"Ja'Far in his rare moment of relaxation" "Blessed be the holy Pillars of the Divine and Athame, who dost bring blessing upon thou fulsome eyes and thou strength to give redemption to thine enemies through holy fire. Amen."
Race:
Batarian
Class:
Infiltrator
Age:
39
Sex:
Male
Appearance:
He stands at 6'4" (197 centimetres), a respectable height in the tall Batarian race. Ja'Far has dark to tannish brown skin, worn and stretched from years of back breaking work. One scar adorns his face just above his upper left ridge, running downwards straight through the eye just under till it stops. The socket remains empty, a black marble placed the eye's stead. This is seen as a sign of banishment, a scar for the punished who do not deserve the four holy eyes given by the Pillars and thus such an individual could not move on to the afterlife. Those who have been scarred are labelled as pariahs and doomed to walk the planes of limbo between life and death, even if said scar came through service and not punishment.
His three other eyes hold a fiery defiance to the galaxy, an appearance that many Batarian survivors hold as their once proud, might if but stagnant race falls into disgrace. Ja'Far has two golden rings pierced into each ear, a sign of middle-caste status and a distinctly military background within the former Hegemony. He has a large muscular frame and carries himself high, rigid posture honed from militant discipline, chin held high with shoulders pulled backwards. The seriousness he always holds himself in can either be respected or laughed at by others.
Ja'Far typically wears a loose sleeveless grey shirt, black pants and dark military boots. He carries with himself a necklace with a small idol of the Pillar of Strength on it, made of marble and gold with etchings of holy text scratched unto the surface. One's of hope and redemption, the power of the four holy eyes and those who carry them. Cigarettes often find their way in his mouth, the smell of them tingling his sensitive nose. Dark gloves and arm wraps cover more holy scripture, tattooed unto his arms. These carry a darker message, reminders of the fate of the pariahs, resurgence through cruelty and punishment, the wrath of the Gods upon the pitiful and weak.
Backstory:
Ja'Far was the second son of a middle-caste family back in the old Hegemony, born on his homeworld of Khar'Shan. His parents were strict and cruel although these were seen as a blessing by most Batarians later in life, better for the young to see cruelty in their own supposed loved ones first before stepping out into an even harsher galaxy. He however, hated it. They were abusive, beating him constantly, blaming him for the current shame their family was in even though that had nothing to do with either. They blamed him for his unknown older brother's escape from the family, ascending higher through the ranks of the caste system to the Holy Raiders.
Some may see this as a point of pride and an influx of income but Ja'Far's brother kept all this new wealth to himself and thus kept his family down a caste or two. His parents were malicious and spiteful, a hurricane of anger. During the tentative times of peace within his household, there was always a thick tension in the house between them and him. They did not love him and hated him for things his brother did earlier before. This led to the younger Batarian hating both him and his parents wholeheartedly. This rough childhood made him grow up and mature much quicker than most petulant and snobbish Batarian children, developing a serious outlook on life.
Throughout these younger years however, there was an aspect that he could back fondly at. His parents, suffering and torture be to their ascended souls, owned one Asari slave. Praised for their beauty, the reasons these slaves were owned was more for status rather than any type of labour work, which was done by their second son of course.
She was a maiden, young and boisterous, sold cheap to the family by a family friend. An Asari of a deep blue. She was led around in a collar into Ja'Far's household, head drooped downwards, naked quivering body bare for all to see. His father grinned lecherously at her, his mother seemingly indifferent towards her. In the couple of days, the second son of the Balak naturally avoided the stranger. At the age of eleven, he was yet to be influenced by the harsh propaganda the Hegemony instilled into it's people and still saw the family slave as another living sentient being.
Their first encounter was during his parent's anniversary. They left him at home as usual, leaving him to his own devices as they spent their money throwing a party of "great importance" in honour of their own "holy marriage". In reality, they were probably taking in a line of Red Sand and cheating on each other in one of the various "illegal" slave brothels within Khar'Shan. As per usual, he began to walk his way into the kitchen for cooking dinner, only to find the young maiden almost setting the house on fire.
"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, running towards the pan on fire with a horrified expression on his face. The slave was promptly bowled over and hit her head on the nearby table as Ja'Far quickly sprayed cooling liquids all over the flame. As the sizzling blue goop sizzled with heat, he turned towards the Asari who was currently rubbing her head in embarrassment and injury. He crossed his arms and tried to look like his threatening and aggressive father which of course looked comical on a young Batarian such as himself. He glared.
"Do you realise what you could have done? You could have burned the whole house for The Pillars' sake!" He pointed at the now ruined and blackened pan "Father and Mother are going to have our heads for this."
The slave quickly lowered her head down on the floor and bowed, keeping her mouth shut as she awaited punishment for her mistake. Ja'Far's eyes soften3: from a glare, crouching down towards the Asari's level. "It's fine" he whispered softly, hesitantly placing a small hand on her shoulder "I-I'm not going to punish you like my parents do. All I want to know is what you were trying to do."
The Asari looked up from her kneeling position and sat up straight, young bright eyes staring back at his own black orbs. She had a defiance to her, a look of challenge hidden amongst the cloudy eyes of those who have emptied their tears. "I was trying to cook for you, young master" She lowered her head in shame rather than instinct or slave doctrine "I uh, failed young master."
Ja'Far sighed, scratching his ridge in exasperation. He stood and inclined for her to do the same, making her realise that he was quite tall for his age. He turned and threw the pan into the bin, procuring a new one out of the cabinet. "Don't try and cook, the extent of your slave duties in the household is to look pretty and help around with cleaning and such. I however have to do the cooking and the more manual work that your frame can't handle. Sit down and I'll cook for us."
Batarian cuisine was centred on the idea of smelling the food rather than just the taste of it. The smell added texture and layer to the meal, each whisper of smoke must give add a different flavour for the food to be perfect. The taste was always rather bland but the strong poignant smells always made up for it. As Ja'Far put the last ingredients unto the dish, he plated them up and put them upon the table. He invited the Asari on the table, a practice regularly looked down upon in Batarian society. She looked at him wide-eyed before proceeding to sit and shove as much food into her mouth as possible. She must've been starved as a slave and this was more food than most slaves would normally get.
The Batarian scratched his ridge again before handing over his own plate of food which was then promptly emptied a minute later. "Done?" He inquired, a suddenly tired but soft look on his face. She patted her stomach and sighed in peace, smiling as she relaxed in the chair.
The Asari quickly opened her eyes as if she just realised that he was watching her eat his own meal. Frantic apologies escaped her mouth but the second son silenced her, merely signalling to calm down. They sat in awkward silence. "My name is Siarus, young master" she began, breaking the quiet "I thank you for your kindness in giving this meal although I don't understand why you did so." She bowed her head downwards.
"I live a simple life here. No friends, no other family, only my wicked parents for company." Ja'Far reclined in his chair sat his boots up on the table, hands intertwined behind his head "In truth, I am lonely. Tired. I am in need of company, of something more. I... I was hoping you'd break the monotony a bit." The now named Siarus looked at him inquisitively for a moment, as if questioning whether this was true or not but quickly devolved into a cheery face. She voiced her approvals and thus, a friendship was born.
For six blissful years of his life, Ja'Far had an honest friend. Siarus proved to be exuberant, full of life and brought wonders into the monotony of hate and anger that cycled through the household. They soon became each other's crutches, leaning against the other when one was down. It was moments of alone time in which their friendship blossomed. She taught him about the divine Athame, or what she remembered of it when she was an even younger maiden under her mother, and thus he created his own belief. A mix of Athame-worship (who he believed to have also created the mighty Batarian race alongside the beautiful Asari. Siarus giggled at him as he explained) and the use of the holy ideology and scriptures of the Divine Pillars.
They were quiet in their rebellion against the elder Balaks, showing it in support of the other when they were punished. They grew to have compassion for one another, and often sought the other for happiness and support. For Ja'Far, it was bliss. It may have been the reason he held quite extremist views towards slaves in the Hegemony at the time. Their friendship developed further, turning into a love akin to brother and sister. Her laughter was like music to his ears and he learned so much from her. But it was all finished in a bloody end.
The dripping knife in his mother's hand. His father and Siarus. Jealousy was the cause. Baseless, drunken anger on his mother's part. Pulping rage, red mist in his eyes. Bloody fists, raw knuckles. His mother's head on a pike, burned alive. Thirteenth birthday celebration.
Ja'Far was given a choice for the murder of his mother and the shaming of the Balak family name. Either be sentenced 12 years a slave miner in the pits of Khar'Shan or serve in the first penal legion of the Hegemony. Certain death or possible death. He chose the second sentence. He was framed, broken-hearted but was still pulsing with rage as he threw himself among the varren of the 1st Penal Legion. His eyes scarred and sliced, a sign of disgrace and shame.
The training was cruel and harsh, designed to kill off most of the Legionnaires within the service. Live fire drills, excruciating punishments for the smallest of slights, hours laying in the sun praying with cruel Priests of Redemption, whipping their backs and beating them with batons. Each day was filled with back-breaking work, designed to inflict as much physical pain in between lectures and drills, leaving the sentenced Legionnaires broken and tired. Many fell in this first year. Either to the harsh punishments of taskmasters and priests, the harsh weather of Khar'Shan or the pitiful living conditions they were given. Many also broke mentally as the days passed, forcing others to either restrict them while they sleep or kill them with already broken knuckles.
Five thousand became a hundred. Murderers, cutthroats, uprising slaves, rapists, thieves, heathens. All of them young, fit and in the prime of their lives. All criminals in the eyes of the Hegemony. The Hundred became a tight web of close bonded relationships between those who were broken repeatedly over the course of one year. Friendships rarely formed however, comrades as they were, it was most likely that the man or woman next to you was one of the most fucked up people in the galaxy.
The Hundred operated in twenty five man teams, each led by a harsh Taskmaster and a Priest of Redemption. Some squads were formed to be the perfect, mighty soldiers of the old Hegemony while others were more like ravenous berserker beasts in battle.
They destroyed slave rebellions, foiled the plans of sabotage among dissenting politicians, disgracing families of those who spoke too loosely about their disapproval of the Hegemony. They traversed the political world of the Hegemony, a hidden dagger held against the throat of those who thought to step out of their place. The Hundred became thirty. Mission after mission, decade after decade, they fought and bled for a country who had no love for them. They were criminals after all, not even deemed fit to ascend to the afterlife. Not even deemed fit to join the slaver gangs of Terminus.
The Reapers hit. The thirty became five. Then one. Ja'Far looked down at the husks at his feet, Cannibals he believed they were called. His former taskmaster lay at his feet, turned into a disgusting indoctrinated mess of a life form. He poked at it one last time, with his rifle, cigarette in his mouth. He looked at the final transport on the planet, some backwater shithole his team had holed up in during this mess as news of the Reaper's defeat reached his Omni-tool. The brown-skinned Batarian scratched his ridge in exasperation and looked up at the sky. "Athame and the Divine, I prithee that thou shalt shine my way for I have no fucking idea what I am going to do."
Psyche Profile:
Ja'Far is tired. He has bled and fought in the political world of one of the harshest countries in the galaxy. He has killed women and children, master and slave. Over the course of his service, he has pillaged worlds with pirates, done countless sins, killed dozens of powerful politicians and has made the downfall of a High Caste political family. This turmoil made him a boogeyman amongst the Hegemony Elite and thus made him a target as the hidden dagger. He is a proud, mighty soldier but one shrouded more in darkness than most.
Constant prayers adorn his lips, praying for forgiveness and mercy. Ja'Far was a religious man, though believed in his own mix of Athame-worship and the Pillars of the Divine. Scriptures were often carried into battle by those in the Penal Legion, those who didn't were often flogged for not praying to the Pillars. He believes in redemption through fire, the only way a soul can be cleansed is if they are beaten and broken. Luxuries and riches are often detested by him but unlike most traditionalists in Batarian society, he had no adversity against love and happiness but found peace as a sweet but far reaching dream.
Happiness comes few and far between, only the cold, if exhausted and exasperated, visage of a soldier is left behind. The few things that bring him happiness would be any homage back to his blissful past with Siarus. Even the mere colour of her skin on another Asari could bring back fleeting memories of her, most of then broken and shattered from the conditioning of the Hegemony. Even through this conditioning, he held strong and still holds a strong sense of individuality that he preserved from his youth. Happiness comes from thinking of the pieces of his broken past, piecing them together in calm meditation. He is defined well as a loner but operates in squad environments with almost frightening efficiency.
Anger comes lesser than even happiness. In his first five years as Legionnaire, he was fuelled with rage. Pulsing, ravenous rage that would have made any self-respecting Krogan proud. However, that Ja'Far lost fuel. There was only so much blood you could use to appease your anger. Instead, any type of rage is quickly followed by exasperation and the weight of his stressful years. However, if anyone was to try and actually provoke this mighty though exhausted soldier, he would devolve into a ravenous berserker beast, very different from the calmer lonely sniper he specialises as.
He enjoys meditation in his own time, prayers to the holies of his faith, sleeping and reading. Ja'Far enjoys mostly solitary activities however loves to experience the occasional thrill of doing whatever the fuck the others were doing. And yes, he swears. A lot.
Specialty:
A marksman, a recon specialist with an eye for stealth. Ja'Far may be a proud soldier but he would rather pick enemies off from a distance or from behind than get up close and dirty. He may be no galaxy renowned Garrus Vakarian but he was an experienced professional, no natural talent but a strict training regime backing him up anyhow. His job is to enter the building first and leave first, the light armour protecting little of his person as he is not suited for the front lines. His job is to confuse and sabotage, not destroy everything in his path. His specialisation as a reconnaissance man however doesn't stop his other talents shine through.Interrogation and intimidation were important during his time as a legionnaire and could prove vital to get any information they may need to known about.
Powers/Skills:
Disruptor Ammo
Sabotage
Tactical Cloak
Incinerate
Excellent Marksmanship
Minimal technical know-how
Basic leadership skills
Interrogation and intimidation skills
Equipment and Resources:
M-29 Incisor
M-6 Carnifex
Sticky Grenades
Recon Hood
Standard Tactical Black Hard-suit
Hooked interrogators knife
Sample Post:
"Target inbound, 0800 timeframe confirmed. Mission has go ahead. Target is en route to your position Ja'Far, please confirm."
Ja'Far relaxed into his rifle, the rain on this infuriatingly wet planet beating down on his prone body. He had been here, laying still for five hours now, waiting for the go ahead on the mission. Mud formed around his abdomen, his light kinetic barriers flickering in the rain. Lightning struck against the still dark morning of the planet, thunder echoing soon afterwards. He was prone on top of a cliff's edge, surrounded by local fauna, overlooking a small lane of road paved through the thick jungle. The small creaks of strange alien insects and animals filled his ears, three eyes peering into the scope as he tracked a small vehicle running gliding the jungle.
As a single drop of water slowly slid down his cheek, Ja'Far voiced his confirmation with a resigned voice. "Aye, target in sight Taskmaster. Preparing to fire, over." He calmly checked over his rifle, checking the kinks and workings of it. It was a standard Batarian-type, filled with illegal explosive chemicals and modded to be one of the most deadly rifles out there. He leaned into the rifle, keeping it snug against his shoulder as he let his cheek rest upon the stock. A prayer to Athame and the Pillar of Guidance on his lips, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud crash and a boom in the distance, a fiery explosion breaking the monotony of jungle life on the planet. He let out a sigh as he looked upon the burning wreckage. He opened his comms.
"Target eliminated, proceeding to designated extraction point."
However, as Ja'Far was about to high tail it out of there, he got another order from his communications bead, this time from his squad's latest Priest. They were often killed in the first couple of missions due to their almost rabid extremism to give sinners on the other side "redemption through their holy blade". They usually watched their resident Priests be killed by rounds peppering their body as they tried to use swords against guns. It never worked out well. The sound of an old crone crackled through the radio "Hold plebeian. The blessings of the Pillar of Redemption have yet to fall upon one of these sinners. They shall not suffer in afterlife for naught. Give her redemption, sinner."
They were currently overlooking this whole operation from another vantage point so Ja'Far could not claim otherwise that there was no survivors. He settled in once more, zooming into the small face of light purple skin, Asari beauty in sadness. Wailing screams filled his ears. He paused. For a brief second, he hesitated to pull on the trigger. He could save her, prevent her from dying. Fire off a warning shot near her, pretending to miss and letting her run away. He would reprimanded heavily with flogging and even death but he would be able to do one good in the world. Unfortunately, hesitation and will does not break the strict discipline and mental breaking of his training regimen. As the Divine Prayers of Redemption was whispered into his ear, he fired. A twitch of a finger and another explosion erupted, silencing the prayers and the cries.
"Target neutralisation confirmed. Well done Ja'Far however you hesitated. Twenty floggings when we get back home tonight and that is for everyone. Proceed to the extraction point everyone, over." The proceeding confirmations from his squad mates brought him out of his stupor. Ja'Far stood and started backtracking his way through the jungle, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He clenched his shaking hand tight as his other brought a cigarette to his quivering mouth. The sweet smell of the lit cigarette brought no happiness in his mind as he added to his list of sins.
Notes
Others see Ja'Far a loner, an outcast. A pariah as he was before and always will be.
TARIQ IBN HAKEEM AL-BARIQI ◼ B R I C K ◼ M A L E ◼ H E R O ?
"Your race are a collective of interesting creatures, Human."
//SPEECH:
Olivedrab
//DESCRIPTION:
Tariq is a "man" of two species, melded and intertwined to create one new specimen. They way they speak, their mannerisms and their way of thinking is both similar and different to what most humans are used to. They walk unnaturally half of the time, a sort of limp to their stride that ruins the confidence and bravado they give off. They present themselves with a tall, straight posture unlike most tall people. They do not bend down and to any passerby, they could be seen as arrogant from afar. However, the nervous drumming of their fingers is always present and they would be seen frequently trying to stop a shaking left knee. Glitches in the otherwise perfect bond they had formed together.
The Alien represents them in physical form, standing at a muscular 6"5 with a rough edge to his look. Humanoid in shape with five fingers, two arms and two feet, under layers of clothing there is no distinguishing him from any normal person walking around. Of course, underneath these layers is anything but human. He was previously of a sand people, a warrior culture and so he has the build that best represents this. Bulging muscles hide behind clothing and wrapping. The black bandages that cover him warms his skin while also making it smoother to the touch when someone touches him while he is clothed. This is because his outer layers of skin are like sandpaper to touch, harsh and coarse with small spikes protruding where humans have joints. He has softer tissue under this hard, carapace-like outer skin and every two years or so, he needs to shed this natural armour that the Human likens to an insect shedding old skin. This is to let the inner tissue beneath the natural armour breathe and during this time, he would look like a skinned human and would be as sensitive as one. This results in him needing time indoors, away from the elements for at least 48 hours in an unconscious state.
Alien's natural birthmarks are like art, telling the story of his long lost family. They are four, large sandy stripes that come in pairs on his two feet. They split and come apart as they run up his body, intertwining and connecting into dozens of different pathways. It forms a flower like pattern over his torso but they all connect once more in a simple pattern on his face. These birthmarks tell a story of his ancestry, woven through years and years in a modified gene-sac. They do not change between the shedding of his skins and they never disappear. Whether this was natural for his species or he was genetically modified to be like this, it is unknown.
A product of the melding, Alien has Human's light emerald eyes. They shine quite obviously in stark contrast to the dark skin. Alien's face is adorned with three piercings, two golden earrings on his right ear and one silver piece on his bottom lip. The rough skin of his outer body carapace doesn't reach his sensitive face, his skin as smooth as a baby's bottom. Under Human's influence, a wry smirk is always present and their mannerisms become much cheerier, giving off an aura of friendliness and love. However, under Alien's influence, their movements become predatory. Face still like stone, eyes seemingly arrogant and judging, hands held ready in case of danger. To most, this is a clear sign of mental illness and so it is Human who is present during most days.
Tariq, in reference to both the Human and the Alien, wears traditional Saudi garb interwoven with Kevlar, a long flowing robe and Kevlar-bandaged from head to toe. Tribal sand-coloured markings adorn the otherwise midnight-black cloth, travelling up from the hem, intertwining from the legs and the torso before ending at their ghutrah (غُترَة), a white cloth of cotton mild. Black bandages cover from neck upwards, leaving only emerald eyes to be seen.
//IDENTITY:
Duos' true identity as an Alien/Human hybrid is kept under tight wraps by the Saudi government. Only the Al-Bariqi family, top officials and trusted officers are aware of their duality. Though well known as the son of the Al-Bariqi family, the tight 24/7 wrappings means Duos'abilities are seen as superhuman rather than extraterrestrial.
▼ B I O G R A P H Y:
"I hope that you know that I find that nickname.. disturbing, Human. Try not to call me Al."
There are two sides to Duos, the Human and the Alien. The Human, who now shares his original name of Tariq ibn Hakeem Al-Bariqi, was born privileged and rich in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. His father, an oil prince drowning in liquid gold, had the foresight to realise that his riches were tied to a potentially limited resource. Instead, he had invested his money into the nuclear industry, against the warnings of his fellow oil barons and friends.
When the value of oil dropped like a stone and a financial crisis loomed, the Al-Bariqi family did not fall like the others. They did not fall into bankruptcy or out of grace, they kept their riches and wealth. His father thrived where most failed and started his own nuclear plant in Saudi Arabia, funded by the Saud family to ensure that the country would be able to keep up with the West. This was the world that the Human was born into, a family of the top 1% in the world. His parents, Hakeem and Alya, were kind-hearted if a little too dedicated to their work to construct a healthy family. His brother Ali took care of him during his early years, a well-educated high school student who had tutors at home. While their maids and butlers did most of the chores, it was his brother that sung him songs at night to make him sleep, it was him who ordered bed-in-breakfast for him almost everyday.
The Human had come to respect and revere his brother. He was everything to the young one and tried everything to impress him, only being successful in creating amusement. But when Ali had to leave for medical school when the Human was only sixteen, the young boy was left alone once more. With little to no parental figures in his life and the maids and butlers being cycled through mansions every month or so, it was difficult for him to have anyone to connect with. It was through this loneliness that he had discovered his love for hip hop culture and the rich, cash-spending culture that came with it. His parents were okay with him spending their money to get anything he wanted, as long as he was happy they didn't care. Luxury cars, new phones daily, high-tech gaming, joyrides in the streets, even helicopter rides around the desert. It was a grandeur lifestyle of epic proportions, but it never truly spoiled his personality.
The values the Human had been first taught by his brother still stood. A portion of the "pocket money" he got from his parents was given to charity and he made sure not to show off his wealth too much. However, he was still a teen and a rich one at that. He still had an Instagram, posting a few photos of him and his luxurious lifestyle. Some people see him as an arrogant, spoiled rich boy and he was anything but that, however it is not wrong that he is more well off than most people. One day, Lady Luck and the general shit you got in life all fell on him one day, in the form of a helicopter crash. He had been taking his helicopter for a ride in the night, haven taken lessons in how to pilot one. It was a cold night in the Saudi Arabian sand dunes, his helicopter being the only man-made object for miles. His parents never approved of him going alone but he had hit that rebellious streak that every teenager possessed and so he flew anyways.
It was a glint in the night sky, barely perceptible to the human eye. Built from unknown metals and detected as mere debris by any satellite or radar, a small pod careening through space. Coming in slow enough to prevent burning up when it pierced our atmosphere, it seemed as though that its course was calculated and exact. Whether the resulting crash was a glitch in the system or not is something Tariq has yet to solve. It all happened in a flash, one moment the Human was flying a helicopter costing to the millions of dollars and the next moment, he was lying unconscious, bleeding in the desert sand as his pieces of his helicopter tumbled down the dunes. He had barely even registered the pod crash before he entered a coma, one that would last the next several days.
When he awoke, he would find himself in a small clinic in the middle of the desert. In a village of around 150 people, it was here that he would awake. Bandaged and dressed in a smooth silk, the Human opened his eyes to a doctor. He had been taken here by a mysterious man, very tall and very wide, dressed in black with a ghutrah on his head. He had dragged him to this very clinic, and he was informed that the man was waiting outside. Bewildered, suffering from shock and trauma, the Human decided stupidly to walk out of the clinic against the warnings of the village doctor. There, the man waited for him and then, they melded. It was quick and efficient but the results were anything but. The next couple of months were a blur, memories flooded a shared mind, thoughts were confused as to who was in control. Was this a dream? Is this all real? A flood of both nothing and everything entered their mind, events occurring without their full consent. They didn't mean to leave the house with only a note, they were directed to.
They didn't mean to gather money by capitalising on the Human's properties and inherited investments, they were directed to. They didn't mean to become the Hero of Arabia, they didn't want to leave their home to fight crime. They didn't mean to live together, they wanted to be separate from each other. Two individuals cannot be in one body, it merely resulted in a storm of chaos, two people going in and out of unconsciousness rapidly. It was at this point that their thoughts were mostly controlled by the being called the Human, the first couple of months in where the body was in prime directive mode but thoughts could not overcome the Alien’s instinct.
Neither remember what took place in those few months, nor their first dozen conversations. Their combined brain was working on overload, trying to sort every memory to create two individuals, two personalities. It was stressed, following the prime directive of its genetic coding to create two lifeforms within itself while also commanding the body to do what the directive told it to do. It was during this tumultuous and chaotic period that Alien, who the Human had taken to call Al, introduced itself in their shared consciousness. He was a warrior, born from a genetically engineered cloning sac on his home planet. It was a harsh place, sandstorms and deserts as far as the eye could see. Things like an oasis were rare and closely guarded by a tribe.
They were a dying race, doomed to be drowned underneath the desert sands, their planet too harsh to support life any longer. The sandstorms had worsened over time and many of them saw the beginning of the end. Alien was taken from his home by visitors at a young age, kidnapped and put into a strange spacecraft. They coded with his DNA, collecting data samples, and genetically engineering the young xeno. His race was of great interest to these strange celestial beings, as they melded. The Meld is a process in which you combine personalities with another warrior out of respect, resulting in one body with a split personality. A combined might, intelligence and will of two individuals. After what felt like years of experimentation and genetically engineering, the young Alien was stuck into a pod and sent off in to a wider galaxy.
To continue the legacy of his honour-bound people beyond the stars, to meld with a specimen of a different race and to cement himself as a warrior without peer. Given the knowledge of centuries of warriors across his species, his oath binder him to prove himself by solving injustice within the galaxy. His first planet was Earth, and this was how Duos began. When the Human and Alien finally settled, they awoke to their body’s uncontrolled actions.
Duos left a trail of broken bodies, malformed chest cavities and bullet holes. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles and low-level thugs found their match in him. His family had been made aware of the situation when the Human contacted them, wondering where he had been the last two months. Overcoming initial shock, his father’s eyes glinted with sudden opportunity. Contacting his friends within the government, most notably the Crown Prince himself who he had on his personal phone, he explained the chaotic killings of the last two months. He weaved his words with sweet opportunities. A Hero of Arabian stock. A way for them to get ahead in the Middle East so their rivals in Iran and Israel could not match their influence. A way to improve their standing in the world, a grand PR move. Propaganda and online influencers can just dull the brutality of Duos’ actions.
And so, albeit reluctantly at first, Saudi Arabia had raised its first hero – DUOS. Officially opted into Saudi Special Security Forces, they passed through harsh special forces training with flying colours (aside from the swimming part, which Saudi propaganda is quick to hide from others). Being able to deadlift 500kgs for reps before running an ultra-marathon tends to help in a way. The Saudi military, understanding the duality of Duos and urged by the Saudi government, gave the Alien the rank of Captain and the Human a rank of Private, due to the differing levels of military experience between the two (pointing it out causes the Human constant grumbling). They have since led numerous operations with a squad of hand selected killer soldiers, taking down numerous terrorist organisations (particularly targeting Shiites by the lead of their Saudi command) across the Middle East. Their squad eventually rose in number and popularity, becoming a whole regiment that held the place of the government’s most key strategic asset both militarily and in foreign relations. They acted as a motorised infantry force, backed by a command structure and armed with the latest technology available to the Armed Forces. Though Duos was their figurehead, they were made up of multiple squads with their own Captains, often figures Duos has befriended and gained the trust of under his own command. Technically, they are under the over-command of now appointed Major Hakeem ibn Muhammad Al-Bariqi, the Human’s father though more as a political choice and as an active liaison to the government to point the regiment in the right direction. Strategy and operational tactics lies with now Commander Tariq, or the rank of Aqid.
Saudi Arabia’s standing in the Middle East has only risen in the past few years, gaining influence which only served to lower that of their rivals. Money flowed into the Al-Bariqi pockets. Middle East nations, and that of the Arab world (at least those with Sunni-majority), sung praise.
And so, with their position secured as leader of the Arab World, Saudi Arabia and Hakeem ibn Muhammad Al-Bariqi turned their opportunistic eye on to the world. They look towards the crises developing in the USA, and seeks to improve their public relations with their most strategically important ally. Offering their best of the best, the 21st Motorised as a show of support with Duos as their lead. However, as always, the USA offers a whole different ballgame. Both Human and Alien wonders if they are biting off more than they can chew, looking at the destruction wrought across the leading country in the world. They can only hope, that with their loyal comrades at their back, this would not end up as folly.
▼ P E R S O N A L I T Y:
"Get used to it Al, I got used to the fact that 'Tariq', my original name mind you, refers to both of us outside the military."
The prime directive. The reason the Alien had been sent here in the first place. To fight injustice, crime and prejudice in a different world, to prove himself amongst another species as a warrior without peer. To continue the legacy of his long lost people, to show that his species would not go quietly thin the night. This powerful force in their minded, genetically coded into their combined personalities, this is what drives them to move forward. To fight criminals and save the innocent. This is what they call the Greater Good, a mental drive within them to do the right thing for the majority. Whether this meant killing a criminal for repeating their crimes or sacrificing one person for the lives of two, it does not matter for they will act with cold logic. This has brought into question whether their actions are justified, whether their value of "no mercy" was immoral or not. This does not stop their almost cult-like following on the Internet, many agreeing in the way they do things. For the Greater Good.
However, this almost religious zeal towards this ideal has been tilted somewhat with their merging. The Human had always looked favourably upon the Saudi government and the country as a whole, thus Duos appears wholly ignorant towards their own government’s scrupulous and untoward actions. In fact, the capital punishment is even held in high regard by Duos, even that of dissidents. How could a government which had supplied the Human’s family with so much opportunity and wealth be so bad?
This ignorance to wider geopolitical knowledge combined with naivety keeps them firmly under the noses of their government and the Human’s father. The Greater Good ideology can be manipulated with sweet words and distractions. Otherwise, the Alien and the Human have a cordial relationship and are often very friendly towards one another. The Human is more diplomatic, nicer and generally charismatic although the naivety of youth and a golden upbringing still shines through. The Alien can be gruff and rude with a very strict code of “what is right” but is fair, willing to here reason before blowing a hole in a criminal’s forehead. They both find heavy camaraderie with their fellow soldier and respect them, which often leads to some hero worship.
▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
"You shall learn soon Human."
//POWERS:
◼ Heightened Senses and Reflexes |The average specimen from Alien's race possesses better senses than the average human. Tariq has very good eyesight, focusing on objects much faster than a human, they can track using smell, hear through soundproof walls and can even taste more and get more out of a meal. They have also been genetically engineered to have very fast and reactive reflexes, their minds when fully tuned to their body, can command it quickly to do their bidding. Take into consideration their athletic body, higher-than-average strength and speed, they are essentially a step above the base Homo Sapien in a physical sense.
◼ Supreme Strength |The ability to break a man’s skull with their bare hands or charge through metal doors is a pretty useful trait. But it has limitations. He can lift a car off its front wheels without effort or pull an airplane by the rope but Duos won’t be flinging boulders anytime soon. He likes to think that as long as his strength allows him to carry injured comrades off the field, he’ll be fine.
POWER LEVEL: Individually = street level. Strategically = city level.
//SKILLS:
◼ CQC Specialisation |With the memories of Alien's planet, culture and people contained within them, Tariq has mastery over dozens of empty hand and armed martial arts developed over hundreds of years of war. They prefer to incapacitate the opponent through brutalisation, using underhanded tactics and the environment to their advantage. Opponents often end up in hospital with injuries ranging from broken arms to a paralysed spine or just end up dead. Backed by his soldiers, Tariq/Duos offers a terrifying foe to those without superpowers.
◼ Expert Soldiery |Furthermore, being armed with an entire people’s knowledge of waging war allows for expert soldiery. Duos runs a strict meritocracy within his ranks, not allowing wealth or birth affect how he chooses his officers and soldiers (except for his immediate superior – his father). He drills them and exercises them daily, honing them into the fine tipped spear of Arabia. Countless operations around the Arab world has bloodied them well. But what is a soldier to a hero? ◼ Riches beyond imagination |Being backed by one of the up-and-coming richest governments in the world which view you as a highly important asset often results in a blank check. Being sent to constant operation after operation doesn’t allow for many spending sprees so this wealth is often used to ensure that Duos’ soldiers are fully equipped and trained for any threat (within reason). ◼ Prince Charming and his loveable Alien sidekick |Two personalities equals double the person! They have the intelligence and will of two people, two opinions from two different perspectives to judge on a situation. Through this, they make more informed observations and more intelligent answers to hard questions. The Human also has quite the charming personality and was known before the melding as a womaniser. This image has been slightly ruined by the fact that he now appears as intimidating to most people but he still has the words of a charmer. He is the talker while the Alien is the soldier and leader, that is how they have functioned for the last few years.
//ATTRIBUTES:
◼ HEIGHT |6 ft 5 in
◼ WEIGHT |315 lbs
◼ STRENGTH |Superior to that of a normal man
◼ MOBILITY |Runs as fast as a fast man but has superhuman stamina
◼ INTELLIGENCE |Higher than average but naïve, mostly limited to operational and strategical intelligence
//LIMITATIONS:
◼ Two Clashing Personalities |Tariq is still made up of two different entities, no matter how cordial they seem. This can lead to unfortunate disagreements within their body even with the uniting force of the prime directive. These arguments can occur during totally normal and human situations that Alien does not comprehend, or during high-risk hostage situations where they argue the most viable objective. These clashes result in a delayed reaction time, which can spell the end of a mission and thus it's failure. As the two have become closer, disagreements become rarer but they still happen, usually with very strong points on both sides. ◼ A Slow Switch |To switch control between the Human and the Alien, it takes one to two hours. During this time, they are absolutely vulnerable to outside influences and the elements which is why they spend theis time inside. However, this is a weakness that can be easily exploited and because of how long the switch takes, Tariq can be stuck in a sticky situation where the wrong personality is in control. For example, Alien would be very useful if they were trying to fight a group of criminals in the streets but would become useless in convincing a criminal to drop their weapon. The slowness of the switch restricts their capabilities as the other can advise a personality to do something but they are not tuned to do it naturally. Though both have learned to be soldiers, the Alien is more attuned to warfare than the Human.
//WEAKNESS:
◼ Fuck Water |Water is neither personality's friend. Tariq's heavy and rough skin makes him sink in water and with neither the Human nor the Alien knowing how to swim, it is likely that they will one day die because of drowning. Rain or any sort of water splashing unto them can also be harmful as certain properties within water makes them weaker with slower reflexes and normalised senses. Water basically turns them into a normal human being except with an alien biology and appearance. This is why they try and use very waterproof clothing when going outside to avoid being severely weakened. However, the act of drinking water does not affect them nor do droplets of water.
▼ N O T E S:
//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ ALLIES/RESOURCES ◼ Major Hakeem ibn Muhammad Al-Bariqi|The Human's father, a great supporter of his son’s achievements and acts as Duos’ direct connection to the Saudi government. Acts as the direct guiding hand for Duos and his Holy Chosen, a name that Hakeem chose himself. Cunning, opportunistic and intelligent, he is the "brains" behind the entire Duos image, even going as far as putting forward a comic book titled "Duos and His Holy Chosen" printed across the Arab World. He seeks power for his family and his country though overconfidence can blind him easily.
◼ Saudi Arabia and the Arab World |Revered as a hero amongst the people, Tariq arose from seemingly nowhere and tackled crime around the country. They became some sort of folk legend, stories spoken about them at night time to make children sleep. This spread to much of the Arab World, allowing Duos to be welcomed in any of these countries. The greatest “real” resource Duos can gain from however is his popularity, which would mean that anything resulting in his downfall would have serious repercussions upon the region. Anyone with any geopolitical knowledge and wishes to keep the newfound stability within this region would stay well away.
◼ 21st Motorised Special Security Regiment – “The Holy Chosen” |As “Commander”, Duos has access to the most elite Arab special forces in the world. Under the Alien’s special training and knowledge, these men (and some women, despite the Human and his father’s initial protests. The Alien found no purpose in leaving out a whole 50% of the population) are deadly even without their extraordinary Commander beside them. This personal regiment offers Duos operational reach and access to helicopters, other special security assets and Saudi military resources. Though several companies are tied to operations back home or elsewhere abroad, the 1st Chosen, including Duos and the Major, will be making an appearance as allies. Members will be expanded upon as they are introduced.
O P : S A V I O R
0030 - 5 years before current events - The outskirts of Cairo, Egypt
Cairo's metropolitan center shone like a glowing oasis in the desert night, bathing the city in light. The nightlife was alive, the native populace and tourists mingling together. Parties were on full blast, spirits were at an all time high. Festivities crawled its way around normally empty streets. Families turned in for the night, children content with tomorrow's celebrations in the city gardens. It was Eid al-Fitr and Muslims across the world came alive, happy with the end of the month-long dawn-dusk fasting of Ramadan. A holy day of celebration and prayer. A day which always attracted the wrong sort of attention every year. A dark, nondescript van sped away from the shining city, accelerating across the highway into the dunes. The walls hummed and vibrated with the loud music, bass cutting over heavy hearts pounding in eardrums.
Six dark figures huddled close together in the van, two more at the front. The crack of the radio cut over the music. "Xray-leader, this is Giza-actual. Be advised, hostile camp has been spotted 10 clicks away from your current position. You are the closest response team, we have sent the GPS navigation to you now. ETA six minutes to perimeter, over."
A low, harsh voice cut through the quieting music. "Giza-actual, this is Xray-leader, wilco. Radio silence begins now. Eid el mubarak, Xray-leader out." A sharp click echoed in the metal confines of the vehicle. A low sigh almost escaped muffled lips and Tariq looked back at their team. These were new inductees to the 21st Motorised Special Security Regiment on their first operation. Every team in a new batch had a shakedown operation to "bloody" them, as it was. This one seemingly drew a lucky straw and got an easy one. A hostage situation with several young girls kidnapped by an armed group of escaped convicts intending to "use" them for their festivities. Dangerous to the normal person but these were merely untrained criminals with poor shotguns and pistols. Nothing to trained killers like these. In combination with local police and Egypt's own Unit 777, they received word of suspicious activity around an apartment building in the city behind them. The 21st was attached as a support unit with the Egyptians leading front. All they found was a drugged-up convict armed with a grenade.
Shots were fired and viscera splattered on the wall. The man stood there grenade in hand with several bullet holes in his abdomen and a sizable chunk of his head missing. By the Egyptian captain's report, the man tried to prime his grenade afterwards but the fuse failed. The undead spun around in circles, laughing while grey matter and intestines spilled on to the floor. He shouted in reverence, raising one and a half arms in the air with blood pooling underneath him. He spoke of a sacrifice of virgin maidens to a "prophet-come-again." Blood rituals of some sort, worship of a false prophet which provided the men the "miracle of freedom" and "heaven on Earth." By the time Duos had entered the scene, the seemingly immortal man told them they were too late. A school on the outskirts of Cairo, he cackled, there they would find true immortality. Alien kicked the creature into the wall breaking its spine and legs. The human-turned-abomination folded in on itself, mumbling of salvation.
Upon their advice, the teams split and scrambled to all known abandoned hospitals near the outskirts of Cairo and in surrounding towns. They had found them. Alien flickered his eyes over the team. Whatever skin peaked through their Kevlar bandages seemed pale, one operative visibly shaking. These were not veterans yet, a voice reminded him. He spoke up. "Prepare for unknown metahuman named "False Prophet", threat level presumed high. At least two dozen armed men, unknown number of whom are abominations and twenty hostages. Shoot to kill. Trust your training and your warrior instincts. Most of all, trust your fellow soldier. For the Greater Good."
Silence was followed by slow nodding, colour returning slightly to their exposed skin. The shaking one steadied herself, steel hardening in her blue irises. Satisfied, Tariq prepared for the situation ahead. 'Still not one for speeches Al? I've gone through our head and your people have some fantastic war speeches here. You should use some of them.'
Alien grunted in response, turning a knob on the dashboard to let the music drown out his soldier's fear. He had always approved of the fast moving rhymes and heavy beats of this American "hip hop/rap" - crude and very human but the violence had meaning. The shared minds agreed that music got the blood pumping or calmed the nerves, important when a being was on the eve of battle. Alien's ingrained battle hymns sounded very similar to the sounds of "rap". Human only wondered whether Biggie would have appreciated that his music impressed an extraterrestrial of all things.Alien's Heckler & Koch MG5 sent tracer rounds flying down the wide, pillared corridor in silent suppressing fire. They had spent the last twenty minutes going through several defensive chokepoints, manned by both normal humans and those hidden abominations. The latter would soon expose themselves by being all too confident in their newfound immortality, laughing at the hail of bullets while their comrades hid behind walls and overturned tables. Alien zoned in on one's head flying off the body, cackling all the way. Its body crumpled but the head continued its laughing over the sound of suppressed gunfire. He made sure to fire a three round burst to silence it. His soldiers crept forward under the suppressive fire, going cover to cover in crisp fashion with the female leading from the front. Once his ammunition drum went empty, the six of them lunged over the barrier or around the corners, knives or guns flashing with precision. Strangled cries and screams rang out.
"Clear." The red had covered all of them now. The abominations seemed to bleed much more than a normal human being. The female's voice sounded cold, blood staining the black over her balaclava and bandages obvious. Human only faked gagging at the smell but Alien was silently appraising at the sight as they approached. This team were being bloodied well and this female human had the guts to stamp her fear. A predatory smile made its way on to their face. 'Really, of all the times to finally find a human woman attractive, you choose an operation with a death cult of all things? And when she's covered in blood no less? Allah save him, he is blind.'
Alien continued leading from the front, saving the inner banter, using his superior bulk to cover his soldiers. They hurried along silently, guns sweeping corners and rooms. Indoor fighting was slow, methodical and nerve-wracking. A gunshot from the dark could spell their end, a tripped IED could take out a whole team. With Tariq, it was a matter of waiting for their commander to spot something with their heightened hearing or vision. Chattering teeth, soft footfalls away from the group, the tension of the string rigged to a grenade. All could be heard or felt before the trap or ambush was sprung. They heard soft whispers through what sounded like a door twelve meters away around the corner.
The xenos lifted his fist, halting before the corner's edge. Three fingers were raised followed by a fist shaking side to side. They scurried silently around the corner and to the door, three operatives placing themselves on one side and three on the other. Nodding to the female, Alien kicked the door, sending it flying off its hinges. He closed his eyes. He took a step forward. Blood and bone was crushed against the opposing wall in the room, a gun clattering to the floor. Screams, thirteen in that distinctly annoying young human female pitch. Shouts and clamoring footsteps. Another step. Guns are cocked, the floor vibrating with movement. Distinct chink sounds are heard, two cylindrical flashbangs tumbling inside the room. The subsequent ringing would be blocked by his coverings. Another step, one foot into the room. Twelve figures placed around the room, surrounding the source of the screams. He hefted his rifle with one hand and slipped his knife into the other. He opened his eyes.
The layout of the room was chaotic, upturned desks and tables strewn as makeshift barricades. The human females were pushed in the opposing corner of the room against another door, the human males all curiously shirtless and armed in a semicircle around them. A broken door lay opposite Alien, a bloody humanoid figure underneath. No sounds. Not immortal then. But adorned with strange red tattoos? He noted this all with professional disinterest.
Leaping towards and over the nearest barricade, the killer known as Duos yelled at his disoriented enemies. "For the Greater Good!" he cried, stomping on the head of a crouching criminal, breaking its skull into its spine with a satisfying pulp. He moved swiftly, pointing his MG5 one handed to his right and fired an expert three round burst into the head of nearest enemy there. He kept firing, dispatching the criminals to the right with continuous three round bursts. He extended his knife-arm behind him at the sound of shuffling feet, piercing through a soft neck and ending it with pitiful gurgles out its mouth. In his peripheral vision he watched his team follow into the room, shooting at the disoriented attackers behind him. He smiled at the efficiency, killing the last attacker on his side who was coming-to, flesh splattering on several cowering females.
Alien turned to his team, nodding at them in approval, five bodies with three holes in their heads each. Expert killer-heroes for the Greater Good. He beckoned the female soldier forward and pointed at the cowering young ones. She nodded and beckoned the young ones forward, placating them with soft whispers. They were swiftly shepherded out of the room with the female and an escort.
Duos stood in front of the door with eyes closed, the rest of his team to his left and leaning against the wall. Flashbangs at the ready, weapons reloaded. Time to fight their first metahuman. The door crashed like the previous. No sound. Tumbling cylinders against cement floors, a flash. No movement. They opened their eyes and saw their first demons.
So as long as they look vaguely human, they could be mistaken as a hyperhuman? Hmmmm, okay. I think I can work something out, thanks for being so helpful ^^
Thanks ^^. Another bunch of questions, sorry about this, how commonly known are Celestials? Would they need to disguise themselves? Or could they walk around but since they're rare, would be stared at?
Holy shit, this seems so good. May I express interest in this? It seems as though that we are lacking any Celestials in the RP, I might sign up as one. However I may ask, as I like searching for a character's appearance if said character is an alien, how may I find a photo that isn't animated or drawn? Can I find a realistic drawing instead?
And how about a Celestial with the same art as a commonly known movie alien (let's say, a xenomorph) but with different biology, personality, culture and such?
I'm merely expressing interest for now but the quality of the RP and the CS's so far impressed me :)
Liotrent's working on a post and he's just waiting to simulate a few days passing since the letter arrives. I think everyone's just waiting for people to post.
I'm planning to do something with the Wetlanders actually, @DeadBeatWalking wanna collab?
I also need to sort stuff out with @solamelike but that can wait :P
Ja'Far lifted himself from cover, Incisor held snug against his shoulder. He was met by the sight of Sicarius eliminating a man, blood spraying. He lowered his barrel and sighed in relief under his breath. "Amen." He held his rifle in one hand as he descended down the ladder, seeing the situation in control. He was used to this kind of firefight, it was quick and efficient. There were no theatrics or silly business, no showboating. It was all strictly professional and he loved it, this was a team he could work with. Judging from the amount of explosions and gunfire he could hear in the distance, he would be uncomfortable amongst hotheaded powerhouses. He was used to working with common people, people who wouldn't even be blinked at in the galaxy, a blur in other's memories.
As his feet hit the floor, Ja'Far nodded at everyone in the room in approval. It seemed as though that the situation was finally stable and he could reach for a cigar. Being under fire never really affected him too much however he always had a cigar after a quick victory. Everyone was dispatched quickly and things were quieting down. He just hoped that none of their hostages had any ideas. Unfortunately, just as he was about to reach for the cigar, sirens went off and attention was directed to a middle aged Human fiddling with the consoles. Everything happened in quick succession, his weapon was held tightly in his hand, ready to fire if the situation went out of control. And indeed it did, as Anderson harshly shouted at the man, the ear-piercing screaming started.
Husks.
Trauma is a fickle thing. Sometimes, you wouldn't even recognise your trigger. You would have no reaction, no click in your brain and you would move on with your life. But there were situations in which the places fell exactly where they once was, it clicks immediately and you're taken back to the past, a dark place in your own history. Somewhere that you try and bury under happier memories, somewhere that most sane people would reel at the sight of. It is a strange thing, for it seemed to come at you in the most inconvenient at times, meaning that it was a massive fucking bitch.
It was a flood. The inorganic screams. Comrades, worked with for decades of warfare. Through assassinations, terrorism, murder, mass slaughter, kidnappings. It was all justified because they were right next to him all the way. A friendly pat on the back, a gentle punch on the shoulder. Every step of the way, they were there. And now dead. Dead bodies, his pistol aimed at his closest friend, the round flying. Tears upon tears streaking down his face, asking why? Why did he have to go through this? Your brother impaled upon a spike, his screams piercing his heart as he hid. Like a coward. Ja'Far stilled suddenly, his eyes glassing over before they returned to normal. He controlled his heartbeat to slow, calming himself down. The war was far away now, they were with Athame and the Divines. No point in missing them if they were in paradise, one with the Goddess herself. He steeled himself, gripping his rifle a little tighter.
Ja'Far bit his inner cheek, swallowing spit. The sound left a bitter taste in his mouth. His people had been terrorised, traumatised and killed by these reaper creations. Dozens of world burned and scourged in Hegemony space, whole populations of Batarians and slaves were slaughtered. Everything he fought for was burned to the ground and stamped on. Never forget. And Cerberus dared to treat these monsters as playthings? Disappointment came to mind, disdain directed towards these foolish, ignorant people. They were tampering with horrific monstrosities. They thought that they could escape in the chaos? Be would have shot them himself, unshielded scientists were easy targets for his Incisor.
Thousands of husks were currently zooming in on their location and the Boogeyman felt uncomfortable with the thought. The screaming intensified, his ears picking up the stamping feet of an uncontrollable horde. He was assigned to point, to support the newest member of the group, Alria. He felt no hostility against the order, she seemed like a capable Turian with CQC specialty. Someone he could support with his burst-firing Incisor with ease. He let her lead the way, his three eyes looking the team as they organised themselves. He could trust the rear-guard to hold themselves against the coming horde and for Phalanx to look over Rayes and the scientists. The Quarian had yet to prove himself in combat, despite his obvious proficiency with technology.
As husks came through an opposing entrance, Alria opened the first door into a hallway occupied by two husks. The first was dispatched quickly by the Turian while Ja'Far pulled his Carnifex away from his hip clamp. He raised the weapon's barrel with his right hand, twisting the pistol with his fingers. He started a battle prayer, praying to the Pillar of Redemption to bless his weapon. He fired twice while he marched, his Incisor held in his left. There would be no point in wasting precious Incisor ammo on one mere husk and in such close quarters within the hallways, a rifle would be clumsy. He stepped over it's corpse, ignoring the rolling head kicked away by his feet. Its eyes were wide, mouth agape in a silent scream.
They entered another room, a small mess hall with an exit opposing the doorway they had just came out of. He marched with purpose, clamping his Carnifex back onto his hip, shouldering his rifle. A group of husks swarmed from various other entrances, screaming and running towards them. He raised his Incisor and let Alria do her thing, covering the right of the group, pulling his trigger in a rapid succession. The recoil increased and rounds flew rapidly, some missing but most found targets, tearing inorganic flesh in packs. He noticed a scientist straying from the group but it seemed as though Phalanx had the situation in control.
He spotted a Cannibal amongst the horde, screaming much louder than the rest. He raised his Incisor and twisted his hip to face it's direction. Inhale. Three rounds entered it's skull. Exhale. He noted at how he could still see the Batarian underneath the ugly flesh. How it's movements were very similar to his own except different. They were always different, in a way that made it unnatural. He twisted his hips back to face forwards, wiping away such thoughts as he reloaded another heat sink. They were unnecessary, thoughts that should be meditated on but not in battle. Prayers should fill a Batarian's mind in the midst of battle, not useless observations.
They approached through the second hallway, three husks suddenly arriving. Ja'Far, with his rifle already shouldered, fired quickly at one, pulverising it's torso with a burst. Alria had taken a husk down and another that she had grappled with was executed by Phalanx. They entered a large cargo room with crates strewn around. A large swarm of husks screamed loudly, snarling and crying out to the group. They ran at the group, some blocking the intended pathway. The soldier snarled and pushed down any nervousness he found in himself, repressing it and turning himself into the cool visage of a soldier as he decided to cover for Alria and the mid-section of the group as they ran.
Marching towards the doorway, he emptied his clip at the coming horde as he walked, aiming his barrel in their enemy's vague direction. Once his Incisor warned him to place another heat sink, he pulled his pistol up and aimed, firing at closer husks with scary precision. He was a marksman at heart and valued accuracy over randomly spewing rounds at the enemy. Husks were felled all over the large room, their heads blown off by powerful Carnifex rounds as they neared closer towards them. As he was reloading, two husks lunged for him from the mass of bodies, one tackling his legs and another tackling his torso. He quickly let go of his pistol and reached for his sharp interrogators knife, his back hitting the ground as he let himself fall.
"-the Pillar of Redemption shalt appease thine forgotten soul, miń child." Ja'Far gripped the neck of the husk directly on his abdomen, reaching for it before slicing it's throat in an ugly wound. The knife shredded through the skin and he pushed his nearest assailant's dead body off of him. The other husk was killed by one of his comrades and he muttered a small thanks. He grabbed his pistol and clamped it as he stood, shoving the last scientist through the doorway as the horde snapped at their heels.
He entered through to the new room and looked at the defensible position the assault team seemed to have formed for themselves. He had caught on to the last tidbit of Rykarn's speech as he spun around, walking backwards as he fired at any figures of interest. Any marauders or cannibals were targeted first though only a few were downed before he had to reload. As he reached for another heat sink, he shouted over the orchestra of screaming. "I hast explosives within miń backpocket, I beseech miń commanders to consider sér Rykarn's suggestion! We shalt fall in these tunnels if there is no quick action, I canst place miń explosives miń self." He slammed another heat sink into his Incisor, preparing another shot as he finally stopped next to the Assault Team's location.
Member
Altered Tundra
