Roman

Roman's Scrapbin

ATERRA; Terra

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Name:

ATERRA-Proto-001 (All-Terrain Extreme Resistance Resolution Adjudicator)

Nickname/Alias:

N/A

Gender:

Female

Age:

N/A

Appearance:

• Height: 5'0"


• Weight:110lb


• Build: N/A


• Hair Colour: N/A


• Eye Colour: N/A


• General Attire: N/A

Metahuman Abilities:

Terra has been built with the express purpose of aiding her to be a skilled and efficient weapon of war. As such, she possesses many qualities that help her with her 'job':

Extreme Durability - at least on/with those parts of her that received armour installations before her break-out.

Extreme Combat Aptitude - for solo combat against one or many opponents ,though little ability to perform as part of a team as she was not designed for squad-based excursions.

Extreme Stamina - due to her mechanical body, which does not suffer the same weaknesses as an organic body.

Extreme Processing Ability - Able to 'see' 360 degrees in all 3 dimensions at all time due to her particular method of 'seeing' - she emits a subsonic pulse silently and frequently, which feeds information back to her at all times, allowing her extreme processing of external stimuli to form an accurate image of the world around her millisecond to millisecond (although her 'vision' is still blocked by walls etc. and her upwards/downwards 'sight' is limited to ten metres or so when not already blocked off).

Weaponisation - Her right hand has been replaced by a massive cleaver-like blade, while her left is larger than the average person's, has sharp tips for slicing and/or piercing, and is stronger and more dexterous. She has the capacity for greater upgrades, should she come into contact with someone capable of working with her mechanics.

Skills and Talents:

N/A

Biography:

Alice Freemantle did not begin life as a half-mechanic monstrosity created for the express purpose of massacre under the PC term 'conflict resolution'. She began life as a baby like many others, born to her mother, Janet Freemantle, and her father, Arthur Freemantle, and was considered beautiful. She grew up, went through school. Her father, a military man, molded her into the forces, despite the disagreement on her mother's part. Alice was happy to follow her father's footsteps, eager to please him. She performed well, and got into infantry. She went on tour. She was assigned a squadron, and performed a few covert operations, seizing weapons and other illegal materials, as well as terminating dangerous targets. She received medals, and then retired, spending time with her aging parents.

Then her father was killed, and his death was labelled a terrorist assassination against a high-profile target with an illustrious military career. Alice came out of retirement, leaving her mother, now ill from grief, to seek revenge. She was given her own squad again, given information, informed of suspects and target locations, possible methods and motives. She was sent in, her team inserted into a "high-risk" danger zone, supposedly crawling with enemy insurgents. They were given cover identities, backup stories. Facial makeovers. Alice's mother died during the undercover period, but she never knew.

What she did know was that one night, her squad came across information that turned the tide of the assignment. It had been stagnating, as operations occasionally do, and leads had been scarce; but an informant suddenly came forward, telling them where her father's killer would be. When they would be there. How many men they would have with them. It was a-go. A plan was made. The squad was armed. Members given tasks and roles to play. It was all coming to a head.

On the journey over, their vehicle was hit by an ambush. These were no taliban RPGs; they were US-Army LAW launchers, Javelin strikers; these were not taliban shooters either. Too precise, too planned; snipers picking off those of Alice's squad who survived the initial bombardment of their Humvee with military-trained precision, using dragunov rifles that wouldn't be traced back to US soil. Alice was left barely alive, and taken in.

A few years passed. What was left of Alice after the ambush - scarred and burnt flesh - was healed, made anew. And then they went to work. Parts were surgically removed to be replaced with 'better', more 'efficient' machinery suited to the task. Her insides were stripped to make way for circuity and technology that had been developed in secret over the last decade. Alice's mind was burnt out, reducing her to a child once again, ready to start anew with a new 'father', a new role model, who had new lessons and teachings to pass on. Alice became ATECCRA, a war-machine built to destroy enemy settlements in minutes, win battles in hours, and end wars in days. A secret weapon. She was brought online, and she began her new life.

And she was terrified. Streams of information addled her newborn brain, which was incapable of sorting the massive influx of data being fed to it near-constantly. The fear initiated Fight or Flight, and Alice had never been one to run - and ATECCRA didn't have anywhere to go. She lashed out, slaying all those who tried to contain her and striking down the soldiers that arrived as backup. When she came to a dead end, her new-found strength gave her another option, and eventually she made it out of the complex into the sewers, escaping into the Nevada Desert. She travelled, her new legs moving her in bounds, and it took only a few days to reach the edge of the sand and the dry heat. She found civilization, and discovered that she was being tracked - how, she didn't know, but she didn't know much of anything. She escaped again, all record of her covered up by the government, and went back underground.

She has been there since. Occasionally she surfaces, and occasionally special forces delve into her hiding place, the vast underground routes that connect most of the continent secretly. She has yet to find a friendly face. She has yet to learn anything of the world other than hate and fear. But she is still open to companionship.

Roman's Scrapbin

Cassie Striver; Quintain

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Name:

Cassandra Striver

Nickname/Alias:

'Cass'; 'Cassie'; 'Quintain'

Gender:

Female

Age:

19

Appearance:

• Height: 5'8


• Weight: 120lb


• Build: Slim


• Hair Colour: Dyed a purple/black fade; naturally brown. Wears a blonde wig cut short and messy as Quintain.


• Eye Colour: Green. Amber coloured contacts as Quintain.


• General Attire: Dark, simple clothing, often incorperating short dresses or long tops combined with shorts, leggings, jackets, and accessorizing with boots and scarves.


• Costume: Lightweight armour sleeveless vest and trousers, sprayed white, with shin-high boots, and a large coat over the top of it all, coloured white with red accents, tapering off into a long tail that curves to the side around her legs.

Metahuman Abilities:

Cassie has the ability to manipulate the flow of time around her, pushing herself into a self-dubbed 'Focus State', slowing down the world but not herself, and allowing her prescience of actions, movements, and events a few seconds into the future.

This Focus State allows her to hit any manner of targets with extreme ease, move faster than the average person otherwise can, avoid and counter incoming strikes, and extrapolate from her prescience to predict future events - but only by minutes or hours, rather than days or weeks.

Currently, Cassie can only bring on this 'Focus State' with deep concentration, rhythmic breathing, and forcing an intense calm upon herself, upon which the state is granted for mere moments, allowing her to make the single perfect shots she currently uses her power for.

Skills and Talents:

Patience: As a necessity of her 'occupation', Cassie has learnt great patience, and can remain waiting, expecting, or even outlasting any number of situations and opportunities. She can keep herself for hours upon hours on end, awaiting her perfect moment.

Tolerance: Naturally, Cassie has a great tolerance for the climate around her, whether emotional, mental, or meteorological. This natural tolerance has only been trained by her current 'employment', and she is able to remain in awkward positions, cold weather, or under heavy mental or emotional duress, for extended periods of time without deep wounding on any level, or any visible signs of distress or injury.

Emotional Control: As a prerequisite of her ability, Cassie has learnt to successfully exert immense control over her own emotional state, removing the risk of passion or distress to her ability to analyse her surroundings, make decisions, and function under pressure. However, she doesn't allow this to affect her personal relationships when she can - namely, not wanting to alienate her sister from her. Cassie can act normally, even wearing her heart on her sleeve - but when she needs to, she can become impassioned and completely calm.

Equipment:

Barret XM109 High-Powered Sniper Rifle.
Lightweight Armour Sleeveless Vest, white.
Lightweight Armour Trousers, white.
Lightweight Armour Boots, black.
Large Hooded Coat with tapering tail that curves around legs, white with red accents.
Wig, short/messy cut, white-blonde.
Coloured Contact Lenses, amber.
Cheap disposable 'burner' phone, replaced weekly, only able to receive incoming messages.

All courtesy of Roman Locke, from the Ares Corporation.

Biography:

Cassie's childhood was subdued, at best. She had a loving mother, a working father, her younger sister - Jo - and attentive grandparents. She had medical problems, anxiety and panic attacks, but she got medication and they dulled the attacks, even if they didn't get rid of them. She went through school, suffering grade losses after her grandparents passed and eventually dropping out after high school and picking up an easy retail job to pay rent to her parents. Her sister was far more promising, anyway, Cassie was happy, and, somewhere between leaving school and getting hired, Cassie had learnt that her panic attacks - that had never gone away - weren't a result of anxiety, or imbalanced hormones, or a deformity or deficiency in the brain. They were the manifestation of a strange ability, and Cassie slowly began to recognize herself as Metahuman. And that felt good to know when Jo brought home her school reports.

Shortly after Cassie's 18th birthday, her family - mother, father, sister, and Cassie herself - were gathered in the kitchen. Not for any particular reason, she often reminisced - just one of those moments where the destinations and objectives of multiple people suddenly collide on common ground. They were chatting, and getting in each others way, and teasing, and then Cassie's father slipped and spilled the kettle he'd been holding, boiling water splashing down the length of Jo's arm. She screamed, and Cassie suddenly felt one of her attacks coming on, far more rapid than anything before. The world slowed but Cassie was in complete control of herself, and in slow-motion she watched the metal of the kettle, of the knives, of the saucepans on the hob, rattle and lift and then tear itself into pieces and fly toward Jo before flinging itself in an outward circle. She dodged the metal, moving faster than it somehow. Her parents were not so lucky. The world caught back up to speed. Blood was everywhere.

After that, the next two years of Cassie's life became very selfless. All the money she had saved, all the money her parents had left them, all the money she could get together by selling everything she could get a price for - it all went toward Jo's school fund. She'd been pulled out of her school, but Cassie had found a good boarding school for her, somewhere she wouldn't waste her smarts. But, slowly and surely, Cassie's funds dried up. First her savings, especially after she got fired for tardiness and absence. Then her inheritance, her parents not well-off in the first place. Then the money from the pawn shop. The school would have sent letters, but Cassie had no home to deliver to. Jo was pulled from the school, and Cassie sunk into despair. She couldn't keep them both alive on the streets.

And that was when she met Roman Locke. He knew the real reason behind her parent's deaths. He knew the real reason behind Cassie's early medication. He knew her ability, and he knew Jo's. He wanted both.

Locke offered Jo a home, food, and an education far surpassing anything Cassie could ever have hoped to give her with the school, and offered Cassie a home and food herself. He asked one thing of her - be his hitman. She'd been practicing her ability, and could bring on the slow-down, the now-dubbed 'Focus State', for mere moments. She knew she could make the shots he wanted her to take, and so did he.

She agreed. She acts as Quintain now, disguise and costume in place, high-powered rifle placed dutifully in her hands. She gets the target and makes the shot - and her sister stays alive for one more day.

Roman's Scrapbin

WIP: Minnie Ripper

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Name:

Minerva Eliza Ripper

Nickname/Alias:

Gender:

Female

Age:

20

Appearance:

• Height: 5'8"


• Weight: 130lb


• Build: Toned


• Hair Colour: Black, with blue highlights.


• Eye Colour: Dark Brown


• General Attire:

Metahuman Abilities:

Minnie possesses an extraordinary compound within her blood that bonds at the molecular level with the adrenaline pumped into her veins from her adrenal glands. The enhanced adrenaline affords her a remarkable resistance - more accurately, ignorance - to pain and injury, extending even to a point where her body temporarily adapts to allow her to continue and push through whatever adversity she's facing without coming to a fatal end.

After she escapes the situation, the compound breaks down and mixes with the platelets and fibrin to enhance the clotting and scabbing process, and help to make her body more receptive to medical and healing attention.

Minnie doesn't heal herself any faster than a normal person - but her body survives with great efficiency.

Skills and Talents:

Due to the situations she can walk out of by way of her natural abilities, Minnie has expanded her knowledge of medicine, and is pretty handy with basic first aid, able to keep people going after injury. She's also good at improvised weaponry, since in a fight, she can count on attrition to win rather than superior hardware or technical skill, so she doesn't see any formal combat training as necessary.

Biography:

Roman's Scrapbin

WIP: Adrian Knox

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Name:

Adrian Knox

Nickname/Alias:

Artillery

Gender:

Male

Age:

23

Appearance:

• Height: 6'0


• Weight: 140lb


• Build: Lean


• Hair Colour: Black, partially bleached fringe.


• Eye Colour: Gray


• General Attire: Colourless, contrasting clothing, often minimalist in design and tight-fitting. He prefers jackets to jumpers, and boots to trainers.

Metahuman Abilities:

Adrian Knox finds himself in possession of the ability to manipulate and create matter in order to materialize any (hand-held) weapon that exists, as long as Adrian is able to fully visualize it, and the weapon exists. The simpler the weapon, the easier he finds it to create, but with practice, he will be able to materialize larger and more complex weaponry. So far he has only created small knives and simple machetes.

Skills and Talents:

Biography:

The Mavericks: Valiant Heroics

With Jo out - and her date, who Cassie wasn't looking out for, admittedly, but it seems Jo was - Cassie didn't, frankly, have much of a vested interest in the rest of the proceedings. As callous as it seemed, Cassie's life was very much centered around Jo and her protection. Jo was all she had left, and Cassie held onto her with an almost religious fervour. And she'd made sure Jo was safe from the masked men who'd broken in to the school dance. Christ, it wasn't even Jo's school. Cassie had half a mind to think Locke knew this was going to happen and put Jo there for the fun of it. She shook the thought away. Locke valued Cassie's employment enough to not senselessly put Jo - his key bargaining chip - at risk. Hopefully.

She was about to pack up and return home to change and head over to Jo's - 'I heard on the news!' was the story she initally thought up, but she realised there weren't any choppers in the air or media presence at all yet, so 'police scanner' or even 'how was the da-oh my god!' would have to be good enough - when something happened inside the school. The car she'd seen, but apparently the evening wasn't done with it, and she looked down the scope at exactly the wrong moment; the car exploded and she wrenched her eye away from the sight, swearing as the brightness burnt her eyes. For a second she panicked, but the afterimage faded and she rubbed her eye, still able to see. She looked back. She noticed someone punching out a guard and tipping their hat toward the window, but ignored it.

Someone - one of the masks, a crappy turtle in baggy clothes - had their hand stretched out toward the car, now smouldering, two burnt figures collapsed on the floor nearby and a third K.O.'d by a lucky brick from the blast. Had they...caused that? A meta working with the gangs? For a given value of 'with', Cassie thought, taking note that the explosion had taken out exactly three of the intruders and zero students, and had in fact given distraction enough for the students to leave. Still, they'd threatened Jo, and Cassie had at least two more shots lined up. Sure, why not. For Jo. Unwind a bit.

She knelt and lined up her shot, taking the time she had for this one now that her focus wasn't on frantically covering Jo. The unconcious guard first - crosshairs centred, barrel steady. Cassie breathed in and squeezed the trigger on the exhale - even without her Focus, she'd still taken the initiative to learn a few things about shooting. Boom. Through the window, a clean hole with splintering fractures worming there way outward, and zipping into the lying figure's neck. The body shuddered, and sputtered blood from both the wound and the mouth, and then lay still. One for my baby, she thought, and then lined up again, quicker this time. A bit more merciful, but she needed to at least incapacitate them until she figured out their game. She exhaled again and pulled, and the bullet made another hole that blew out the window this time, and then a second through the lower calf of the guard she suspected to be meta. That ought to stop them from causing any more trouble with...whatever it was they could do. They hit the ground, presumably yelling, and Cassie lifted her rifle up and away. Now was the time to leave.

Cassie head home, discarding her wig and contacts halfway there. She had replacements at her apartment. She didn't want to be Quintain any longer tonight.

Looking back on that night in the coming years - the first night Cassie knew she wasn't alone, the first night she saw the people she would eventually come to know as her closest and most trusted friends and alllies - Cassie often thought that as first impressions went, she'd given her future teammates a spectacularly poor one.

The Mavericks: Valiant Heroics

It took about twenty minutes. Quicker than usual, but she felt calmer tonight than she generally did in this position - sitting behind her rifle, barrel bi-pod holding firm, stock shunted steadfast into her shoulder. Her legs were splayed forward, and she was leaning against a break she'd set up. Her eye was down the scope, and from her position she had a good vision through the skylight on the open door at the opposite side of the warehouse. The first half of the meet-up was already there - and they'd already given a surreptitious wave to the Quintain they knew was watching before walking over - presumably, Cassie was guessing since she didn't have a direct line of sight - to beside the gas tank. Where the hell does Locke find these people. Cassie thought, and then it occurred to her that the poor bastard didn't realize that the shot was for the tank, or that he was going to be vaporized alongside the target. Cassie swore. She didn't want to kill him if he wasn't the target. Fuck you, Locke. Fuck you. If it wasn't for Jo...

Twenty minutes. In, out, in, out. Deep breathing coupled with closing her eyes - counter-intuitive for a sniper, but necessary - and a trained meditation to clear her mind. Force it blank, push utter calm on yourself. Force the world to slow down for a moment, and it actually will. Twenty minutes. Cassie opened her eyes and looked down the scope again. She could feel it coming, a sluggishness in her movements and a strange blurry fuzz to the world, movement leaving trails. The blur that preceded the utter clarity. The target walked in, shaved head, briefcase, tight-fitting suit. Cassie inhaled. The target walked across the warehouse, to the side with the 'buyer' and the gas tank. Quintain exhaled. The world almost stopped, and she could see the path of her bullet, the explosion from the end of the barrel. The glass shattering, raining onto the floor, and the shot bouncing off the steel support beam back toward the warehouse wall, landing square in the center of the gas tank and setting the whole thing off with explosive decompression, the gas lighting off a bodyguard's cigarette and pushing ferociously through the warehouse, incinerating the target, the bodyguards, Locke's buyer - but leaving the briefcase.

She squeezed the trigger, and it all happened. A few seconds and the lives of four men were extinguished, the fire bursting out the other side of the warehouse, throwing off the closed door, and lashing out into the night toward the sea before collapsing in on itself, exhausted, spent. Cassie wrenched her eye from the scope as it did so, avoiding the brightness of the flames. She paused for a second, listening to the night air, still and dead. A single siren, but not coming toward her. Locke's money went far. She stood, stretching her legs and clicking her back, prepared to pack everything away and head home, Jo safe for another day. Then her phone buzzed.
Perhaps you should have hired a babysitter?
The dance. Cassie thought, horror washing over her. A second hand gripped her, wrapped tightly around her throat, stifling her frightened whimper. Jo.

It took ten minutes to get from the docks to the school, taking every shortcut she knew, exploiting Kilbride's winding passages and fake dead-ends. Down an alleyway and over the wall - harder with a rifle than it was when she did this as Cassie - and then through the lobby of a closed building, in one side and out the other. Down the street, over a fence, through a recreational park. The school was one block over, she was close, she just needed to - to what? Storm in there and get yourself shot before you can lift your rifle? Dammit. She was right. There was an office block across from the school, with a good sight on one side into the gymnasium where the dance was being held. Set up there, use the open floor plan to scan back and forth. Go mobile, follow Jo's escape, keep her covered. If they wanted money, then let Jo give it to them and walk out safe. She was smart enough to give them what they wanted. Cassie had made sure of that.

It was a good plan. Cassie was on the third floor, looking down on the dance through the upper windows, and her scope was on Jo and her date. There was a guard beside them, but another one holding a bag and shouting. So they were robbing them. Good. That was safe. Or as safe as the situation could be. Then Cassie heard something. A revving, some shots, a yell. And then a car came through one of the walls, and the guard nearest Jo grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into him, holding his SMG to her side and shouting as students screamed and the other guard dropped the bag. Get the fuck off of my sister thought Cassie, and then squeezed her trigger. The man flopped instantly like a ragdoll, a fresh hole clean through his temple, gun clattering to the floor, and Jo out of his grip. She dropped to the floor immediately, pulling her date down beside her by the sleeve. Good girl. Cassie thought, smiling slightly from behind the sight of her rifle. Now find an exit. Someone's looking out for you. They started crawling, and Cassie started looking for guns pointed at them. No guarantee she could hit a moving target, not without bringing on her Focus - but her heart was racing, and her mind was frantic with panic and worry for Jo. At the very least, she thought, high-caliber shots through the windows would be enough to make the assailants reconsider their actions. Or dive for cover.

They tried the the door, first. Locked, obviously, and Cassie had to shoot a guard standing nearby, about to bring the butt of his gun down on Jo's spine. Jo screamed as the shot rang through the air and the man fell back yelling, hand no more than viscera, and Cassie felt a fresh pang of fear strike through her. She remembered the night her parents died, what Jo had done out of pain and distress, a lack of control condemning them both. She knew Jo was receiving 'training', but she had no idea what that meant. Jo was stressed and agitating her further could set her off, and the other students didn't have Cassie's Focus to slow down imminent death to be avoided. Jo had to be out quickly - not just for her sake, but for the sake of maybe a hundred young lives. Cassie swore again, noticing her voice was thick and shaky. She quickly moved her sights down from Jo and shot out a lower window. There. Immediate escape route. Take it, girl. Come on.

Jo took it. She heard the shot and then the glass shattering, and realized the significance. Whoever was watching her - her own personal guardian angel - was watching out for more than just angry men with itchy trigger fingers. She seized the arm of her date - the boy was pale as a sheet and shaking, adrenaline obviously wearing off and paralyzing shock and terror settling in to replace it - and pulled him and herself toward the window. There was another shot as Cassie punched a hole through the shoulder of another guard with his sights on Jo, and as she leapt through the window into the open night she realized it was higher than initially thought. The landing was going to hurt - and she braced herself for the impact, date yelling beside her. Then the world closed up and got dark, and she felt the ground appear beneath her, but no pain. She opened her eyes to see metal receding, unfolding, a plane sheet of steel that had cocooned her flattening to let her out again. She didn't question it. Taking the boy's hand, they stole away into the dark. Cassie smiled, breathing heavy, a few tears down her cheeks. That was a hell of a thing to see, but she was glad that Jo's powers had saved her, rather than repeating the last incident.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

I'd rather keep those to NPC's - drill sergeants aren't going to be deployed, whereas players are. A veteran on his last terms, sure.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Unless you've specified differently on your sheet, yes. Holland, being older, I would expect to be off-duty from planetary deployment, and as such on-camp already, practising at ranges and spending his leave how he likes (within guidelines). Unless you'd like to be with the fresh recruits, returning from off-planet leave.

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

The first IC post has been launched! Here's to maiden voyages, and the hopeful success of this rp.

Follow up whenever you can!

Unit GC-88, Operation: Eden

Welcome to Unit GC-88 of the Galactic Coalition Military, Private! Now hustle!
GM:Roman | Consultant/Co-GM:Lord Wraith

---

It is the year 2277. Man has conquered space travel, and has begun the necessity that is colonizing the planets of their local star space, known as the Genesis System. Their home planet, Gaia, is no longer their first choice; it is for the destitute and the unwanted. Those deemed 'valuable' or 'necessary' have been shipped to colonized planets, and everyone else scrapes up what cash they have to get the same opportunity.

As more planets became populated, ruling parties on all colonies formed a collective government, operating as a singular ruling organisation for all colonised planets in the system, known as the Galactic Coalition. The GC runs centrally through the Zion Station, a massive space vessel large enough to harbour a population almost equal to some of the planets that Man colonised, and the only one of its class.

But the Galactic Coalition, however idealistic, sadly cannot keep order throughout the light-years of the Genesis System across the several colonies without a considerable military force. And so, it is a considerable military force that the GC has created - the GC Military. Conscripting from all colonies, and even from Gaia, recruitment is consistently successful, mostly due to fresh recruits being offered free passage to Boot Camp, and a home on one of several colonised planets after two to four successful terms of deployment, depending on each assignment.

You are one such recruit, heading for your training camp on Primitus, the first colonised planet, and now used solely for Coaltion VIP's and military operations. You are awaiting touchdown, preparing for training, and hoping that your deployments will not result in a painful death. For whatever reason you joined up, you're here now, under the employment of the Galactic Coalition. You just hope your new life is better than the one you left.

Gear up, soldier. You're arriving.

---

"Buckle up, ladies and gents. We're landing in three minutes."

Justin sat down and strapped up. He preferred standing when travelling, but the Military wasn't a place for what you 'preferred', it was a place for what the Coalition told you to do. Most of it harmless, or so he'd heard. The general opinion on the shuttle was that deployment was peace-keeping. More a police force than an Army. Still, there were rumours from the outer moons that a few select individuals were growing tired of living under the GC's eye. Rumours that a few select individuals had decided to try and do something about it. That sounded more like army work. Justin wasn't sure which one he'd prefer. Supposedly, peace duty was rather humdrum, and he'd had plenty fill of that back on Danus.

Danus. Small world. Small colony. Small life. There were a few on the shuttle who had to ask for more specifics when he named his home, and he didn't blame them. It was a boring small moon colony with boring small people. He was nearly caught in it, but managed to break the pack. Couple terms of deployment and he could live on Calidum, or even help spearhead a new colony in the outer rim - everyone knew that's where the GC had their gaze turned upon. Expansion was the name of the game. So much so that colonies like Danus got left behind. It didn't surprise Justin, he'd learnt enough of the GC's history. If they could forget Gaia, then Danus was barely a blip on Zion's radar.

Justin's hypocritical self-righteousness was interrupted by the turbulence of planetary atmosphere entry. Primitus, the first off-world colony, and lazily named in Justin's lofty opinion. Repurposed for GCMilitary operations, and a large boot camp set up slightly offset from the South Pole. Primitus was cold and rocky and had high winds and Justin thought it was for these unpleasantries that the planet's ultimate purpose had been chosen. The rumour was that deployment was easy, but they made up for it by making sure you scraped mere survival in training.

The low thrum of the engine morphed into a singing whoosh as the atmospheric boosters kicked in and took over for landing. The shuttle seemed to groan at the change but it behaved, and gravity overtook them, a collective gasp from the passengers as their weight came back. Justin felt his legs become anchors to the floor again and noticed they felt slightly more solid. Primitus' higher gravity added another layer of fun to the military drills. They touched down with a definitive 'bump' and the seargent's voice rang loud and rough over the whining sound of the boosters cutting out, and the sharp hiss of hydraulic seals unlocking and the shuttle ramp lowering.

"Welcome to Primitus, Recruits! Down that ramp lies the finest military the human race has ever seen, and you lucky sons'a'bitches get to join them! But I gotta make one thing clear. I don't give a rats ass what corner of the System your scrappy hides have come from! Whether you from the rough ends of Gaia or high-fuckin'-falutin' Zion, whatever you got don't mean shit when you step off that ramp. You're GCMilitary now, and that means you're better than when you stepped on this sorry shuttle."
The seargent bent down and picked up a pack that rested by his feet. He lofted it with one hand, displaying it to the recruits.
"You'll all find one of these under your seats. It's got your bedroll, some rations, water, extra uniform, your civvies, and a couple bricks in it."
The recruits looked nervously at each other.

"You may have noticed that the gravity on Primitus is a little stronger than the colonies. This is something that you're gonna have to get used to over training. But we decided that we were gonna give you some help! Generous fella's that we find ourselves being." He put the pack down and pointed down the ramp.
"Camp's ten miles that direction, privates. Y'all want food and barracks to sleep in, I suggest you get to walkin'."
The recruits stared at him dumbly, packs slung over shoulders.

"Ten-HUT, RECRUITS! MOVE YOUR ASSES."