, like soldiers could come breaking in any moment to take him prisoner. Could anyone save him?

Snap out of it. He drinks more tea, closing his eyes just a moment. His fingers press "Send" before he's opened them again.



The Meeting Place rotates just a little bit, always in orbit, so that Earth can be seen. Dead and gray. Is this what humanity always does? We only kill each other. That's what a human is. A machine that kills things.

Stop, stop, stop. That's not true. We were made for something better; each person feels it in their hearts. That's what the conscience is, the sense of right and wrong. It's your spirit telling you, "You're meant to be more than this."



He still remembers his face. The face of the boy he saw the protectors kill on the pavement. They said it was an accident, that the kid fought back and might have had a weapon and probably had it coming and was on drugs and so on and so forth.

But he knows what he saw. It was a murder.



Focus, focus, focus. Three days without sleep, and you can't control for a second where your mind wanders off to. It takes you back to who you really are.

There's one last people to contact. The killer's best friends.





~~~~~~~~



Collab between Tortoise and @TimeMaster


(Previously the main One force agreed with the plan they came up with and made long apologies to Kayla for hiding the nature of the meat, but they were sure she would understand.)

They are a group, but they move and flow as a single life. It’s one body that dodges through the streets of New Beijing. Ten members. They all know where the others will be. Without talking, only relying on their shared memories, they understand one another.

Kayla emerges from a long-abandoned alleyway, and finds five James and a William waiting for her. She knew they would be there. They took the faster, riskier path, and she- being the most valuable member of the team- took the slower and safer one. Three Grants walk out from behind her, into the bright streetlights.

“The team’s all here.” She points up to a dense, squat building. Chain-link, electric fencing. It’s a power plant, but you’d think it was a fort. “That's our target. You remember the tour I had, five years ago?”

The One split up, a few squadrons of Williams and James moved throughout the city meeting with White Flower leaders, explaining who they are and that they were there to help. Some didn’t accept the One at first and some were wildly surprised by the nature of them but in the end they all agreed that the One was there to help during the revolution, afterwards...things would be different.

The group following Kayla was armed to the teeth with bone armor, spears, bows and small swords. In addition, the James also made use of the debris from the spaceport to make a few very durable spears in compassion to their bone weaponry. The Grants followed Kayla as One being, no small-talk, no signs, no sounds.

As Kayla talked, one of the Grants stepped forward.

You already know the answer to that. The fence is electrified, the corridors are long and tightly packed. It wouldn’t be a good idea to be caught in them. ” answered the Grant.

"About the fence-" she hesitated. "The power in New Beijing has been running full-blast, non-stop. For a long time now. Weeks, months? Yeah. And there were a lot of power-outages even before then. So I was thinking..." she took a deep breath. "I was thinking that the fence might short out, you know, if it suddenly had to release a lot of energy. Like. Like if someone were electrocuted."

She looked over to the William. She didn't like this.

We actually were thinking of the same plan. Think about what the screams were in the ship when we passed through the Gateway. You don’t need to worry about us. We are One! ” said the Grant in a calm, shushed voice then at the end, all the others instinctively banged their chests with their fists.

Behind the false bravado, the One were having similar feelings about it. Kayla’s influence paled in comparison to the original One mind but still made them doubt themselves at times. Changes would surely appear in the One society after the revolution but for now, those thoughts and feelings would be pushed aside.

The William walked forward, bravely and with a small bow to the others ran straight into the fence hugging it tightly as the electricity coursed through their body. No scream, no shout. Just a small grunt of pain. Kayla winced. But the fence did stop humming- it was out. One by one, they jumped it.

When Kayla's feet hit the pavement on the other side, she felt like she'd just landed on foreign territory. This titan of a power plant was on the very outskirts of the city, placed right before a slow drop-off into wasteland, and was one of the few places of officialdom the White Flowers hadn't yet rested control from. There were still ECU guards here: but they were the same ones that had stood guard when the city fell, and couldn't be able to hold out much longer. How long will it be before, for want of food, they decide to give themselves up?

Kayla doesn't pray. But if she did, she would pray that they're all still alive to make that decision.

A James kicks the door down, and they slide into the smooth lighting of the Ai Zhang Memorial Plant. "The psychological warfare isn't hitting here," Kayla said, aloud. She ran her fingers along a sign on the wall that read (in English, Chinese and Latin) FISSION CORE THIS WAY ---->

"It's, like, three AM,” she says. “Maybe we can slip by the guards?"

But they couldn't, because right as the last word left her mouth, a protector in gold uniform came strolling around the corner.

Without a word, the One moved to the side, hiding in the shadows. As the protector approached their “hiding” place, one James stepped out.

The protector stopped in his tracks and said “You there, stop! Identify yourself!”

The James lifted his arms up in a peaceful gesture and stopped, as the protector was approaching them, gun held high.

Hey there! No need for that. I just came back from the city. Those revolutionaries got help from scum-extraterrestrials. Bastards thinking they can take our city! ” said the James mimicking to the best of Kayla’s memories of how the ECU talked.

For a moment, as the ECU protector approached he lowered the weapon. He got into arm’s reach of the James when a Grant stepped out from the shadows. The protector’s weapon flew straight away towards the Grant and that’s when the James made his move.

He lunged at the protector, hitting him square in the solar plexus instantly stopping the protector in his tracks as he tried to breathe. Another James stepped out and quickly wrapped his arms around the neck of the protector, putting him in a rear naked choke and held on tight to him as he slowly fell asleep.

Quickly they proceeded into stripping the protector, taking his weapon/clothes, equipping a Grant with them and then afterwards, sent one James with him back towards the One lines.

That could’ve been worse. We got lucky that the protector believed our ruse for long enough. Now, we’ve got an undercover scout. ” said the leading Grant.

Kayla had felt funny, watching the protector fall. The sick sounds he made when the James choked him out. She thought of herself as an empathetic person, she didn’t want him to be hurt, but then-

But then, she’d always hated them.

She hardens her heart. And after that, watching him be stripped didn’t bother her too much; Kayla had only ever been into women anyway. (And that’s canon now.)

The group proceeds in a straight line, right to where they all remember the reactor being. The tour Kayla had of this place was years ago, and felt more like ages, but the lay-out hadn’t changed. Only this time, it looked like the lab of a mad scientist; the trash littering the floor and the little scraps of food huddled into corners.

The guards and engineers have been stuck inside this building since the Flowers took over. Absolutely terrified of leaving the building and facing the mobs outside. Trapped, probably half-starving; looks like cleanliness standards go out the window after a while. She wonders where they’re all sleeping.

The reactor itself isn’t visible, being behind a protective wall of Bezian metal. Kayla remembers them lowering that for her visit, but it took a passcode entered into the computer terminal to do it.

“Guys,” Kayla says, realizing it as she does, “we’re going to need to kidnap a scientist.”

As the group followed Kayla, they were trying to pierce together all her memories of the place. Checking them again and again for all the small things that she might’ve missed or overlooked.

Seeing the state of the reactor’s room hardened the One. They remembered how it felt. The loneliness, the fear of not waking up tomorrow, the lack of food. Soon they would’ve turned on each other, soon they would’ve eaten each other. Eventually only one would remain if he or she would’ve been smart enough. But they weren’t on an alien planet, they weren’t trapped forever...all they had to do was to go out and all would’ve stopped. Remembering how the protectors were trained, they knew they wouldn’t have surrendered but to choose to torment yourself when you’ve got a choice? That was something the One wouldn’t accept. Something that simply wouldn’t stand with them.

We know. We can’t break into it and even if we could, we will not be able to do so without alarming the whole facility. We’ve got an idea, pretty sure you’ve thought about it as well. ” said one of the Grants. Looking around, they visualized the whole area based on Kayla’s memories. Each door, each window, each nook and cranny.

The James took to the corridors, each armed with a spear, sword and a shield. Checking room by room like a well oiled machine, they eventually found what they were looking for.

The mess hall, now made as a sleeping area. Protectors, the staff and everyone else was there. Some huddled on the floor, sleeping on broken tables, others playing cards as if they had no care in the world. They’ve all had the same look in their eyes, a look which the One understood very well. Desperation. Starvation.

One of the James went back to the main group and called them to the mess hall.

We’re going to leave the decision to you, Kayla. Do you wish to murder them all and save one person or should we show mercy? In the state they are, we can take them easily. ” said the One closest to Kayla.

Kayla nodded. “Take them. I- I don’t want to be a murderer.”

We all know that you feel like one already. You’ve been in our mind, we’ve been in yours. You understand why we are keen to kill them all. They don’t deserve living anymore than we deserved starving for hundreds of years but alright, we’ll follow your lead.” said the closest James, their voice full of anger.

The other Ones looked towards them and shook their heads. The One was vengeful, the One refused to believe that one cannot find ways out of bad situations. They’ve done so from the beginning of their life and until now. Maybe it was Kayla’s influence or maybe the One found a way to forgive and to understand that not everyone can survive, but they’ve decided to let them live as per Kayla’s wishes.

The Grants carried in their backpacks some provisions and handed the backpacks to the Jamess. The James , who was dressed up in the protector’s clothes, went inside the mess hall. Almost instantly, the protectors were onto them. Guns held high towards them with the same desperate look. They knew death came without realizing it.

Easy there, easy. Put the guns down. W--I’ve found some friends.

“Identify yourself at once!” said one of the protectors, gun aimed towards the James’s midsection.

It doesn’t matter who I am but what matters is what I bring. Look!” said as he threw a backpack on the floor, as it hit the floor, some meat fell out.

Instantly, the desperation in the protector’s eyes turned to madness. A food-deprived madness. Two of the protectors threw their weapons on the floor and half-ran half-sprinted towards the food, pushing each other away from the backpack.

There, there. No need to fight. We’ve got more food. Just put the weapons down and we’ll give you all the food you can eat. ” said the James with a charming smile on their face.

At this, the other protectors put their weapons down and soon the civilians approached as well. The One stepped from the corridors and into the mess hall, calmly taking the discarded weapons of the protectors and with trained efficiency, pointed them at the protectors.

The lead Grant stepped forward and looked behind them where Kayla stood, calling out to her.

Please, set forward. See the mighty protectors, the ones which we so much feared. Anyways, you should talk with your people, Ambassador. They’re docile enough. ”.

It was strange, seeing the protectors- the hostile, lurking force she'd feared her entire life- so contained. The only other time they'd been so pliable was after psyche-programming. Like a lion in a cage.

But they weren't those who would know the passcodes. She'd need to find the administrator, the one whose rank is indicated by- there he is. With the red stripe across his lab coat. Kayla led him by the arm into a small side-room, probably meant to be a janitorial closet, and let the One guard the rest. She figures he wouldn't be super willing to talk with a horde of identical men staring him down.

She brought a gun with her.

"Tell me the passcode," she whispered to him, as soon as they were alone. "I won't hurt you. We just need to know how to shut this place down."

The administrator was an aging, bearded man, wildly-haired, like a descendant of Einstein and Freud. His white hair trembled when he shook his head. "No, madam, I cannot do that. I will not."

"Why?"

He only shook his head again. "No."

"But the ECU doesn't do anything good. For you scientists, I mean. Why are you loyal?"

"Because it is what I have always been, madam. I'm too old to change, and-" here he lifted his sunken, hungry eyes, and there was a glimpse of life in them, "because I don't give in to bullies."

Kayla then tried a hundred things. She tried to convince him. She tried to bribe him. She promised a future career in the new government. And then she threatened to call the One back into the room and let them beat old Einstein-Freud until he was black and blue. Still, the man just shook his head sadly, and rejected everything.

Then she raised the gun.

“Tell me,” she whispered. Her voice turned desperate, almost pleading. Because she knew what the answer would be. And when he refused again, she knew what she would have to do.

“No, madam.”

She shot him in the arm. The sound echoed off the cramped little walls, so that it sounded like a bomb going off. He crumpled over in pain; the blood splatter looked like fresh red paint.

“Tell me.”

He tried to say something, but his voice came out in ragged gasps. She leaned close, tilting her ear to his mouth, so that he could whisper the prized secret to her, telling her how to shut this abomination down. He said to her:

“I will not.”

Kayla screamed in rage, turning around in the closet, feeling so many of the memories of the One at that moment that it nearly overwhelmed her. This isn’t what she wanted to become. She didn’t want to be this. Her fist banged against the door. She turned around, raising the gun again- now it was at his head. His sparkling, hungry eyes met hers again. There was a challenge there.

She breathed deep, ran her finger against the trigger... and lowered the weapon. “I can’t.” And she stalked out the room, to find the One outside.

The One looked at the protectors and the other staff as they were eating the meat, their meat with a look torn between pure hatred and pity.

On one side, they pitied them for being in this situation. For starving, for fighting to stay alive at any cost, for their integrity in not surrendering to the madness that is isolation.

On the other side, the protectors deserved to die for their foolishness of getting themselves trapped and starving. They should be left to starve until they learn better, left to suffer until they break. After all that if they would still be alive, they would be reborn and would deserve to breathe.

Memories came rushing to the One, remembering the faces of those on the colony ships. Beaten and broken, starving, their minds dead even if their bodies didn’t know yet. At the same time, others memories would surface, Kayla’s. The children she didn’t realize were there, begging in the streets. The hungry cries of a populace too afraid to fight their oppressors. The protectors beating up a kid for trying to steal from someone who thought they were important. For a second, the One was overwhelmed and it could be seen on their faces, a split second was all it took and then their usual calm face took over. The craziness in their eyes was gone, replaced with the one from before.

They will not break. They will not surrender to their feelings. They will overcome anything that comes towards them.

A gunshot from inside the small room where Kayla was and two Jamess ran towards the door, thinking that maybe the scientist managed to overpower Kayla.

Is everything alright? The scientist gave away his secrets and died or do you need help?” said one of the James as they saw Kayla outside the room. Something almost broken in her eyes.

She shook her head. “I tried to…” but then the words caught in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about this- right now, she didn’t want to even think about it. There’s a man bleeding in the closet behind her. And she shot him.

She shot him.

“He’s alive. I’ve hurt him. Badly. I didn’t want to, but-” her voice tried to fly away again, and she struggled to catch it, “-but I did. I did hurt him. Because of you.” She crossed her arms. “‘Cause of your sadistic, fucked up thoughts floating around in my head. It’s your fault. It’s not mine!”

The One sighted and stared at Kayla for a few seconds, looking at her closely. Emotions fighting on her face. One of the James stepped around Kayla and went to the scientist, bleeding from his arm. Nothing major, not enough to kill him.

Kayla. Listen to us. Think. Remember our training, our plight. Calm your emotions. Breath. In. Breath. Out. Center yourself. said the other James. Mimicking what they were telling Kayla.

After Kayla followed their advice and calmed down, they said :

As long as he still lives, it wasn’t us. You know better than anyone what would’ve happened here if we wouldn’t have our minds merged with yours.
You’ve also been warned what could happen if our minds merged and you agreed and we’re sure you understand why we proposed it as well. We understand your feelings but you also have to understand ours.
” continued the James, a melancholic tone in their voice.

She nodded. She did understand; that was the worst and best part of it. She knew exactly what he was saying, and why he was saying it. What argument could there be?

“Come on,” she says. “We can’t let him just bleed there.”

The first aid kit was easy to find, the general design not having changed in the last three hundred years: a big, blaringly white box marked "FIRST AID." Kayla should not have known how to use a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood, or how to dress the wound at all. But the One learned it in military training.

"Okay, okay," she told the administrator, as she finished it up in bandage, while he sat on the floor in front of her, "you should be alright. Roughly speaking."

He stared down at his arm, not for the first time in this little procedure. "I thought you were going to kill me?"

"I could never do that."

"The passcode is Alpha-71-Beijing."

Kayla nearly dropped the first aid kit in shock. He just told her, like that?

The James that was with Kayla watched her clean the admin’s wound and bandage it up. It seemed like a very complicated process centuries ago when they were going through training. Up, down, left, right. Make a small circle with the antiseptic then close it to the wound. They could do it now even if deprived of all their senses.

The James smiled, a kind smile as the admin told Kayla the code. It was rare for the One to truly smile but in this moment, they felt happy. One helping another, no strings attached.

Kindness is rare and it can go a long way. Admin, we never asked for your name but share it with us and we will remember you forever. ” said the James.

“Luther Able,” said the admin, “and I have lived in the ECU for all of my sixty-seven years. I’ve seen the very worst of the protectors and the Oligarchs. As long as you act as they do, everyone will resist you. It’s only when you show kindness that you might break your enemy’s heart.“ He twisted to face Kayla. “If you ever really get into power, madam, remember that.”

She nodded, and swore that she would.

With the passcode, disabling the Beijing power plant was simple. Soon, a rolling darkness swept across New Beijing, one block turning out after another. When they came back on, the system had been firmly disconnected from the Oligarch’s remote access, the passcode changed, and the White Flowers called in to guard it.

Luther Able and his colleagues were set free. But, like all protectors, the guards themselves had to be taken into custody, to await a trial at some future, undetermined date- presumably, when New Hollywood is finally free.

But now that must be made to happen.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

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The Khan's Liszt
The Meeting Place

The Hungarian Rhapsodies. A complex and beautiful set of piano pieces written by the brilliant Franz Liszt. Though the 2nd Rhapsody enjoys its time in the spotlight, all 19 were wonderful in their own right. Played by the descendant of the same mind and musical brilliance, it was a euphoric two-and-a-half hour experience. Franz Liszt VI was on a low stage in the same open space the Khanate used to parade, dark lighting and a silent crowd to set the scene. Around this humbly dressed chimp on center stage, were several dignitaries from around the Meeting Place but mainly, the Khanate ambassadorial staff.

One day, the simple performance of a particularly talented son of Mozart V, a mere clerk in the Khanate staff, was enjoyed by many. Henceforth, Herald Temujin II held twice-weekly performance showcasing the many different musical talents of the Khanate. Sometimes, the space was filled to the brim by people listening to their cultural heritage on display. Right now, despite the masterpiece playing and the genius playing it, it was quiet. It was not an insult to Liszt or his descendants, it was just the mere fact that such vivid performances had played twice every week since the Khanate had arrived.

Humans got bored of even the most beautiful things if exposed to it enough.

As of now, there were a few people of note and some not, along with the entire ambassadorial staff of the Khan. Recent events also impacted participation. It was written in the contracts they signed that each staff member, from janitor to ambassador, needed a certain amount of off time. To the eccentric Temujin II, he found these performances to be the perfect time.

It was here, in this dark space with a spotlight on the pianist center stage, two of the most important apes wined and dined, in one of the many elevated opera-style boxes on stilts. Uniquely primitive, wooden with steps but ornate and extravagant all the same, standing over the common seats below. Priestess Joan wiped her mouth with a white cloth having finished the 6th course of her meal. The ape across from her merely sighed, pouring another glass of Old Earth red wine to the brim of the wine glass with shaking hands.

"This one does not know much about alcohol, but this one believes you should avoid drinking this much so often Mr. Descartes."

The powdered-chimp, looking dignified yet worn, smiled after drinking half the glass. "That may be, madamoiselle, but we Freemen have always been on the alcoholic side. We love our drink almost as much as we do our democratic processes." He swirled the drink in his hand, staring at it with melancholy before downing the rest in one gulp. A dying man's actions, for sure.

Joan had grown up over her time as ambassador, seen the glass she tip-toed everyday. The stress wore on her, draining her dealing with all of these foreign ambassadors. Recent events only proved how precarious their, and the Khanate's, true position in this galaxy was. That meeting with those strange hybrid Mahre humans only edged away at her purist heart. Spirits bless the Conservationist's souls if they went through what they wanted, she thought, glancing down at the [APPROVED] stamp in her hands.



This last action at the end of this week only tore away at her soul, as she stared at the unfortunate young chimp before her. So young, so foolish. "This one is typically not allowed to make friendships but finds themself missing you already, Mr. Descartes."

"Ahh madame, you wound me so. I am young and free, I will not be dying any time soon." They neglected to talk about the black-clothed guards surrounding the both of them. In truth, the young Descartes had been caught in dealings with a certain rogue gene-slave, the descendant of an Italian dictator. Along with his facilitation of a Legion experiment into New Hollywood, the Khan merely lumped the blame for Freemen desertion in the E.S.M.G on top of all his crimes. The punishment? A fate worse than death.

There was silence as their last dishes were taken away, Descartes' glass filled to the brim by a robotic server. It was purplish and viscous, swirling in the glass with a deadly trepidation. "As a last meal, this one must admit there are worse things to choose from than a six-course meal by Murata Yoshihiro himself. Well, a descendant of his."

A laugh. Maybe one of his last? "I admit I took many a trip to Neo-Japan as a young child, aspiring to be one of their cool samurai. Instead, I merely adopted a love for Japanese food only to return to a place where European cuisine was king." Descartes smiled, reminiscing with eyes black and blue. "That's why I wanted to become President, you know? Because as a boy barely grasping his branches, I wished to mandate that Japanese food be served at every dining table." Another laugh, this one more melancholic than the last as it ended in a series of coughs.

She smiled, her eyes feeling moist at the edges. "This one hopes the spirits embrace you in your eventual final rest, Mr. Descartes."

He snorted, tapping a shattered finger to the purplish liquid. "I do not know much of the spirits, madame Orléans, but I do believe there is no rest for me just yet. Perhaps never. We must see where the coin lands tomorrow." A pause. "What do your spirits say about an ape such as I?"

She chewed on the question, pouring her own red wine with more delicacy and care. "This one believes that the spirits see all of us as sinners, as guilty as those who survived. Thus we must strive to be good, to relieve ourselves of our guilt. This one believes you have done good and bad in your life, Mr. Descartes, and that the spirits are glad they have more time in deciding your fate."

He nodded slowly, tapping on the table in time with the music below. There was a silence shared between the duo before it was broken once again by him. "What are we doing about those fellows trampling about in Sol? In all this business, I never got around to sending a response to those Xandalian folk."

Business as always, even to the last. Joan smiled, handing over two files to the chimpanzee across from her. It would be one of the things she would not be missing about him: his insistence on physical files for everything.





He smiled, nodding in appreciation. "Good work, as always madamoiselle. Hopefully that message to the intruders goes through, I see you tried to send it through all known frequencies. Most likely the message would arrive after action is taken. You were always better at this ambassadorial nonsense than I was. Perhaps my replacement will find you as good a company as I have." This time, Joan could not stop the tears fall from her face. He merely frowned, attempting to dab his ever-present handkerchief on her cheeks.

She waved his hands away, wiping the liquid into her fur instead. "Never mind that sir. This one is merely moved by this musical piece you have chosen. It would be good for you to know, before you go that is, that there has been a recent flower found in the garden here. Change is coming, Mr. Descartes, and this one is proud to have known an ape to have been part of the wheels which move history." The music continued in the background, never stopping. Truly, music could move emotions so. He smiled in response, happy at having shared one last moment with a friend.

A pistol harshly placed itself behind his head, cutting into the reverence of the moment. Descartes sighed, looking more aged than Joan had ever seen him.

He raised his glass. "To the next life, madame Joan Orléans."

She raised her own, a vintage red to his dark purple. "To the next life, Mr. Descartes."

They drank their glasses to empty. Slowly, one of them lowered themselves on the table into a gentle rest. As he was dragged away never to be seen again, she turned her misty gaze towards the beauty below.

"This was his favourite part." She muttered to no one, alone in the darkness, listening to Liszt long past the end of the performance.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Enigmatik
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Enigmatik Overly-Caffienated Thembie Supreme

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THE BATTLE FOR NEO LONDON


A collaboration between @Irredeemable and @Tortoise


The rebels have wrapped ropes around the neck of a statue of Savant Bern, who stood proudly in James Park for forty years. The ECU has flowers of every colour- except, strategically, for white- planted before his metal feet. The rebels trample on those flowers as they tug, tug at the ropes on his neck, making him creak and groan, tetter and totter, until at last he falls to the ground and pushes up a plume of dust. He is cut into sections and melted down, creating 12,000 bullets.

A man drills his team as a sergeant, teaching them to move in formation, to follow orders, to fire and advance and retreat all in unison. They have little time to practice, so it is brutal, non-stop; every moment is spent as a unit. Each day is spent preparing.

A woman who has spoken before speaks again, but now her crowd is larger. Tiffany Holstead preaches to thousands, with a fury of fire that burnt into their hearts. She never tires. Each day, her sermons of war are heard clearly, ringing out in the silent places where the ECU psyche-warfare has ceased. She becomes a priestess in their eyes.

The Matuvistans have made a grave error. Just by coming here, even, they transformed the White Flowers of Neo London into something they never were before: an army. And war has begun.




Three shots crack out into the night, each one a message. This was the agreed-upon signal. The invasion begins. A team on motorbikes comes first, riding in a fast, wide curve in front of the Matuvistan walls, each bike having a driver, and a man or woman with an automatic weapon who fires haphazardly at any figure visible on those walls.

Nikki was so, so tired.

This was not the first time she had been exhausted in the military of course, but this time was unique. Never before had she been so far away from home, never before had she been fighting apes and fake soldiers, and never had she been fighting still injured.

Her leg had turned out to have been a nicked artery. Once it had been sealed and the muscle damage treated, she was functionally fine, capable of serving once more, but just because she could serve didn't mean she should be serving. She should be in the medical bay waiting for it to heal up properly, not having it twinge with pain for every step she took through the base.

But the medical bay was full, and she wasn't injured enough to be pulled off the line. It was clear to most of the Matuvistans that reinforcements weren't coming any time soon. Patrols had been downsized massively- no more were they making their presence known, now every strike was made for a specific reason and purpose.

The last one had been to try and catch the infernal witch that had been riling the people up to launch assaults against their base. Despite the fact that it had run into heavy resistance, the patrol had pulled through with the loss of only a single jetrike (not that they could spare many more of those,) the death of many rebels, but no captured Tiffany.

Things were starting to become dire. Morale had slowly decreased, even with the dedication of Matuvistan soldiers. It was getting to everyone: being trapped in base, being awoken to mortars or rocket strikes, the constant crack of sniper and counter-sniper fire. Back home there had been the opportunity to rotate out of a frontline combat camp, or at the very least enjoy some nice modern amenities, but here nothing was guaranteed. There was also a hidden element to the morale sapping of this conflict: the jetknights hadn't been deployed en masse. There were no jetknights to deploy en masse.

The whole expedition had with it only eleven jetknights, one of which was Commandanta Isabella herself, and despite what the soldiers would admit, for as much as they slagged off the patricians and their fancy vehicles, almost every single one of them felt a surge of confidence at the roar of hyper-efficient jet thrusters and the blasts of plasma casters.

All of this was shoved to the back of her mind as she heard motorbikes squealing and gunfire from the street. Immediately a wall-mounted heavy machine gun opened up, its heavy thudding sound responding to the lighter rattles of the vehicle-mounted guns.

The fighters on the bikes didn’t so much as flinch when the machine gun started firing at them.

That's strange already, but what's more: they didn't bleed, either.

Holograms, of course. The bullets they fired were "real," but not like the true ones. The hardlight of the ECU can pierce skin, maybe even armour, but it doesn't pack quite the same punch as real alloy. And the holo-controller, peeking through the window of a skyscraper, flinched each time they fired a shot.

These things are a drain on energy. Every bullet they fire steals a little bit of life from the holo-emitters, which have to be charged up before each use. And what's worse are the bullets they get hit with: the holograms automatically "harden" at the point they're struck, costing even more energy than their usual movements. White Flowers have been hitting every abandoned store and depot in Neo London to find fuel for this fight. It wouldn't be a problem in a holo-suite. On the battlefield...

He estimated that they have two more runs like this left. As the motorbikes disappeared around a corner, he smashed several buttons by muscle memory, and the same motorbikes reappeared to begin their circuit fresh.

The Matuvistans knew they were firing at shadows. Or well, holograms, but what were they supposed to do? Not shoot at the enemies ‘firing’ upon them? The bikes reappeared, the guns reloaded and started back up again. Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

Nikki continued her patrol. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Those disappeared as well, and another round of holo-bikers came, carrying the exact same armaments and identical faces. It's like a scene playing on loop, until-

An explosion went off far behind Nikki, rattling the walls. Unknown to her, the Flowers blew a separate section of the wall with explosives, letting rebels pour double-file into the backend of an open courtyard in New Westminster. The not-motorbikes were only a distraction. Far up above, the holo-controller exchanges his devices for a sniper- to pick off anyone who approaches his encroaching Flowers.

They wear white masks, to hide their identities. Tiffany Holstead is among them.

Klaxons sounded. The bases’ lights switched from their regular white glow to a dim red to save power, and instructions began to run across communications systems.

“¡Caimán-7, report!”
“¡Lieutenant Roca, we have men down, repeat, men down!”
“¡This is Ancla-4, we have multiple hostiles incoming, returning fire!”
¡Timón-3 WE ARE PINNED DOWN, NEED IMMEDIATE SUPPORT ASAP!

Nikki turned to the soldiers next to her, took a deep breath, and began to run, wincing every time she put pressure on her wounded leg. Above, in low-orbit, ground attack craft dropped free from their moors, engines howling as they plummeted towards the ground below them in an attempt to staunch the flow.

“¿Quetzal-5, our jetrikes are ready to respond, are we clear to use plasma?”
“Copy Quetzal-5, Emperatriz. Plasma authorised. Turn them to ash.”
“Serpiente-2, we’re bringing the big guns. Hold on Timón-3.”

If the white-masked invaders thought they were going to have an easy time of it, they were sorely mistaken. Through the dust from the explosions, illuminated by the spinning lights and crackle of gunfire, the Matuvistans put up a sterling defence. Despite everything they had gone through on this foreign planet, they held.

The White Flowers were outgunned, and knew it. The sniper shot at the jetrikes, desperately, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

But these attackers were hand-picked by Tiffany and Dallas- most of them were like one or the other. Either young and unafraid to die, or else old and so full of bitterness that they would spill an ocean of their own blood to finally see a drop of their enemies'. They fought madly. Self-sacrificing.

"Grenade!"

Shrapnel filled the small building it had been tossed into. Tiffany and half of her crew dodged in after it, never mind the heat, or the scorched bodies. One Matuvistan was still, just barely, alive when they entered; he wasn't after one of the Flowers shot him. Here they flipped over tables, making haste to barricade, where they hoped to hide from the murder coming from above.

The other half of Tiffany's crew tried the same thing with another New Westminster building. The grenade did burst, filling it with shrapnel, but they were caught by Matuvistan plasma. Nothing remained where they had stood. The Flowers cursed.

A third explosion rocked the compound, further away, this one from outside the walls again. A hole caved inwards, and more rebels dodged in, weaving chaotically: the Scuttlers gang. No masks. Much less organized, but more numerous, violent and experienced. Some of them had been in shoot-outs before. Other forces threw ropes with hooks on them over the walls, trying to literally scale them and climb into Matuvistan compound. It was becoming an attack from every possible angle.

“¡GET THE FUCK OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!” Nikki threw herself to the ground behind a brickwork wall, watching as another soldier peeked out of cover and laid down a sustained burst from their assault rifle. The empty mag hit the floor, a fresh one was slotted in almost immediately, and then the firing resumed.

Nikki hauled herself around, eyes squinting to make it through the moonlight. A vague figure sprinted towards them in the distance. Sight. Aim. Shoot. Her rifle crackled in her hands, and the figure spasmed a few times, then dropped to the floor. In the adrenaline rush, the impact of her having killed someone was dulled.

From the distance, a rifle kicked a staccato rhythm. Crack, crack, crack… Crackcrackcrack. A scream from somewhere, no here!

A soldier on the opposing side of the brickwork had taken a round. A man wearing a medical armband took a risky sprint across the open street, bullets puffing up dust in their aftermath, before skidding on their kneepads, rolling the injured man over and setting to work.

Then came a sound that must have horrified the attackers. The low, droning sound of a ground-attack craft loitering overhead. A gravelly voice broke out through the comms systems. ”This is Dragón-1. Let’s start spitting fire.”

The sky seemed to groan under the weight of the ammunition being expended, but no, that was just the sound of its rotary autocannons spinning up. 35mm shells rained down, turning the pavement to pebbles and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its path into bloody chunks.

Rebel anti-aircraft defences were activated at this, perched strategically on nearby hills outside New Westminster. They shot for the Dragón like harpoons, AA fire lashing out towards the craft. Dragón wheeled about in the air, flying low and fast to try to avoid missiles and retaliated, its autocannons turning to try to disable this new threat.

As Dragón-1 moved to engage and distract the AA, bombers closed in. It was clear that regardless of civilians, tonight, this was war. Any dead body would be counted as a soldier, no matter how small or unarmed.

”Dragón-2, sustaining heavy anti-aircraft fire. Returning to base now, before I can’t stay airborne.”

"Dragón-7, I’ve lost half my damn thrusters. I can’t climb, but I’m not crashing yet. Going to take as many of the bastards down with me as I can. Viva Matuvista, Dragón-7 over and out.”

”Dragón-10. Skies are empty over here, and we keep chewing through them. Scratch thirty.”

There was a brief pause on the radio, then, ”Scratch thirty-two.

It was a comfort, however small, to the soldiers on the ground to know that despite everything, their ángeles de la guarda loomed heavy in the skies, extracting their pounds of flesh.

Across the battlefield, a set of offices had become a desperate struggle. Matuvistan soldiers held down tight corners and prepared for the worst when a grenade landed down on the floor. Diving for cover, they were caught off guard when as soon as the explosive had detonated, five Mixists surged forwards, carrying axes and swords. A marine met them with a bayonet, one of the Mixists catching the blade in their chest before another sunk an axe into the marine’s neck.

A Matuvistan raised their sidearm up with one hand and squeezed the trigger. The sound was deafening in the enclosed location, but the Mixist kept approaching, machete held in hand. The pistol bucked again and again, six, seven, eight shots and still the Mixist kept coming, until at last a heavier assault rifle round smashed into his kneecap and the wind was taken from his sails. They had worn the ECU’s bulletproof vests tonight.

“Fuego-3, we’ve got a group pinned down here.”

“¡Caimán-3, they’ve got fucking axes! ⸘What bullshit is this‽”

Nikki’s teeth were gritted so hard she felt as if she was going to crack one. Comms was not helping her focus.

The last of the reserves were being sent in. Those few marines who had remained void borne, those precious elites that had been kept close to the chest the whole conflict, were now being deployed. They filtered into transport ships, lit cigarettes, went through last-minute checks, and said their prayers. The craft dropped out of their moors and began the descent downwards towards New Westminster. Somewhere in one of the crafts, music started up.

”Because we know as we fly there is no chance for defeat.

If we live or if we die it’s all the same to me.

Because the saints have chosen us, if it’s livin’ or it’s dyin’

And when our time comes, there’s no time for cryin’

Fought in Chalca, fought in Paola, fought on every saintsdamned moon.

I’ve shot an alien for humanity and watched its blood leak blue,

And I’d do it all again, launch myself into this fight

Because they can’t take my bark, sure as hell can’t take my bite

And if I die tonight, I know the saints’ll take me safe

Away from this place that I can’t see clearly…”


The sounds of battle overtook the sounds of the radio. One of the transport sides had opened up, and a marine leaned out with a GPMG, opening fire at a group of individuals that were running from the gunfire.

“⸘The fuck are you doing‽ ¡There are civilians down there!”
“¡FUCK THE CIVLLIANS! ¡IF THEY’RE OUT TONIGHT, THEY’RE NOT CIVILIANS. THEY’RE COMBATANTS! ⸘YOU HEAR THAT YOU HOLLYWOOD SHITS‽ ¡ANYONE WHO RUNS IS A REBEL! ANYONE WHO STANDS IS A WELL-DISCIPLINED REBEL! ¡HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!” The maniacal laugh slowly petered out, but the gunfire did not.

One of the Flower snipers waited as patiently as he could for a clear shot, trying- and only partly succeeding- to ignore the screams of his comrades on the ground. At last, the transport turned just a little, and the sniper pulled his trigger.

The marine jerked backwards, the report of the rifle following shortly afterwards. “¡Puta mierda! ¡Dumbfuck!” One of the soldiers scrambled forward, putting pressure on a leaking shoulder wound, the bullet having passed straight through the marine’s armour. One of the other soldiers reached for a medical kit as they tried to keep their comrade alive. Still. One marine WIA was no cause to slow the assault. “¡You don’t deserve the Bloodied Heart this’ll get you!”

There were eleven jetknights able to participate on the ground of New Hollywood. Isabella was one of them. As rare as it was for the primary commander to participate in the fighting, as absurd as it seemed, she was needed. She would voluntarily give up her commanding position whilst she was off her main vessel, and would instead become a humble jetknight squadron leader. Leaving the nerve center of her operation, she made her way to the jetbike transport bays and prepared herself, two members of staff ferrying her power armour to her.

It slotted over her with the comfort that only came with a piece carefully tailored to your body. All extra flair had been stripped from her uniform- even her jacket and trousers, leaving her in just her undergarments. Metal greaves closed around her thighs, a back-piece clunked into place. She rolled her shoulders out, feeling the systems come alive above her body. Stretch her left arm. Stretch her right arm. Shake out her legs. Excellent.

She reached for her provided helmet and fixed it fast to her collar guard. When complete, it formed an airtight seal, her breathing guaranteed through a complicated intake/outtake system that functioned as a gas mask and could be sealed off in case of the suit being submerged or without atmosphere. The other jetknighs slowly formed around her, and she received the only sign of her being any grander than the rest of her squadron- a cape magnetically affixed underneath her gravity chute.

"In thy strength, O saints, the just warrior shall exult, and in thy salvation they shall rejoice exceedingly. Thou hast given them their heart's desire. We beseech Thee, O saints…” On and on the prayers went as the jetknights went through last minute preparations, and finally received their lances, the unlit handles clamping fast to their vehicles.

In the courtyard, things were getting rougher. Tiffany and her crew were barricaded in their small building, only a few dozen strong, each listening to the sounds of that nightmare playing outside. Just as Isabella prayed to her Saints, the Mixists crowded in here pleaded to their Truth. This religion was still new, and their prayers unofficial. No special words were ordained- they spoke straight from their hearts.

"Truth, grant me the strength to live tonight."
"Truth, keep us safe."
"Please, give me the timing and the aim to blow their commandanta’s brains out of her skull, oh Truth at the center of the universe."
"Just... teach me to lead."

At the last words, which were her own, Tiffany reached to her ear and pressed a small button on the device nuzzled there. At this, two things happened.

The first was that all other rebels on the field went half-deaf. In a good way. They all wore similar devices in their ears, little pieces of metal and plastic that descended from the earphones of Old Earth. They could drown out or amplify any sound desired. Today, they were pre-programmed for war: the terrifying sounds of screams, grunting and crying vanished, just as the sounds of gunfire became so much more distinct. A man wearing these knew if a rifle was being loaded fifty feet away. But every other sound, every distraction- gone. Peace descended onto them.

At the same time, a new and distinctly ECU-style of offense began. There had been much debate about using this tactic: nobody wanted to feel like the protectors. But needs must. Comm channels filled with pure static and noise, as a horrifying wailing sound, somewhere between a siren and a woman's scream, played outwards from the earworms. The ECU had created this sound specifically to activate the human instinct to flee or hide.

"Alright," Tiffany spoke to her team, "we rush now, automatics first, axes and swords following. Whatever you do, even if you die: just make them bleed." Tables and chairs were kicked, pushed, thrown out of the way as her crew re-entered the fray.

Comms channels filled with an awful noise, and for a moment, the Matuvistan defence stumbled. Dragón-7 lurched downwards, losing more of its precious altitude. In the offices, a marine was caught off guard, earning herself a shotgun blast to her unprotected neck. One of the jetrike squadrons, flying in a tight formation, lost synchronicity for a precious second, one of the trikes accidentally nudged by another on a sharp turn, the nudged trike coming precariously close to spinning out and into a nearby building, and only pulling itself out at the last minute.

Nikki would have ripped her commsbead out, but they were specifically designed to ensure a soldier couldn’t do that. Instead, she clapped a hand to her ear and pressed herself against the wall, feeling the impacts of bullets against the brickwork.

But then, slowly, Matuvistans turned to a tactic that had served them time and time again, before even they were called Matuvistans, before they had left Earth, before their guns could fire more than a shot without needing a reload. It was a battle-hymn, tried and tested.

“Opposing pikes to horses, facing arquebuses to pikemen, with the soul united by the same faith, let the blood run to protect the republic. Cross of Lobasla fluttering in the wind, sons of Santiago, great are the tericos, pikes, battalion, flanks covered, only the man who is not afraid is free. Fight for your brother, die for your republic, live for peace in this empire, there will never be defeat if they make us prisoners, only after death will we capitulate. Mesh gorget, leather vest, breastplate and backplate will protect me from iron, lift the pikes with a cry to the sky, I will never be afraid if the terico marches in a column.”

It was a slow, sombre song, and one that almost all of the soldiers slowly took up. It was a stunning contrast to the sounds of battle, a slow melody to the wars of the past. As the rebels charged, the Matuvistans dug in their heels, both sides living up to the song. Only after death will we capitulate.

Nikki watched as the medic dragged their charge off, towards the backline, assisted by another soldier. As they cleared another defensive position the charge hit those remaining behind, and Nikki fought for her life yet again.

It was a blurry, hazy mess. She lost track of the words to the song as a soldier practically leapt at her, feeling the impact of his bullets against her armour. She retaliated with her own gunfire, the bigger, heavier Matuvistan bullet dropping him before she fell. Wheezing, the air forced out of her chest and a rib cracked, she tried to swing her gun to the next rebel rushing their position, but found herself unable to bend her arm far enough. As more bullets crashed into her, she fell to the ground, head hitting the concrete with a crack that sent her mind spinning. She lifted a hand up to the sky, a breath catching in her lungs, then rising up to her lips with a bitter, copper cough.

It was a cold night. Not like those back homes. Maybe she’d just close her eyes and wait for the sun to come out.




Isabella listened to her own radio chatter and frowned. The larger, more secure surface-to-orbit comms hadn’t been broken by the rebel hack, and what news she was getting was all bad news. Only three ground attack craft were still airborne. Three had gone down. One had run out of ammunition and had to retreat, and three more had sustained damage severe enough to force them to return to base without actually being rendered inoperable. Half the jetrike squadrons had stopped responding. Now, the last order being asked of her before she left her command ship was a simple one.

“Commandanta. Permission to launch an orbital strike at SAM batteries? They’re a risk to you and anyone else in the air.”

“Negativo. This is still a civilian center. We’re tearing the ground up enough in this fight, let’s not start flattening it as well. Missiles and bombers only.”

“Acknowledged. Go with the saints, knight.”

Neither her nor the artillery officer knew just how important that order would be.

Isabella’s cape fluttered slightly as she sat down astride her jetbike. The jetbike carrier unclamped itself from the command ship and began its descent, the garage totally silent. Then, they hit the atmosphere, and a roaring sound slowly began to build up.

“Prep for high altitude deployment.” Isabella issued the order with a firm voice, the craft bursting through re-entry and sailing down, down. The red light in the garage switched to green, and the magnets that kept jetknights fixed to their bikes activated.

Then, they were set free from their bindings.

Temperature sensors showed the night to be freezing cold, but in their armour the jetknights felt nothing. They plunged down through the air in a loose V formation, pressed tight against the bodies of their bikes. The air rushed around them, a roaring that filled the ears and was only drowned out by the hammering of their hearts. A high-altitude deployment was the safest method for the garage vehicles, but took a long time if the jetbikes didn’t activate their thrusters… Which they didn’t, so the engine flare didn’t give away their position to anti-air.

Their radio frequencies tuned to the battle below. By now, the worst of the rebel hack had been overridden, and communications had been re-established, but she wasn’t talking to just her men now. She tuned to a broad-spectrum frequency, knowing that the rebels would be able to hear her.

”Atención all Matuvistan ground forces. Lt Cabalerra De Lobasla is making her way to the battlefield, and with her, all the fury and grace that the jetknights bring with them. To the rebels, know that the Hand of the Saints has come down to bless you with the justice you so richly deserve. Viva Matuvista. Viva la República.”

The announcement was met with a roar from the ground forces, and almost at once the rebels found themselves met with a resistance they had never seen before. The Matuvistans launched themselves into a counter-offensive like men possessed, the newly deployed marines throwing themselves into battle not just with their rifles, but some came with sabre, breaching axe and hand-shotgun as well, staples of ship boarding combat. A Mixist squad found themselves pinned down with startling celerity, a group of marines bearing down on them. When one of the rebels rose up to fight back, he earned an axe in the neck, the man collapsing half-decapitated as his fellows fell before a hailstorm of automatic fire.

Someone on the ground let a cry out through the general comms, just as Isabella had. ”¡KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE REBEL BASTARDS! ¡TEN OF THEM FOR EVERY MATUVISTAN THAT FALLS! ¡VIVA LA REPÚBLICA! ¡MATUVISTAAAAAAA!

The sides met with a clash that lit up the night. The last few bold gunships that had remained aloft discharged everything they had, howitzer shells breaking apart buildings and autocannon shots turning streets to cobblestone. Marine captains surged forward, sabres catching rebel weapons and pistols carefully aimed for where their armour couldn’t protect them, and above, in the air, the jetbikes roared forwards.

“Loose formation,” the Lt Cabalerra instructed. “Anti-air is still active. Remain light and loose. No charges, there’s nothing to break.” One of the bikes wheeled downwards in a strafing run, its guns, a squad of rebels either diving for cover or being caught out, the heavy calibre rounds punching through them and dropping them to the ground.

“Maintain offensive. Support squads where needed. We don’t have the numbers for hard engagements.” The Cabalerra swooped down, her plasma casters opening up. Men caught within the heat didn’t have time to scream; they were dead before their bodies could catch up with the pain. Her cape billowed and she tucked herself tighter against her leg, throwing her weight to one side of the bike whilst keeping a hand on the accelerator.

The streets began to blur past the knights. They wove through streets at madcap speeds, bolts of jet-powered lighting that brought with them screaming death. At one point a plasma lance was unsheathed, the rider swerving through small arms fire , eagerly grinning as his foes tried to dive out of the way of the glowing orange beam. Two failed. They wouldn’t be failing anything again.

Then, the unthinkable happened. One of the knights had gunned themselves over a plaza, only to be met with a rebel anti-air vehicle: four twenty-millimetre autocannons attached to a humble flatbed truck. Its radar systems hardly needed to be turned on, the jetknight was so close, and although their new foe wheeled about to face them startlingly quickly, even a jetknight wasn’t as quick as a trigger finger.

The air was filled with 20mm shells, and the jetknight tumbled out of the sky. The only sign the others had that something had gone wrong was a sudden emptiness on one of their radio frequencies, and Isabella’s HUD showing a squad member down.

“We lost one. Charing Cross. Stick together, eyes up, take it out, whatever it was.” The jetknights reformed and plasma lances were activated. Pressing themselves low to the ground, so low that an errant twitch could cause their bikes to eat dirt, they saw the offending vehicle. This time though, its cannons were far too slow to save it. Four separate lances tore the vehicle and crew apart, leaving it little more than slag, but the message had been received by the rebels.

They aren’t invincible.

On the ground, the rebels found themselves pushed back, inch by inch. Both sides fought like fanatics, rebels and soldiers pressing through pain and fatigue to bleed their foes for every drop. The last of the gunships reluctantly peeled away and returned to base, out of ammunition or limping from battle scars, but luckily for them, rebel AA had a new target.

Bring the knights down.

Isabella and her crew had noticed the change in focus. Every time they dared go too high up, they received warnings of radar lock. Too close to the ground and they were constantly threatened by autocannons and machine guns. They flew a dangerous line, darting in and out, killing soldiers here, destroying vehicles there, desperately keeping themselves as loosely organised as possible to stop a lucky rebel from downing two or more.

Then, it happened again. The knights made their charge, and the rebels responded. This time it was another up armoured vehicle, featuring rotary machineguns. They strafed across the knights, the heavy bullets denting bikes and armour as they passed. Its path moved towards the center of the pack, towards where Isabella flew, and in less than a second more than thirty bullets had slammed into her.

Isabella’s jetbike signalled multiple warnings, but the rider couldn’t process them. Her armour hadn’t held up, and blood spilled down onto the streets below. The other riders could see that she was out, her bike operating purely on instinct.

“Commandanta Isabella is down! Repeat! The commandanta is down! All units, move to secure her bike immediately!

The Matuvistan army pushed forward again, and finally, the rebels began to break. The white flowers couldn’t keep up this invasion: they were outgunned and the constant flow of reinforcements had slowed to a stop. Those who fought here today would remember what they saw for the rest of their lives. It hadn’t been a bloodbath. It had been a flood. The only consolation? The Matuvistans bled, too.

It was time to get out.

Tiffany Holstead chimed into the ear of every rebel wearing an earwig, her voice cutting through the combat: “Retreat. Retreat, back to base. Retreat.” It was an order that would be only halfway executed, with the Matuvistan occupiers bearing down on them: countless were captured that night. But Tiffany escaped, again, feeling now like she was protected by Truth Itself. There was a horrific moment where a Matuvistan aimed a gun straight for her, but then suddenly glanced to his left- at a sound, or a sight- and that was just enough for her to escape. She muttered a quiet prayer of thanks.

When the impromptu rebellion leader left New Westminster behind, joined by whatever haggard survivors could make that retreat with her, she left one final gift for the Matuvistans. Transmitted audibly through every captured rebel’s earworms, her voice said:

“Matuvistan occupiers, my name is Tiffany Holstead. I was present tonight. I came personally to see this attack, just as I will come for the next. Because there will be more. Because there are millions of us, and so long as you live on our land, we will come. Every day and night. Until every last one of you is dead. How many did we take with us tonight? How many do you have left?

This does not end. Go home, Matuvista.”





"It's over." Capitão Alvarez looked down at the mutilated form of their once-commander in the ship's medbay. Isabella was alive, yes, but only so by the grace of the saints, and there was little left here of the pretty thing that had set off. Her left arm hung on by a thread, she had lost an eye and only half of her face could charitably be called 'identifiable.' She had been miraculously, almost comically lucky that her internal organs had suffered less damage than her extremities had, but even now she survived thanks only to an army of tubes and machines.

"We're leaving. We have no more reinforcements. No more Commandanta. No more allies. We've barely got enough ammunition to survive the rest of the month, and the rebels still have enough men to almost break us at our strongest. If they do that again, we will be overwhelmed, and every man down there will be lost.

"Bullshit we're leaving. We don't have senatorial permission." One of the jetknights that had flown with Isabella countered the Capitão angrily.

"Don't question me boy. You're a patrician, but I've fought wars since you were still a swimmer in your pa's nutsack. The senate will issue a retreat. I will be discussing it with them on the command deck, and despite your fancy jetbikes, you're still lower ranking than me on this ship and you will act like it." Alvarez's face burned for the jetknight to question him, and, astonishingly, they did not.

"Attention all members of the Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Force. This is acting-Commandante Alvarez Jaca. We're done here. The recent assault proved that. Their anti-air was seriously damaged in the battle and we'll never have a better moment to extract from this city. Destroy anything that can't be packed up in twenty four hours. Transfer all prisoners and wounded to void-borne facilities. The evacuation will be completed at 0800 local time tomorrow. Acting-Commandante out."

With the message relayed, Alvarez looked down at Isabella one more time. Matuvistan medicine was keeping her alive, but even the most aggressive and expensive healthcare on the market would leave her disfigured and crippled. Matuvista couldn't save her.

But maybe there were some that could.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Sigma
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Sigma

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@Irredeemable
Some hours had passed since the operation to regroup begun, a good portion of the 401st having been saved by Matuvistan hunting squads, not without sustaining some casualties of course, the incoming reinforcements from the fleet did wonders. Reports from scouts indicated that the White Flowers had staged a massive assault on New Westminster some time ago, the battle however….was a massacre on their end. "Those civvies had fucking balls." Ron said, in the passenger seat of a Glider.

“Sergeant, do you read?” Lt. Shepard spoke over the radio.

“Copy that, ma’am.”. Ron replied. “What’s going on.”

“We’re getting reports from wayward squads of Matuvistan units falling back throughout the city…and we’re detecting mass heat signatures in New Westminster.”

Ron could easily connect the dots there. “They’re retreating.”

“Bingo, as of now, your mission profile has changed.”

“But Lieutenant, they still got our people!”

“I’m very aware of that, we'll sort that problem soon before they leave the system. I need you focus on securing Neo London."

With a hint of hesitation, but at the same time, relief, Ron complied. “Copy that, ma’am.” Ron than begun to tinker with the Glider’s radio to broadcast a message to all nearby units. “Mission’s changed boys and girls. The Mashties are retreating, leaving us to secure the city, The fleet above will handle the prisoner situation.” As he said this, Ron looks up to the sky as she clearly sees the transports and shuttlecraft ascending towards the clouds.




The Yankie and her escorts were moving en route to the position of the Matuvistan fleet, the Yankies launching a few squadrons of Razorwings and Starhawks, who were sent out far ahead to intercept the Matuvistans, their ship's within visual range. Lt. Shepard sat anxiously on her CO's command chair, praying to the Gods that this won't come to bloodshed...especially with Columbian civilians and marines on board those ships. "Open channels with them."

A moment passes before the officer gives gives her the all green. "This is Lt. Shira Shepard of the Assault ship Yankie to all Matuvistan vessels, I am here to make a simple request. That you release your Columbian prisoners into our care, doing so will avoid anymore dying for both sides and we promise that you may leave in peace once our people have been safely returned."




Earth
The Meeting Place

The Sol Gateway opened once more…however, this latest visitor and newest addition to the growing galactic community had one hell of a showy appearance. A massive teardrop shaped vessel had emerged from the other side, the ship was even larger than a Columbian Battle Carrier. The mere sight of it no doubt a surprise for the Undefeated Blockade. It was quite clear this vessel was not the same as the ones currently intruding in Sol and was allowed to continue its course.

From the Inner sanctum, a trio of robed figures stood, starring at a hologram model of the Earth…now reduced to ashes. “Oh by the Great Mother…” One of them muttered in a metallic tone. “Earth is no more…a mere husk what she once was, Gaia will be displeased.”

“She must be avenged!” Another spokes in a similar metallic voice. “These infidels do not deserve to be in her presence!”

“No.” The last one spoke. “Patience my brothers. In due time, they will meet oblivion, but not now, we must bid our time, we must…assess the stars, we must spread Her holy word.”

“In Gaia we are made Whole, Gaia be praised.” The three said in unison. “Establish communications, let us talk with our new brothers and sisters.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Liotrent
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Liotrent Tabby Space Cat

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NEW HOLLYWOOD GATE
HIGH ORBIT
NHS TORCHBEARER



A single unarmed ship as large as one of New Haven’s carriers emerged from the gate. On board there were trained medical staff, medical supplies, medical androids, food, water, and more. The fighting in New Hollywood has been all over New Haven net for days. New Haven, as a sign of good faith, sent NHS Torchbearer.

The Torchbearer was a stripped down defense carrier made to carry out a neutral medical aid mission. New Haven did not want to pick sides at this time. They were still new to the situation and rather than be swayed by either side, they chose to render aid to both through their medical expertise. Doctor Logan was in charge of turning this carrier into a hospital ship. There were already different sections for different people for different countries of origin.

“Are the medical transports ready?” He asked while his foot kept tapping on the floor. It was an unconscious thing but Logan was already nervous about all of this.

“Relax, the Medical Director and the Lead Director were very explicit in their instructions. While we ourselves may be an unarmed carrier, our staff are completely competent. We have security bots, scanners, and veteran defense personnel on this ship. You needn’t worry about a thing.”

Captain Marcelli Aldini was quite confident in the ship’s security. It was doubtful that any old craft would attack a neutral vessel. Not only that, it was communicated beforehand that the Directorate would send such a ship to alleviate some of the suffering. They were already making preparations to lock into geosynchronous orbit to begin operations airlifting injured soldiers and civilians to be treated for their wounds. In a way, this was preferable to capture.

There were several procedures, but during transit from surface to orbit, there’d be several rules that’d be stated. It essentially means that any unforeseen incidents regarding weapons discharge and fighting onboard the Torchbearer are strictly prohibited and the Directorate is willing to intervene with lethal force if this begins to endanger New Havenist staff. If this is acknowledged then the parties involved, not including New Havenists themselves, are solely responsible for any consequences this may incur upon the Gateway community as a whole.

The helmsman then reported the situation of the vessel, “Sir, locking into Geosynchronous orbit. We are ready to commence operations!”

Then communications, “Sir, open broadcast is ready for you.”

Aldini then took center stage on the bridge and stated, “To any and all stations that can hear this transmission, this is the NHS Torchbearer. We are here on a Neutral Aid Mission. All ships coming from this ship towards the surface will be carrying non-combatant personnel. They are here to help evacuate civilians and aid in evacuating soldiers that are in critical condition. This will of course include the White Flowers…”

Aldini paused for a moment to let this statement kick in. “... We will be providing a frequency for all who require aid. To mark your location for immediate medical support, either use a laser light and wave it around so that our I.R. sensors can pick it up, or pop a green smoke. I repeat, green smoke from this point onwards will be regarded as a medical mission. Any attempt to shoot down medical aid will escalate New Havenist military involvement in order to protect these craft...”

Aldini shifted the tone of his voice, “... Okay, now that the official message is done, here’s the dumb-dumb translation. I’ll be straight with y’all, y’all already have enough people shooting at you. Don’t make us have to add to that problem. Because here’s what’ll happen if any of these craft get shot down. Military ships will flood into this system. Military transports will start setting up safe-zones, which I’ll be honest, aren’t very safe and will have people ready to shoot at literally anything that has a gun. It don’t matter whether you’re injured or not, they’ll shoot you. You’ll have New Haven orbital fire missions that’ll cause more damage than there already is. Don’t be dumb-dumb, hell we even gave y’all the IFF signal for our ships on open broadcast, so if y’all shoot down enough of ‘em you’ll be missing the point of this all together you damned idiots. Captain Aldini out!”

The crew looked at Aldini, and so did doctor Logan. “Was that speech at the end necessary?”

“As someone who deals with idiot, fresh-from-boot, marines? Yes, it was very fucken’ necessary doctor. Get your people ready to commence operations.”

Soon, a the first few medical transports would leave the NHS Torchbearer, how many return would be up to the people around them and the people on the ground.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Jangel13
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@Tortoise

The usual ECU quarters wouldn’t be fit for this. Chaos is in the air, and the newcomers- if they’re observant at all- would feel it. Abadi led the Mahre ambassadors into the holo-suite, instead.

Based on the scans of their ships and the info leaked from other nations, the Collective should appreciate this. The holo-suite doors open to reveal a holographically created illusion of a forest clearing, rich in green and brown, filled with life all about. But curiously, a wood table sits right in the middle of it, with exactly the right number of seats for the delegation.

“Please, take any chair,” Abadi says. The table is round, so that nobody will sit at the head position. “The place you’re in now is not real, of course. But it should work for our talks. I hope you don’t mind that my compatriot here prefers to stand.” She nodded to a protector, her official security guard. He wore a brown suit, and she wore a long green dress: they were both trying to fit the assigned color theme.

Zephina and Richard had been contacted by another race shortly after their talks with the undefeated and they were glad that the other nations were willing to talk to them. She had soon followed after the message that she would be pleased to meet them. When they met with the representative she could sense a feeling of anxiousness in them although why that is she didn’t know. They were soon lead to a place they called a holo-suite. When they walked in she had Richard her translator as well as a single guard of her own, the same from her previous meeting striking an imposing figure. When the room suddenly changed they were surprised and half expected a fight as they got into a fighting stance Richard in front of Zephina and the guard putting his hands up as if ready to box. When they soon got treated to the sight of a forest they calmed down and instead looked around curiously. They didn’t realize that they could create a forest out of nowhere like this.

It was pleasant and they didn’t snap out of it until she said to take a seat. Zephina then responded and said “Only if you don’t mind that mine does the same” she said referring to her own guard as she and Richard sat down at the table. She then said “It is a pleasure to meet you in person. I am glad we are quickly meeting other races. Is there anything you would like to discuss with us?”

Abadi sat down opposite of Zephina. She hasn’t slept in two days, but manages to smile anyway- an instinct that months as an interstellar diplomat has forced on her. “Oh, many things, I’m sure…” she ticked through her infopad, skimming bullet-points notes of possible topics, but stopped and frowned a little when she saw one. “Here, there’s something we should get out-of-the-way first. I hear your nation has gone deep into ‘genetic modification?’ Tell me about that.” The ECU was still deeply hostile to any change in the human form.

Zephina was given another translation and was asked the question by Richard. After a few notes she spoke to him, he nodded and Zephina left it up to him to answer. Richard then started to explain “Madam Zephina has given me permission to speak to you as our head of genetic research. I am the lead scientist and as such my words carry enough weight without her needing to vouch for me. Our world was incredibly hostile towards us to a degree that we never thought possible and it wasn’t until a child who we now call the first flower showed us how to live in harmony with our surroundings. We banned all cybernetics, removing them from our history after that point. Since then me and my team have learned how to harness the planet's power into our own makeup. We don’t look like your baseline humans; however our DNA, the DNA of all humanity reveals our greatest strength, our ability to adapt to any environment. After centuries of research our bodies are tougher, stronger, faster, then any baseline human and it was through coexistence that we achieved this. The creed of every geneticist on our planet is Adaptation over domination while we have changed our bodies to be able to handle any extreme from toxins to lethal bites and anything nature can throw at us, we are still at our core human. Even if our forms don’t reflect that we still have our humanity and everything that makes us the same from the rest. Has that answered your question?”

Abadi nodded, slowly, seeming a little reluctant. There was one bright spot: they refused cybernetics. Once-upon-a-time, the ECU would have hated genetic modifications far more than they did cyborgs. But since the war with the Zetans, opinions have changed, and the image of the cyborg has become the go-to villain for all New Hollywood drama. Mutants seem better by comparison. Maybe that’s a selling point? She can see herself now, talking to the Savant: “Look, yes, they’re horrifying mutants. But they’re not cyborg horrifying mutants!” It probably wouldn’t work.

The protector beside her moved a little uneasily, twitching; almost like he wanted to reach for his weapon. Abadi reached over and rested a hand on his arm. Calm down.

“You’ll have to forgive my security,” she says, to Zephina and Richard. “He’s feeling a little nervous. You see, my people have long feared genetic mutations. Our homeworld, New Hollywood, has a problem with radiation, and that’s caused many generations of concern that it could damage our DNA. We consider human DNA to be precious, so we do not change it. But-” she thought for the right way to phrase this “-since coming here, to the Meeting Place, we have encountered many kinds of life. Mutants, apes who talk, aliens…” her voice trailed off for a second. “I think, perhaps, it is time for us in the ECU to learn to be more open to others.”

Richard listened as they spoke, seeing that their guard was on edge, they looked ready to step in if necessary but the motion to calm their aid made Richard and the escort calm down a bit. It seemed they were not exactly happy that they were mutants as they put it. Soon she mentioned their home and how they had radiation along with the fact that the baseline human DNA is precious while Richard agreed on a scientific standpoint the problem was that they could adapt the wrong way to an environment. Case in point radiation would warp human DNA negatively though how negatively it depends on the person and the amount of exposure, humans by themselves are weak. They then talked about how they should be more open to others and he said “Xenophobia doesn’t help, especially if you're seeking aid. I hope that we can prove that being open is a good thing rather than a negative thing.” He said as he took a breath to calm down wondering what made them dislike their kind so when they haven’t even met yet. To judge someone based on appearance was not something they practiced, at least not on such a stage. Yes there is the idea of someone looking pretty and being attracted to them but for them it was much different. He then said “Since you mentioned it, if there is such a problem in your home that deals with radiation I know me and my team of geneticists would be happy to look into it for you. We could even find a way to make the radiation a benefit rather than a detriment” He offered making sure not to go into detail that they could manipulate their DNA into harnessing the radiation positively since they seemed so against genetic tampering.

Abadi scratched her chin, letting her hand off the protector’s arm. “We could not allow any modifications to our own bodies. But you bring up an interesting point: are your people already resistant to radiation? There are certain ‘hot spots’ on New Hollywood. That is, areas where the radiation is particularly bad, and we’ve been unable to explore. Certain teams from the Mahre Collective- properly vetted, of course- might be welcome to them.”

Richard listened as she spoke and asked about if they were resistant to radiation already. He then said "we are already resistant to radiation however it depends on the kind of radiation that is causing it. Not to mention we would need time to adapt to it. We could certainly go to these hot spots and we would be able to set up shop there. We can create a barrier zone if you will while we study the radiation and create a way for us to nullify it, maybe even going so far as to thrive on it given enough time. What would you like?"

Abadi nodded. “Yes, I think I can grant you formal permission to visit these spots and propose solutions. If I may, I would suggest that you keep any observations focused on removing the radiation itself, rather than modifying us to resist it- my government would be closed to such recommendations. Some of these areas have hardly been seen by human eyes before- please share what you find with us.” Without saying it out loud, Abadi knew this was the real benefit of letting the Mahre visit these areas. New Hollywood would never accept modifications. But simply to send in some people, who were already mutants, to scout out radiated areas? That just might be accepted.

“Now,” she said, “what could my government offer as repayment?”

They listened and after hearing that they wanted to get rid of the radiation rather than adapt to it made Richard pause. They could of course figure out the cause but if they were opposed to modifying their own bodies then they couldn't promise to get rid of the radiation after all it could be something that is natural to the planet to produce. If that was the case then they would be against helping them destroy their own planet's unique ecosystem. Still they had no right to judge whether they should or shouldn't coexist with their own planet much like they couldn't do so against them. Soon enough he mentioned what they would like in return and this time Richard had to turn to zephina and asked what they would want from them in return for taking a look after explaining that their problem might be because it's simply a part of their planet.

She then said "in exchange for us discovering the source of your radiation zones. We would like to set up trade for minerals or material goods your planet can craft. Our planet isn't able to create factory items for example nor do we have the knowledge to create this very room we are standing in. We would simply ask for trade goods if that's acceptable"

The ECU rep nodded. “Yes, I believe we can share mineral resources. We have many alloys and metals. It should work nicely.”

“Then I believe we are finished here. We shall be in contact with you shortly about the finer details. Thank you for seeing us” Zephina said to him before they all got up and gave him a bow before they left and went to go and set things up.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by jorvhik
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The arena in the center of Krisfast, capital of Kudrion was packed more than usual today. Thousands of people had turned up to see the spectacle was about to go down. Looking up, Moimir Collins could even see winged shapes in the blue sky of Kudrion, some Kudrioni riding on their Drak to watch the coming fight from the skies.

Moimir heard the arena’s announcer speak. “Today, on Umos’ day, in the month of Iotz, in the thirtieth year of the Macan, Haldor, chieftain of the clan Noveron, will battle Dishuz, chieftain of the clan Kumar and king of Kudrion, in ritual combat for the right of kingship. This battle will end when one of the combatants dies. May the best combatant win.” The sound of a great gong signaled the start of the fight.

Moimir looked at the sand of the arena. The two figures, that of Dishuz, his friend and also king of Kudrion, and Haldor were already circling each other, sizing each other up. Dishuz, although getting on in his years, was larger than the other man, and Moimir knew from experience that he was still as strong as he had been in his younger years. Both combatants were naked from the waist up, only wearing simple cloth pants, and were armed with a single steel sword as tradition demanded.

As the two men started fighting, the arena suddenly fell silent and Moimir quickly saw why, as a new star had appeared in the sky, brightly burning even during the day. Was it an omen, announcing a change in leadership? Whatever it was, Moimir could feel that, after today, nothing would be the same in Kudrion anymore. In the end, the duel for kingship was a short affair. Haldor Noveron laid dead on the field, his blood spilling into the sands. The whole arena cheered as king Dishuz held his bloodied steel high.

It had been minutes after the duel when Dishuz had managed to find Moimir. The two men had been walking out of the arena, back to the Clan Council building, talking about the light that had so suddenly appeared in the sky. Around them, the city was more active than usual, Kudrioni frantically going back to their homes, checking their defenses and preparing their weapons. Events like this could mean anything. although both men had heard the legends and prophecies around these sorts of occurrences. The appearance of new stars or strange, unexplained lights in the sky would herald the end times, these prophecies said, but neither man could really be sure whether this was true. It was then that a woman approached the two men, seemingly out of breath. “My lords,” she said “I am a messenger from the Clan Council. The Gate of Umos has reopened”

______________________________________________________________________________________


The Sword of Tum wasn’t a big ship compared to many of the other Kudrioni vessels, but it was one of the most advanced ships Kudrion had produced. Capable of taking with it all of the people that the king had hand-picked to travel through the gateway, it was perfect for this mission. The fact that it was king Dishuz’ personal ship also helped matters.

Emily had never been to space before, preferring her lab over the adventurous life so many other Kudrioni lived, but she was glad knowing that she would at least travel in some comfort. After all, if the king personally requests you to travel through the gateway to see what’s on the other side, it’s hard to refuse. She could already see representatives of each chosen clan with their own personal guard, all dressed in armour and carrying their weapons. They too had been ordered to board the ship.

The researcher turned around, and saw two men, one older with graying hair, and the other brown-haired and slightly shorter. She recognized them as king Dishuz and Moimir, of the high clan Collins, and they were in heated discussion. Behind the two men, there were a number of heavily armed soldiers all clad in the same power armor, and with some anxiety Emily recognized them as soldiers of the Royal Guard. Songs about the ruthlessness of these troops, especially those who were also Ashokites, were well-known on Kudrion, and she felt nervous to be on the same ship as them. This was going to be a long trip...

______________________________________________________________________________________


It took some time for the Sword to travel through the gateway, but thankfully, it had made it through unharmed. There were some doubts by its captain whether they’d even make it through the gate, but he had fortunately been proven wrong. Moimir looked through the viewscreen, momentarily disoriented by the jump. He heard the scientist behind him gasp, and then he saw it too. Earth was dead. The green and blue the ancient legends had told about were gone, replaced with a grey, lifeless shell of its former self. His thoughts at that moment echoed what everyone on the bridge must have been thinking. So the legends really were true, he thought, Earth is gone. He steeled his thoughts for a moment, at least we’re still alive. I wonder if the others were so lucky.

That was when his eyes turned from the dead planet, noticing instead what looked like a space station, although if it was, it wasn’t very well built. More importantly, though, he also saw a large fleet around the gateway, most ships bigger than the ones he was currently in. Dishuz had noticed too, telling the captain to contact the fleet. After a few minutes, the captain turned around, an expression of fear clearly visible on his face, speaking the words that no one in the ship would want to hear: “My lords,” he said “It would seem our communications equipment is broken.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

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Man’s Best Friend: A collab between @SgtEasy and @Liotrent
”Detainee 407-1, it is time.”

There was no resistance in the “detainee” as he was shackled in heavy chains and his shock collar powered up to life. Escorted out of the bare, stark room, he had already been physically blinded and deafened to the world. A special sort of torture particular to this one simian. He was a hobby artist, a descendant of a popular man, among many. He was a family ape, a Legionnaire who was an eco-activist on the side. One growing baby and a loving life-mate, a well-to-do artisanal job. A good life that some yearned for. Though one might feel sympathy for his coming fate, keep in mind the monster which lurks within this diminutive chimpanzee in glasses.

Violence is in the blood. Primal rage, even among the most sensible of beings, comes to light under enough scrutiny. It is up to the being to hold themselves back from the actions which may tempt them in the day-to-day. Among apes, especially those of certain “bloodlines” or with certain past experiences, this violence can come easier than for others.

All it took was a clock which ticked too much and a newborn which cried through the night.This was what pushed this simple ape to split his family and his nearest neighbours into shreds, splitting limbs after falling into a deep rage. He created a monstrous statue of organs and limbs within his home, the local police catching him in the act of assembling the then 5 feet tall “masterpiece” of his.

He had utterly broken.

For any other being outside of the Legion, this act of brutal slaughter would be up to whichever city-state it occurred in. As a Legionnaire, he would be treated as a Legionnaire and be tried by other Legionnaires. This was an internal matter and would be treated with typical Legion efficiency.

The bodies were still being carried off to be separated and identified while the suspect was tried and convicted of 11 accounts of brutality and first degree murder, among other charges. The bodies were barely chilling as he awaited his punishment.

The glass-wearing chimpanzee was placed in an empty, dark chamber and left alone for some time. An unseen speaker crackling to life prevented him from dozing away.

”Detainee 407-1, you have been tried for 11 counts of first degree murder, breaking and entering and brutality against simian. Your sentence, as passed by the Legion, is to be indefinitely within our service until such time you are unable to.”

The “detainee” visibly relaxed. There could be much worse fates for a Legionnaire murderer than serving as an unpaid physical labourer for the rest of his life. But he stiffened, noticing something in the words of the voice.

“I beg your pardon, but whose service will I be under?”
There was no answer, even as a thick purplish cloud filled the room, bringing tears to his eyes. He grasped at the floor, the walls, screaming and hollering with desperation. The air felt like it was being vacuumed out of him, his mind reeling in a pain never felt before. It was a searing headache, piercing his skull a thousand times with pinprick daggers, embedding itself and twisting viciously. And as quickly as it came, it left.

”You are Doug. That is all you know.”

He was shocked, feeling a sudden regret in his actions. His mind raced back to the time he ripped his wife in half. Wait. Why would he do such a thing? He’d never do something like tha-

The pain came again, this time stronger than the last. And it would come, again and again and again. Like a never ending mantra, until all he knew and ever knew and felt like ever would know was the pain. He wanted anything else, to just die and free himself from this horrifying prison. But it would come, in the exact amount of time it needed to, overwhelming what senses he had left.

All he knew was pain and that sentence which repeated itself over and over again. Never stopping with the same cadence, same inflections, same everything. He spoke to a recorded message.

All he knew was pain. His emotions faded away under the headaches and the choking. He felt like he should die but could no longer voice it aloud and eventually, could no longer even hear his own thoughts. Everything was numbed and painful and soon-

All he knew was pain. And that he was Doug.

”You have learned. You are Doug and you are Hubert’s and the Khan’s. That is all you know.”

The pain comes back even stronger than before.

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Four paws bounded across the metal floor in excited joy. It would be here, in front of the New Haven Directorate embassy, that it came escorted by two large gorillas. The receptionist, still unused to the sight of the talking apes, gaped openly but was promptly shocked out of this by what leapt over onto the desk.

A golden retriever puppy, with a bulky collar and a rose in its mouth. The young canine dropped the rose for the human woman, bowing with its eyes downwards. As any sane human would, she cooed and scratched behind the puppy’s ears. The pupper’s eyes squinted and its mouth opened with a lolling tongue, sitting down.

“Ahhh, this is the life.” The woman diverted her attention to the two gorillas, who had not moved an inch past the doorway. Who was talking-

“Greetings! I am Doug, the gift puppy to Lead Director Hubert, courtesy of the Khan!” The puppy extended a paw, his collar a glowing blue.

The receptionist froze, unsure of whether to continue petting the puppy or lead him up to Lead Director Hubert. After a few minutes of awkward silence, she continued to slowly pick him up and pet him some more while also bringing him to Hubert. Why you ask? Because, in her own words-

“Who’s the bestest boy in the world!? You are! You can call me Auntie Kathy and the Lead Director Papa Hubert!” Katherine used her baby voice and affectionately gave the puppy in her arms plenty of rubbing.

The puppy seemed both confused yet satisfied, trying to look as cute as possible to receive more affection. ”This is not the existence I expected but it is an existence I want!” His tongue kept lolling out of his mouth, mimicking a smile aight his canine teeth.

Another receptionist came to fill in her spot and address the apes by the door. “... Right, so she’ll be a while. Is there anything else you’d like? We have drinks, there’s a bar over to the right and an entertainment lounge to the left…” he then whispered, “... Director Hubert likes to take breaks from running everything every now and then. That’s why we have all of this, I use it too from time to time, you should try the simulator room, great stuff.”

The gorillas merely looked around, huffed as one and left, stamping their way out of the reception area. Their job was done, it was up to Emissary Doug to carry on from here. This left one confused receptionist, a desk full of dog hair and gorilla hand-prints on the carpet.

“Huh… I guess they didn’t want lattes.” he sips on a mug full of coffee amidst the mess of it all.

Meanwhile, Katherine and Doug arrive at Hubert’s office in the middle of Hubert being full blown upset about what’s happening in the Sol system.

“THEY WHAT!? I told them explicitly not to engage! It’s a non-combatant role. Their only job was to protect the NCV and medi-”

Katherine burst into the scene holding out Doug and placing him as closely to Hubert’s face as possible, “Hubert look! A gift from the Khanate! And he taaaaalks!”

Hubert stared into the puppy's eyes and paused for a solid second, “... director whatsyourface, give me a moment an emergency came up.”

Doug wiggled his butt out of Katherine’s hands, plopping himself on the desk of his new friend. He sat down, not minding the myriad bits and bobs which cluttered the Lead Director’s desk. The puppy settled on giving a smile and using a mystical phenomenon canines from Earth are uniquely adept with: puppy eyes.

His blue collar shone to life. ”Greetings! I am Doug, a sapient-level intelligent dog from the Khanate. I am tasked to act as an emissary to the NHD for the Khan and facilitate relations. I am also tasked with being your budding companion! I also know many tricks such as lie down, shake, jump and stand.” Doug proceeded to do each of the tricks consecutively, doing them in as awkward movements as expected from a puppy. He finished with tilting his head, expecting an answer.

Hubert smiled, he then bent down and with both of his hands started to pet Doug, “Doug, you and I, and even Kathy who always brings me my lattes, will be the bestest of friends. I can feel it. In-fact! I’ll make you a new role in the directorate! Lead Director’s Companion! I’ll make sure that the Directorate will be home to many sapient dogs in the future. Somehow, someway!”

In the background Katherine was taking many pictures and uploading them onto all of New Haven’s social media sites. “Oh, you’re an emissary right? Did the Khan need something from the Directorate?”

“Oh… I almost forgot about that. Buuuut, ya know what, I’ll grant anything at this point. I have a mess to fix and I’d rather not waste my time berating Timbolini on his serious lack of serious… ness…” He wiggled his moustache on the last word, as if unsure if that was the right way to describe Timothy Candy’s complete lack of awareness when it comes to foreign affairs.

Doug instinctively jumped on Hubert’s lap, flipping around for him to give belly rubs. Despite this, he continued on an official tone as a new animal representative for the Khan.

”The Khan wishes to extend an invitation to an Artificial Intelligence program which can benefit both of our nations. A fully sapient AI with quantum computing power and the addition of a stable personality matrix, based on current or historical brains of the past. This brain-scan technology is available to you and is represented within me!”

The Golden Retriever turned around and sat up much to the dismay of his new owner. The puppy tilted his head, indicating a spot in his ear for Hubert to scratch. ”My overall brain template is from an unknown personality but also includes personality traits from Einstein, Darwin, Newton, Gauss, Ramanujan and Oppenheimer. The Khan has access to a large database of stable personality and brain templates to be used for any future AI.”

There was no “talking” motion with Doug’s jaw, all of his talking came from the translation matrix within his collar. State of the art and directly connected to his neural systems. Hubert would later find out that the collar could be taken off without any problem, only requiring a metal cap around the neural socket covered by the collar.

”Upon agreement of this AI program with leading Khanate scientists, the Khan is open for other deals you can put forward. I’m merely a message away from the embassy at all times!”

Doug raised his rear paw, showing an adjustable metal ring which glowed here and there. A small communications device sent to the nearest INFOWAR near-AI stations, a set of which would be given to Hubert for both study and placement around Directorate space and the embassy.

Hubert was thoroughly impressed with the Khanate’s scientific advancements. He was also easily won over by Doug’s loveable nature. “I’ll join this A.I. development program! There’s a few scientists I can think of that I could assign to this. I’ll make a few calls and give a formal answer to the Khanate in a few hours. First things first… I need to handle the Sol Scuffle. You can listen in if you want, but there’s going to be a lot of yelling...”

Hubert clicked a button on his gloves and quickly resumed questioning Timothy Candy about what’s happening in the Sol System. In the meantime, Katherine took Doug up and asked, “Would you like a tour of the place? I’m sure you do!” And so Doug became a permanent family member of the offices. Dick however, was rudely surprised since he was terribly allergic to canine dander.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
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Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

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Accidental Ishtar



This isn’t Sol. Psi-Gauss frowned at their internal navigational display, folding their arms and taking a moment to look out of one of the ship’s external monitors. Sure didn’t look like Sol either. Something’s gone wrong with our gateway jump.

The rest of the Collective rapidly began to confer upon what the ship could do. The vessel had no name- it was a basic science vessel that had had several missile launchers clustered together to serve as a makeshift gunboat.

It seemed prudent to at least investigate the system they were in and discover where they had ended up first. The gateways had yet to open to an uninhabited system, so surely there would be a nation here, perhaps undiscovered, to communicate with. If there had truly been an issue and they’d been sent into deep space, well… The Consciousness could always accept more Transcended. It would be dignified.

Before they did anything rash though, they broadcasted a wide-frequency message. As was standard, they sent it in several different languages and communication types- English, Mandarin, Spanish, Hindi, Esperanto, and once the basic greeting had been complete, powered up their engines and began to leave the orbit of the moon they had found themselves in.




Confusion reigned aboard countless vessels and observation stations throughout the Commonality of New Ishtar. Almost instantaneously after the reception of the broadcast, the information had disseminated through the net from the ship-minds and currently connected observers. Within an hour, nearly every waking soul was aware of the news. Furious debate erupted between billions of minds connected to each other - what to do?

Aboard the battleship Solstice, one commander took her own initiative, announcing her intent to respond to the broadcast, and daring any to oppose her. Several voices rose in protest - and were countered by many more. A tumult arose in support of her.

Sister-Captain 132 Yirata Loves The Touch Of Steel raised a hailer to her lips, clearing her throat before she spoke, in thickly accented, poorly practiced Esperanto.

“Are you human?”

They had received a response! Wonderful! They could work with Esperanto. The message quickly came back in response.

“Biomechanically augmented, but underneath the metal we’re still Earth’s Children. We hail from the Zeta system, if you’ll permit us aboard, I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss. Please, pay no attention to the weaponry affixed to this vessel, this is an outdated research ship retrofitted for patrol duties.”

The response was some time delayed. Long enough, almost, for the Zetans on board to assume their message might not have been received at all. That it had been lost amidst the other traffic that no doubt filled the air. But the message came, in time. The same speaker’s voice, quaking with emotion.

“Then we are not all that is left?”

The Zetans aboard the small craft were more than happy to shine hope to this previously isolated nation. “We are but one of many that have survived the collapse of our old home. Now that the Gateway is open, you should send an envoy to the Sol System. There is an intergalactic council of nations there.”

It was followed by another, almost identical, voice, somewhat more restrained, but still shaken. “Yes, please. We will send a vessel of our own. Our world is… harmful to unadapted humanity.”

A third voice chimed in, likewise nearly indistinguishable. “We will need to convene on the matter of a delegation. This is… a momentous occasion.”

Three identical voices had come through the communications network, and already a few of the members of the Collective were mentally glancing at each other. One other nation had had a similar diplomatic quirk, and that nation was currently… well, the less said about The One, the better. Still, nothing was said, even as they began to make their way towards where the messages had been broadcasted from.

A civilian vessel was hastily commandeered, its dining hall forced into some vague approximation of something the people of New Ishtar had long assumed they might never need again - a diplomatic space. Flanked by two small craft, it approached the Zetan vessel through space, drawing to a halt some distance away as its crew stared in wonder and awe.

“Welcome aboard, Zetans. Please, forgive our… forgive the unorthodox nature of our ship. We are unprepared for this entirely.”

Aboard the vessel, a small honor guard of uniformed and helmeted Ishtari soldiery waited, unable to maintain composure in such circumstances. At the head of the large table within sat three individuals, chosen after a rapid and furious vote within the Commonality. Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe, Sister-Soldier 138 Istir Holds Firm The Readied Sword, and Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things.

The Zetan delegation made its way aboard the vessel curiously. At its head was their Naval-Speaker Iota-Clausewitz, (what other nations would call Captains, but as Zetans had a very different military structure, it was hardly an apt comparison,) Navigational Specialist Psi-Gauss and a third non-transcended member of the crew, one Omicron-Kappa. Flanking them were two light warforms, rifles held calmly at their sides as the crew of the retrofitted vessel left the comfort of their ship.

The message that ran through the Collective now was accompanied by a groan. More clones. They could only hope that these were not quite as peculiar and… Disgustingly, cannibalistically callous as The One. “Hail,” Iota-Clausewitz declared, splitting their hand apart in the salute that the Collective still used whenever they first addressed foreign nations.

Despite the lack of transcendence however, there was little suggesting that these Zetans were all flesh. Iota-Clausewitz had two metal legs and a visage that had been crafted to look like a chrome mask, most of Psi-Gauss’ left side had been deliberately made asymmetrical, and Omicron-Kappa’s arms almost jarringly transformed to robotic facsimiles at the shoulder. Unlike Sigma-Devi, none of these Zetans had been selected for the perfect blend of natural beauty and light augmentations that the Collective had determined would make for the best impression, leaving them feeling distinctly awkward about their bionics for the first time in their lives.

“To which nation do we have the honour of first contact?”

There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by the occasional sound of an Ishtari soldier struggling to maintain composure amidst the scene. The three women assembled at the head of the table rose - one leaning on the one who stood beside her for support.

Istir moved to speak, and was cut off by a raised hand from Scheherazade, who nodded to the Zetans - even as hints of tears glistened in her own eyes.

“People of Zeta, it is… an honor and a delight I cannot properly express to welcome you. Our people - our nation, we are The Commonality of New Ishtar. We…” she trailed off, for once, for the first time in perhaps a century, at a loss for words. “We feared that we were all that remained, after the Gateway collapse.”

The Collective had tuned into this meeting, and even now, a twinge of sadness ran through Zeta. They too had had a similar feeling when the Gateway had flared to life and they had found others, but whilst theirs had been the simple joy of discovering they were not the last, it seemed to have struck a deeper chord with these New Ishtarians. “The Zetan Consciousness is always glad and eager to have discovered another wayward branch of humanity. Our colony was founded to shine a light into the future- each nation we discover is a validation of the trust our ancestors placed in us.”

Even if they were clones.

She paused, “And - may I have the honor of knowing your names? If indeed you use them? I am Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things. Beside me is Sister-Soldier 138 Istir Holds Firm The Readied Sword.” A heaving sob came from the woman whose face was buried into her arm, “And this is Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe.” She smiled, choking back a similar reaction.

“I am Iota-Clausewitz, Naval-Speaker of the vessel we just departed from. This is Psi-Gauss, Navigational Specialist, and this is Omicron-Kappa, one of the vessel’s engineers.” The names of the clones told them quite a lot about their society- likely religious, almost certainly militaristic, but, perhaps there was something of Matuvista there, with ‘Treasures The Beauty In The Universe?’ They appeared to have some amount of individuality to them, unlike The One.

“These other two are remotely controlled defensive marine combat warforms.” The standard lie that Zeta had repeated so many times. Transcendence was not to be shared.

Scheherazade nodded. “Well met, Iota-Clausewitz.” She nodded to the other two, “And likewise, Psi-Gauss, and Omicron-Kappa. We welcome you, once again.”

Istir spoke up. “These are magnificent cybernetics your people have developed, Naval-Speaker. Exceeding our own, even.” She, herself, smiled - showing no hints of the tears that welled within the eyes of her comrades. “And such magnificent robotics. To think your people took such a different path than our own for survival in the void, simply fascinating. How did you survive? Our vessel was a generation ship. Did the Gateway Collapse not affect your own people as long?”

“Thank you. Clearly your own biological adaptations have been notable as well- there are some newcomers in the Meeting Place who seem to have gone down similar lines, but most of those who survived are relatively unchanged from the same humans that left Earth some three hundred years ago.” Iota-Clausewitz’s mask pulled itself into a smile, then a confused frown.

“As long? Well, of course, ours opened before yours did, but that is neither here nor there.”

Scheherazade frowned at her. “My apologies for her, but I admit I am curious myself. We… suffered tremendously within its grasp. As you can see. How did you avoid the mutations?”

The crew turned to glance at each other, mentally communicating. None had wanted to acknowledge the peculiar growths from the skulls of the clones. They had assumed doing so would be rude.

“Our new home planet of Zeta-5 has subjected us to an uncomfortable level of mutation thanks to ionizing radiation, which we combatted through widespread augmentation and the founding of subterranean cities, insulated away from such energies.”

A muffled sob, followed by a simple nod, was Sachiko’s addition, as the woman struggled to maintain control of herself.

“Three hundred years?”

“Just over three hundred, yes.” Psi-Gauss decided it best to not go into the hyper-specific time details.

Istir and Scheherazade shared a look. A look of immense confusion.

“No, no, we understand three centuries, approximately, passed within realspace. But… within… I do not know what your own people call it. We call it The Void. It… we assumed… we assumed the non-generation ships would have starved to death. That…”

Sachiko spoke up now, the same voice cracking with emotion. “We thought the others were nothing more than cold coffins filled with skeletons and death. We thought that the last gasp of humanity had been extinguished in that hell. We thought we were all that remained. The last surviving remnant of humanity.” She smiled, bitterly, “Four billion souls all wearing the same face. Some cruel fucking mockery of the universe.”

“The Void?” The cyborgs frowned. “Our transportation was to the wrong system, but instantaneous… We may have had divergent experiences during the collapse.” Once again, the Zetan delegation felt rather too awkward to address the many, many questions that were brought up by the Ishtari.

“The Void.” Scheherazade’s words came in reply. “You… did not experience it? Our vessel was… I am not a scientist, I cannot truly explain it - but then, neither can the scientists. According to our surviving archives, it was as though the vessel was trapped outside of… outside reality itself for over five centuries. It was there we became what you see now.”

“I can confirm we experienced nothing of the sort. The Arkadios was a rapid transit colony ship, had we spent five hundred years in empty space, we would indeed be a… ‘cold coffin filled with skeletons and death.’ We had our own issues with the Gateways- as mentioned, we were translocated to the wrong system, one that was significantly less amenable to human life than we had hoped, but we were moved immediately. We had thought ourselves to be the only colony that experienced Gateway malfunction, the shutdown notwithstanding.”

The three sat silent, nearly motionless, for a time.

The net was ablaze. Four and a half billion voices screamed out in a dizzying cacophony of outrage, joy, confusion, envy, and more. The three of them - connected to the net as they were, relaying every word that was said to their people as the discussion unfurled, were momentarily overcome by the reaction.

“F-forgive me.” Scheherazade muttered. “I… we… my kin are…”

“Feedback like that is normal. It’ll pass.” Istir murmured, patting her on the shoulder. “You try to stay separate from it normally, you’re handling it better than she is.”

Sachiko, indeed, had hunched over the table, hands clapped over her ears as she tried to drown out as much external stimulus as possible. The sheer blast of it nearly knocked her from her chair, and she waved a hand to the other two, resolutely screwing her eyes shut.

“This is… this news has caused significant uproar among the Ishtari populace.” Scheherazade said, once she had recovered somewhat.

This time, it was the Zetans that couldn’t help themselves. Psi-Gauss’ face was practically radiant. ”You have a population-wide neural network integrated into your bodies?” The Collective roared with happiness and approval. Whatever tribulations these clones had gone through, whatever troubles they had faced, be it the ‘Void’ or their mutations, they had developed their own Collective.

Scheherazade nodded, a thin smile crossing her lips. “More or less, yes, we call it ‘the net’. It is… our minds are not one - we were nearly destroyed by such a development. Twice. But we are close to each other. Individuals, certainly. Ordinarily, I cannot stand to be in the same room as Istir, here. But we reach a consensus together. We are all equals within it.”

A storm of votes went up in the Collective. Could they reveal their closely guarded secret? The motion passed back and forth a few times. Ultimately, the sad conclusion was that the cat was almost out of the bag already, and this seemed like too good an opportunity to make a connection to pass up.

“You cannot understand the joy that the Consciousness is feeling currently. The Zetan Consciousness is named as such not because we consider ourselves particularly moral, but because we are a consciousness, multiple minds bound together using the processing power of half a billion minds, augmented by additional server support. Currently, you speak not just to us five, but to every Zetan, no matter how far they may be. And, just like you, we are all equals.”

Again, the three Ishtari were overcome for a time - but a shorter one, Scheherazade raising a finger with a small smile on her face as she waited for the uproar to die down. “And, likewise, you speak to over four and a half billion of our own. Most of them are happy. Some are confused. Some scared.” She smiled, “I count myself among the former, for what it’s worth.”

“A moment - your Consciousness, it is not biological? It is technological?” Istir spoke up, frowning. “Then, those ‘remotely controlled defensive marine combat warforms’ - do they contain minds within them as well?”

Scheherazade’s attention roused, and she added her support. “If I may venture a theory - your organic forms do seem to age. If you have such technology, do you… transfer a copy of your minds to this Consciousness, come the end of your natural lifespans?”

“Four and a half bi-” Iota-Clausewitz blinked a few times. Then, suddenly, the Ishtari came to a lot of very accurate conclusions very rapidly. They’d need to clear these up, and now.

“Indeed, you are quite right there. We neglected to mention that initially out of caution, but this is Gamma-Theta and this is Phi-Pasteur.” The two warforms gave crisp salutes to the Ishtari when they were introduced, quickly returning to their statue-still poses afterwards.

“As for transferral… No, nothing as crude as that. Our minds are constantly changing and adapting things, and with every change and adaptation, Zetan engineering ensures that our minds are slowly, carefully, etched over with chrome. Eventually, either I will replace all of this body’s flesh with steel, or the flesh will fail, and I will simply leave it behind. The result will be the same. Mortality is overcome.”

Debate raged again within the Ishtari net. What this meant. Were these warforms the same souls? If there was, as indicated by the Zetans, continuity of self - what did that mean?

Scheherazade smiled, once again. “This is… well, it’s controversial already, for sure. We use more… biological methods for immortality. But we are gladdened to see that more children of earth have overcome the chains of mortality as we have. Debates rage already. I am sure you understand.” She nodded to the warforms. “Well met, Gamma-Theta and Phi-Pasteur. Had we known, we would have provided you chairs as well. Please, if you wish for some, we are willing to accomodate you.”

Sachiko spoke up, finally coming to some measure of control over the chorus in their minds. “You seemed surprised, earlier. You were about to say four and a half billion. Is there something wrong?”

“Biological immortality? You’ve… Halted the deterioration of genetic code?” There was a long pause. “The ability to manipulate the building blocks of life on such a fundamental level… What an astonishing feat of science. Could you share more about how you’ve managed such a thing?”

The two warforms merely shook their heads when offered chairs, the rest of their bodies remaining eerily still. Psi-Gauss explained. “Light warforms are built to minimise much of the discomfort a biological body experience, and, as we are a recently-retrofitted naval ship, many of those crewing our warforms feel a particular urge to act rather… Stiff. First-Speaker Sigma-Devi should really be the one to brief you on Galactic History however. As for the four and a half billion, we were merely slightly astonished at the number. We believe that in terms of biological population, that places the Commonality as one of the largest nations in the galaxy that we are aware of.”

Scheherazade winced. “The scientists are now furious with me, forgive me - it seems I’ve given you a somewhat inaccurate depiction of things. Certainly - we greatly extended natural lifespan. This body would be expected to live for over a hundred and fifty years more unaided. What we have developed is… akin to a biological version of your own process. Essentially…” she paused for a moment, surreptitiously nodding as millions of thoughts raged within her mind, and a consensus formed on how best to describe the process.

“Take a look at the ship you are in. Did you see ports within the walls occasionally, as you walked through it?” Said Scheherazade. Not waiting for a reply, she continued, turning in her chair and pulling her hair to the side to reveal the neuroport at the nape of her neck.

“We transfer our brains - our biological brains, neuron impulse by neuron impulse, to a biological neural net. Once a year, our bodies are…” she paused, “Remade? Digested and reformed? The body you are speaking to now is only a year old but my mind is two hundred and thirteen. The numbers within our names indicate how many times we have undergone this process in our lives - plus twenty one years on-planet from infancy to adulthood.”

“You have trusted us with your own information, which is why I am willing to divulge this to you now. There are many who oppose it - but I, and most of our number, think it best to be open with your people.”

The Zetans tried very hard to keep the horror off their faces. They managed to succeed. It was not that they were opposed to others finding alternate pathways to immortality, but the idea of repeatedly ’digesting’ living bodies to form fresh ones struck a disturbing chord within the Collective.

It was not altogether incorrect to call the Zetans a ‘sterile’ people. In many ways, that was what they were- a nation that left behind much of the ‘left side brain’ to embrace sleek, sterile technology. Zetan birth rates were extraordinarily low, and they had turned to AI to make up the shortfall. Such a… Burgeoning biological nation did not sit pleasantly with them.

Istir, for her part, had remained silent until now. “One of the largest, you say?”

“Most have less than two billion biological citizens. As mentioned, we have only slightly over half a billion. Previous largest are what we believe to be a pseudo hive-mind made up predominantly of clones, approximately 4 billion. Largest state that does not practice mass cloning is the Gran Republic of Matuvista, with over three billion citizens.” There was a long pause. “We would be most interested to see how that interaction will resolve itself.”

Scherazade and Sachiko, for their parts, had noticed the reactions of the Zetans - and in unison they spoke. “Is something the matter?”

Internally, the Zetans wondered how to get themselves out of this situation. They decided that gentle lies would likely do the trick. “We were merely a little shocked at the intensely… Intimately biological nature of your technology. It seems rather unusual to us.”

The three stiffened at the words ‘pseudo hive-mind’. Scheherazade and Istir exchanged worried glances, Sachiko gritted her teeth, and began to stare intently at nothing in particular. The soldiers around them stiffened, many of them clutching their weapons instinctively.

“A… a pseudo hive-mind, you say?” Scheherazade said, very, very carefully. “Four billion strong?”

“Entirely clones of a single individual, as best as we have been able to tell. They have… Disturbed us. Their actions internationally have been scrutinised quite heavily.”

The net erupted in outcry. Four and a half billion voices cried out, almost universally, for blood. Fear. Fear rippled through their minds, and Scheherazade felt herself caught up in it, doing her best to maintain some form of composure.

“We cannot judge cloning, at least. We were forced into similar such circumstances by our entrapment within the void. The three of us are what we term the ‘Tiamat Strain’. We do not create adult clones, as it stands. All of us are genetically more or less identical, it is true - but we grew from infants. Thus our individuality. There are numerous other Primary Strains amongst our people - but we Tiamat Strain account for approximately ninety-five percent. Her DNA was… uniquely suited for modification and cloning? Our lack of genetic variation is not intentional, I assure you.”

Istir interrupted her, finally raising one of her hands above the table to reveal a cybernetic fist, which she slammed into the table. “The Hive Strain nearly destroyed us twice! Tiamat herself was killed in action against them. Had we not destroyed them and the other Deviant Strains, we would not be here now! Another like it cannot be allowed to live! It is an existential threat to all life in the galaxy!”

Sachiko, for her part, seemed saddened. “I hate killing.” She whispered. “But you aren’t wrong.” She looked up to the Zetans - “I don’t know how much of this your people are sharing with the other nations - hopefully, none - but this stays here. Between our peoples.”

She lifted a small device in her hand, bearing a colored digital screen on which a photograph of a Hive Strain specimen was depicted.

“These… things nearly destroyed us twice, like Istir said. They’re… they were dangerous before we destroyed them. The five centuries aboard the ship were… hell. They were hell for our people.”

“We hope you offer us the same courtesy when it comes to our immortality, our, ‘transcendence,’ as we call it. We believe none others have realised. We have not even formally revealed our collective Consciousness yet, although many have made accurate theories as to its nature.”

Scheherazade nodded. “It shall not leave our lips. Your secret is safe with us. We are alike in many ways. We fully understand your desire for secrecy in this matter.”

The Collective had much to process now, but… There were individuals more suited to discussion than those on this small vessel. “Now that your Gateway has opened though, we should send forth to Sol. First-Speaker Sigma-Devi would be delighted to formally welcome you to the intergalactic stage.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Scheherazade said, nodding. “We ought prepare a more… fitting craft for the purpose, however.” She gestured to the haphazardly created diplomatic craft around them, repurposed from a civilian liner. “This would hardly do for galactic first impressions - and I suspect that the other peoples are not as open minded as yourselves. These… One, though. We will need to discuss them in greater detail.”

“The Gateway is fluctuating.”

Scheherazade’s eyes widened. Istir had spoken, tuned in to different currents of thought among the Commonality than she herself was.

“What?”

“The Gateway is fluctuating. The engineers are trying to stabilize it, but i-”

Istir was cut off as she winced, “And it’s closed.”

The Zetans paused for a long moment. They glanced at each other, even the normally-stationary soldiers moving to stare at the other Zetans. There was another long pause, and then the Collective confirmed. The Gateway had destabilised. There was a third long pause, and then Iota-Clausewitz turned back to the three clones.

“Well. I suppose we have no reason not to become more acquainted now.”

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Collab between @Raylah and @jorvhik


The situation around the Sol Gateway was confusing and Guardian Hamonga was stressed out, even though he would never show it in front of his subordinates. The entire fleet under his command was here to make sure the mining ships didn’t receive reinforcements. But how was supposed to know which ships were which? There was heavy traffic through the Gateway, everything from small personal shuttles bringing ambassadors to and from their planets, over cargo haulers headed towards the Meeting Place to bring supplies to the embassies, to large warships coming to join the raging battle. He flinched upon seeing the shattered remnants of the Zetan navy jump into the system. What were they hoping to achieve here with those trashcans barely holding together?

The new, unknown ships, have responded to their calls, at the very least sending some scrambled transponder signals that were so different from the hostile mining fleet that Hamonga waved them through, letting them continue their path to the Meeting Place. He wasn’t here to cause an international incident by accidentally attacking a survey vessel of some new nation.

It seemed to have been working well until the new ship arrived. The Hyperion tried to hail it several times, but unlike the ones before, this one didn’t respond at all. No angry “leave us alone” or frightened “we come in peace”, no even unintelligible alien blabbering on any of the frequencies the Undefeated fleet was able to receive.

Crap. Hamonga scratched his chin, trying to decide what to do. The ship wasn’t exactly small, but it was no match for the Battleships stationed around the wormhole. Destroying it would be simple, but that was definitely not what he was tasked to do.

“Keep broadcasting on whatever frequency you can think of, let’s see if they try to respond in any way. Signal Sonne to deploy a squadron of fighters to circle around the unknown ship. Keep our weapons locked on it, but don’t charge them yet. Perhaps they will understand that as ‘stop or we will open fire’.” Hamonga truly hoped to avoid conflict. “Oh, and tell Commander Ross to assemble a boarding party and be ready to go on my signal.” Just in case.

On the Kudrioni ship, everything was in chaos. It had been half an hour since they had travelled through the gate and tried to make contact, but all that would come out of the comms’ system’s speaker was white noise and occasional garbled sounds. Emily, leaning over the control console to help some of the engineers, had no luck identifying the problem either. They had essentially no way to contact the outside world.

Behind her, she could hear the ship’s crew arguing. There had been much confusion since the ship arrived in the Sol system. What were these mysterious ships? Were they even human? Why were they here? Were they some sort of space police, sent out to intercept them? Probably not the latter, most of the crew had agreed. Still, the captain had ordered the ship to stop to figure out what these ships were.

“Well, if they wanted to kill us, they would’ve done so already,” Moimir said. “Even with their weapons locked on us, and their fighters around our ship, they haven’t fired a shot.”
It was then that King Dishuz realized what was about to happen. Years of experience in space combat had taught him what a situation like this meant. He picked up the microphone of the ship’s intercom and said: “All armed men are to spread out throughout the ship. Prepare to be boarded.” He turned to Emily. “Miss Bukkaz,” he said, “you’re not dressed for combat. You might want to stay here.”

Commander Peter Ross was nervously sitting in a boarding craft, a ship specifically designed to breach through enemy ships’ airlocks, along with eleven heavily armed men and women. They were all wearing the latest versions of combat exoskeletons, an essential part of the Undefeated gear that had been continually improved ever since the Gateway reopened.

The original was designed to help soldiers withstand the hostile environment on Ellara and fight against the Screechers. But since the first contact with other colonies has been made, the requirements for combat gear have changed. The exosuits were now designed to help survive hard vacuum for some time, lighter and more compact for easier fighting in closed corridors of spaceships. They no longer needed to protect just against spears and arrows, but against bullets and various energy weapon discharges. The suits weren’t perfect by any means, but they gave better odds against murdering robots and mechs and monkeys and whatever else the universe decided to throw against them.

The lights in the boarding ship turned red and started flashing. Commander Ross inhaled deeply, he was hoping to avoid that. And of course, he was the one in charge now, so it would be his fault if something goes horribly wrong. He checked the latest orders on a datapad and turned to his men while their craft moved towards the unknown ship.

“Listen guys. We are going in. But,” Peter paused and looked around, making sure to make eye contact with every single one of the soldiers going on this mission, “we are NOT going to kill anyone if it’s not absolutely necessary, understood? I repeat, DO NOT shoot to kill. Even if they shoot first, just try to disarm them. There is a good chance this is just one huge misunderstanding and we don’t want to piss off another planet full of some fucking killer robots, is that clear?” They all nodded and gave them their “yes, sir” and Peter hoped they would remember his words when… no, if the fighting starts.

The boarding ship connected to an airlock with a loud metallic CLANG, automated tools quickly cutting through and forcing it open. Eleven green figures lit up on Peter’s HUD, all with rifles ready in their hands. They were going in.

It had been luck rather than any sort of strategy that led Moimir to be near the ship’s airlock when he heard the noise.. He and eleven of his clan’s warriors had been roaming around the ship, clad in their power armour. Kudrioni ships had no blast doors or automated turrets to combat invaders, trusting their warriors to do so. Boarding had been the staple of space combat between the clans, more honorable than simply shooting other ships from afar.

As soon as they heard the noise, Moimir and his men ran to the corridor adjacent to the airlock. It was narrow enough for them to hold off an assault if it came to it, but if they couldn’t hold them there, they were screwed. Many of the warriors were nervous. It had been three hundred years since the gateways had shut down, with no contact with other humans since that time. They had no idea of the boarders’ capabilities, and could only trust in the strength of their weapons.

“Form ranks!” Moimir commanded, and three of his warriors activated their hard-light shields, forming a shield wall in front of the rest. The rest readied their weapons, waiting for their commander’s signal. “But do not fire until they fire on us. I do not want our first contact to result in a war. Do you understand?” There was some part of him that wished for a fight, but his wisdom put his love for battle aside for now.

And so, with their shields ready and their weapons pointing in the direction of the airlock, the warriors waited.

Commander Ross peeked into the hallway, allowing the simple sensors on his helmet to draw a rough scan of the environment behind the airlock into his HUD. After the light steam created by breaching the airlock and equalizing the pressure on both sides dissipated, the suit’s software immediately picked up some movement on the other end of the hallway. Several red marks popped up in everyone’s view. Somebody was home and waiting for them.

It was not a good situation. The corridor was narrow without any cover points. It could easily become a shooting range from either side. Peter wasn’t sure what to do now. They could storm in, hopefully take the men on the other side by surprise. But it wouldn’t be without a bloodshed and the High Command wanted to avoid that, the orders were quite specific in that part.

His men were waiting, fingers on triggers. All it took was one wrong move and bullets and laser shots and whatever those other guys were using would start flying in both directions, most likely ending any chance of a friendly relationship with these people.

Crap. What now? Peter needed to make a move, the men on the other side were probably just as nervous as his men, if not more, it might as well be them to break the stalemate.

“Hey!” he shouted, using the amplifiers on his suit to make sure his voice was distinguishable even at the other end of the corridor. “Is there any chance you guys speak English?” Even if they were human, it wasn’t entirely guaranteed. But it was worth a shot. Figuratively speaking, of course.

There was no response from the Kudrioni. Some of the warriors nervously fidgeted their weapons, thinking that the strange noises on the other side of the corridor might be some sort of battlecry, but Moimir motioned for them to put down their weapons. He was puzzled as well. What he just heard was clearly a language, even sounding similar to the Kudrioni tongue at times, but he was unable to understand what they were saying.

The Kudrioni language, of course, had originated from many different Earth languages, including English, but the two weren’t mutually intelligible, owing to three hundred years of separation. None on the Kudrioni side of the corridor were able to understand what the intruders were saying, adding to the already tense atmosphere.

There was, however, one person on the ship who could speak English. Sitting in the bridge, the part of the ship’s crew that was unprepared for combat had been nervously watching live audio and video footage from Moimir’s helmet. As one of the intruders spoke, Emily Bukkaz perked up. She recognized this language, having learned it from old, founding-era texts, and songs about legendary deeds sung in a language forgotten to the common Kudrioni.

And so, after having asked permission from king Dishuz, and being given a rifle, just in case, she made her way down to the corridor where the standoff was taking place as fast as her legs could carry her. Moimir turned around, thinking that the intruders had somehow gotten behind them, but visibly relaxed when he saw the blonde woman approaching them.

Emily offered a small prayer to the gods for what she was about to do. She wasn’t overly religious, but when you’re about to make first contact with an unknown, possibly non-human civilization, it was better to be safe than sorry. She cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting into the distant corridor: “I can speak English. Who are you?”

Commander Ross was just about to order his men to attack, since there was no reaction to his words, but sighed heavily in relief upon hearing a female voice in the distance, claiming to speak English. Now they could talk, which was a start. It didn’t necessarily mean this wouldn’t still turn into a bloodbath, but it was better than nothing.

“I’m Commander Ross from the Undefeated nation,” he called back. “You think we could talk face to face instead of hollering at each other across this corridor? Maybe meet up halfway?” It would be dangerous for whoever goes there (and Peter already knew it would be him, this task was far too important to hand over to anyone else), but if it helps to avoid a fight, they had to try.

Emily wasn’t sure what to respond. She had essentially no authority to represent her country’s government, but given the fact that she was the only who could speak English on the ship, maybe even all of Kudrion, she was the only one who could negotiate with these intruders. Asking the king, or any of the other warriors currently on her side of the corridor to accompany her might be seen as an insult, or even worse, as a threat.

Weighing these factors in her mind, she quickly made the decision. “I think that might be for the best. I will meet you halfway,” she replied to the voice down the corridor. After putting down her rifle, and motioning the warriors behind her not to follow her, she began the walk towards the midway point. Unsure about whether these moments would be her last, she held her breath and soldiered on.

Peter left all his weapons at the airlock. He wasn’t sure the opposing side would do the same, but in case a gunfight broke out, he would be first in line to die anyway, getting caught in the middle. So it hardly mattered whether he was armed or not, although it was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. He was still in his combat suit, which gave him advantage over the unusually tall woman who came to meet him, unarmed and wearing normal clothes and a lab coat. Maybe she was some sort of a scientist? How strange of them to send her alone.

He opened his helmet, trying not to picture a bullet hitting his forehead at that very moment, and tried to put on a friendly face. “Hello.” He raised his hand and waved nervously. “I, uh… I know this seems like we are attacking you, but, well…” He was never good with words, especially around women. “There is a battle going on in the Sol system right now, and we are just making sure the enemy doesn’t receive any reinforcements. Your ship is of unknown design and you haven’t responded to any of our calls, we weren’t sure who you were, so we came here to check.” Yes, breaking through someone’s door and barging inside fully armed is a great way to meet new people. Peter was fairly certain at this point that whoever these guys were, they didn’t belong to the fleet of the mining ships. Which of course didn’t mean they couldn’t turn into enemies if he screws this up.

Emily let out a huge sigh of relief when she saw that the man was alone and seemingly had no weapons on him. Her sense of relief was doubled when she saw that she was talking to what looked like an actual human, rather than an alien. Looking at his armor, she started to feel a little vulnerable, clad as she was in her lab coat and work clothes, and Emily was starting to wonder whether just walking in was a bad idea. The second thing she noticed was the man’s height. Emily was at the average height for a woman on Kudrion, but she was as tall, if not taller than Commander Ross. This was rather odd, she thought, unless the average height on Kudrion was greater than that of other nations. But that would mean…

She quickly snapped herself out of her train of thoughts, remembering where she was and what she had to do. Listening to what the man had to say, she appeared pensive. That would explain the hostility, she thought, before finally replying. “I see. My name is Emily Bukkaz. I am a researcher from the Kingdom of Kudrion, and our system’s gateway opened on this day. We were unable to respond to your calls, as our comms systems broke inexplicably. I am the only person capable of speaking English among our ship’s crew. Forgive us for the hostile response, you don’t get boarded by an unknown force every day,” she said, her expression blank. Inside her mind, though, she was ecstatic. All the years of studying ancient languages, old lore and investigating Kudrion’s native species had finally paid off. She was the first to make contact with what was likely one of humanity’s other lost colonies. Hopefully, this was to be a peaceful occasion.

Peter was relieved that the woman sounded quite reasonable. She was even apologizing to him for being hostile? That was ironic. “I think we are the ones who ought to be apologizing here. I can assure you that under normal circumstances your ship would be allowed through without trouble even with malfunctioning communications. We are certainly no galactic police. But in the middle of a battle…” The suit hydraulics didn’t really allow him to shrug, so he just gave her an uncertain smile. “I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He was really not sure what to do now, the situation was still pretty tense. Is this how battles were done in those ancient times before phones and radios and online 3D transmissions to every remote corner of the planet? Armies just camped on the opposite sides of a field and a few brave ones met up in the middle to talk? It was certainly interesting. “I’m not really authorized to do any diplomatic negotiations, but I can offer you some help, if you would accept it. We do have engineers that could take a look at your comm systems. And fix the door we broke.” Yes, that’s the very least they could do. “I’ll order my men to put their weapons down and retreat to our ship, if you manage to do the same. This has hardly been an ideal first contact, but if we can stop it from becoming an actual battle, I would still call it a success.” He chuckled nervously, not sure if Emily appreciates his humor.

Well, that answers the space police question, Emily thought. “We would appreciate the assistance. Our engineers weren’t able to repair it, but a fresh pair of eyes might be helpful. I’ll see if I can get our warriors to stand down as well.” The scientist, all business at the moment, elected to ignore the man’s attempt at humor, hardly appropriate for the current situation. Privately, she hoped that the whole incident could be forgotten quickly. Nearly starting a fight the moment you met another nation wasn’t a good look.

Finally, Commander Ross was able to breathe a bit easier, even feeling a bit proud. This could have turned into a huge problem. Now, hopefully, the diplomats from both sides will have something funny to remember when the real negotiations between their nations start.
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Tortoise

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White Flower Revolution

Conclusion: Heralds


Manon. Seung. Jun. Kamali. Kyle. Eta-Theta.

This is what he thinks to himself, to stay focused. It's a simple list of names; not important to anybody but him. Yun says them to himself, constantly.

He says them when they breached the compound, him and a wildly, unstably mixed gang of rouge Flowers and ex-protectors. He said them when he helped batter down the real protectors who were still trying to do their jobs- poor men. He says them now, especially now, that he knows he has the monster cornered.

All through it: Manon. Seung. Jun. Kamali. Kyle. Eta-Theta.

"Come ooooonnnn, Heralds, where are you?"
"We know you're hiding here somewhere..."
"Hey, hey, little rat, the cats are coming!"

Those voices aren't Yun's. He doesn't talk as much as he used to, he's been so weighed down with unfamiliar thoughts. Thoughts that make him feel guilty, old and cruel. They've reminded him of every murder he did for the Oligarchs. They make him say the names.

Something changed in him that day, the very day this all started, when he was standing out in the rain. Something in his heart shifted. It won't let him sleep at night.

But that's why he's here. That's why he has to do this.

"I'll take the left passage," Yun forces himself to talk, finally, 'cause they're standing at a crossroads. Two steel passages stretch on before them, both windowless and red-lit, somewhere deep in Herald's hiding place. He can only be down one of them. "I'll take the left," Yun says again, to the man standing beside him, "with the other ex-protectors. You take the right with your Flowers. One of us'll catch him."

"And then?" the Flower asks, always doubting Yun's loyalty.

"And then we'll kill him."

The Flower nods, happy and serious. If he even is a Flower, technically? Yun's not sure. He used to be, but went all rouge and off-the-grid so he could hunt down Heralds all on his own. Grabbed a whole bunch of used-to-be-protectors to take with him, Yun included. Maybe because he figures they're too hated to steal the glory from him.

He leads his favored soldiers down the right passage, and Yun splits the other way.

"Where you think we headed, boss?" one of the ex-protectors asks him.
"Prolly into a trap," answers another, who is neither Yun nor the boss. But it stands uncorrected.

The cold, steel passage continues onwards no matter what they say, for what feels like a comically long time. (But is, in reality, only a few minutes.) At its end is a door, and in front of the door is...

"Who the hell are you, kid?"
"...and why are you wearing a cowboy hat?"

The kid, a thin Japanese man with sunken eyes- and, indeed, a cowboy hat on his head- doesn't answer either question. He says something else instead: "The Savant James Heralds, genius leader of the ECU, has evacuated the building." His voice is so grim, you can't help but think of it as more of a threat than a statement.

"Yeah," grins one of the other two ex-protectors, Jameson, circling closer, "then what's that door behind you?"

"You don't need to worry about that, protector. If you go in there, you die. That's what that door is. Walk away from it. Today doesn't have to end this way. It can stop here; you have the power to end it here. The Savant is gone. Death is inside that door."

He adjusts his hat.

Now the other ex-protector- Cho- is circling too, like two sharks in the water, and the cowboy-kid is obviously getting nervous. But he speaks calmly, a soft voice that shows no fear: "Listen, my friends, to my words. Sold cold bold. Do you understand? Sold cold bo-"

And that's when a protector's club splits his skull.

The metal those things are made of, so hard, it makes a person's bones snap. There's an audible sound before Tanaka hits the floor, a crack! like a baseball bat. He drops down. The sentence isn't finished.

Cho, who killed him, takes a long deep breath. "That's what we do, you both hear me?" He looks at Yun and Jameson in turn. "If they start that hypnosis, brainwashing crap they like to use on us. You crack their skulls before they finish the sentence. Nobody uses magic words on us. Got it?" The other two both nod. Looks like Cho is the boss tonight, after all.

The doors open with a key-card found in the cowboy kid's pocket.

Behind the door is not death, but a garden. It's green, white and brown, filled with rocks and grass, arranged like a painting in three dimensions. Little god rays come streaming down from the glass dome overhead, just to add to the effect. It's beautiful. Except for the snake sitting in it.

He's leaned against a tree, sitting down like he doesn't have a care in the world, all alone in this massive terrarium. Fiddling with a trinket: some little metal box that he keeps tightening or loosening screws on. Is this how far Heralds has fallen? They said he was a madman. Almost enough to make you feel bad for killing him.

Almost, Yun decides.

They approach slow, and this is their mistake. Because of course, Heralds would try the exact same thing as Tanaka, but he would do it just a little more cleverly. Just as they're approaching the tree, that box he's fiddling with suddenly jumps and whirs in his hands, and out of it comes a voice, louder than a human voice should be, echoing off the rocks.

It says the words. Every ex-protector goes spear-straight. Cho especially tries to fight it, closing his eyes and plugging his ears. Heralds only gleefully twists a few more screws; the sound doubles in volume.

At that moment, they are tin soldiers, waiting on orders. Even half-aware of what's happening, it's unavoidable: the conditioning feels not like a desire to obey, but like a fundamental need, like breathing or eating. Like you'll die if you don't listen. Heralds has three attack dogs back on leashes. He presses a button on its bottom, turning off the little box- it's not needed anymore.

He straightens his gray coat as he stands up onto his feet. "Protectors," he says, calmly, as the men stand still, "I need you to listen to me. I need you to go outside and guard the door. I am the Savant. The Savant is in danger. I need you to go outside and guard the door, and tell anyone who comes close that I have left the planet. But I'll stay here; because this is my home, and no rebels are going to drive me from it." The last bit sounded more for him, but two of the protectors nodded along anyway, automatically. Only one doesn't: that peaks Heralds interest.

Heralds draws close to Yun, leaning in towards him. Is he saying something? Muttering something, under his breath? It sounds like...

"Manon. Seung. Jun. Kamali. Kyle. Eta-Theta." Yun's eyes are closed tight, focusing so intensely that it should drive him insane. It's like pulling yourself out of quicksand. But the names ground him: they remind him both who he is and what he's done. This is where the Savant makes a true mistake, because he leans in close, always curious, to hear more clearly what the ex-protector is trying to say. Yun's eyes open: "Heralds."

It is faster than lightning and easier than breathing, then, the way Yun sweeps Herald's feet out from under him, and the way he shoves his bodyweight against the tree, and the way- with a thousand memories behind it- he lifts his old metal club high into the air, high enough to hide the sun-

And brings it down.

The reports tomorrow will say that Heralds died "instantly." But when is that ever true? No, his mind takes a moment to go out. And in those lingering few seconds, his eyes flit up to the tree, really noticing all the details for the very first time. It is a Cornus Florida, a dogwood tree, in mid-bloom: it has white flowers on it.

The Savant James Heralds, genius leader of the ECU, is staining the roots red.

~~~~~~~~
Conclusion: Tanaka and Abadi


Viewable from the window of an apartment is a graveyard. It's a great, stately one, as clean and as posh as a gravesite can be, reserved for the rich and their family: "In Memory of Good Friends Lost," reads the sign outside. The lettering is gold, of course, and almost every corpse in that cemetery used to be an Oligarch. Of course.

Compared to the graves below, the apartments are poor and dirty and small. Made for families to sleep on top of each other. They have three rooms to share between twelve people, so that the sound of their arguing and protesting pierces through the walls and is heard by every other family in the building. Ms. Janson likes to sit by one little window and watch the visitors to the graves. So clean, with fancy clothes. Unlike anything up in these trapped apartments. It's so strange that the city planners would put them so close together.

The grave visitors don't come as much as they used to. Since the revolution, that is. But there's one: a Middle-Eastern girl- because she still looks too young to be called a woman- who always wears one of those funny robe things that Ms. Janson once heard the name for, but can never quite remember. Adaya? Abay?

Whatever it is. The girl walks to the same grave every day, carrying flowers that are red or blue or yellow, but never white. She leaves them there without preamble, which is another funny thing. She just lays the flowers gently down, no words and no tears, and walks away. Something looks so sad in her walk, but the watcher doesn't think it's about whoever it is that died: she walks like she's carrying a heavy weight.

Beneath the inscribed name, and above the dates of birth and death, the grave has a funny shape carved into it. The first time Ms. Janson leaned out of her window to catch a glimpse of it, she was confused: it looks like a hat.

One day, the girl stops coming. Nobody leaves flowers at that grave anymore.

~~~~~~~~
Conclusion: Yun


Life is ironic.

It's taken all of this to teach Yun that. All the beatings and murders, the ones that he committed. All the training and programming, that they forced onto him. All the internal war, and then at last the real, external one, against the Zetans, and then back home, against his own people. It's taken all of that to teach Yun that the universe has a sense of humor.

He sure knows that it does now, because he's sitting in the same kind of prison cell that he once locked people up into. He never realized how damp it was in here. It was just his job to bring people in: he threw them into a cell, closed the bars behind them, and never thought about them again. Protectors rarely bothered with interviews and confessions; the perp was guilty from the moment the cuffs came on. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, back then, buried beneath a sea of base thoughts and rage, he always knew that they would face a trial. He also knew that ECU trials are supposed to be brutal. Will the Flowers be different?

You know, he's not betting on it.

When they dragged him in here, the provisional security guys said "This needs to be a society of order." Whatever that means. And they said "You must still face trial for what amounts to a murder," because he did it without official permission.

He thinks what they meant to say is "You're a protector. We can't let you get the credit for killing Heralds!"

He wanted to correct them, saying "You mean ex-protector." But since they never actually said it outloud-like, that wasn't possible. He couldn't even defend himself, because his accusers didn't have to speak the words at all- they just thought it. He knows they did. 'Cause he could feel it. He'll always be the monster.

Manon. Seung. Jun. Kamali. Kyle. Eta-Theta. Heralds.

Yun slumps into the wall of his cell, letting the cold, wet bricks soak his back. Will it be execution, his sentencing, or will it be exile? Life in prison sounds like too much to hope for.

And he's not sure he'd want it.

~~~~~~~~
Conclusion: Tiffany


The apes are doing their rounds again. Since Heralds fell- it can't be more than a few days ago- this song has been beat into the skull of everyone who has ears to hear. A victory lap, she guesses.

Tiffany hears the chorus start up again now, throaty, vibrating and ape-like, blending in with the roar of their engine. Round the corner they come, three apes clinging to a vehicle that used to be a protector's, if you could even recognize it today. The gun from the back ripped clean from its place; the exterior a mess of wires like spilled guts. This automobile has been the victim of violence. It drifts quick around the curve, skidding the pavement like it's still being chased, and the song shouts as it flies:

"Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!"


Tiffany flags the apes down, one hand in the sky- they recognize her. Naturally. Her face has been spread all around the news, so that it seems like every man, woman and child has a well-thought-out opinion on Tiffany Holstead. The chimpanzee driver, a Freemen who deserted his Khan for his ideals, looks at her like he halfway expects orders. But she just climbs up into the proc-auto with them.

"Come on," she says, "let's keep driving. I want to sing too." She ignores the surprised faces of the apes- and the internal question, 'When did I learn to read monkey face expressions?'

So they ride on, the song picking up and filling these streets. These blood-stained, war-cracked streets of New Hollywood.

"When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!"


Vehicles are quite rare in Neo London. Public transport has always been heavily encouraged. This mutilated proc-auto being the only car in sight, she has an easy time spotting the faces of the crowd, looking up at what their oppressors used to ride.

"Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?"


They pass by a bombed-out shell that used to be a business. Was it the Matuvistans that bombed this one, or the Oligarchs? No telling. Funny, Tiffany thinks, how when the sign hangs sideways, half-burnt, the only word you can still read is "Quality." It's not the only tragedy around here; this city looks like a disaster film. Gray and crumbling. War vehicles scattered about, flipped over, nobody has bothered to clean them out. Burnt clothes on the sidewalk.

"Then join in the fight
That will give you the right to be free!"


The proc-auto sputters and coughs as they slow down, passing by a man being taken into custody right in the middle of the street. The ones cuffing him wear bright, clean uniforms with white flowers printed on their chests. And judging by the golden fist tattooed on his arm, that man they're cuffing could only be a protector. The aimless, ever-present crowd of civilians spits on him.

The proc-auto's engine whines in sympathy. It doesn't have many miles left itself. But Tiffany and the apes drive it onwards, singing:

"Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the song of angry men?
It is the music of the people
Who will not be slaves again!"


The next scene is nothing but the last two, repeated again. Dirty streets filled with dirty people, lost and aimless, scarred by war. How many foreign soldiers fired bullets here? And where are they today? Even the New Havenists, who came in the name of compassionate aide, are beginning to pack up and leave. But these people, these huddled masses yearning to breathe free, are left behind.

This is my world, Tiffany thinks. These are my people.

"When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!"


In the falling raindrops, her tears are invisible.
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