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Current Reminder that football hooligans are the cultural peak of any and all societies.
3 days ago
so called anti-hypocrites are weak pussies. Yeah I said things that contradict themselves shut the fuck up idiot I don't care. I'm right and that's that 😎
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3 days ago
Sounds like they're going to be the ones fucking you, angloid.
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5 days ago
still can't get over the fact some dude here thought he was hacking the site by using inspect element. you do you, you glorious bastard
7 days ago
Imagine seething about beautiful Goguryean Chads


Look at me and marvel at... I'll think of it, give me a moment.

Anyway, adding shit

My 1x1 Search:…

Russian and Belarusian (native speaker)
English and a Quebecois/Parisien mongrel French as others
doing my best to learn other interdasting ones

Most Recent Posts

Shortly after the January Massacres

It was yet another wait in the Nyrene system, and he Neohumans under Captain Viktor Tarau extremely bored with their experience. Waiting around was the job of Uskoks, not Reislaufers; the present company had signed up for adventure, not glorified guard duty! Much time passed before the first alert came. This was different than the last one. This was an actual fleet, even if a small one. The savages of the Kingdom of Orleans had arrived, likely upset over the animals they called proxies being slaughtered. An urge to spit was barely suppressed by the Captain, who promptly opened a line with other Councillary ships in the system.

Orders were simple, move in as close as possible. Aim weapons, and surround the Kingdom's vessels. Do everything to provoke them possible, whilst remaining absolved of any blame for potential escalation. But it seemed the diplomatic fleet had good resolve, and did not respond to the bait. "Shame." the Sergeant said. "I'd have liked to squash a few more heads. The frogs had such soft ones, very pleasant to bash in."

"No such luck Sergeant. Take us back to Sol, we're done here."

A little later

The Varangian returned to the Sol system, its home, its genesis. The crew reported for their upgrades, improvements to the genetic composition and cybernetics provided over the course of a day. Little by little, Neohumanity got better. There were new recruits to the ship, a few men fresh out of the factory, a few people simply out for adventure being tired of their quiet lives in Sol, a few people just now maturing and being told by their aptitude testing that it was a soldier's life for them. For the next assignment of The Varangian the crew would be hunting some pirates to ease in new members, just a quick few purges to get a taste of combat beyond the simulations. They refuelled and restocked, before once more leaving Sol for new space.

They were sent to a frontier system prowling for pirates. Not a system that was a tributary of the CCN, but one to welcome the free security provided by their hunting (provided of course, they didn't come in numbers to signal it was a potential invasion). They activated the stealth regime of the vessel, before settling down just by the jump gate. Now the wait begun, sorting civilian from pirate ships until some real prey was found.

Viktor was sitting in the command bay along with the Sergeant, just finishing up the activation of stealth protocols until one of the people passing through the room caught his eye. A young woman by the natural black hair, the sight of which made him lament that he hadn’t wholly reviewed the staff yet. “You there, can you come here?” he beckoned, and as the woman turned to him realization dawned; it was the same psychic as he had fought on Uracao. She avoided his gaze, having clearly recognized him first and instead looked to the ground. “It’s, it’s you… you’re different.” Viktor said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Yes, they made sure of that.” she replied, finally looking up. Her eyes, previously a very dark brown much like Victor’s were now glowing red prosthetics. Her skin was largely the same visually save for a few lines making her new cybernetic nature obvious. She was bigger of course, as Neohumans tend to be in contrast with their outdated cousins and her thin frame was bulked up with muscle here and there. The Sergeant looked up at the hubbub, eyes narrowing on the girl. She looked back at him, after a moment raising a finger and muttering “Y-you’re the butcher, aren’t you?” He didn’t quite recognize her at first, but in the precise moment he did his chainaxe roared into action before he even grabbed it and ran forth at her with a savage growl. Fear gripped the young woman but she didn’t panic, using her abilities to swipe the chainblade from the Sergeant’s hand. This did little but marginally increment his fury as in milliseconds he closed the distance. He flung a fist that would tear open vehicles, but it stopped mid-air by a psychic shield his quarry generated, hairs and then skin slowly burning away. Oleksandr didn’t relent though, fists cycling at the shield one by one and in moments cracking it with violent arcs of electricity across the room. Both he and the psychic were sent airborne, but before Kjaro could get up Viktor put his boot on the man’s throat. “No, stay down. Relax.”

“What? She’s one of them! She fought for them let me go! Let me go!”

“She joined us, Sergeant. Relax, before you become Private.”

Kjaro didn’t bother dignifying the Captain’s words with a response, grabbing him by the leg with both hands and sending his body flying. He righted himself and once more threw himself at the psychic. Every punch he threw was lethal and it was by pure luck the woman avoided them. Viktor grabbed the Sergeant from behind, doing his best to restrain the man. But it was pointless, for from the depths of Kjaro’s rage came strength, speed, and skill unimaginable. But what was imaginable was the half dozen Legionnaires that came and restrained the beast. Even they struggled against his violent thrashing, but he was ultimately subdued.

“Recruit… what’s the name?”

“Alyx. Alyx Fuentes.”

“Recruit Fuentes please get to your quarters I have to speak with the Sergeant momentarily and then I will check in on you. Go on.”

Watching her exit the room, Viktor motioned to the Legionnaires to let go of the Sergeant, who was no longer red in the flesh.

“Right then, Sergeant Kjaro. Tell me where all this hate comes from.”

“She fought for the Federation, for the bastards that want nothing but our end! She has-”

“No, Sergeant. Tell me where it really comes from. Tell me the story you’ve been avoiding for the many weeks we’ve been together. Tell me why is it you’re ‘the Butcher’. You rank depends on it you know, and I’ll find out anyway.”

The Sergeant spat, still shaking with desires for violence in spite of having relatively calmed down. “You want to know? Fine. It fucking hurts me you little shit, that’s why I don’t tell it but fine, just to please your little sensibilities I’ll tell it. Maybe you can learn something from it.”

About a century ago


It was a true hail of fire. Captain Oleksandr Kjaro really hadn't seen so many combatants in one place before. Like ants the Feds stormed the bunker, but valour held the position. Valour, and some really big guns. "Like water from a fucking hose!" an Uskok called out, the unending stream of fire eternally keeping him pinned down.

"Don't worry, we've had worse boys!" Captain Kjaro cried, but he knew it was a lie. The Feds really weren't fucking around.

"I see twenty more running up from the right!"

"Got four!"


Messages of this sort flew across the noosphere, but as more and more lucky shots from the enemy came the amount of outgoing messages decreased one by one. The bunker had to hold, or else the Federation would know the real item of interest on this world and then bad things could ensue very, very quickly. But with an ever decreasing amount of soldiers something had to change or within an hour this swarm would break through and a whole company of the outdateds would poke around in the… facility below the bunker.

Kjaro dropped from his spot of cover, slowly crawling into the depths of the bunker. "Sir! Sir what the hell are you doing?" Demanded an Uskok.

"Saving us, and the bunker!" Oleksandr replied.

"Sir get back here! There's too many of them, we need you!"

"Just keep your heads down." the Captain muttered, crawling on. A few bullets ricocheted at him, but they lost enough velocity to no longer even hurt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Demanded a soldier, as Kjaro went to fiddling with the bunker's defence array. The turrets were long since blown apart in the fighting but preventing a simple charge were the radioactive and sonic emanators. This insured only foes in heavy power armour could get close, but the fodder had to kill the defenders first. Slowly, he weakened it, before with slight intermissions turned these defences on and off. The region's reactor was busted, and the enemy could suppose that the defence array was losing power, in addition to receiving more and more battle damages. They could not possibly know the facility had auxiliary power. After a few more moments, Kjaro wholly turned the radioactive and sonic emissions off.

It took several minutes for the attackers to realize through the noise and smoke of their firearms that the defence keeping them at range was off. But the moment it was apparent, they were emboldened and rushed forth. Now suppressive fire was the aim, not just the result as of their shooting, men getting ever closer. They were just about in grenade throwing range with some of the foe reaching to do just that, as Kjaro screamed: "I know what I'm doing boys!" before violently turning the defence array back on to full power and then some, having spent the last few minutes overclocking it in the terminal.

The first thing the enemy soldiers felt was the series of sonic pulses, each violently rupturing organs and blood streams internal and external alike. Then the effects of the radiation was clear, more of the same happening to the attackers in addition to skin melting; the combined effects of Sonics and radiation turned the infantry to human(oid) slurries. The troops in power armour now found themselves without support against an entrenched for and those that wouldn't run didn't take long to be overwhelmed by the weight of fire.

"That wouldn't work ninety nine times out of ten Sir, you risked our lives for a gambit."

"It only has to work this time. 's why I'm Captain, you're Lieutenant. Now then Kessler, what’s the news from the rest of the world.”

From the eyes of the Lieutenant projected a hologram of the world, many key points on it being marked.

“Several counter-offensives have been met with success, I-sector parts one to thirty-nine have been retaken as well as the entirety of K sector. It seems the enemy decided to go for a heavy advance into the A-sector, an unexpected and bold push but they’ve gone very deep in mere hours.”

Oleksandr's smug demeanour instantly dropped, his subordinates for the first time seeing him unsettled. Knowing he had to keep up morale Kjaro quickly went back to his previous appearance but the veneer had cracked in everyone's eyes. "How far?" the Captain demanded.

"Kilometres. In some pockets they're about to cross into B sector." the display shifted to show precise troop movements, and a mixture of fear and frothing fury started to rise in the man. "We're only a few kilometres from there we're going to flank the enemy and assist the defence of A sector."

"Those weren't our orders."

"I am your superior, Lieutenant, and I give you your orders."

"My orders were given directly from the Governor and supercede your authority."

"Shut up! Everyone come with me!"

Oleksandr started walking off, but he didn't have to turn his head to hear nobody following. "So that's it, is it." He spun on his heels, walking over face to face with Kessler. "Fine. You want to defend this useless bunker? Go ahead. But as a defender you have no use for that jump pack. Hand it over."

"It was issued to me."

"You know Lieutenant, it wasn't a question and somehow you still managed to give a wrong answer."

A fist swung in to strike Kessler on the chin, removing his balance. With that his legs were swiped out from under him and the Captain jumped on him. He flipped the man over and his hands dug into the flesh of the Lieuyenant's back." I didn't want to do this Andrei." he said, ripping out the jump pack from the man's body with much meat still attached. "Come to think of it, might need these too." Kjaro continued, ripping off the arms and legs from Kessler. They weren't his size, but if he lost his own then they'd suffice for quick replacement. Mag-locking the limbs and necessary supplies across his combat webbing Kjaro looked up at the Uskoks with rifles upraised. He laughed. "None of you little shots are going to shoot me. Why would you? You'd only damage an already poor situation. Now if you’re all too cowardly to come with me then lower your weapons, have a rest.” Kjaro stood up, turned and after jamming the jump pack into his flesh got a running start, before soaring on wings of fire.

He flew for some time to A sector, the cold wind in the skies relaxing Captain Kjaro and letting him clear up any negative thoughts about his family’s state. They’re safe, they’re safe... he reassured himself, not even noticing the first shots that hit him. But he was soon made aware of the fact anti-air fire going at him, his flight suffering noticeably. Looking down he noticed a proper anti-air cannon taking aim, and acted fast. The soldier broke the mental link connecting his cybernetics to the jump-pack, disconnecting him from it. The pack kept on flying, taking the AA fire while the Captain plummeted towards the ground. He spun trying to slow down his flight, but it was to no avail. As he crashed through the roof of a building he hit, he at least noted he was close to his destination. This was A sector, the designation for the city of Anselm. It was one of the few true cities of the planet, a small oasis of high-life from the rough deserts of New Babylon. Naturally, the Neohuman arrivals to New Babylon of course settling here — Svetlana, Helga, Jaako, Karina and Stepan Kjaro all among them.

The Captain righted himself, checking his ocular display for his exact location. He was close to his family residence, but not close enough. Righting himself, he looked about and listened to check his surroundings. It became pretty clear he was deep in Federation controlled territory, and he had to move fast. This was the third floor of the building, and while there were no troops on it a quick scan revealed there were some on the first floor and in the cellars who were promptly going to his position. The Neohuman ran forwards to smash through the wall and jump to the street below. There were several soldiers of the Federation present, quick to their weapons. But whilst airborne Kjaro was already preparing for battle and having landed his pistol hit the first man to properly aim his rifle, before going to full-auto and suppressing the rest. In but a second he crossed the street into the building on the opposite side, the sliding doors having been blown off and on the ground. It was formerly a shopping complex of some sort, but now it mostly housed the vile invaders of this land along with a few locals or refugees.

Kjaro knew that the men from the street were hot on his trail and while he was considerably faster than them they could easily get backup to surround him, and he had to be quick. The Captain ducked into a corridor with several small shops on either side, but unfortunately man were already in it rather than just in the shops. Bullets and lasers instantly flew at him forcing him to side-step into one of the shops. He took out his own rifle and a cluster of grenades, throwing four at once with one hand whilst taking aim with the rifle in his other hand. The foe ducked for cover regardless of if a grenade was directed at them and they all handily gave him the opportunity to shoot them in the back or their sides. Rifle upraised he continued on through the corridor, breathing heavily. A man poked his head out to check why the hell was shooting happening in the zone of respite. He didn’t even have time to process Oleksandr’s presence before his head was vapourized by a laser. Oleksandr could hear men descending down stairs to open the door on the opposite end of the corridor, and knew he had to act fast. He ran past the many shops which he promptly noted had people within, but he couldn’t kill them all and he had to ignore them. Just as the soldiers on the other end were about to open the door, he barrelled into it with his shoulder, knocking down the man hit by it before falling down together with him. Being more prepared he reacted for faster than the enemy’s comrades and so he unleashed a beam of laser to the throat of every enemy. Even more were coming down the staircase and so Kjaro worked fast dropping the almost empty battery of his rifle and slapped in a new one. The wall was far stronger here and Kjaro likely couldn’t so quickly smash through it so quickly by himself, and so he threw another grenade upwards to a turn in the staircase. It forced the men above to stop their progress, and it softened the wall so that the Captain could simply run through it.

He dropped into a grassy patch below, not bothering to roll with his augmented frame. He ran forwards, noticing he was by the unloading bay of the shopping centre. Men were at rest here, having used the garage to store tanks. The man tried to crouch past them at first using the now unwatered bushes of the place as cover, but he knew the men behind him were in hot pursuit and quickly it dawned he wouldn’t be able so simply sneak past the tankists. He stood up sprinting, the enemy soldiers first not taking notice of him. But soon they did, and all had different reactions. Some ran to raise an alarm, others to weapons, while a few went inside the tank and a few simply ran for their lives. Cursing, Oleksandr fired carelessly hitting some men whilst forcing others to hit the deck. He ran towards the tank, which the Feds got operational in record time and were about to fire on Kjaro. But they hadn’t considered the range he was in, and with a jump in an underhand throw landed his last grenade down the barrel of the tank. Only one man realized what happened quick enough to hop out, the rest were vapourized inside their metal cage. The Captain felt bullets hit him in the back, but he couldn’t deal with them and he simply had to keep moving.

He ran through a smaller building with its original purpose now forgotten save “office” of some sort, this one thankfully being abandoned. On the other side a patrol was going down a street and it was through sheer luck Kjaro got behind a tree before it noticed him. The marching column of soldiers passed just in time for him to run across yet another street into a building he recognized a little more. This was formerly the police station of the city, quite a large complex, the paramilitary nature of which was clearly capitalized upon by the Federation occupants.

Through it was the quickest route to get home.

By the sound of gunfire it was clear he was reaching the frontline, a thought that did not go down well for the Captain. But he powered on, walking into the station that had it’s doors open, given this was the side upon which combat was not supposed to be happening. But he heard voices and movement which indicated that it was still heavily populated. For about a minute he hid behind the reception of the station as a squad of soldiers in power armour walked past, before continuing into the depths of the building. He held his breath (a purely cosmetic action that helped the man concentrate) crouching down a hallway, checking a scan of the building’s layout for his quickest way out. His plans were promptly interrupted as he overheard the same power-armoured squad marching towards his location, clearly a regular patrol of the building. He ducked to the side into an office which he came to realize was an interrogation room. Locking the door behind himself, Kjaro realized that perhaps this was for the best given it meant it was sound-proofed, and this would make sure nobody was aware of his coming fight with the very large, gorilla-like Simmie in the room. The beast pounded it’s chest, but in spite of its bulk it was very fast. Before the Captain could raise his rifle to fire the thing swiped it out of his hands before trying to grab either shoulder. But Kjaro was a Neohuman, and he could more than match this filthy alien! The man’s hands locked with those of the ape, and he laughed as he saw the look of surprise on the Simmie’s face when not only was it unable to push the man’s hands back, but instead Kjaro was pushing it’s whole arms back and rather painfully behind its body. It hooted in suffering, but nobody could hear it. It’s hands broke, and Kjaro let go of the thing that now tried to crawl backwards and away. It was to no use however, Kjaro wasn’t going to let it be and twisted it’s head so violently that it came off. Perhaps this moment of savagery was a mistake, as it let blood splatter onto the tiny window of the door to the room. The Captain panicked believing the patrol might be alerted by this, and seeing no other option jumped down the garbage chute of the room. He had trouble fitting in it, but after breaking a bit of machinery he quite happily slid down. This was no longer a police station however, and sliding down Kjaro didn’t hit a pile of garbage, instead falling simply quite hard onto a steel floor. But it was nothing compared to the recent trauma he took, so it was ignored. Getting upright he wasted no time, climbing out of the garbage repository and looking at the scene before him. The basement was something of a storage for the Feds it seemed, crates of all sorts about the place. From here the warrior decided it was best he go on to the sewer, perhaps cutting into the catacombs of the locals if he could find an entrance. Walking by looking for a grate or manhole he was pleasantly surprised to look into a room which seemed to be something of an armoury. Oleksandr stepped in, smashing his ammo-starved weapons before overloading their batteries so that they wouldn’t fall into enemy hands for research and development so easily. With that he grabbed a nice assortment of weapons from the cache. They were ballistics that wouldn’t stand up to the lasers he had just discarded, but they would suffice and more importantly they had ammo in abundance.

With that Kjaro went on, passing by a doorway into the sight of a man with a clipboard. He was open-mouthed, and didn’t utter a word before Kjaro pounced upon him. He was about to sink his razor nails into his throat, until noticing the red-cross armband he had. Oleksandr looked up, realizing this was the prisoner holding cell of the police station. The bars were cut away, and wounded were stored here. Every single man looked at him in fear, the different states of their injuries leaving them nevertheless at Kjaro’s mercy. “Please….” the doctor below Kjaro begged. “Please I’m just a doctor, these men are hurt. They’re not a threat! Please!” Looking into the doctor’s eyes and that of the men, Oleksandr didn’t know what to do. He stood up, raising his pistol and cycling his aim between the many targets he found present. The medic stood up himself and raised both hands placatingly. “Please, we won’t say anything just don’t do anything!”

“Shut up!” Kjaro replied. He rubbed his forehead, walking in a circle. “Fine, fine. But tell me where the last manhole you saw is.”


“You fucking heard me!”

Kjaro’s voice was amplified to the point of causing physical pain, but it got urgency across.

“Outside! The room, I mean. Walk out and take the first turn left; there should be one I think.”

The Captain ran out and did as instructed, glad to find the man was right. He removed the cover of the manhole, and closing it behind himself went home. It was a straight line that he went through with speed, emerging with his family’s home in his vision. There was gunfire everywhere, soldiers from both sides everywhere in his vision.

“Sveta!” Oleksandr cried out, hoping his wife would reply. He got none, but he noticed a federation soldier going by the building’s balcony and firing inside. The thought this man might be at this very moment hitting a member of his family was perhaps the beginning of now Sergeant Kjaro’s mania. Quite literally he saw red, his cybernetic ocular overlay glitching with the imbalance of chemicals flowing through his brain as an unimaginable state of rage came over him. He ran forward ignoring all the shooting coming at him only stopping to grab a Federation soldier by the neck and biting his eyes out so he wouldn’t fire his rocket launcher. The cry of pain soothed Oleksandr, but only barely. He ascended the steps to the building, smashing through the door to a scene that engrained itself in his memory to this very day. Helga holding little Stepan on the ground, whilst Jaako tried to protect them with their body and Karina lying wounded by his feet. “They’re just fucking robots.” A soldier said, and emptied a magazine upon the children of the Kjaro family. Oleksandr was dazed, and he had only one possible reaction: violence. He was a blur of movement, but with his bare hands the Captain turned each damned Fed into red mush. The perpetrators of the crime were dead, and for now that would be enough; Svetlana could still be alive. “Sveta!” he roared again, checking every part of the building for her. In a small destroyed section, he found her, or at least what was left. Her head, and the upper right part of her torso was all that he could find. The wetware records of Oleksandr Mikolaevich Kjaro showed that this was the first time in his life that he cried, but it was a cry like no others. “What have they done to you?” he said to nobody in particular, laughing blissfully as her eyes opened upon the words being said. “Sveta?” he asked, the beginnings of a smile coming upon him.

“I knew I would see you one last time.” Svetlana said, returning Oleksandr’s smile.

“No, no, I’ll get you out let me just check the scanner I’ll-”

“No, Oleksei. You won’t.” She coughed, a mixture of blood and hydraulic fluid coming out.

“They’re dead, aren’t they. I heard what happened. Don’t lie to me.”

“Yes. Yes the Fed bastards shot them.”

“I see. Then my fight was for nothing.”

“No! No, it wasn’t, please, hold on!”

“It’s too late my love. Remember us, please.”

“I will.” Again Svetlana coughed, her eyes dimming.

“Go, Knight of honour, go Knight of faith. Show them your valour, bring them their fates.”

Svetlana’s eyes closed, and that was the end of her life. Oleksandr simply remained where he was for about an hour, not caring for the fighting happening around him and he was unphased when the building collapsed with its rubble burying him. The shooting had subsided, and Kjaro got himself out of the rubble. With a thoughtful expression he went back through the sewers, again emerging in the police station turned Fed barracks. He went inside the makeshift hospital, blocking it off with a few large crates he grabbed on the way there. All present recognized the Captain, the Doctor standing up from a seat he was taking.

"We didn't tell anyone anything I swear!" He managed before Kjaro grabbed his mouth, shushing him into silence.

"I have only a single question for you. Are Neohumans, for your people, machines? Robots?"

“There’s… there’s many different opinions you can’t just reduce-”

“It’s a yes or no question.”


Go Knight of Honour, go Knight of Faith.


Show them your valour, bring them their fates.

In a flash the Captain pulled out one of the Doctor’s ribs, and turned him over to cover his mouth so the screams of pain would be stifled.

“Now I won’t have any remorse.” He ran the rib like a blade down the length of the doctor’s back, then pulled off his skin in one great tug. Kjaro laughed, spinning the skin in a circle like a gymnast a rope. He went over to one of the injured men, placing his hands in the folds of the dead doctor’s face and doing a poor mimicry of his speech.

“I say, you seem to be afraid of your dear old medic. I think some sort of pathogen is in you, I see you’re having trouble breathing!” This was a very short foreshadowing for the skin being used to strangle the injured soldier. A similar act was repeated with the skinless body of the medic, and after that a series of brutal murders proceeded by the end of which the room was quite literally an abattoir. The Captain didn’t return to the CCN lines after this, staying deep in occupied territory leading one man terror campaign, such gruesome slaughter being his distinctive trait that gained him the moniker “Butcher”. When the war was over he finally came back to his comrades, and he was demoted to Lieutenant before promptly being returned to Captain once the full extent of his actions was discovered. It was done tentatively, but accounting for the tragedy he experienced high command was somewhat sympathetic. But in the century to come many battlefields would be scarred by the Butcher, Zion being on particular case, his actions of shoving live humans into meatgrinders for slow, painful deaths giving his name renown across all Eden quite quickly. As the Captain’s madness spiralled his actions became such that even the Councils became disgusted, demoting him to Lieutenant and more recently to Sergeant. Thus, one arrives at the modern day.


“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah, I told you so. There were about two-hundred trillion cells in the bodies of my family. For every cell must die a single Fed or other bastard. It is my life mission.”

Viktor Tarau opened a link to one of the international wikis, instantly finding “The Butcher” for a quick summary of more gruesome events.

“Bloody hell.” he repeated.


“The only have little bits of you recorded, how did she know it’s you?”

The Sergeant shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s a psychic, probably something to do with that.”

Indeed, being a psychic had something to do with it. The woman had not gone to her quarters, instead just enough distance so with her powers she could still hear them but they wouldn’t know of her ethereal presence. She couldn’t so simply let all the Sergeant said just be. She sprinted past the two Legionnaires guarding the way to the command centre, coming face to face with the Captain and the Sergeant.

“You’re a fucking madman. You’re obsessed, that shit was a century ago and you’re still murdering all that time after, people unrelated to what happened to you! Do you really think your kids would be happy to know their father ran across Eden killing random people because he’s insane?”

Until the last sentence, Kjaro was apparently calm. But when the girl spoke of his children’s thoughts and wishes he roared standing from his chair, or at least trying to. At the last moment Viktor grabbed his leg to force a fall and yelled to Alyx: “Go, go to your quarters!” Then he leaned in to whisper to the Sergeant. “She’s not wrong.” and gave the man a kick before going to speak to the young psychic.

The Captain stepped in, noting the currently unfurnished nature of the room. The woman was cross legged on her bed, head in hands. “Recruit.” Viktor said, taking a seat on a chair in the room’s small study.

“I’m surprised to see you here. I would have thought they’d do training and integration longer.”

“We did it, but they had… well, they said my situation was unique, rarely are psychic migrants found they said. They told me I’d be better off with familiar faces to help me get used to it, and that my powers were best suited for conflicts anyway. I’ll have an easier time getting eased into the Noosphere with less people at the same time.”

“I see.”

“Oh, do you?” she said, rather sarcastically.

Viktor shrugged. “No, not really. I was born into the councils, my life was so easy I got bored of it and went to become a Reislaufer just to find hardship for the first time in my life. But I said that I see because I thought it might make you feel better, instead you’re being smarmy.”

“Oh please you think I’m going to respond well to being called smarmy just after you told me how great your life is?”

“Yes. Ad Hominems, and all.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I only got you into the CCN because I wanted to save my own life. But now you’re my responsibility and I have to make sure all is well with you. So, tell me all your troubles, I can listen to another sob-story after hearing out the Sergeant.”

“Alright, alright yeah I’ll tell you. I was forced out of my previous life which was horrible, but you know what? It was mine, this new life isn’t mine, I belong to the CCN now. Everyone I knew is dead, and I’m a toy of the people who did that. You want me to say thank you? No, of course you don’t you’ll have some little clever answer. My brain, it’s tuned into this damned Noosphere of your’s, everyone feels what I feel and I feel what everyone feels. This is supposed to make me closer to everyone, right? Fat chance, everyone here looks at me like trash; your damn Sergeant tried to cut me in half. I even… I can't....”
Viktor was about to ask her what it was she couldn’t do anymore, but looking at her face he could tell what she was trying to say right away. For her new bionic eyes they had to remove her tear ducts — She could no longer cry.

“Oh.” was all that he could reply.

“All that was me before, it’s gone. I just have my memories, and apparently I’m supposed to count my blessings because I was let keep those. You’re people, Captain, those Federation soldiers the Sergeant mentioned were wrong. But you’re different, too different, you’re certainly not good humans.”

“I’m sorry.” was all Viktor could offer. Alyx couldn’t cry, but she came the closest one could without tear ducts. Perhaps it was wrong what they did to her. She wasn’t even old enough to drink in much of Eden, she was just a girl, they should have just let her work for the CCN as an auxiliary and let her make the choice to become Neohuman down the line. But they couldn’t remove the cybernetics and gene treatments, it was too late now.

“I had a piercing in my stomach, like all the girls pretending to be different back in Uracao did. They didn’t even let me keep that.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. Usually people going into processing were let keep their jewellery. He checked the roster of his crew to find Alyx Fuentes, and then opened her file. He couldn’t help but start laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded, visibly hurt at the laughter.

“I’m sorry it’s just that, well, the reason they took your piercing was that they thought it was a wound that went left untreated because of the backwardness of frontier medicine.”

Slowly, she smiled and then even giggled. Viktor was glad, moving over to sit on the girl’s bed with her and giving her a sympathetic (if not quite empathetic) embrace. Maybe you’re right, maybe the soldiers were. Maybe we’re not quite humans or even people. But that can change.

Can I do a homeless dude
A year old but still hilarious


Shortly after the battle of Uracao

The Captain and the Sergeant were walking down the hall, one just too long to be considered efficient by the cold mentality of Neohumans. But it was a very old one, a place made by a now unsupported version of Neohumanity. It was lined with hundreds of the National Guard, the air around the blades of their lashalberds distorted by the superheating of the blades and shimmering by the power fields surrounding them.

"So you think it's something serious?"

"Wouldn't have called us all the way here if it wasn't."

"Right. Any idea what for?"

"Nope." the words were followed by the Sergeant launching a globe of spit on the ground, prompting the Guards to bring their halberds to Kjaro's throat. "Bloody hell calm down the bots will clean it!" he exclaimed, raising his hands. After a tense moment, the soldiers backed off.

"I take it you haven't been back home for an extended period in a while."

"Nope. Soldier's life for me."

"I can tell."


They reached the grand gate, which after a few seconds of the two men being scanned was opened. A man sat in a chair, a blazing cigarette in one hand as he stared at the sun of the Sol system. "Captain Tarau, how good of you to come!" the figure said, without a hint of irony given he was ordered to do so.

"...oh, and Oleksandr Kjaro. Captain Tarau's aide I take it mmmyes, what rank are you at now?"

"Sergeant, Sah!" Kjaro exclaimed, slamming a fist on his breast in salute. Victor couldn't tell if it was all a sarcastic display or a legitimate attempt to get in the good graces of

"Yes, indeed, very good. Well I'll get to it I suppose, I didn't prepare any mind games for you so I won't waste time trying to improvise. Events have lined up, such that I shall be leading a flagship to the frontier. They say I've gotten too invested in the theoreticals of war. Too cushioned in the home system."

"I can see that." the Sergeant said, giggling at the more suit than uniform attire of the man sitting in the chair, Admiral Andrej Kessler.

"Your concern is duly noted Sergeant.

“Regardless, other things have been happening in Eden my comrades. Duro has been invaded by Orleans, and the attention of the cluster’s media is upon it. There are many experimental weapons we have to test, and the frontier has a system ripe for the taking — the Nyrene star. The worlds have an untapped source of natural resources, and a grand population for us to utilize. Most interesting perhaps, is the apparent fact the locals have the use of some old-Earth terraforming and gravitational technology, allowing their massive planets with previously vile environments to become paradises far, far faster than even we could do with our Neohuman nature. Oh, and there’s certain… interlopers that have to be punished.”

Both the Sergeant and the Captain understood what the last bit meant, Oleksandr in particular grinning upon hearing this. Victor was less enthusiastic, screens of information rolling through his vision.

“What can we expect from this world.”

“Not too much. It’s a frontier world. Good infrastructure and communications, our biggest threat. Their arms and armour are just up to par for the frontier. There's also a species native to the system, the Nyrene. They're all psychics, though few of them are of any power, in fact a smaller fraction than in humans. Amassed though they have some potential. Attunement with the planet and all, along with each other, some similarity with the Aelon. They are to be deleted." one hologram flashed into existence, and then another.

"Understood. Intelligence?"

"Extensive work has been done by the infiltrators. Piracy and corruption are rife, there is little confidence in the president. Seeds of racial tension have been planted, locations of military installations and places of governance will he relayed to you. The homes of most of the Nyrene xenos have been found. It seems PDF, police, gendarmes, army, and other local defence personnel will outnumber ours more than six hundred to one. But if all goes to plan, a mere percent of that force will mobilize and only a percent of that mobilized force will get to combat before being ordered to stand down. Agents are ready to troll, disrupt and sway any interstellar social media on our favour. Its a very clear and positive picture."

"Understood. Post Operations?"

"Until the Uskoks arrive you will have to do their work. We expect some initial riots, protests. The chaos will be a good opportunity to rid ourselves of journalists and such. Of course we'll have to cover what the outdated will find 'objectionable'. Of course we'll have to feign an exit from the system, lie in wait for our little friends."

"Thank you Admiral. What shall you be bringing?"

"A cube. A very large one. Many cones too, get their defences done with quickly and silently. Some cylinders will come along should resistance be truly heroic. A Reislaufer Legion in its entirety will land, with another one in reserve. I will trust you to lead planetside operations of course, I hope I shan't have to intervene."

"Worry not, Admiral. I was given a more than acceptable rating for my first Captaincy, I will only be better in the next."

"Yes, of course." Kessler said, looking to Kjaro. "Very well, we depart in nineteen hours."

A salute was exchanged, and the duo marched off to their vessel.

Some time later.

Out of the jump gate the fleet exited. First came the cones, gently sailing through the void across the system. Their stealth systems activated to let them happily get into position, timed perfectly with the arrival of The Varangian and Kessler's ship Sikorski. As they drifted to Nyrene Terius, the cylinders followed already spinning in preparation of combat. The cones instantly unleashed drone swarms to attack the system monitors and localized defences. Nobody was killed, in fact, but ships had scanners, engines and comms sundered by little flying machines, whilst weapons had smaller drones fly inside them so that any attempt to blindly fire would be only catastrophic for only those doing the firing. A few more advanced vessels had their crews or at the very least Captains paid off, and one foreign trade ship had a great net fired at it. For a day or so it wouldn't be functional, and when it was cut off it would be too late to learn anything of the events that happened. But of course, for its trouble it would receive suitable restitution!

The two main vessels of the CCN came into orbit, and they tested their first experimental. Drop pods were novel to the Confederation, but upon seeing other armed forces use them it became obvious just how useful they were. Troop landers that carried very few men and couldn't get back to surface, but reached the ground so fast there was little warning of them, and little chance to shoot them down. They hit the ground in key areas. Every single generator and power grid controller, magrails, defence installations, comm towers, local house of governance and armouries all got at least one drop pod.

Giants emerged from them, nearly two and a half metre tall vessels of perfection armed with weapons the locals couldn't fathom. One power grid control centre had a guard raise a rifle, but was promptly frozen with a cryocannon. Quick firefights erupted at the armouries, but only a token resistance was put up with arc rifles swiftly subduing the security of them. The batteries had actual soldiers manning them, and proved harder. Lasers bullets and grenades zinged, and as the battles dragged on long enough to arouse the attention of more people - particularly those with guns - radcannons were made us of, their brutality a rarely reserved thing that in this rare case was quickly let loose despite all attempts to use more traditional weapons first.

With that done sleeper cells were activated, social media inflamed, and a good start on people's hearts and minds was made. All was carefully orchestrated to make this seem like an intervention against a corrupt government that was harbouring pirates – yes, pirates!

Victor himself landed in a drop-pod shortly after in the parliament, with Sergeant Kjaro landing in the district of embassies with several platoons. The Sergeant's men fanned out, quickly announcing martial law. Large devices were placed in the streets that initially looked like boxes but unfolded to be some sort of antennae?

"Everyone inside! You have thirty seconds to comply!"

"What? What the fu-... Hey get your hands off of me, do you know who I am?"

"Scanners indicate your name is John Hurley. Impertinent. You have nineteen seconds to comply, please enter the grounds of one of the embassies."

"You have no right to do this shit you hear me?"


"Listen to me you piece of shit I paid good money to visit and… Why are you covering your face hey loo-... W… AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

The men exclaimed, clutching his head as the device finished unfolding and let out a vile sound, fluctuating between the highest and the lowest pitches possible for it to produce at a volume that clearly hurt the man. His eyeballs, blood vessels, and organs all ruptured as one before he collapsed, ichor sprayed on the Reislaufer shielding his visor from the liquid.

Victor entered the parliamentary Palace with but six Legionnaires at either side, all in armour dressed to look fabulous as if on parade, but just as good in combat. One of the security personnel tried to radio in, the other to shoot. Both fell with a smoking crater in their chest before they could touch a tool of trade. A guard inside that witnessed what happened dropped to his knees, to which he was told "Rise. Report anyone coming here from outside across your internal system."

And thus, very boldly the thirteen Neohumans strode into parliament. Every single Nyreeni was gunned down, along with the guards that reached for their weapons and the President.

"Does anybody have a problem with what just happened?" Demanded a Legionnaire. A few people rose or raised their hands, and they were gunned down too. The speaker jumped on the table of the dead president, spreading his arms wide majestically. He was about to make a great statement, but under his weight the table collapsed and he fell arse first. Neohumans were cold beings half machine, but each of them present burst out laughing save for Captain Tarau who hushed them into silence. He kicked the president off of his chair and after making sure it could hold his weight, he sat down on it with legs crossed comfortably.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm a soldier and an orator - the union of which makes me a commander - but I am not too much of a politician. It is therefore an excellent thing I have orders from someone with such an education. Your world now works for the interests of the Councillary Confederation of Neohumanity. Your world will become noticeably more efficient, you will receive resources, data, and technology from the CCN. You will be independent, of course! Your own pockets will be further lined, even if you happen to be a person of the sort with no care for your underlings. You will amend your constitution to be of interest to us, we will be a… protected group, let us call it. Your monitors should display the full extent of what you agree to. Any questions?"

The members of parliament all looked at their screens, reading carefully. About an hour passed until one raised his voice.

"The Nyreeni died to a disease brought from a vessel, possibly from the CCN? I'm a pragmatic man I can regurgitate the bullshit to save some hides but you're just killing all these people? That's… T-that's fucking madness! You can't stand for this I-" a Legionnaire's laser bolt brought an end to the speaker.

Victor shuddered and winced, wholly new thoughts coming across him. "Sign this, then gather with me, a recording for Eden's media will be made. Oh don't look so glum, you'll be pocketing money from new paymasters, but the same amount. More actually, so that you don't have to take it from your people!" The parliamentarians did as told, signing and then standing photogenically by the Neohumans. Even though a few steps higher, they were still noticeably shorter than the Confederates.

A drone flew inside the parliament, its camera focusing upon Victor. He looked like a God, and with the perfection both physical and aesthetic so visible in him he may as well have been. Perfect unblemished skin, sculpted features, alert eyes, a warm smile, welcoming dark brown eyes contrasting with his pale Northerner skin, green laurels with a faint golden sheen rested upon his black hair.

"I greet you dear viewer. No doubt you have by now heard of irregularities coming from the Nyrene star, so I will do my best to explain what happened. The worlds of this system have been long partners of the Councillary Confederation of Neohumanity, our trade vessels being one of the first to make contact upon locals establishing a jump gate. We eagerly welcomed them into the international community but it seemed good news wasn't the only thing to come of Nyrene's entry to greater Eden. The system became a hot spot of pirate activity and other criminality, but corruption insured that nothing was done in the long term to combat it. Recently this reached a critical point. The officials of Nyrene invited a Reislaufer Legion to intervene, and oust President Reynolds from his post lest he make Nyrene a pirate state. A contract was made with a Reislaufer Legion, who dealt very quickly with the bought and paid for forces of the late President. At the time of our arrival - perhaps from our vessels - a viral infection spread. It does nothing more than elicit a cough in humans but in the Nyreeni natives it provoked a fatal reaction. It spread like wildfire before our Scientific Corps could react. The disease will be analyzed, and a research paper published on it for Eden at large to review free of charge so such events would not repeat. Peace has been restored to Nyrene, and prosperity will follow. Without the threat of piraxy it is predicted Nyrene productivity will go up fifty-two percent and growth of GDP will rise to eleven percent; a new market and trade partner for all of Eden to bask in. We will now be receiving questions, thank you."

In truth there would be no questions, at least not any real ones. All the journalists that could not be paid off were rounded up and thrown in an excavated pit that was promptly filled up. In case the mass grave was found, there was much evidence prepared that it was the work of President Reynolds disposing of those investigating into his corruption. Questions prepared beforehand were asked, most to the affirmative. Some special ones meant to criticize or agitate the Captain were asked but he had answers prepared to further justify his actions. Nyrene was now another part of the little Neohuman Empire.

Weeks later

It was boring. For people functionally immortal cryosleep was a nonsense, and so the wait for Interlopers was long, and made even longer for those who process things far faster than homo sapiens. Exercise and military drills were had, conversations were made and culture was taken part in. Now before the Captain and the Sergeant some of the staff were having a song and dance. It might seem alien to foreign observers to see this contrast. Here were cybernetic giants, the skin of many a porcelain-like plastic, their eyes glowing unnaturally and their movements… off; perfect but unnatural. Yet here they were with traditional sewn outfits, wreaths of flowers upon hair real and synthetic of the women, shining but rough brown leather shoes of men, all whilst several cheery fellows were playing ancient instruments faster than the eye could track. Yet to Victor and even Oleksandr it was a moment inspiring nostalgia and homesickness. One of the girls reminded Kjaro of his long lost daughter.

"You seem off, Captain."

"I was about to say the same."

"You first, Captain. I asked first, didn't I."

A silence.

"Everything is different now that I'm Captain, Sergeant. Before when I killed I was just following orders. Now that I'm a Captain I'm issuing them. Yes, yes, I get them from the admiral and as Sergeant and Lieutenant and all the ranks in between I both gave and received but it's different now, I have my own ship. Now all those men that died by my hand, all those aliens, they… They don't sit right with me."

"You're a little bitch Captain."

"Fuck off. Don't ask if you don't want to know."

Another silence.

"You told me before Uracao you would tell me why you hate the outdateds so much. Hoe is it you find killing them so easy? They're people, but you swing your axes like sweeping a broom."

The Sergeant groaned. "Alright. I wasn't just at the Zionist police action."


"Your scans of my cybernoosphere won't show it, but I was there in the war with the Federation."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Wait then-..." A klaxon cut off the Captain.

A sardonic giggle came from Kjaro. "Maybe next time, Captain." he said, slapping Victor on the back before turning in his seat. The image of the Admiral appeared onscreen, the man in full regalia. "An unmarked ship has entered the system. The cone scanner formation indicates that the cargo it is accounting for does not match the size of the vessel. Intercept it."


The Varangian moved in close to the unmarked vessel, which identified as Columbus.

"Columbus, you will have an escort. There is pirate activity noted in system."

"Negative Varangian, I think we can make it on our own."

"For your own security Captain."

"Thank you all the same, but we won't need it." As the words were said the Captain of the ship started turning his vessel ever so slightly, knowing he had much maneuverability upon most CCN ships. If he was trying to prepare for a getaway it wouldn't help him.

"Columbus, you will be escorted."

Thirteen cones deactivated their stealth systems, in perfect formation surrounding the so called trade vessel. It made it to Nyrene's dry docks, at which point it was promptly boarded.

A concierge of sorts was waiting for the arriving troops, the fellow starting to say something about all the vessel's clearances and certifications, and commitments to lawfulness. He only got out half a sentence before getting a Legionnaire's stock to the face.

Reislaufers and drones fanned out, subduing all crew members and scanning hulls. There were the accounted for consumers goods - mostly electronics - but after a few walls were breached the jackpot was found. Crates full of rifles and munitions. Packages of propaganda leaflets, armour, even a few vehicles and stealth suits. Some of these hidden compartments even had men in uniform, more of the same beret wearing bastards Victor saw on Uracao. A few raised their weapons, but arc-rifles got them to drop before they could do any harm. The arcs were set on low power, because these men were needed alive. They were loaded into landers brought down to Nyrene, a specialized pavilion constructed just for this event. Every man was blindfolded and gagged, before being made to kneel in front of a cement block and having their blindfolds taken off. It was a place of execution, every man felt it as a drone flew over to to place weights on their arms and legs. The drone that recorded the Captain the day before flew onto the site, and focused on Admiral Kessler. A naval uniform was upon him, glowing blue eyes contrasting with the black and red of his attire. He was like an older, more grim variant of Victor to the camera having the same perfection of function and form yet also he bore a more mature, authoritarian look.

“Good afternoon, Edenites. I bear bad news. In the Nyrene system the brave efforts of the Councillary Confederation have gone well. The system already has noticed peace and improvements, corruption long a thing of the past. But not all could deal with this new status quo. Forces of violence and hatred reside in this star cluster, and they could not bear to see the success and bright future that is in store for Nyrene. These men are pirates, complicit in the suffering of Nyrene who have long escaped justice. But we were prepared for this villainy. Today, heavy transports entered the system carrying tools of violence and men ready to insure they are used. They were apprehended, and they will be punished before your eyes.”

The drone turned to the first victim, the lens focussing on a man beside which Sergeant Kjaro was standing with a chain-blade. “Each man will have ten seconds for last words.” he announced, before taking off the gag. It was the perfect amount of time for even the cheapest civilian facial recognition software to confirm the identity of a man, with he help of their full name that the Sergeant would helpfully provide.

“Ensign Frederick Stutzer.”

“Oh god, please no! Wait! Please I have a family fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck wait don’t I’ll do anythi-NOOOOOOO” he was drowned out by the sound of the motorized blade revving, the implement brought down upon his face until nothing was left of it.

“Petty Officer Phillip Grey.”

“...Sweetheart I love you so much, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Tell the kids I love them.”


“Lieutenant Marie Chretienne.”

“Elizabeth, souviens-toi de moi! Souviens-toi de moi! Prenez soin de vous!”


This went on for many hours until every single man had met his fate. The Sergeant had begun this business in nothing but trousers, but he was now clothed in red. Dripping, he walked over to the Admiral.

“It is done, Sir.”

“Good. What of the Captain?”

“A little soft, Admiral. He said he didn't want to see this, and had better things to do back on the Varangian.”

“I see. Very well.” He snapped his fingers, and the drone flew over to Kessler.

“These men received their just fate, but we shan’t bring undue suffering to their families. Anyone who wishes to reclaim their bodies may send a letter to any embassy of the Councilary Confederation. We shall process the request in no more than six days, and return the fallen in no more than twenty. Instructions to apply for a claim can be found at the sites of our embassies. I bid you farewell. Legion Eternal, Eternally Victorious.”

>makes a thread he won't be participating in
Is this dead? :(
b e t t e r t h a n h u m a n

Captain Victor Tarau in The Varangian had responded to the call for aid. The local Uskoks were not up to the task of dealing with local insurgents, apparently. “It’s what happens when you let the first generation emigres run things.” Replied Victor’s aide. It was Oleksandr Kjaro, a man fairly recently demoted to Sergeant according to a quick check through his part of the noosphere. Truth was, given the efficient running of CCN operations he was still more or less fresh from Sol and his crew was all new to him. Kjaro, now that was a name that rung a bell. “Oleksandr Kjaro, Sergeant. You were in the Zionist police action, yes?”

“Indeed, Sir.”

Yes, that explained a lot. This was the fellow who lost his Captaincy a few decades back, brutality being the reasoning. A rather strange reason, given the brutality of all Councillary troops. Yet, he must have done something particularly heinous for the Overseer-Militant to actually go down and strip a man of rank. Yet, his skills must also have been quite something if he was not taken in for processing. “Well, then. Tell me, can we descend soon?”

“Yes, and no, Sir. The issue is the Uskoks have had interference with their vessels, some sort of nonsense interfering with their scanning, comms, the works. Governor’s not lying about that, at least. They seem to have most things under control, though, albeit no thanks to the Uskok troops. Locals snitched on the rebels, caught them early.”

A screen activated, the face of Governor Josefina Clarlyle before the command-bridge. “Ah, Governor, how good of you to join us in our discussion.”

“Indeed. I’m sure you’ve been debriefed of most of what you need to know but I felt there’s one thing they likely didn’t mention. Spending on the world increased almost threefold several months back, when our patrols started. But not immediately after, that was a twofold increase. All this in spite a three percent reduction in productivity. Somebody is pumping money here, Captain, and all this talk of rebellion just… I don’t know. I just think you should be careful. LZ is prepared, I have a unit of local auxilia prepared. We’ve traced the disturbance to a town, it’s called Uracao. Some Uskoks will be with you too, I recommend you just send your crack troops. The governor needs this done fast. Over and out.” She was the governor from the perspective from the CCN, but internationally, the world was de jure independent.

“Bitch.” Kjaro said, having wanted to say something before the line was closed off.

“You really don’t like the outdateds, nor the stains. I understand that, though not to the degree you do of course. But you seem to despise anything to do with them. Anything to say?”

“I’ll tell you another time, boy. I lost much to those… those things.” The Sergeant replied, encompassing all non-Neohumans with a single word. “History, and all. But everything I do is for a reason.”

“Right, then. To the lander.” Kjaro was very human for a Neohuman, at least externally. Supposedly his brain was mostly untouched, and all else he had was sub-dermal, at least for machine parts. But he was also very cold, unforgiving, one could almost call him the spitting image of a Neohuman except for the overdose of his fury and grim cynicism.

Troops were handpicked, and perhaps arrogantly for Victor’s first mission as Captain he decided he would go along with Oleksandr and the rest of the men.

The Uskoks were along with some of the local auxilia in a grand truck, with much more of the local troops walking along either side in a column. After about an hour of marching towards this town of Uracao, they caught sight of it through the dust and early morning mist of the day. The town hall was distinctive, and the two rows of buildings in front of it but most important was the great pillar of blue light coming from the centre. “Interesting.” The Sergeant remarked, his helmet unsealing momentarily so he could spit.

They moved into it, slowing down with apprehension and gradually slowing down — a mistake. A hail of missiles flew at the truck, and the vehicle understandable exploded. Automatic weapons uponed up on the column making the auxilia either duck for cover or try return fire. It was quite admirable how none of them ran, Victor noted.

“There, there!” Kjaro shouted, pointing to a trench it seemed the enemy combatants had dug before instead making defences at the entrance to the town instead. The Reislaufers ran towards it, jumping into it as one.

Bullets and lasers whizzed over the ditch, a rather silly thing but not surprising given the nature of the "rebels", as they declared themselves. People fed a lot of ideologue nonsense given confidence by a gun, they could shoot but they missed when doing so.

The Captain peered over the edge of the earthworks, examining the foe's barricade. Jeers and warcries cycled between its defendants, most notable an occasional "¡No Pasaran!" in a chorus of voices. He took stock of the fighters by his side, counting a total nineteen with poor Legionnaire Cyril just a few metres short of the trench. He was still alive, but he'd be out of commission for almost a month as his cybernetics, organs and limbs were replaced. The entirety of the local auxilia was of course dead. Some of the Uskoks had returned fire, but apart from one who ran away - to presumably report all of this back - all got torn apart by the enemy small arms.

They largely didn’t worry about most of the foe, they knew they could more than give what they got from them. But there were two autocannons they had set up in the entrance to the town and they’d tear through the armour, cybernetics and flesh of the Neohumans.


“Yes, Sir?”

“Did we bring along the experimentals?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s on your display.”

“Of course, Sergeant. But it’s a lot better when I start announcing things like this."

"Yes Sir."

"Platoon! Prepare grenades. Go!"

With a word a series of the little jet black cylinders flew as though shot from a launcher into the first line of the rebels. A black smoke emerged from them, but they were apparently prepared enough to not panic and run. Their mistake. They breathed, and one by one fell down with their nerves giving way. It was an odourless gas that kept the foe alive, but effectively paralyzed for an hour.

The Neohumans stepped out of their cover, walking slowly with a rather unprofessional leisure to the barricades that put oh so much dread into the men of Uracao. They stepped over the barricades, walking deeper into the town, until the Sergeant turned around at a feint voice. "No… Pasaran." a woman hissed, eliciting a low, almost monstrous laughter from Sergeant Kjaro. He squatted by her, the Reislaufer still almost as tall as an ordinary man in this state. His deep grey eyes narrowed, and a humoured smile came on his face that could almost fool a person believing this to be a face of mercy. "Hemos y Pasado." he stated, before in a flash his fist flew at her head, going straight through it in a puff of red and hitting the metal crate behind her, a great dent forming in the thing. A much higher pitched, noticeably sadistic laugh came from Kjaro as he noticed the fearful tremble of the outdateds present. Their best efforts only letting them shake and whine as the man motioned with his head for the rest of the Reislaufers to move on, him alone of them not stepping over the people and instead walking on as if they weren't there in spite of the crunches and squelches underfoot.

Victor sighed. This was Kjaro without any great activation of aggression protocols, this was the natural state of the man. He wouldn't be in the eternal limbo of promotion and demotion from Sergeant to Lieutenant if not for this, he'd have long since been a Captain of his own ship. "Loose formation, squad restructuring inbound." the retinal displays of all Legionnaires informed them of the Sergeant allotting a particular eleven men to himself and another eleven to the Captain. Kjaro took the left side of the town, with Victor the right. The first building on either side was empty, save for a few men taken out of action by the gas. The next one was similar, but Kjaro's team came upon two men huddling by an autocannons with hands over their heads. "Don't." The Captain ordered, just as Kjaro's finger hovered over the trigger. He growled, motioning for another soldier to subdue them with his arc rifle.

In the next building the Captain breached a door, to find a mass of children, elderly and other unarmed people with but a single man holding a rifle. "Drop it." Victor demanded. The man held onto his weapon, in spite of now seven Legionnaires training very big laser rifles upon him. "You can't win this, just put it down." the Captain tried again.

"Why, so you can then just take us all away? I'm not stupid, I don't have a bunch of your damn robot parts but guess what? That means I know when people demand bullshit of me."

"I do not know what you are talking about. Please put it down, I would really rather not have to end you."


The man pulled his trigger, and the Captain threw himself forward to grab one of the children to shield with his body. He made sure to catch a bullet in his body to make it more convincing, for he knew the man wouldn't have hit the civilians but all the same Victor knew he had to give himself a heroic appearance for the others present.

With his body shielding the little outdated he raised his pistol and with one shot to the chest ended the man. Placing down the kid, he looked at him and asked "Are you alright?" the little boy was clearly top frightened to speak, and so the Captain motioned to a Reislaufer who walked over to momentarily scan the child. "No external damage."

"Good." with that they moved on. Most buildings had token resistance, a mine and ambush taking three Neohumans out of action. Now either group was on opposite sides of the town, looking to the town hall. Peering through the windows it was clear the time the Reislaufers spent was not wasted by the rebels. Snipers were on the roof of the town's centre, machine guns were set up at windows and an autocannon at the entrance. The Legionnaires made half hearted attempts to fire at the foe but it was clear in any attempt at a shooting match the rebels would win, their firepower far too great.

"What about the other experimentals, Captain?"

Victor cursed, expecting this very thing from the Sergeant. But looking on to the great beam of skyward light, he knew Kjaro was right. The enemy was in eagerness already taking pot shots, and it was a non-option to try wait them out. The trick with the gas wouldn't work again, and even if it did the men here seemed better equipped, helmets and rebreathers with them.

"Alright then. Reislaufers, blades ready, we'll give them what for. Legio, aeterna, aeterna, victrix!

All of the Reislaufers pressed the activation studs on their new chainblades, some had them attached to their rifles as bayonets, some like the Captain had taken theirs as a Sword, whilst Sergeant Kjaro had opted for two large chainaxes in either hand. They repeated the cry, and with an ear-piercing roar they smashed through the walls of their respective buildings. There was a moment of panic for the enemy, but they quickly rallied as someone ordered them to fire. A hail of lasers, bullets and even plasma rained upon the charging Reislaufers. The men at either side of Victor dropped, and a bullet took his right eye. The autocannon was about to fire tearing the Reislaufers apart but the Sergeant threw one of his axes to bisect its operator. The Legionnaires returned fire while running, aiming to suppress rather than kill as more of them dropped. A burst of plasma separated a Legionnaire from his legs, but lying on the ground he effectively returned fire as long as he could until a machine gun took him out for good.

After a few moments they reached the entrance, Kjaro first to ascend its steps with a mad scream. "TIME TO DIE ANIMALS!" he activated his implanted sonic emanator, the words thus making the ears of the humans manning the entrance's barricade bleed. With laughter he swung his axe, maniacally turning the present rebels into a pile of dismembered limbs. There was indeed very little left for the rest, but a few people surrendering or spraying in panic to be cut down. He picked up the previously thrown chain-blade, before running inside the building.

Victor cursed, knowing that one by one Kjaro was activating rage protocols. His brain was now swimming in chemicals quadrupling his aggression and while they didn't reduce his skill, they did reduce the damn sense in him. They didn't know the environment, they should have slowly proceeded through the building clearing enemies as a team rather than quite literally charging in head first. Victor thought it was a really strange first assignment as Captain, as he saw a railgun bearing sniper blow off the hand of Kjaro who proceeded to impale the offending rebel on the stump.

The Captain was quickly thrown out of his thinking as an elevator door opened on the far end of the floor, a heavy gun poking out of its end that tore apart the first few Legionnaires that followed their officers through the entrance. Victor raised his pistol and let off a hail of his own fire at the gunner, Sergeant Kjaro clearly far too engaged in ripping through the men taking cover behind the various furnishings of the hall. As they progressed further into the building getting past offices and other amenities it seemed they were getting more and more well armed professionals. A fellow donning a beret ducked out of a pillar's cover, almost melting the Sergeant with a blast from a plasma shotgun. Kjaro ducked however, kicking the man in his right leg to get him off balance before repeatedly bringing down his axe on the fellow leaving nothing but a red slurry.

It was truly a madness - even if an arguably admirable one - that overcame the Sergeant, but it seemed to be doing well. They reached the stairwell, deciding not to use the death trap that was the elevator. They went to the second floor, and opening the door was in this case a mistake given the prepared EMP at it instantly deactivating three of the Neohumans nearest to it. Screams following a thrown sonic emanator revealed this to be little more than well armed rabble, however. A quick peek revealed nothing there to be the source of the skyward light. They went to the third floor, nothing initially greeting them. The Neohumans stepped forwards cautiously, until one of the Legionnaires pointed starting to shout "Over th-" before being interrupted with a burst of plasma vapourizing his head.

As one the Legionnaires turned to see shimmers of light, at which Victor pointed. "Laser fire!" he called out, prompting the Legionnaires to fire fully automatically. Many of the shots didn't hit, but they reflected off of the stealth suits guiding the next, more accurate shots. Perhaps more importantly the reflections made it easy for Kjaro to rush in and commit butchery. Two low "thwup" sounds made Victor turn, noticing a corresponding amount of his soldiers fall dead. He dropped to the ground narrowly avoiding the bullet with his name on it, though the soldier beside him did not have such luck. Victor turned, following where the hole of the bullet that missed him now embedded in the wall must have come from with his remaining eye. He took two breaths, before standing and letting off three laser bolts. He didn't hit his target but he hit his pistol, and that was good enough. He tried to shoot again, but his pistol was out of charge.

The foe was no fool and took advantage of this, rushing forth with a gargantuan survival knife drawn. The Captain parried and attempted a riposte, which was dodged. A swing was made, a third and a forth until Victor had overextended himself letting the man go ahead with his own strike. He narrowly protected his face with his hand, losing three fingers for his trouble but he made us of the man's momentum to pull at his arm, getting him off balance. A punch to the head took the warrior out of action.

With this there were only five Legionnaires left including the officers, all in varying conditions of injury.

"We can't go on like this, Captain."

"I know. We'll skip the next two floors, go to the top. It's a gamble but I reckon whatever is making that disruption, what that light nonsense comes from is up there."

"I hear you and obey Sir." Kjaro replied, rushing off up the stairs. The rest followed, seeing Kjaro fall down upon entered to the old "wait by the entrance and get them as you hear their steps" trick. But he reacted quickly rolling over to stab the soldier at the door with his stump arm, getting up and yet again rushing into the fray. A machine gun kept the rest of the Legionnaires pinned by the door, until a rad grenade was thrown prompting the fire to be silenced. Rushing through, another railgun armed sniper fired and with one shot took two Reislaufers lives. He was about to fire at the Sergeant, but thinking quick he spat in the man's eyes. It was only a moment of relief but a moment was all Kjaro needed to behead the outdated. Victor's life was narrowly saved by his comrade who fired full auto at another sniper he noticed, but he couldn't save himself.

He dropped, and Victor with him to look at the impact and exit wound. Out of his own grenades Victor unclipped those of the fallen Legionnaire, throwing a three in the general area of the marksman to the sound of convulsions on the ground which meant he hit his mark. Victor and Kjaro were the only ones left, and they knew it. They reached a doorway, and with a nod to each other breached it. A grenade was waiting for them, the blast from which sent Victor airborne with his head getting smashed against a wall, whilst taking a leg off of Kjaro. “Tis but a scratch!” the Sergeant roared, hopping on with only a leg to propel him as if he still had both. He brought his axe down on one of the rebels, whilst a shotgun slug ripped his jaw off. Sergeant Kjaro punished the man with death, before hopping over to help up Victor. “I think this is where I take a break, Sir.” He said - or rather tried to with his missing jaw - before falling down.

“Mad bastard.” Victor said, getting himself upright. He gave a kick to the fallen Sergeant, the man even sans consciousness growling at the offence. Well, he’d done solo missions before, right? This was no different! Of course he hadn’t lost an eye and fingers then, but he was a lot more experienced now to compensate. Hopefully that would even things out….

Victor opened the next door, seeing something amazing. There were three people hovering around a great glow emanating from the floor, one that seemed to go through the roof. This, this was it. “Stop!” he demanded, firing his pistol at the people that were now quite clearly psychics. They had a shield of some sort by virtue of their power, and so he lowered the weapon. He revved the motor of his chainblade, before charging at the nearest one. About to bring the sword down on the psychic he was stopped, he quarry turning around to fling lightning from his fingertips. Victor’s head felt like it was imploding, warnings from every single system flashed in his display and flesh all over him was scorched. But he pushed through, he knew if he stepped back that was the end of him, the end of Kjaro, the end of his comrades. A wail of both fury and pain came from the Captain’s throat, before he took the last step and slashed the psionic man with the very tip of his weapon. It was still enough to diagonally split the man open, and give Victor just for a moment the same squeamish feeling his outdated ancestors got when seeing a still beating heart and smelling the insides of a split stomach. He raised his pistol to blow a perfect hole through the head of one of the psychics, but the last flung his pistol from his hands with a flick of her wrist. She stopped hovering, one hand having arcs of electricity coming from it whilst the second seemed to be holding something. If Victor concentrated, he could just about make out a transparent spear of some sort. “Damn.” He muttered ducking under an attempt to skewer him with it and lashing out with his sword. The woman before him battered the sword away with the weightless spear of psionics, sliding it forward in the same action to try stab the Captain whilst using the electricity from her other hand to make him lose his balance. He let himself fall, catching a gash across his shoulder but falling to her feet. Lashing out with one hand he got an ankle firmly in his grip and squeezed, a crunching noise followed by a shriek. She stayed upright stepping on his head with her good leg but this proved to have little effect on the Neohuman given it had just a simple shoe on it. He rolled aside getting her to finally fall, and both scrambled away before getting themselves upright. Again she tried to stab him but now conscious of the very material properties of the spear he went to grab it… only to have it take off yet another finger. In truth neither party was prepared for this, but Victor reacted quicker sending out his other hand bawled into a fest at the woman’s arm. Pulling it back he saw blood, but he failed to follow it up with another punch as his opponent’s psychic current struck him, and held him in place. She made use of this opportunity and threw the spear, the ethereal projectile leaving a very material hole in the man. He fell, closing his eyes in resignation. Then he opened them, in his periphery having caught sight of his pistol.

The weapon was raised with a joyous laugh from the Captain, training its sights right on the woman’s forehead. “End it.” she said, her head lowering in the resignation Victor felt moments ago. It was now he noticed she was a young lass, no more than seventeen though likely less. A local, not some specialist brought along by whatever commandos were here. “No.” Captain Tarau said. She raised her head, incomprehension all over her face. “No, I don’t think I will. Instead, how would you like it if I offered you a new life? A better one.”

“What?” she exclaimed, confusion all over her voice. “Exactly what I said.” He replied, a grin from cheek to cheek on his face. “Become one of us. A new life. No poverty, no illness, your skills would be used carefully, enhanced. You would be a pillar of society, not something to throw away in a hopeless little revolution.”: She opened her mouth, unable to frame a proper reply which signalled the Captain to continue. “All the other people in this building are dead or subdued. Don’t become one of them.” He said, waving his pistol about meaningfully.

“Okay.” She said, shrugging. Clearly the use of her powers had drained her and removed much of her will to resist; he could see it in the popping veins and paleness of her initially fairly tan skin. Victor laughed ecstatically, almost spasming from joy. “Good, good. My pistol was dry.” He said, and noticing the dilation of her pupils quickly slapped a new magazine in. Just in case.

“Good, yes. If you could then just stop all the glowy blue business?” he continued, motioning to the still present glow.

“Oh, err, yes.” The psychic replied, waving a hand to have the glow disappear. “Thank you.” She said, before collapsing.

With the light gone, Tarau was able to make contact with his ship and call for support, which in moments arrived. Two fighters gently glided down from the sky, and then upon the floors the Neohumans missed let loose a barrage of laser fire through the windows to end any resistance remaining. But Victor wasn’t done for today. He sprinted back to the first floor, looking amongst the fallen for a man he remembered wasn’t quite there yet. Another person with a beret- black and unmarked now he paid attention - was still breathing. He tapped him on the chin, before giving a slap to get him to consciousness. “Who are you.” He demanded. “What?” the man said, all in a state of delirium given by his blood loss that was in minutes going to be fatal. “Just let me die.” he muttered whilst shivering.

“I can’t do that.”

“Well that’s too bad, I’m not saying shit.”

Victor looked down at the hand of the man, before placing a super-heated nail upon one of the man’s nerves. He yelped, cursing before muttering something of compliance.

“Where do you come from.”


Victor paused, noticing the slightest tell in the man’s eyes. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“What citizenship do you hold.”


“Who do you serve.”

“My home, and the people of this world.”

Victor was about to ask another question, but a feint smile on the man’s lips and movement of a hand prompted him to look down. The man had pulled a pin in a grenade, and while Victor got far enough away to not get any harm, he also got far enough away to get a nice free nap for a while. Well his first mission was done, and that was enough. He’d be going back to the periphery for a while, a good break from this shit.

Laszlo chuckled as his Brother said not to land, it seemed in spite of everything that they wouldn't get much of a choice for it appeared to crash would be their fate. He braced himself as the vessel struck ground, the doors opening and the mutant Khornate wasting no time in going into the fray. Wrapping himself in his cameleoline he used the thunderous exit of his strange "comrade" the Alpha Legionnaire hopped out from the side using the bountiful shadows for cover.

He'd served long enough in the eternal war to know the sound of the vile machinery of the aeldari, and he knew to watch for it. Just because it seemed in a strafe they killed many of the mutants, it did not mean they wouldn't try for the motley crew. Looking through the sights of his combi-bolter he scanned the scene, counting foes and the progress of his colleagues.

The little aide of Eromulus dispatched many of the lesser foes, as did the Slaaneshi mortal. He left his shadows, giving a hearty laugh at the theatrics of the mortals, his eyes coming upon a true target themselves. Yes, this was what he would be paid for. The Marine drew the sword at his hip, walking confidently towards the towering beast. Truth is he wasn't sure he could take it by himself: though he had much doubt in the sophistication in the biology and cybernetic skills of the mutants, the thing was really, really big.

For now he held his sword by the ricasso pommel upwards in one hand, a calculating stare upon the foe he'd take on. Well, he reasoned, if he couldn't kill it then he'd get support from the other creatures he was working with and if not then he'd run. Though the thing was big, he reckoned he could at least outrun it and the low velocity stub bullets it spat.

A mutant ran at him, a surprisingly good chainsword in hand swiping at his breast. With his free hand he spun his arm over-head to break the grip the foe had on the implement and flatten its head in one solid motion. "The day shall not save them." He announced, pushing his vox-grille to them limits of it's noise, his voice modulated to hold a very deep and raspy sound with just a hint of Cthonian accent upon his voice.

Seeing the unfortunate fate of Laszlo's first assailant a baker's dozen of the raiders charged the Space Marine at once, the warrior squatting with one foot before swiping the other left to right bringing most of the enemies to the ground. But one with tentacles for feet stayed upright, but a power armoured elbow cratered his face shortly after. Walking over the stricken dregs with nasty cracks and squelches of flesh and bone he continued. "And the Night belongs to me." He was now face to face with the colossal abomination, finally turning his blade before giving it a light flourish. He took a stance with both hands on the blade, largely ignoring the actions of the many mutants around him instead focusing on whatever move the monster would take. Perhaps a blast of melta to a cluster of eyes, then leg it? The Legionnaire pondered.
Update: life is a bitch but I'm still here, will post when I get home from work
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