@Andromedai
Is it sad I more smiled at the Halo soundtrack and the use of the Half Life engine than anything else?
Is it sad I more smiled at the Halo soundtrack and the use of the Half Life engine than anything else?
Eisenhorn
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Inquisitor of some Note
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Most Recent Posts
@RumikoOhara
Well, that makes perfect sense, of course. I'm sure he'll love the attention, sure as sure.
Well, that makes perfect sense, of course. I'm sure he'll love the attention, sure as sure.
You never want supers interested in you, never haha.
Don't mind my impatience to post, it tends to happen when I have too much free time on my hands (Rare as that may be some days).
"This is Information specialist Flores, by order of Inquisitor Icarus, all those that are part of the Inquisitors retinue must report to the meeting room immediately for information about the mission at hand."
Then silence. Ansgar looked up from his workbench, in a rather spartan quarters. The Krieger had decided, and requested, specifically that his quarters only contain the absolute, vital necessities. A bed, secure stowage for his equipment and maintenance gear, and a workbench to maintain his needlessly tempermental Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy). That was what he spent most of his time doing, outside close quarters drills and prayer. And that was what he was doing when the message came over the vox, ordering all retinue to the meeting room. Rather overt, but on the Inquisitor's own vessel? He supposed they could afford to be blunt. He thought the way he did of the Inquisitor, without gender, since he had been effectively told, being carted off the Thrasis campaign and being sworn to utter secrecy upon penalty of the most painful death imaginable, that he was being assigned to Inquisitor Icarus. The Ordos meant nothing to him, he really had no idea the differences between them. He would hunt the enemies of Man, and that was enough cause for the Death Korp Grenadier.
Ansgar went about securing his gear, armoring up and affixing the trademark Krieg rebreather and helmet most of all. People tended to expect that he never remove the thing, that he lived, slept, fought and died in the thing. Which was true, he would indeed do all of those things. But it seemed to make outsiders almost feel better, seeing the impassive and expected face of the Death Korp over some oddly youthful face, according to them. He didn't feel comfortable with the attention being unmasked brought, so he just left the thing on. Kept him ready for a moment's notice of trouble as well, so he finished his armor checks before slinging the backpack power unit, which was the centerpoint of his gear, onto his back. Lastly, and most certainly not least, was the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) itself, which was secured over his shoulder. Glancing at a mirror that was left in the room, for some reason, he looked far too clean. The equipment and uniform were cleaned of the muck, blood, and debris from his rather rapid flight from Thrasis I, and he looked too new, despite the dents, scrapes, and a rather stunning claw mark down the breastplate, for the Krieger's taste.
Marching out of his quarters, it took several minutes to figure out where the meeting room was, and Ansgar was able to get there before anyone else it seemed. Tardy lot, they were going to be, was it? Ansgar came to attention, giving a swift salute to the Inquisitor. Female officer then, hardly a concern to Ansgar. Most woman tended to stay back on Krieg, but he was aware that was not how things normally operated outside of the place. Exposure to the Adeptus Sororitas most certainly made him aware of that, if nothing else would have. But with the salute came the, slightly muffled from the rebreather, report from the Krieg born Guardsman. Almost as an afterthought, which would be apparent, came the informal name he was referred to as by outsiders. It also helped them feel better than referring to a man as merely a statistical number. "Trooper 17431, informally Ansgar Staudinger, Death Korp Grenadier. Reporting for active duty, ma'am."
Then silence. Ansgar looked up from his workbench, in a rather spartan quarters. The Krieger had decided, and requested, specifically that his quarters only contain the absolute, vital necessities. A bed, secure stowage for his equipment and maintenance gear, and a workbench to maintain his needlessly tempermental Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy). That was what he spent most of his time doing, outside close quarters drills and prayer. And that was what he was doing when the message came over the vox, ordering all retinue to the meeting room. Rather overt, but on the Inquisitor's own vessel? He supposed they could afford to be blunt. He thought the way he did of the Inquisitor, without gender, since he had been effectively told, being carted off the Thrasis campaign and being sworn to utter secrecy upon penalty of the most painful death imaginable, that he was being assigned to Inquisitor Icarus. The Ordos meant nothing to him, he really had no idea the differences between them. He would hunt the enemies of Man, and that was enough cause for the Death Korp Grenadier.
Ansgar went about securing his gear, armoring up and affixing the trademark Krieg rebreather and helmet most of all. People tended to expect that he never remove the thing, that he lived, slept, fought and died in the thing. Which was true, he would indeed do all of those things. But it seemed to make outsiders almost feel better, seeing the impassive and expected face of the Death Korp over some oddly youthful face, according to them. He didn't feel comfortable with the attention being unmasked brought, so he just left the thing on. Kept him ready for a moment's notice of trouble as well, so he finished his armor checks before slinging the backpack power unit, which was the centerpoint of his gear, onto his back. Lastly, and most certainly not least, was the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) itself, which was secured over his shoulder. Glancing at a mirror that was left in the room, for some reason, he looked far too clean. The equipment and uniform were cleaned of the muck, blood, and debris from his rather rapid flight from Thrasis I, and he looked too new, despite the dents, scrapes, and a rather stunning claw mark down the breastplate, for the Krieger's taste.
Marching out of his quarters, it took several minutes to figure out where the meeting room was, and Ansgar was able to get there before anyone else it seemed. Tardy lot, they were going to be, was it? Ansgar came to attention, giving a swift salute to the Inquisitor. Female officer then, hardly a concern to Ansgar. Most woman tended to stay back on Krieg, but he was aware that was not how things normally operated outside of the place. Exposure to the Adeptus Sororitas most certainly made him aware of that, if nothing else would have. But with the salute came the, slightly muffled from the rebreather, report from the Krieg born Guardsman. Almost as an afterthought, which would be apparent, came the informal name he was referred to as by outsiders. It also helped them feel better than referring to a man as merely a statistical number. "Trooper 17431, informally Ansgar Staudinger, Death Korp Grenadier. Reporting for active duty, ma'am."
"So many facades, so many false pretenses among us mad few. Deceit and lies alike swirl like eddies. masked actors one and all..."
Isaac Vaughn had eaten the food at great prompting from his handlers, mostly to ensure that he was as rigged with explosives as each of the others. They were not unkind to the man, standing out from the other guards as being clearly members of the United Kingom's SIS, having taken personal custody of Isaac and brought him over to repay a debt owed to Waller, and the US by extension, and the Brits were always eager to not be indebted, at least on the down low on cases such as these. So the former SAS Captain was unsurprised at being turned over to Waller, under no obligation to receive the benefits offered by the Task Force's offer. However, it was better than rotting away in a cell, and he might even have a chance at a preventing another mad awakening by the forces of the in between. The power restraining collar and cuffs fell away, and Isaac stretched, groaning a bit at finally being out of a straight jacket.
Lady Nightmare's awakening into her true form elicited a great deal of fear and shock, no doubt, but perhaps the most peculiar response was a giggle that erupted into a grand, almost painful laughing fit. Isaac was nearly doubled over at the display, tears running down his face from the sheer exertion the laughter was exerting on him. The response from the Terminator rip off hardly got much response from Isaac as he glanced up at her, grinning madly, eyes fixed on hers for a scant few seconds too long, unblinking and staring deeply into her soul, or how it might feel. The grin faded when the question was posed as to why not send in some better known Metahumans, such as the JL, and his grin vanished, somber in face as he turned to look Waller dead in the eye, twenty years black op experience speaking instead of the maddened Isaac that usually resided.
"Expendable, deniable assets. If the Crown, god bless them, wanted a contingency should the 'Heroes' of the world go rogue, than why not the colonials? Why bring them in on a possible case, and I cannot say it is such a thing, when they can send in people with no vested interest, and no one would readily believe. And, if something should go wrong, well, what's a couple dead criminals and madmen?"
The comment on nightmare fuel by the cowboy brought a mad snort from Isaac, or Lovecraft as the files referred to him as, and he turned to give Lady Nightmare an offhand glance, genuinely unimpressed by what was in front of him. His last offhand comment as he went about retreiving his attire, the only weapon being an old Webley Service Revolver, which he ensured was ready for action since it was the only piece of his equipment to survive incarceration it seemed, was unlikely to help much at all.
"A drop of truth among the invited to a midnight brunch in the garden of good and evil. At least she wears herself plainly and truly, almost as close to her parallel self as our newfound superior. Something I have yet to decide is either a relief, or disturbing..."
Isaac Vaughn had eaten the food at great prompting from his handlers, mostly to ensure that he was as rigged with explosives as each of the others. They were not unkind to the man, standing out from the other guards as being clearly members of the United Kingom's SIS, having taken personal custody of Isaac and brought him over to repay a debt owed to Waller, and the US by extension, and the Brits were always eager to not be indebted, at least on the down low on cases such as these. So the former SAS Captain was unsurprised at being turned over to Waller, under no obligation to receive the benefits offered by the Task Force's offer. However, it was better than rotting away in a cell, and he might even have a chance at a preventing another mad awakening by the forces of the in between. The power restraining collar and cuffs fell away, and Isaac stretched, groaning a bit at finally being out of a straight jacket.
Lady Nightmare's awakening into her true form elicited a great deal of fear and shock, no doubt, but perhaps the most peculiar response was a giggle that erupted into a grand, almost painful laughing fit. Isaac was nearly doubled over at the display, tears running down his face from the sheer exertion the laughter was exerting on him. The response from the Terminator rip off hardly got much response from Isaac as he glanced up at her, grinning madly, eyes fixed on hers for a scant few seconds too long, unblinking and staring deeply into her soul, or how it might feel. The grin faded when the question was posed as to why not send in some better known Metahumans, such as the JL, and his grin vanished, somber in face as he turned to look Waller dead in the eye, twenty years black op experience speaking instead of the maddened Isaac that usually resided.
"Expendable, deniable assets. If the Crown, god bless them, wanted a contingency should the 'Heroes' of the world go rogue, than why not the colonials? Why bring them in on a possible case, and I cannot say it is such a thing, when they can send in people with no vested interest, and no one would readily believe. And, if something should go wrong, well, what's a couple dead criminals and madmen?"
The comment on nightmare fuel by the cowboy brought a mad snort from Isaac, or Lovecraft as the files referred to him as, and he turned to give Lady Nightmare an offhand glance, genuinely unimpressed by what was in front of him. His last offhand comment as he went about retreiving his attire, the only weapon being an old Webley Service Revolver, which he ensured was ready for action since it was the only piece of his equipment to survive incarceration it seemed, was unlikely to help much at all.
"A drop of truth among the invited to a midnight brunch in the garden of good and evil. At least she wears herself plainly and truly, almost as close to her parallel self as our newfound superior. Something I have yet to decide is either a relief, or disturbing..."
Hmm, at work at the moment so can't get a post readily out, but I can knock one out tomorrow, if you want me to get started in the IC that is.
Well, I should be able to get a post cranked out tomorrow, so no worries there. On a work computer atm, so can't stay on for long enough to get anything of decent length cranked out.
@Monochromatic Rainbow That will work rather nicely, considering his background, sure as sure.
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