<Snipped quote by SuperTacticalDerp>
I approve, hell I double approve because that sounds really cool. What gave you this idea?
Mostly Archer. As soon a I saw this IC I thought of Archer...
SuperTacticalDerp Member
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Mostly Archer. As soon a I saw this IC I thought of Archer...
I'm thinking full on freelance assassin with stolen military tech. The type of guy with Bond-style bullshit tucked into every pocket and more then glad to use it. Efficient, tactical, and maybe having a little too much fun with slaughtering people.
Interested. Sounds fun.
Luke stank like hell and looked like it too. In the darkened English streets, any passerby could smell the thick musk of gasoline radiating off him like an aura. A day or two without showering. Not a lot of time for personal grooming when g-men with big orders and thick skulls rip you away from home. He felt like a fish out of water, still wearing a blue jumpsuit with his station's name engraved into the breast. "Luke's Gas". It was simple, kinda like him. Nothing really going on and full of gas in the litterally sense.
England seemed nice. People tended to mind themselves or just not care. Most looked scared, with the husks of buildings giving good reason why. Apparently something called "The Blitz" happened that caused a good chunk of destruction. Nazi assholes most likely. Blitz seemed to be their calling card. Luke passed through another alleyway quickly, trying to not let his scent stick to too many places and found himself just where he needed to be. The New Crown Pub.
"Time to get some answers," Luke told himself as he crossed the street and entered the establishment. The smell of alcohol and metaphorical depression overbeared him for a moment. At least he wouldn't stink up the joint. Luke immediate walked over to the bar as he reached for his wallet. The barkeep was already taking care of someone else farther down, grabbing her a bottle of vodka. Luke opened up his wallet and pulled out a few singles and figured that after exchange-rates, he would have enough to get extra sloppy if need be.
Luke shoved his wallet back into his pockets and looked at his arms underneith the lighting of the bar. His veins glowed a sickly yellow under the artificial lighting, another strange cosmetic change thanks to his "condition". He always forgot how strange he must look in public, like some plague victim or something. After looking around a bit more, Luke had trouble finding any g-men. He probably couldn't find any others like him either if he really tired, which is what the agent who directed him here promised he would meet. And get his answers.
He hoped that the others like him had better luck in the genetic lottery then he did. He didn't know much about genes, but he did know that something was wrong with his. People weren't made to piss fuel and set their blood on fire. If he spat on the next drunk Brit to accidentally bump into him and lit a spark, the poor bastard would set like paper. Weird shit was about to go down, he could feel it.
England seemed nice. People tended to mind themselves or just not care. Most looked scared, with the husks of buildings giving good reason why. Apparently something called "The Blitz" happened that caused a good chunk of destruction. Nazi assholes most likely. Blitz seemed to be their calling card. Luke passed through another alleyway quickly, trying to not let his scent stick to too many places and found himself just where he needed to be. The New Crown Pub.
"Time to get some answers," Luke told himself as he crossed the street and entered the establishment. The smell of alcohol and metaphorical depression overbeared him for a moment. At least he wouldn't stink up the joint. Luke immediate walked over to the bar as he reached for his wallet. The barkeep was already taking care of someone else farther down, grabbing her a bottle of vodka. Luke opened up his wallet and pulled out a few singles and figured that after exchange-rates, he would have enough to get extra sloppy if need be.
Luke shoved his wallet back into his pockets and looked at his arms underneith the lighting of the bar. His veins glowed a sickly yellow under the artificial lighting, another strange cosmetic change thanks to his "condition". He always forgot how strange he must look in public, like some plague victim or something. After looking around a bit more, Luke had trouble finding any g-men. He probably couldn't find any others like him either if he really tired, which is what the agent who directed him here promised he would meet. And get his answers.
He hoped that the others like him had better luck in the genetic lottery then he did. He didn't know much about genes, but he did know that something was wrong with his. People weren't made to piss fuel and set their blood on fire. If he spat on the next drunk Brit to accidentally bump into him and lit a spark, the poor bastard would set like paper. Weird shit was about to go down, he could feel it.
"You got it boss," Toland silently replied as he took his place at the terminal and began cutting through code and draining every file or document he could find. Every single time he struck some piece of intel, he made sure to keep his tracks clean. He was a phantom in electronic shadows. Even with the ammount of data he was collecting, he might as well of been collecting some asshat's private stash. If they were lucky, it would be the Emperor's incriminating folder of Hutt fetish porn.
Behind him though he could feel the tension of everyone behind him like wamp rats being lowered into a sarlacc pit. There weren't in the shit yet, but they were litterally at the outer rim of the toilet bowl. Tempers were flaring badly. If the imperials wouldn't shoot at them, he was pretty sure they would all blast themselves away.
A silent calm seemed to breath through the spaceport itself though as the whole place felt utterly empty. It was nothing like Berchest. Back home, his father's port was constantly active. Repair droids clanking along the ground and passengers being shuttled from ship to ship.
The silence made Toland's skin crawl. He could hear the ports every creak and moan, for the entire place was in sever disrepair. He swore he saw the rotting bulk of old repair droids in the corner as they entered. A damn shame. If things went well, he could probably snatch one of them and see if they have some photo-sensors for Iggy. One man's rust was another man's gold.
----------
HK-51 stood silently watching the east enterence with utter focus. He knew the job ahead of him and was dead set to follow his orders. His programming. "Master Toland", who hated the prefix, had ordered a temperary pause at his previous orders so that he could fulfil his tasks here without hesitation. HK was ready to kill. It had been far too long. But orders, programming, came first.
Behind him though he could feel the tension of everyone behind him like wamp rats being lowered into a sarlacc pit. There weren't in the shit yet, but they were litterally at the outer rim of the toilet bowl. Tempers were flaring badly. If the imperials wouldn't shoot at them, he was pretty sure they would all blast themselves away.
A silent calm seemed to breath through the spaceport itself though as the whole place felt utterly empty. It was nothing like Berchest. Back home, his father's port was constantly active. Repair droids clanking along the ground and passengers being shuttled from ship to ship.
The silence made Toland's skin crawl. He could hear the ports every creak and moan, for the entire place was in sever disrepair. He swore he saw the rotting bulk of old repair droids in the corner as they entered. A damn shame. If things went well, he could probably snatch one of them and see if they have some photo-sensors for Iggy. One man's rust was another man's gold.
----------
HK-51 stood silently watching the east enterence with utter focus. He knew the job ahead of him and was dead set to follow his orders. His programming. "Master Toland", who hated the prefix, had ordered a temperary pause at his previous orders so that he could fulfil his tasks here without hesitation. HK was ready to kill. It had been far too long. But orders, programming, came first.
Interested
<Snipped quote by SuperTacticalDerp>
Why does everyone say that?
I'm not a dick. All I'm saying is the hype is real.
Just being preemptive man. I'm doing my best to see the movie spoiler-free. I honestly didn't mean anything by it.
Avengers age of ultron has literally broken my brain.
I'm broken now.
Please no spoilers until like May 10th! Not out in the U.S. yet.
"Yes sir," Toland responded to Lt. Byron, "I'll have it sanded off in less then ten minutes sir. I'll grab the HK-51 unit as well if I can find it."
Toland saluted the two officers and he left to grab Betuu, who was still standing amongst the crowd. By the way some of his comrades looked at him, he could tell that the battle droid was not a fan favorite. The private patted the big droid on the arm, signaling for him to follow and made his way towards the repair bay. He had sworn he'd seen a sander somewhere down there.
"So," Toland asked as soon as they were alone in the halls of the Intruder, "what were you up too when I wasn't around? You seem kinda pushy today."
"Following orders," the droid bluntly replied.
"No, I got that man. Good job and all, but you just seem kind off today."
"I am running on one-hundred percent power efficenty."
"You know not to take shit litteral with me! Seriously what is up."
The droid stop dead in it's tracks and looked at Toland directly.
"I don't like this ship."
Toland gave a little chuckle, doing his best to take the droid's thoughts seriously.
"What do you not like about the ship?"
"Those who call themselves officers on this vessel act like malfunctioning Tactical Droids. The "veterans" you praise are nothing more then sloppy "bantha-fodder" who somehow have lived past the slaughter. Those new on the ship are fresh "bantha-fodder. I have fought in real war. All of this is glorified banditry."
Toland stared down the droid, unafraid of the hulking war-machine.
"Are you going to a whiny buzz-droid the entire time we are here or just today."
Betuu marched past Toland and entered the repair bay without him, replying, "Roger roger." Toland could practically heard the sarcasm.
---------------
After some time finding a sander and fixing said sander, Betuu was paint free and as shiny as the day he was manufactured. Dispite having to erase his handiwork, Toland was proud how well Betuu looked after a little bit of clean up work. After placing the sander back down at his station, Toland noticed the HK-51 unit from before mindlessly wandering around and scanning anyone he could get at least a meter away from.
"You still following orders," he asked the droid.
"Response: Yes Master," the droid replied.
"Not for long bro. Get out of here and find somebody already."
The HK did as it was told and headed straight for the exit without hesitation.
Toland turned to Betuu and moved him along towards the exit so that he could meet up with Slogga and his people. Hopefully someone will grab HK on the way, Toland thought. Absolutely won't be me. He's somebody else's problem now.
Toland saluted the two officers and he left to grab Betuu, who was still standing amongst the crowd. By the way some of his comrades looked at him, he could tell that the battle droid was not a fan favorite. The private patted the big droid on the arm, signaling for him to follow and made his way towards the repair bay. He had sworn he'd seen a sander somewhere down there.
"So," Toland asked as soon as they were alone in the halls of the Intruder, "what were you up too when I wasn't around? You seem kinda pushy today."
"Following orders," the droid bluntly replied.
"No, I got that man. Good job and all, but you just seem kind off today."
"I am running on one-hundred percent power efficenty."
"You know not to take shit litteral with me! Seriously what is up."
The droid stop dead in it's tracks and looked at Toland directly.
"I don't like this ship."
Toland gave a little chuckle, doing his best to take the droid's thoughts seriously.
"What do you not like about the ship?"
"Those who call themselves officers on this vessel act like malfunctioning Tactical Droids. The "veterans" you praise are nothing more then sloppy "bantha-fodder" who somehow have lived past the slaughter. Those new on the ship are fresh "bantha-fodder. I have fought in real war. All of this is glorified banditry."
Toland stared down the droid, unafraid of the hulking war-machine.
"Are you going to a whiny buzz-droid the entire time we are here or just today."
Betuu marched past Toland and entered the repair bay without him, replying, "Roger roger." Toland could practically heard the sarcasm.
---------------
After some time finding a sander and fixing said sander, Betuu was paint free and as shiny as the day he was manufactured. Dispite having to erase his handiwork, Toland was proud how well Betuu looked after a little bit of clean up work. After placing the sander back down at his station, Toland noticed the HK-51 unit from before mindlessly wandering around and scanning anyone he could get at least a meter away from.
"You still following orders," he asked the droid.
"Response: Yes Master," the droid replied.
"Not for long bro. Get out of here and find somebody already."
The HK did as it was told and headed straight for the exit without hesitation.
Toland turned to Betuu and moved him along towards the exit so that he could meet up with Slogga and his people. Hopefully someone will grab HK on the way, Toland thought. Absolutely won't be me. He's somebody else's problem now.
Hey sorry for the inactivity. Life hit hard te last few days. Will have a post up in two hours tops. (Almost 5pm EST here. Start your watches.)
Also I will post as HK-51. I'll do my best.
Also I will post as HK-51. I'll do my best.
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