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3 yrs ago
Current Awake O Sleeper
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4 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes. Again.
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8 yrs ago
Don't sweat the small stuff, it's all in your head
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8 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes

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Location: The Beach, with added wrecked airship for taste

The ambush was set. Everyone, for better or for worse, was in their chosen positions. Shrike felt calm. The ancient machine that idled beneath his fingers was worn like a favorite glove, and all its silent tremors and vibrations were familiar to him. His fingers lightly danced over his controls as his heavy display helm cast predictive movements of the drone swarm and airship beyond his field of direct vision. His, in a relaxed manner, settled upon the movement controls and he let out a single breath.

”Got it.” The pilot interrupted, as if she’d read his mind.

She fired.


Within the breadth of that deafening bang, the Shrike's boosters triggered and it surged from the sands in an explosion of movement and insignificant chaff. The ambush was executed. The Shrike rose like a jagged metal behemoth, left arm locking magnetically into the horrendous spike of brutality as it outstretched and impaled onto a drone that had wandered too closely, a micro explosion rocking down Shrike's arm as smoke and oil washed over it. Cutting the limited boosters there, Shrike landed heavy upon the ground right as Crow's second shot connected with the crater of the first. Swiping the pistol-bearing right arm along the left to clear the debris of the drone off the spike-hand, Shrike spared a single glance upwards to affirm the visual feeds he was receiving.

Then he was a visage in efficiency as a drone's microcannon pinged a shot off his rear shoulder armor. The Shell whirled about, pistol upraised. His targeting data was struggling to compute the myriad drone positions as the team's data tether updated from everyone's positions, but his eyes didn't have such reservations; in a swift semicircle of movement the pistol rang out in a dizzying hail of fire for a sidearm, shots landing squarely against the vulnerable, exposed, flight apparati of several drones that were attempting to swarm around him. With breathing room briefly established, Shrike's radiators spiked as his boosters were punched into maximum thrust to maneuver from beneath the toppling airship. His eyes flickered over the display, and his hands twitched on the controls to adjust movements to complete the linkup with Barn Owl. His boosters cut the moment he was safely from beneath the airship, the Shrike's long steps now breaking into a physical sprint.

A swift tap of the comm panel pinged @AtomicEmperor Barn Owl directly; "Keep moving. Crow's alone. Move to support. Watch the skies."

And as if his words were predictive, and seeming to spite his fire control system's inadequecies, Shrike whirled and dropped to a knee, raising the left arm up even as his gatling cannon rotated into position on his shoulder. The blazing light of his energy shield manifested, a full length barrier cutting into the sand and extending upwards to the height of the Shell. Just in time, as a fighter jet's withering cannon fire exploded along the beach and into Shrike's shield. The energy barrier held as the strafing fire rained upon it, but Shrike could feel the heat creeping up into his cockpit from having deflected such a devastating and surgical strike.

The shield disappeared in an equally disorienting disappearance of color. Then, the gatling cannon unleashed its own retort into the skies; the first jet's wingman (Or, perhaps, Wing-AI, knowing Murakumo) was deterred off-course by the return torrent of fire, a few stray micro-missiles whizzing past Shrike and impacting into the sands on the beach. Everywhere this man went, things exploded around him it seemed. He made sure to specifically flag those jets as priority targets in the team's shared targeting system as his gatling cannon rotated out of its functional position, and his Shell rose back to its feet.

His voice rang across the combat frequency;

"Need support with those jets."

He was wary of this downed carrier. The Shrike ambulated around the downed vessel like a jagged metal predator as Gizzard ripped into its surface from above. The pistol slotted into its internal compartment; the mighty Susanoo laser rifle slung into the arms. One doesn't usually send a carrier without cargo and soldiers, and he was going to be the first thing anything that emerged from its wreckage had to deal with.
Been big on sci fi lately, gonna stick my nose in for now :)
Mentions: N/A
Location: The Beach

The Shrike stood, ancient in its form and terrible in its visage. Long, claw-like, fingers bulked with immense armor plating into the horrible Shrike's Talons of repute. Heavy arms loaded with the impossible density of myomer-muscle-like-chords that gave the S-86 its unparalleled strength. Broad shouldered, small of head, barrel-like in its chest... Its bulky silhouette was a far cry from the sleek outlines of many of its nest mates. It was one of the heaviest Shells in Vulture Squad and the prodigious layers of heavy armor upon its archaic form made its role and function abundantly clear. As its pilot, Shrike the Man, nestled into the cramped cockpit a woman's voice chirped onto the combat frequency in a short burst of direct, ice-laden, messages;

"Clockwork on Comms; will monitor squad Shell status from the Nest. Touchdown with the crew post op. Ossifrage is running repairs solo on this one. Shrike status all-clear. Going Silent."

The Shrike, as opposed to more modern machines, required bulkier means of control. The already small cockpit seemed more claustrophobic than ordinary as the mass of its pilot filled the space. The heavy helmet came down upon his head, feeding sensory data into his eyes and ears. His hands fell onto the controls, the years of operating this one machine sending the ghostly sensation of phantom presses along his fingertips and arms. As he caressed over the worn buttons, battlefields of years past played across his vision.

Clockwork's voice chirped into his communicator band privately, bringing him back from reverie as the Vulture Squad began to dismount the Nest. He didn't have to strain to hear, but her voice was quiet in the privacy of their private radio band. There was no less ice in her words, however.

"The rain never stops. Don't scratch the paint on this easy shit, Shrike. If I have to redo the scheme before the job has even started I'll kick your ass."

He chuckled to himself, hearing his own voice muffled by the bulky neuro-helmet he wore. A swift ping of the radio band signaled his acknowledgement of her message, before he focused onto the combat frequency. When the Shrike stepped out of the hangar it was contradiction to the targeted dismounts of the rest of the squad. The Shell plummeted, as if wings pinioned, straight out of its hangar bay towards the beach below. The squad's movements filled his HUD, delegated into a burst of tactical data that took up minimal clutter in his displays. The comms chatter washed over him as he fell like a stone towards the sea.

A violent burst of the boosters signaled his landing. The mass of the Shell landing upon the surf, and the blast of superheated thrusters, caused the churning sea waters to hiss and explode into a cloud of water and steam around the Shell as its imposing visage touched down.

"Shrike Online."

At last, his own voice cut into the comms chatter with an accent matching Owl's; but beyond that, Shrike spoke with a distinct authority and presence of self. His words were brief and carried the efficiency that decades of combat communications brings. The Shell began to move, powerful legs carrying it across the sands of the beach in a swift gait as its fingers snapped magnetically into place and fused into the immense driving spikes of the Shell's namesake. He was taking a central position amongst the scattered blips of the Vulture Squad, noting Gizzard and Ossifrage's intentions as well as the scattered Fire Support element of the squad.

"Anchor on me. Hammer to Anvil."

His swift words were accompanied by the Shell's sudden blitz of movement, powerful arms striking into the sands. In a scarce few moments the Shrike was, by all visibility, just another partially buried old Shell near to Hachidori's ambush position. A swiftly executed ping to acknowledge Hachidori deliberately was all the further communications offered by Shrike as they awaited their ambush targets. The constant drum of the rain was almost soothing in a moment like this. Beneath the sands one hand unfused its fingers and gripped its pistol in concealment, the shield-bearing left arm above the sands and ready to produce its protective barrier should the ruse fail-- or should his allies own shots fly danger close in the moment of ambush. Such was the way of war.
I’m always lingering around for if folks catch the vibe again :)
Temptations. I like the aesthetic and vibe here. I've been on a sci-fi kick and have a soft spot for -Punk. I'm not experienced or knowledgeable in Armored Core, do I need to do any homework on that setting/property to catch the vibe you're going for, or do you think I'll be able to pick up on it from the chatter?
Alrighty, sounds like this is getting gently shelved for now then. I'm keeping it open and will continue to have it in my subscriptions, so if folks decide to come back around I'll still be here :)

Kudos and godspeed to you all, feel free to come back at any time to this.
@Dark Cloud I’m trying to set aside time to catch up, I’ll let you all know if/when I do and feel comfortable stepping back in.
Alrighty, after a few weeks scrubbing across wikis and listening to audio books and tapping at keyboards, I think I need to refine and workshop this idea for a while longer before putting it to post. I was growing very ambitious and need to build up a fully coherent idea for this setting first before I start just swinging wild punches without being fully aware of what I'm doing. Appreciate the interest, and I'll hit you all up again when I decide to pull the trigger and launch a more held together concept.
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