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Bio
Most Recent Posts
The event is starting, slowly. Remember time in comic books is fluid.
@Pacifista I didn't specify a time so she could just happen to be in NYC for a variety of random reasons.
Maybe she wanted a bagel.
I think I now the people who are interested in this event. Then being
@Pacifista@Theyra@Lord Wraith and [Hound55]. If anyone else wants to weigh in, give me a shout beforehand so I can plan things out.
Shout-out to @Supermaxx for coming up with the name for the event
You're welcome for being perfect.
UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
ISSUE #8: A Soldier's Plea
Former Soviet Prison ♦ Siberia
A man in crimson strode forth to challenge the God of Thunder. At his call, Thor rose from stooping over the blubbering prison guard he'd been interrogating moments before. He studied the man for a moment; racked his brain for the ghost of a memory he sensed earlier.
Nothing.
Thor clenched his fist in frustration. Many a time he had suffered the touch of enchantment, befuddling his mind and confusing his senses. It was hard to tell if this was the result of such arcane tampering, or if the stresses of his banishment were making him paranoid. He needed to understand.
"I know this shield," Thor raised the star-spangled device, glancing down over its gleaming form. Even now, he felt the tinge of familiarity at the base of his neck. Then he looked to the crimson man. "But I do not know you. I remember..."
He closed his eyes, and the ghosts returned. Mjölnir clashing against the shield with a thunderous boom. The man behind it remained shrouded in uncertainty, but Thor remembered the rush of battle. A formidable opponent stood against him, tough as old iron. Even when facing down a god he'd held his ground.
"Mmm. Yes." Thor grinned. "A test, then. Prove your mettle."
"The shield is mine."
With a casual heave, Thor flung the shield at Krylenko hard enough to shatter concrete. When the man caught it, he had only a moment to realize that Thor was flying right behind. Jarnbjorn was back in his hand, and he delivered twin back swings to either guard flanking the Red Guardian. They crumbled as wheat to the scythe.
Nikolai Krylenko backpedaled. He was quick, quicker than any human had the right to be. There seemed a grace to the way he wielded the shield, at first. His guard was smooth, practiced. Nikolai was clearly studying his opponent, waiting for an opening to exploit. A fine soldier.
A few probing swings into the shield proved what Thor already suspected: it would not break as most mortal arms did when facing the might of Uru. In fact, it didn't seem to matter how strong or light a swing was- the strange earthly material absorbed it just the same.
Mistaking Thor's casualness as a sign, Krylenko pounced. He slammed the shield against Thor's right hand, knocking Jarnbjorn aside so he could deliver a swift combination of punches to the Asgardian's midsection. They stung like biting locusts.
A night ago, before the Man-Beast, they may even have hurt.
"Hmph. I think not." Thor slammed Jarnbjorn into the floor between Red Guardian's legs, turning it to splinters beneath his feet. The ground began to give way, forcing Krylenko to try and leap back- opening his guard for Thor to reach in. He grasped Guardian around the face, holding it in his palm.
Flicking his wrist, Thor slammed the man into the wall. Then he began to walk, dragging Nikolai along the wall as he went. Concrete and twisted rebar broke against the super soldier's head. It was a tough nut to crack, Thor had to admit. Krylenko was even conscious for some of it. Thor didn't stop until he reached the double doors at the end of the hallway.
"You are not whom I seek." Guardian fell like a crumpled sack the moment Thor released him. The shield clattered to the floor at his feet.
Nothing.
Thor clenched his fist in frustration. Many a time he had suffered the touch of enchantment, befuddling his mind and confusing his senses. It was hard to tell if this was the result of such arcane tampering, or if the stresses of his banishment were making him paranoid. He needed to understand.
"I know this shield," Thor raised the star-spangled device, glancing down over its gleaming form. Even now, he felt the tinge of familiarity at the base of his neck. Then he looked to the crimson man. "But I do not know you. I remember..."
He closed his eyes, and the ghosts returned. Mjölnir clashing against the shield with a thunderous boom. The man behind it remained shrouded in uncertainty, but Thor remembered the rush of battle. A formidable opponent stood against him, tough as old iron. Even when facing down a god he'd held his ground.
"Mmm. Yes." Thor grinned. "A test, then. Prove your mettle."
"The shield is mine."
With a casual heave, Thor flung the shield at Krylenko hard enough to shatter concrete. When the man caught it, he had only a moment to realize that Thor was flying right behind. Jarnbjorn was back in his hand, and he delivered twin back swings to either guard flanking the Red Guardian. They crumbled as wheat to the scythe.
Nikolai Krylenko backpedaled. He was quick, quicker than any human had the right to be. There seemed a grace to the way he wielded the shield, at first. His guard was smooth, practiced. Nikolai was clearly studying his opponent, waiting for an opening to exploit. A fine soldier.
A few probing swings into the shield proved what Thor already suspected: it would not break as most mortal arms did when facing the might of Uru. In fact, it didn't seem to matter how strong or light a swing was- the strange earthly material absorbed it just the same.
Mistaking Thor's casualness as a sign, Krylenko pounced. He slammed the shield against Thor's right hand, knocking Jarnbjorn aside so he could deliver a swift combination of punches to the Asgardian's midsection. They stung like biting locusts.
A night ago, before the Man-Beast, they may even have hurt.
"Hmph. I think not." Thor slammed Jarnbjorn into the floor between Red Guardian's legs, turning it to splinters beneath his feet. The ground began to give way, forcing Krylenko to try and leap back- opening his guard for Thor to reach in. He grasped Guardian around the face, holding it in his palm.
Flicking his wrist, Thor slammed the man into the wall. Then he began to walk, dragging Nikolai along the wall as he went. Concrete and twisted rebar broke against the super soldier's head. It was a tough nut to crack, Thor had to admit. Krylenko was even conscious for some of it. Thor didn't stop until he reached the double doors at the end of the hallway.
"You are not whom I seek." Guardian fell like a crumpled sack the moment Thor released him. The shield clattered to the floor at his feet.
IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Surface Landing, Left Flank of the Battle Line
1603 hours // ♫ Every Planet We Reach Is Dead ♫
The MBM-78 Grizzly stomped down the Galea Dropship's ramp, every step thundering with the sound of two hundred tons of steel. Its racket only ended with it dropped into the grey, sloshing mud of Alora's surface. They'd finally arrived. Teddy pulled back on the throttle and applied the break lever, slowing the Grizzly's plodding advance twenty feet off the ramp. He paused to take in the apocalypse.
According to reports from the fleet, corrosion levels were dangerously high, and a glance along the horizon proved as much. What few trees still stood were shriveled husks gasping out poisonous air. Even locusts wouldn't feast on these crops. And then there were the cities. Dear God above, the cities...
Teddy's eyes started to glaze over only a couple of paragraphs into the 'acid rain' section. He closed the report. The days ahead would be grim enough without knowing the gritty details. Besides, the truth was obvious to anyone who bothered to look: Alora was bleeding to death.
"Let's give 'em hell, eighty-five." Teddy called over comms. For Alora.
The noble Zhejiang al Mortuus-Orbitae had grown on him, he must admit. Watching her apparate atop his mech made his eyes shine with a childish glee. No matter how often he witnessed them, constellation phenomena never ceased to amaze in person. It brought him back to crowding around a vid screen with his siblings to watch the defenders of humanity stand tall against the Aberrants that killed their home. Even now, he could hear the heroic brass and strings they always played in those propaganda casts. Then the seal of the MHA would flash in golden metal, and the baritone-voiced announcer would implore you to speak to your recruiting officer today.
Teddy wondered if a Stardust like Zhejiang understood what she meant to the infantry setting up fortifications below them. Did she see the awe reflected in their eyes? The desperate plea for salvation? He couldn't imagine what that did to a person- to be seen as an avenging angel instead of flesh and blood. Teddy knew he would've crumbled under the weight of their expectations long ago if that were him.
He tightened his grip on the control sticks. "Stay close n' remember to be vocal, okay? Can only have your back if you tell me where you're goin'. I know you're quick so I won't bother tellin' ya to stick right on me. Just gimme a heads up 'fore you get all teleporty. You lead, I follow."
It wasn't long before the rumbling began. Athousand biomechanical aliens descended upon them like a crimson tide. Among the legionaries marched plenty of bishops. Some were the typical Spearmen, designed to crash through a front line like a hammer through stone. They were a blunt weapon. Stupid, predictable, but dangerous if underestimated. Teddy had seen their like more often than he could count. They weren't what worried him.
The disc-headed, blade-armed Outlanders were. They could tear a Constellation apart with a single lucky swipe. Teddy knew from experience just what it looked like when an overly confident connie let themselves get swiped. It wasn't pretty watching an angel die.
Maximus 'Antares' Solignis gave orders to the team as easily as most people breathed, his experience and confidence woven through every word. He and Eorman would hopefully focus on those Outlanders so they never had the chance to challenge the Stardusts.
"Wilco, Antares. Good huntin.'"
The X-66 Prometheus Rotary Cannon spat out a thousand rounds and change over the next three minutes. Teddy kept his groupings tight and tried not to overkill the legionaries, damnably difficult as it was. Those bastards could be leaking out their metal guts and missing three limbs and they would keep on coming. He had to be careful to track the path of the destruction the two Main-class connies were cutting in the back line as well; wouldn't be great for his career if Teddy accidentally misted one or them with a stray round.
Among the swarm, Teddy could see three Bishops had escaped the duo's whirlwind of destruction. Lictor had smartly pulled Newman to the side and isolated one of them, taking it apart amidst a mob of pawns. They seemed to have the situation well in hand.
Aissi, Dombay and Zhejiang were descending on a second spearman on the leftmost flank, Eight-Ball providing them cover fire. Teddy felt his heart beating in his throat, even as a wall of plasma from Alto's strange rifle consumed a dozen pawns. Despite their lack of combat experience, they seemed to be holding their own.
Teddy spotted the Outlander hiding among the second wave of legionaries descending on the gaggle of greenhorns. It was moving low and quick, hoping the tide would obscure its approach long enough to leap on an unsuspecting target.
"Behind!" Teddy yelled, sweeping his Prometheus around. He cranked a switch in the cockpit and the cannon's thump thump thump turned into a screeching, continuous brrrtttt as its rounds per minute maxed out for just a moment. A barrage of gatling fire turned the Outlander's screen of pawns into a fine powder. The toughened crimson bodies of hardened biomass and mechanical armor may as well have been cardboard for all the protection it gave. The Prometheus hitched a moment later, internal cooling systems forcing a halt as the barrels glowed bright orange with heat.
The Outlander pounced, its shield blazing to life amidst the hail of bullets. It couldn't have cared less about the wall of lead- it only head eyes for the connies.
When it needed to, the Grizzly could haul ass. Teddy slammed the throttle against its housing as hard as he could, and the cockpit began to shake violently with the sudden forward momentum. The beta-class Aberrant core in his guardian shield flared to life just as the Grizzly's two hundred and twenty-five ton body slammed into the Outlander's outstretched claws. The two shields flared, energy crackling as they intermingled. The Outlander's core was far stronger, however, and it soon won out- throwing the Grizzly onto its ass with a titanic thud.
"Agh, damn it!"
Looming over him, the bishop raised a bladed arm to drive it straight into the Grizzly's cockpit.
1603 hours // ♫ Every Planet We Reach Is Dead ♫
The MBM-78 Grizzly stomped down the Galea Dropship's ramp, every step thundering with the sound of two hundred tons of steel. Its racket only ended with it dropped into the grey, sloshing mud of Alora's surface. They'd finally arrived. Teddy pulled back on the throttle and applied the break lever, slowing the Grizzly's plodding advance twenty feet off the ramp. He paused to take in the apocalypse.
According to reports from the fleet, corrosion levels were dangerously high, and a glance along the horizon proved as much. What few trees still stood were shriveled husks gasping out poisonous air. Even locusts wouldn't feast on these crops. And then there were the cities. Dear God above, the cities...
Teddy's eyes started to glaze over only a couple of paragraphs into the 'acid rain' section. He closed the report. The days ahead would be grim enough without knowing the gritty details. Besides, the truth was obvious to anyone who bothered to look: Alora was bleeding to death.
"Let's give 'em hell, eighty-five." Teddy called over comms. For Alora.
The noble Zhejiang al Mortuus-Orbitae had grown on him, he must admit. Watching her apparate atop his mech made his eyes shine with a childish glee. No matter how often he witnessed them, constellation phenomena never ceased to amaze in person. It brought him back to crowding around a vid screen with his siblings to watch the defenders of humanity stand tall against the Aberrants that killed their home. Even now, he could hear the heroic brass and strings they always played in those propaganda casts. Then the seal of the MHA would flash in golden metal, and the baritone-voiced announcer would implore you to speak to your recruiting officer today.
Teddy wondered if a Stardust like Zhejiang understood what she meant to the infantry setting up fortifications below them. Did she see the awe reflected in their eyes? The desperate plea for salvation? He couldn't imagine what that did to a person- to be seen as an avenging angel instead of flesh and blood. Teddy knew he would've crumbled under the weight of their expectations long ago if that were him.
He tightened his grip on the control sticks. "Stay close n' remember to be vocal, okay? Can only have your back if you tell me where you're goin'. I know you're quick so I won't bother tellin' ya to stick right on me. Just gimme a heads up 'fore you get all teleporty. You lead, I follow."
It wasn't long before the rumbling began. Athousand biomechanical aliens descended upon them like a crimson tide. Among the legionaries marched plenty of bishops. Some were the typical Spearmen, designed to crash through a front line like a hammer through stone. They were a blunt weapon. Stupid, predictable, but dangerous if underestimated. Teddy had seen their like more often than he could count. They weren't what worried him.
The disc-headed, blade-armed Outlanders were. They could tear a Constellation apart with a single lucky swipe. Teddy knew from experience just what it looked like when an overly confident connie let themselves get swiped. It wasn't pretty watching an angel die.
Maximus 'Antares' Solignis gave orders to the team as easily as most people breathed, his experience and confidence woven through every word. He and Eorman would hopefully focus on those Outlanders so they never had the chance to challenge the Stardusts.
"Wilco, Antares. Good huntin.'"
The X-66 Prometheus Rotary Cannon spat out a thousand rounds and change over the next three minutes. Teddy kept his groupings tight and tried not to overkill the legionaries, damnably difficult as it was. Those bastards could be leaking out their metal guts and missing three limbs and they would keep on coming. He had to be careful to track the path of the destruction the two Main-class connies were cutting in the back line as well; wouldn't be great for his career if Teddy accidentally misted one or them with a stray round.
Among the swarm, Teddy could see three Bishops had escaped the duo's whirlwind of destruction. Lictor had smartly pulled Newman to the side and isolated one of them, taking it apart amidst a mob of pawns. They seemed to have the situation well in hand.
Aissi, Dombay and Zhejiang were descending on a second spearman on the leftmost flank, Eight-Ball providing them cover fire. Teddy felt his heart beating in his throat, even as a wall of plasma from Alto's strange rifle consumed a dozen pawns. Despite their lack of combat experience, they seemed to be holding their own.
Teddy spotted the Outlander hiding among the second wave of legionaries descending on the gaggle of greenhorns. It was moving low and quick, hoping the tide would obscure its approach long enough to leap on an unsuspecting target.
"Behind!" Teddy yelled, sweeping his Prometheus around. He cranked a switch in the cockpit and the cannon's thump thump thump turned into a screeching, continuous brrrtttt as its rounds per minute maxed out for just a moment. A barrage of gatling fire turned the Outlander's screen of pawns into a fine powder. The toughened crimson bodies of hardened biomass and mechanical armor may as well have been cardboard for all the protection it gave. The Prometheus hitched a moment later, internal cooling systems forcing a halt as the barrels glowed bright orange with heat.
The Outlander pounced, its shield blazing to life amidst the hail of bullets. It couldn't have cared less about the wall of lead- it only head eyes for the connies.
When it needed to, the Grizzly could haul ass. Teddy slammed the throttle against its housing as hard as he could, and the cockpit began to shake violently with the sudden forward momentum. The beta-class Aberrant core in his guardian shield flared to life just as the Grizzly's two hundred and twenty-five ton body slammed into the Outlander's outstretched claws. The two shields flared, energy crackling as they intermingled. The Outlander's core was far stronger, however, and it soon won out- throwing the Grizzly onto its ass with a titanic thud.
"Agh, damn it!"
Looming over him, the bishop raised a bladed arm to drive it straight into the Grizzly's cockpit.
UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
ISSUE #7: A Soldier's Plea
Former Soviet Prison ♦ Siberia
Somewhere in the frozen north, a bonfire blazed. A prayer to foreign gods rose from an old soldier's throat. A plea for aid. Old Norse was not his native tongue. The words were stumbling, jolted. But it was not the words that mattered, for his soul cried out for liberation loud enough to be heard across the cosmos. Logs at the fire's base split. Runes older than the world carved themselves into the bark, finishing the incantation Steven Rogers had started. As the soldier's consciousness faded, the wind whispered the last of the words needed to complete the ritual. Smoke roiled, and one might swear they saw a shape within.
The magic took time to do its work, especially with the amateurish spellwork at play. Though the fire was doused by the prison's guardsmen, the call rang out still.
Hours passed.
Despite the morning's forecast, it began to rain. Not snow: rain.
White clouds turned to grey. Thunder rolled. The sky split, and lightning exploded in the lumberyard below. A fire far greater than Steve Rogers's first burned, spreading across the entire kindling pile. and then beyond. It burned with all the colors of the rainbow.
"For the first time in millennia, men have called on Asgard..." With a voice like thunder, a god spoke from the fire. A god spoke, and then he stepped out unharmed. Silver armor gleamed in the firelight. A crimson cape billowed in the winter wind. Upon his head sat a winged helm, and in his right hand he clutched a most wicked looking axe. In his left, a shield emblazened in red, white and blue.
"And THOR answers."
He knew not how he came here, truth be told. Minutes ago he had resigned himself to being trapped in Muspelheim for all eternity, only for a doorway to open to...wherever he was.
The strangest thing was the object that came through to greet him. A shield clattered across the ashen stones of Muspelheim, paint chipped to reveal a silver star beneath. Thor had brushed away the top layer to reveal the original design. Familiarity tickled at the back of his mind, yet still he could not place where he had seen it before.
Hints of memory danced against his subconscious. A red-skulled monster. That gleaming shield. Gunfire. Loki...
It was only as he stepped through the threshold that Thor recognized the ancient ritual that called him. A summoning devised by the viking kings of eld, they had used it thousands of years ago to bring Asgardians to Midgard in times of need. Thor thought its art lost when Odin forbade travel to earth. He'd been wrong, obviously.
Something struck Thor in the chest, dragging him back to the present. He blinked, turning toward a group of men rushing across the prison yard, weapons raised. Something else hit him, this time in the cheek. He caught the crunched bullet in his palm as it fell.
"Ah," he realized with a grin. "You are shooting me. Me! Ha!"
Clenching his fist as tight as he could, Thor lifted his axe overhead and struck it against his armored wrist. A shockwave tore across the yard, flinging snow and prison guards in every direction. A siren began to whine a few moments later, and a man spoke hurried words of warning over a P.A system.
High in a guard tower along the wall, a soldier opened up on Thor from behind. His PKP machine gun barked as it threw hundreds of armor-piercing bullets into the god's back. Every round shattered against him, no more threatening than the rain. He didn't so much as stumble under the barrage. With a lazy twist of his arm, Thor launched Jarnbjorn threw two of the tower's wooden legs, sending it careening down to the ground with a loud crash.
On the opposite end of the yard, two guards pulled the doors to the prison shut and slammed the locking mechanism into place. A weave of steel bars meant to keep hundreds of hardened criminals locked inside came down over the door.
They kept Thor out for about five seconds before he hacked them to pieces.
The guards both attempted to run, but the younger of the two proved more cowardly: he shoved his superior to the floor, leaving him behind in the hopes that their attacker would stop long enough for him to get away.
"Сука Блять!" The older guard grunted as his face hit concrete.
Jarnbjorn flew over his head and impaled itself in the coward's back with enough force to throw him thirty feet further. His lifeless body left a long trail of blood behind it as it skidded across the floor.
"Heed me, warrior." Thor placed a boot on the fallen guard's back. "If you wish to see the sunrise, you will tell me where I can find the owner of this device."
With a flourish, Thor presented the shield.
The magic took time to do its work, especially with the amateurish spellwork at play. Though the fire was doused by the prison's guardsmen, the call rang out still.
Hours passed.
Despite the morning's forecast, it began to rain. Not snow: rain.
White clouds turned to grey. Thunder rolled. The sky split, and lightning exploded in the lumberyard below. A fire far greater than Steve Rogers's first burned, spreading across the entire kindling pile. and then beyond. It burned with all the colors of the rainbow.
"For the first time in millennia, men have called on Asgard..." With a voice like thunder, a god spoke from the fire. A god spoke, and then he stepped out unharmed. Silver armor gleamed in the firelight. A crimson cape billowed in the winter wind. Upon his head sat a winged helm, and in his right hand he clutched a most wicked looking axe. In his left, a shield emblazened in red, white and blue.
"And THOR answers."
He knew not how he came here, truth be told. Minutes ago he had resigned himself to being trapped in Muspelheim for all eternity, only for a doorway to open to...wherever he was.
The strangest thing was the object that came through to greet him. A shield clattered across the ashen stones of Muspelheim, paint chipped to reveal a silver star beneath. Thor had brushed away the top layer to reveal the original design. Familiarity tickled at the back of his mind, yet still he could not place where he had seen it before.
Hints of memory danced against his subconscious. A red-skulled monster. That gleaming shield. Gunfire. Loki...
It was only as he stepped through the threshold that Thor recognized the ancient ritual that called him. A summoning devised by the viking kings of eld, they had used it thousands of years ago to bring Asgardians to Midgard in times of need. Thor thought its art lost when Odin forbade travel to earth. He'd been wrong, obviously.
Something struck Thor in the chest, dragging him back to the present. He blinked, turning toward a group of men rushing across the prison yard, weapons raised. Something else hit him, this time in the cheek. He caught the crunched bullet in his palm as it fell.
"Ah," he realized with a grin. "You are shooting me. Me! Ha!"
Clenching his fist as tight as he could, Thor lifted his axe overhead and struck it against his armored wrist. A shockwave tore across the yard, flinging snow and prison guards in every direction. A siren began to whine a few moments later, and a man spoke hurried words of warning over a P.A system.
High in a guard tower along the wall, a soldier opened up on Thor from behind. His PKP machine gun barked as it threw hundreds of armor-piercing bullets into the god's back. Every round shattered against him, no more threatening than the rain. He didn't so much as stumble under the barrage. With a lazy twist of his arm, Thor launched Jarnbjorn threw two of the tower's wooden legs, sending it careening down to the ground with a loud crash.
On the opposite end of the yard, two guards pulled the doors to the prison shut and slammed the locking mechanism into place. A weave of steel bars meant to keep hundreds of hardened criminals locked inside came down over the door.
They kept Thor out for about five seconds before he hacked them to pieces.
The guards both attempted to run, but the younger of the two proved more cowardly: he shoved his superior to the floor, leaving him behind in the hopes that their attacker would stop long enough for him to get away.
"Сука Блять!" The older guard grunted as his face hit concrete.
Jarnbjorn flew over his head and impaled itself in the coward's back with enough force to throw him thirty feet further. His lifeless body left a long trail of blood behind it as it skidded across the floor.
"Heed me, warrior." Thor placed a boot on the fallen guard's back. "If you wish to see the sunrise, you will tell me where I can find the owner of this device."
With a flourish, Thor presented the shield.
IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1421 hours // ♫ Encased In Steel ♫
Teddy rose from his seat with a lazy stretch, arms extending to the sky. He was rolling his shoulders in their sockets when he noticed Aissi was staring at him. Her mouth moved without actually forming any words for several seconds. All Teddy could do was smile. He didn't know her well enough yet to know how to put her at ease. Thoughtless words could be ordinance to the wrong person, after all.
Eventually, though, she found her voice: thank you.
"No problem!" He said, his grin widening as she made a quick retreat in the opposite direction. "Break a leg, kiddo."
Turning, Teddy approached his Grizzly with slow, deliberate steps. Best not to spook the girl. She took a confident stride as a challenge. The relationship between a pilot and their mech was different for every pairing. Some people thought of theirs only as war machines. Others knew every mech had a soul in its gears and pistons. Grizzly had a particularly curmudgeonly manner. If she thought her pilot too eager she was liable to slip a lug nut, pop a leak in a hydraulic line or a thousand other things. Every 'mechanical failure' was a reminder of who was really in charge here.
"Hey old girl." He greeted, patting her cold hide with the back of his knuckles. "We got a couple'a new cubs with us today. Let's bring 'em home safe, okay?"
Mounting up wasn't as easy as it was twenty years ago. Teddy could still remember the days when he could scramble up to the entry hatch without even touching the ladder. He wasn't so spry anymore, nor was he concerned with showing off for his fairer compatriots. No, he was fine carefully ascending the rungs built into the leg of the Grizzly.
The interior lights flickered on when the hatch swung open, even the string of multi-colored beads he'd hung along the ceiling. He'd done it to celebrate a yuletide roughly...twelve years ago? Disentangling them from the wiring proved too much of a hassle to bother trying to remove them.
A mechanical whirring from the front console triggered from the same motion sensor as the lights. A second later, the whirring was joined by the pouring of hot, caffeinated liquid into a thermos. Aberrant cores might fuel the mech but coffee fueled its pilot. Who could expect him to go into a firefight without it? Psychopaths, that's who.
Teddy fell into the torn leather of his pilot's seat with a contented sigh. It felt like the embrace of an old friend. He didn't bother with running another system check. All he needed was a quick glance at the lights flashing green as he flipped about a dozen switches in a row. Every screen, dial and monitor turned on at once. A powerful roar sounded as the MBM-78 came to life. The cockpit shuddered for several seconds on startup before finally settling to a dull thumping.
"Wonder who we're playin' with today..." He muttered, changing the main screen to the external cameras.
Lictor was talking the F.N.G through her first deployment. Newman was her name. Teddy hadn't gotten the chance to talk to the young pilot yet but he wasn't worried for her. She was duetting with the greatest warrior of their age. A living legend who'd felled a thousand thousand Aberrants while half of this team was still in diapers. The old man had her back. She could count on it.
Relief flooded Teddy when he found Aissi talking to the other new guy, Eight-Ball. He seemed like a nice kid. Making friends in the MHA was hard enough at the best of times. Being integrated with alien tech wasn't gonna make that any easier. Teddy was honestly surprised none of these hardened killers had taken a swing on her yet. Lotta people hated the Aberrants enough to do it, and he expected a whole lotta other folks would look the other way.
He tried not to think of the stats he'd seen on new pilot and connie fatality rates. Your chances of death were a hell of a lot higher first starting out.
"Should be easier to keep an eye on 'em if they're together." Teddy told himself quietly.
With Lictor and Aissi accounted for, that left just one last Constellation. Teddy couldn't hold in the groan that formed in his throat. Miss Zhejiang and her eighteen middle names. A noble hero of humanity, he had no doubt, but she seemed all too serious. A humorless killing machine. Maybe he was being unfair. Teddy hadn't actually spoken to her yet, and she had a reputation as an effective combatant.
Teddy opened up a comm channel with her. "Hey, eighty-five. Looks like we're the odd ones out. How 'bout it? Wanna be dance partners?"
1421 hours // ♫ Encased In Steel ♫
Teddy rose from his seat with a lazy stretch, arms extending to the sky. He was rolling his shoulders in their sockets when he noticed Aissi was staring at him. Her mouth moved without actually forming any words for several seconds. All Teddy could do was smile. He didn't know her well enough yet to know how to put her at ease. Thoughtless words could be ordinance to the wrong person, after all.
Eventually, though, she found her voice: thank you.
"No problem!" He said, his grin widening as she made a quick retreat in the opposite direction. "Break a leg, kiddo."
Turning, Teddy approached his Grizzly with slow, deliberate steps. Best not to spook the girl. She took a confident stride as a challenge. The relationship between a pilot and their mech was different for every pairing. Some people thought of theirs only as war machines. Others knew every mech had a soul in its gears and pistons. Grizzly had a particularly curmudgeonly manner. If she thought her pilot too eager she was liable to slip a lug nut, pop a leak in a hydraulic line or a thousand other things. Every 'mechanical failure' was a reminder of who was really in charge here.
"Hey old girl." He greeted, patting her cold hide with the back of his knuckles. "We got a couple'a new cubs with us today. Let's bring 'em home safe, okay?"
Mounting up wasn't as easy as it was twenty years ago. Teddy could still remember the days when he could scramble up to the entry hatch without even touching the ladder. He wasn't so spry anymore, nor was he concerned with showing off for his fairer compatriots. No, he was fine carefully ascending the rungs built into the leg of the Grizzly.
The interior lights flickered on when the hatch swung open, even the string of multi-colored beads he'd hung along the ceiling. He'd done it to celebrate a yuletide roughly...twelve years ago? Disentangling them from the wiring proved too much of a hassle to bother trying to remove them.
A mechanical whirring from the front console triggered from the same motion sensor as the lights. A second later, the whirring was joined by the pouring of hot, caffeinated liquid into a thermos. Aberrant cores might fuel the mech but coffee fueled its pilot. Who could expect him to go into a firefight without it? Psychopaths, that's who.
Teddy fell into the torn leather of his pilot's seat with a contented sigh. It felt like the embrace of an old friend. He didn't bother with running another system check. All he needed was a quick glance at the lights flashing green as he flipped about a dozen switches in a row. Every screen, dial and monitor turned on at once. A powerful roar sounded as the MBM-78 came to life. The cockpit shuddered for several seconds on startup before finally settling to a dull thumping.
"Wonder who we're playin' with today..." He muttered, changing the main screen to the external cameras.
Lictor was talking the F.N.G through her first deployment. Newman was her name. Teddy hadn't gotten the chance to talk to the young pilot yet but he wasn't worried for her. She was duetting with the greatest warrior of their age. A living legend who'd felled a thousand thousand Aberrants while half of this team was still in diapers. The old man had her back. She could count on it.
Relief flooded Teddy when he found Aissi talking to the other new guy, Eight-Ball. He seemed like a nice kid. Making friends in the MHA was hard enough at the best of times. Being integrated with alien tech wasn't gonna make that any easier. Teddy was honestly surprised none of these hardened killers had taken a swing on her yet. Lotta people hated the Aberrants enough to do it, and he expected a whole lotta other folks would look the other way.
He tried not to think of the stats he'd seen on new pilot and connie fatality rates. Your chances of death were a hell of a lot higher first starting out.
"Should be easier to keep an eye on 'em if they're together." Teddy told himself quietly.
With Lictor and Aissi accounted for, that left just one last Constellation. Teddy couldn't hold in the groan that formed in his throat. Miss Zhejiang and her eighteen middle names. A noble hero of humanity, he had no doubt, but she seemed all too serious. A humorless killing machine. Maybe he was being unfair. Teddy hadn't actually spoken to her yet, and she had a reputation as an effective combatant.
Teddy opened up a comm channel with her. "Hey, eighty-five. Looks like we're the odd ones out. How 'bout it? Wanna be dance partners?"
UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
INTERLUDE: The Witness
Himinbjörg ♦ Asgard
The Earth made another lazy rotation around the sun. Two hundred and eighty-thousand children were born today. In trade for these new souls, death claimed a hundred and twenty thousand for itself. A few hundred souls entered the embrace of Valhalla: these were the honored dead, slain in battle and unclaimed by other divinities. Three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three others were led to Helheim. These were Hela's daily tribute as decreed in ancient contracts with the other Lords of Hell.
Long ago, the halls of Valhalla overflowed with the spirits of mortal warriors, kings and jarls. So numerous were their souls that Freya opened the fields of Fólkvangr to the Einherjar. Over the last few centuries, worship of the Aesir has dwindled. Other faiths grew across Midgard. Many mortals reject the divine wholly, looking to secular philosophies for comfort and meaning when once they sought the gods.
Heimdall stood in his observatory, the sword Hofund embedded in its stone pedestal at his feet. The bifrost swirled all around him, liquid crystal in every color of the rainbow. Eternally did he stand sentinel here, his all-seeing gaze cast to every corner of the Nine Realms.
He turned his gaze back to the earth, the heart of Midgard. There had been much excitement on that little world as of late. A new age of myth was upon them. Gone were tales of Arthur, Perseus and Beowulf. Soon the bards will sing of men and women in capes and cowls.
He sees them all: the devil fights tooth and nail to stop a revenant from claiming its vengeance; a faceless man is slowly killing himself in the pursuit of truth; a knight from ages long past climbs out of his desert tomb; in the City of Tomorrow, a humble servant embraces his alien heritage and dons a symbol of hope.
These new heroes are not everywhere. In Frankfurt, a neighbor lets a man he recognizes into his apartment building. That man climbs the stairs to his ex-girlfriend's suite, hate in his heart. He has a knife hidden in his sleeve. A tyrant in Bialaya orders the execution of a hundred political dissidents. An old woman shakes with chill in an alleyway, clutching desperately at a ragged blanket.
For a moment, Heimdall closes his eyes. His fists tighten around the hilt of his sword. For eons has he stood at the foot of the rainbow bridge, tasked to watch for threats against Asgard- to sound the Gjallarhorn when Surtur rose from Muspelheim.
Yet in this role he must also bear witness. He sees the triumphs, the tragedies, the quiet in-betweens of every life in all the Nine Realms. Trillions of lives have unfolded before him since he took his post. No matter what he saw, Heimdall was never to lift a hand in intervention without the Allfather's approval.
Head held low, the watchman-god whispers a prayer: "May your heroes answer when you call, for I cannot."
He returned to his duty.
In Alfheim, Heimdall watched the elves of light and dark wage another of their petty wars. They'd been killing one another since time immemorial. The list of transgressions held by either side was longer than the serpent Jörmungandr. Today, the dark elves were the aggressors. Their newly crowned king, Malekith the Accursed, led his legions all the way to Ljosalfgard, seat of the fairy court. Queen Aelsa rallied a host of elves and fae to her defense, though they were outmatched: fae magic was all illusions, befuddlement and torture; it lacked the sheer destructive might of Svartalfheim's shadows.
The city of Ljsalfgard would've fallen days ago if not for the intervention of Balder Odinson. Balder the Brave, they were calling him, for he had slain eight thousand men in only four days. Four days spent knee-deep in elvish blood without a moment's rest. Neither their weapons or magic could harm good Balder, for he was blessed by his mother Freya to never feel pain.
"Heimdall." Odin spoke, and the room shook.
The voice of the Allfather startled Heimdall from his musings, as it always did. Odin walked with silent steps when he wished, and his presence was shrouded from even Heimdall's eyes. Looming like a mountain, Odin paced the observatory. A cloak of living ravens hung across his shoulders- dozens of eyes staring back at the watcher. These were just a small part of the flock Odin kept. Ravens were his spies across the Nine Realms, whispering the goings on of mortalkind to the Allfather.
Heimdall glowered at them. Never had he understood the point of those strange beasts when he was all but omniscient. The king's ways were ever mysterious, Heimdall supposed.
"How may I be of service, your grace?" He asked, head bowed in submission.
"Why must my sons rebel against me?" Odin grunted, leaning upon Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven. "I told Balder he was needed here, in Asgard. Yet where has he gone?"
Heimdall hesitated, unsure if the question was rhetorical. "To Alfheim, your grace."
"To Alfheim," Odin repeated, exasperated.
"The armies of Malekith would have overrun the realm if not for his aid." Heimdall explained, feeling a need to defend his friend from the Allfather's wrath. "Balder slays your enemies by the thousands, even now."
"His courage and skill at arms were never in doubt," Odin said. "It is wits my son seems to lack."
"Your grace?"
Odin shook his head. "I grow wearier by the day, Heimdall. This business with Loki weighs heavy. Once we have lit his funeral pyre, I must sleep. Ordinarily I would not worry, for Thor would always stand vigil. Now that he is gone, however, I fear for Asgard's safety."
Heimdall kept his face as stone. "My watch does not falter, Allfather."
Picking up his spear, Odin turned toward the Bifrost. He walked up to its edge, looking out over the cosmos. Its stars stretched on endlessly in all directions, shining in the dark. His one, good eye turned to that star that gave life to the earth. He was silent for several minutes, his shadow stretching long across the room.
"Where is my son?" He finally asked, his back still to Heimdall.
"Which, your grace?"
Odin snarled wordlessly, and Heimdall took a step back.
"Thor is trapped in Muspelheim. He was doing battle with a wretched monster of Midgard and deemed it too dangerous to leave in the mortal realm, so..." Heimdall trailed off, unsure how to explain the situation without implicating himself. His oath to never meddle in mortal affairs would have extended to Thor's battle as well. Foolish as it was, he could not leave his friend to die. Besides, if Sif ever found out Heimdall had allowed her husband to come to harm, she would have flayed the skin from his bones.
The silence returned. It stifled the air worse than the choking smog of Nidavellir.
"...A blessing of the Norns that Ratatoskr was there assist him." Odin said at last. "His punishment was to be banished to Midgard. If I had intended him to burn in Muspelheim, I would have cast him there myself. Send him the bifrost. Return him to where he belongs."
Heimdall nodded. "At once, your grace."
"And send for Hermod as well. I have need of his swiftness to spread the word of Loki's passing. When I send him to Valhalla, I wish for my family to be present. The whole of it." Odin ordered. Without another word, he vanished as suddenly as he had arrived.
Long ago, the halls of Valhalla overflowed with the spirits of mortal warriors, kings and jarls. So numerous were their souls that Freya opened the fields of Fólkvangr to the Einherjar. Over the last few centuries, worship of the Aesir has dwindled. Other faiths grew across Midgard. Many mortals reject the divine wholly, looking to secular philosophies for comfort and meaning when once they sought the gods.
Heimdall stood in his observatory, the sword Hofund embedded in its stone pedestal at his feet. The bifrost swirled all around him, liquid crystal in every color of the rainbow. Eternally did he stand sentinel here, his all-seeing gaze cast to every corner of the Nine Realms.
He turned his gaze back to the earth, the heart of Midgard. There had been much excitement on that little world as of late. A new age of myth was upon them. Gone were tales of Arthur, Perseus and Beowulf. Soon the bards will sing of men and women in capes and cowls.
He sees them all: the devil fights tooth and nail to stop a revenant from claiming its vengeance; a faceless man is slowly killing himself in the pursuit of truth; a knight from ages long past climbs out of his desert tomb; in the City of Tomorrow, a humble servant embraces his alien heritage and dons a symbol of hope.
These new heroes are not everywhere. In Frankfurt, a neighbor lets a man he recognizes into his apartment building. That man climbs the stairs to his ex-girlfriend's suite, hate in his heart. He has a knife hidden in his sleeve. A tyrant in Bialaya orders the execution of a hundred political dissidents. An old woman shakes with chill in an alleyway, clutching desperately at a ragged blanket.
For a moment, Heimdall closes his eyes. His fists tighten around the hilt of his sword. For eons has he stood at the foot of the rainbow bridge, tasked to watch for threats against Asgard- to sound the Gjallarhorn when Surtur rose from Muspelheim.
Yet in this role he must also bear witness. He sees the triumphs, the tragedies, the quiet in-betweens of every life in all the Nine Realms. Trillions of lives have unfolded before him since he took his post. No matter what he saw, Heimdall was never to lift a hand in intervention without the Allfather's approval.
Head held low, the watchman-god whispers a prayer: "May your heroes answer when you call, for I cannot."
He returned to his duty.
In Alfheim, Heimdall watched the elves of light and dark wage another of their petty wars. They'd been killing one another since time immemorial. The list of transgressions held by either side was longer than the serpent Jörmungandr. Today, the dark elves were the aggressors. Their newly crowned king, Malekith the Accursed, led his legions all the way to Ljosalfgard, seat of the fairy court. Queen Aelsa rallied a host of elves and fae to her defense, though they were outmatched: fae magic was all illusions, befuddlement and torture; it lacked the sheer destructive might of Svartalfheim's shadows.
The city of Ljsalfgard would've fallen days ago if not for the intervention of Balder Odinson. Balder the Brave, they were calling him, for he had slain eight thousand men in only four days. Four days spent knee-deep in elvish blood without a moment's rest. Neither their weapons or magic could harm good Balder, for he was blessed by his mother Freya to never feel pain.
"Heimdall." Odin spoke, and the room shook.
The voice of the Allfather startled Heimdall from his musings, as it always did. Odin walked with silent steps when he wished, and his presence was shrouded from even Heimdall's eyes. Looming like a mountain, Odin paced the observatory. A cloak of living ravens hung across his shoulders- dozens of eyes staring back at the watcher. These were just a small part of the flock Odin kept. Ravens were his spies across the Nine Realms, whispering the goings on of mortalkind to the Allfather.
Heimdall glowered at them. Never had he understood the point of those strange beasts when he was all but omniscient. The king's ways were ever mysterious, Heimdall supposed.
"How may I be of service, your grace?" He asked, head bowed in submission.
"Why must my sons rebel against me?" Odin grunted, leaning upon Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven. "I told Balder he was needed here, in Asgard. Yet where has he gone?"
Heimdall hesitated, unsure if the question was rhetorical. "To Alfheim, your grace."
"To Alfheim," Odin repeated, exasperated.
"The armies of Malekith would have overrun the realm if not for his aid." Heimdall explained, feeling a need to defend his friend from the Allfather's wrath. "Balder slays your enemies by the thousands, even now."
"His courage and skill at arms were never in doubt," Odin said. "It is wits my son seems to lack."
"Your grace?"
Odin shook his head. "I grow wearier by the day, Heimdall. This business with Loki weighs heavy. Once we have lit his funeral pyre, I must sleep. Ordinarily I would not worry, for Thor would always stand vigil. Now that he is gone, however, I fear for Asgard's safety."
Heimdall kept his face as stone. "My watch does not falter, Allfather."
Picking up his spear, Odin turned toward the Bifrost. He walked up to its edge, looking out over the cosmos. Its stars stretched on endlessly in all directions, shining in the dark. His one, good eye turned to that star that gave life to the earth. He was silent for several minutes, his shadow stretching long across the room.
"Where is my son?" He finally asked, his back still to Heimdall.
"Which, your grace?"
Odin snarled wordlessly, and Heimdall took a step back.
"Thor is trapped in Muspelheim. He was doing battle with a wretched monster of Midgard and deemed it too dangerous to leave in the mortal realm, so..." Heimdall trailed off, unsure how to explain the situation without implicating himself. His oath to never meddle in mortal affairs would have extended to Thor's battle as well. Foolish as it was, he could not leave his friend to die. Besides, if Sif ever found out Heimdall had allowed her husband to come to harm, she would have flayed the skin from his bones.
The silence returned. It stifled the air worse than the choking smog of Nidavellir.
"...A blessing of the Norns that Ratatoskr was there assist him." Odin said at last. "His punishment was to be banished to Midgard. If I had intended him to burn in Muspelheim, I would have cast him there myself. Send him the bifrost. Return him to where he belongs."
Heimdall nodded. "At once, your grace."
"And send for Hermod as well. I have need of his swiftness to spread the word of Loki's passing. When I send him to Valhalla, I wish for my family to be present. The whole of it." Odin ordered. Without another word, he vanished as suddenly as he had arrived.
IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1421 hours // ♫ Rockin' Tunes for Diving Into Hell ♫
Two decades on and the waiting remained the worst part. Theodore Howser clutched a dataslate in his hands and tried not to stare at its timer as the minutes to drop ticked away ever so slowly. Five minutes before they'd wade into hell once more. He tabbed back over to a readout of his mech's pre-battle checkup: Hydraulic fluid was topped off, the SmartWorks system was in standby, the X-66 was purring like a pussy cat. All greens across the board. Just like the last time he'd checked it. And the time before that.
"This boat go any quicker?" Theo wondered aloud, trying to hide his impatience behind a lopsided grin.
Time slowed down the harder one focused on it, he knew. Better to find something to distract himself for their remaining minutes aboard the Galea or he'd go stir crazy. He could work on his combat playlist, maybe? Theo flipped over to it on the dataslate, and a long list of songs appeared before him. It was an eclectic mess of old favorites, recommendations from friends and the works of local talent.
It was a small thing, but he liked to remember the cultures these Aberrant invasions were crushing underfoot. That wasn't just a gray mess of dead buildings down there: people lived there. They went to school, played in their regional soccer league, ate bad food at dive bars. And they made music. Aloran compositions mixed traditional horns and drums with more retro-modernist sounds, like synthesizers. One particular song Theo had found was recorded by refugees that escaped the initial invasion. They used the mechanical cries of Aberrant monsters as part of the music, modifying it to produce a truly terrifying noise.
He didn't spend long on the playlist. It was already a cumbersome beast, and shuffling a couple of tracks around wasn't going to improve it all that much. Maybe he could work on a crossword...
The sound of someone speaking drew his eyes up from his slate. One of the Constellations was introducing himself. Douglas 'Rigel' Eorman was his name, and he was here with his partner to oversee the first deployment of their younger colleagues. They both had old, prestigious names, though only the latter really carried himself like nobility. Rigel looked like a frat guy that had aged fifty years, with his rippling muscles and oversized sunglasses. His rank indicated a martial prowess that his demeanor made hard to believe; at least he'd be fun at the after party.
Antares, the partner, showed nothing but open disgust for Eorman. Unlike Rigel's zany antics, Antares carried himself with the usual air of superiority Theo had come to expect from older Constellations. They were taught from birth that their powers made them special- made them better than baseline humanity. Such abilities came with the responsibility to fight and die against the ever-present Aberrant threat.
It always rubbed him the wrong way, if Theo was honest. Service shouldn't be born on a foundation of glory-seeking warrior families.
"Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development." Solignis said, his eyes tracking over Theo- no, the woman seated next to him.
Teddy wasn't entirely sure how to react to her presence, at first. When the two had first met, he was ashamed to admit he'd flinched at the sight of biomechanical steel fused with human flesh. The same swarm tech he'd seen tear apart countless friends had been surgically attached to person barely older than his teenage nieces.
Even looking at her now, he felt a heat rising in his throat. This kind of thing didn't just happen. The Aberrants didn't leave human beings alive long enough to experiment on them. No, some fuckjob in a lab coat decided to play God. Equipment. That was the word Solignis had used to describe her.
"You ever notice how they all walk the same?" Teddy asked in a low voice, tapping Aissi on the shoulder. He kept his face dead as a door nail to avoid making a scene. "Legs all the way outstretched, struttin' so long they might fall over any second. Makes their whole upper body jostle around like a, uh, like a rooster."
Teddy placed his arms on his sides like he had a stubby pair of wings. "Y'know, bawk bawk."
1421 hours // ♫ Rockin' Tunes for Diving Into Hell ♫
Two decades on and the waiting remained the worst part. Theodore Howser clutched a dataslate in his hands and tried not to stare at its timer as the minutes to drop ticked away ever so slowly. Five minutes before they'd wade into hell once more. He tabbed back over to a readout of his mech's pre-battle checkup: Hydraulic fluid was topped off, the SmartWorks system was in standby, the X-66 was purring like a pussy cat. All greens across the board. Just like the last time he'd checked it. And the time before that.
"This boat go any quicker?" Theo wondered aloud, trying to hide his impatience behind a lopsided grin.
Time slowed down the harder one focused on it, he knew. Better to find something to distract himself for their remaining minutes aboard the Galea or he'd go stir crazy. He could work on his combat playlist, maybe? Theo flipped over to it on the dataslate, and a long list of songs appeared before him. It was an eclectic mess of old favorites, recommendations from friends and the works of local talent.
It was a small thing, but he liked to remember the cultures these Aberrant invasions were crushing underfoot. That wasn't just a gray mess of dead buildings down there: people lived there. They went to school, played in their regional soccer league, ate bad food at dive bars. And they made music. Aloran compositions mixed traditional horns and drums with more retro-modernist sounds, like synthesizers. One particular song Theo had found was recorded by refugees that escaped the initial invasion. They used the mechanical cries of Aberrant monsters as part of the music, modifying it to produce a truly terrifying noise.
He didn't spend long on the playlist. It was already a cumbersome beast, and shuffling a couple of tracks around wasn't going to improve it all that much. Maybe he could work on a crossword...
The sound of someone speaking drew his eyes up from his slate. One of the Constellations was introducing himself. Douglas 'Rigel' Eorman was his name, and he was here with his partner to oversee the first deployment of their younger colleagues. They both had old, prestigious names, though only the latter really carried himself like nobility. Rigel looked like a frat guy that had aged fifty years, with his rippling muscles and oversized sunglasses. His rank indicated a martial prowess that his demeanor made hard to believe; at least he'd be fun at the after party.
Antares, the partner, showed nothing but open disgust for Eorman. Unlike Rigel's zany antics, Antares carried himself with the usual air of superiority Theo had come to expect from older Constellations. They were taught from birth that their powers made them special- made them better than baseline humanity. Such abilities came with the responsibility to fight and die against the ever-present Aberrant threat.
It always rubbed him the wrong way, if Theo was honest. Service shouldn't be born on a foundation of glory-seeking warrior families.
"Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development." Solignis said, his eyes tracking over Theo- no, the woman seated next to him.
Teddy wasn't entirely sure how to react to her presence, at first. When the two had first met, he was ashamed to admit he'd flinched at the sight of biomechanical steel fused with human flesh. The same swarm tech he'd seen tear apart countless friends had been surgically attached to person barely older than his teenage nieces.
Even looking at her now, he felt a heat rising in his throat. This kind of thing didn't just happen. The Aberrants didn't leave human beings alive long enough to experiment on them. No, some fuckjob in a lab coat decided to play God. Equipment. That was the word Solignis had used to describe her.
"You ever notice how they all walk the same?" Teddy asked in a low voice, tapping Aissi on the shoulder. He kept his face dead as a door nail to avoid making a scene. "Legs all the way outstretched, struttin' so long they might fall over any second. Makes their whole upper body jostle around like a, uh, like a rooster."
Teddy placed his arms on his sides like he had a stubby pair of wings. "Y'know, bawk bawk."
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